As always the reliable Mr. Cruddick was proved right about his wife’s movements. Charles called him immediately. They agreed to meet as planned in twenty minutes.
He drove into the Boltons, parked on the far side of the road a few yards from his father-in-law’s house, and settled down to wait.
A few minutes later a large anonymous pantechnicon van came round the corner and stopped outside No. 24. Mr. Cruddick jumped out from the driver’s seat. He was dressed in long brown overalls and a flat cap. He was joined by a young assistant who unlocked the back of the van. Mr. Cruddick nodded to Charles before proceeding up the steps to the front door.
The Portuguese maid answered when he pressed the bell.
“We have come to collect the goods for Lady Seymour.”
“No understand,” said the maid.
Mr. Cruddick removed from an inside pocket a long typewritten letter on Lady Seymour’s personal stationery. The Portuguese maid was unable to read the words of a letter her mistress had addressed to Hurlingham Croquet Club agreeing to be their Ladies’ President, but she immediately recognized the letterhead and the signature. She nodded and opened the door wider. All Mr. Cruddick’s carefully laid plans were falling into place.
Mr. Cruddick tipped his hat, the sign for Mr. Seymour to join them. Charles got out of the car cautiously, checking both ways before he crossed the road. He felt uncomfortable in brown overalls and hated the cap with which Mr. Cruddick had supplied him. It was. a little small and Charles was acutely conscious how strange he must look but the Portuguese maid apparently didn’t notice the incongruity between his aristocratic mien and the working overalls. It did not take long to discover the whereabouts of most of the pictures.
Many were just stacked up in the hall, and only one or two had already been hung.
Forty minutes later the three men had located and loaded into the van all but one of them. The Holbein of the first Earl of Bridgwater was nowhere to be found.
“We ought to be on our way,” suggested Mr. Cruddick a little nervously, but Charles refused to give up the search. For another thirty-five minutes Mr. Cruddick sat tapping the wheel of the van before Charles finally conceded that the painting must have been taken elsewhere. Mr. Cruddick tipped his hat to the maid while his partner locked up the back of the van.
“A valuable picture, Mr. Seymours?” he inquired.
“A family heirloom that would fetch two million at auction,” said Charles matter-of-factly before returning to his car.
“Silly question, Albert Cruddick,” said Mr. Cruddick to himself as he pulled out from the curb and drove toward Eaton Square. When they arrived the locksmith had replaced all three locks on the front door and was waiting on the top step impatiently.
“Strictly cash, guv’nor. No receipt. Makes it possible for the missus and me to go to Ibiza each year, tax free.”
By the time Fiona had returned to the Boltons from her trip to Sussex every picture was back in its place at Eaton Square with the exception of Holbein’s first Earl of Bridgwater. Mr. Cruddick was left clutching a large check and uttering the unpalatable view that Mr. Seymour would probably have to grin and bear it.
“I’m delighted,” said Simon, when he heard the news. “And at Pucklebridge General Hospital?”
“Yes, I answered an advertisement in The Lancet for the post of general consultant in the maternity section.”
“But your name must have helped there?”
“Certainly not,” said Elizabeth vehemently.
“How come?”
“I didn’t apply as Dr. Kerslake. I filled out the application form in my maiden name of Drummond.”
Simon was momentarily silenced. “But they would have recognized you,” he protested.
“I had the full frontal treatment from Estée Lauder to ensure they didn’t. The final effect fooled even you.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” said Simon.
“I walked straight past you in Pucklebridge High Street, and said ‘Good morning,’ and you returned the greeting.”
Simon stared at her in disbelief. “But what will happen when they find out?”
“They already have,” replied Elizabeth sheepishly. “As soon as they offered me the post I went down to see the senior consultant and told him the truth. He hasn’t stopped telling everyone since.”
“He wasn’t cross?”
“Far from it. In fact he said I nearly failed to be offered the post because he felt I wouldn’t be safe let loose on the unmarried doctors.”