As the Crow Flies

“While you’re at it,” continued the inspector, “I’d be obliged if you could give me a copy of the catalogue picture, as well as use of one of the negatives for a day or two.”

When Charlie was told about the Georgian tea set over dinner that night, his advice was simple: withdraw the pieces from the sale—and promote Cathy.

“Your first suggestion isn’t quite that easy,” said Becky. “The catalogue is due to be sent out to the general public later this week. What explanation could we possibly give to Mrs. Dawson for removing her dear old mother’s family heirloom?”

“That it wasn’t her dear old mother’s in the first place and you withdrew it because you’ve every reason to believe that it’s stolen property.”

“If we did that, we could find ourselves being sued for breach of contract,” said Becky, “when we later discover that Mrs. Dawson’s totally innocent of any such charge. If she then took us to court we wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“If this Dawson lady is as totally innocent as you think, then why is Mrs. Trentham showing such an interest in her tea set? Because I can’t help feeling she already has one of her own.”

Becky laughed. “She certainly has. I know, because I’ve even seen it, though I never did get the promised cup of tea.”

Three days later Inspector Deakins telephoned Becky to let her know that the Nottingham police had no record of anything that had been stolen in their patch fitting the tea set’s description and they were also able to confirm that Mrs. Dawson was not previously known to them. He had therefore sent the details out to every other constabulary in the land. “But,” he added, “outside forces aren’t always that cooperative with the Met when it comes to trading information.”

As Becky put the phone down, she decided to give the green light and send the catalogues out, despite Charlie’s apprehension. They were posted the same day along with invitations to the press and selected customers.

A couple of journalists applied for tickets to the sale. An unusually sensitive Becky checked them out, only to find that both worked for national newspapers, and had covered Trumper’s sales several times in the past.

Simon Matthews considered that Becky was overreacting, while Cathy tended to agree with Sir Charles that the wise course would be to withdraw the tea set from the auction until they had been given the all-clear by Deakins.

“If we’re to withdraw a lot every time that man takes an interest in one of our sales we may as well close our front doors and take up stargazing,” Simon told them.

The Monday before the sale was to take place Inspector Deakins telephoned to ask if he could see Becky urgently. He arrived at the gallery thirty minutes later, again accompanied by his sergeant. This time the only item he removed from his briefcase was a copy of the Aberdeen Evening Express dated 15 October 1949.

Deakins asked to be allowed to inspect the Georgian tea set once more. Becky nodded her agreement and the policeman studied each piece carefully against a photograph that was on an inside page of the newspaper.

“That’s them all right,” he said, after double-checking. He showed Becky the photograph.

Cathy and Peter Fellowes also studied each item while looking carefully at the picture from the newspaper and had to agree with Deakins that the match was perfect.

“This little lot was stolen from the Aberdeen Museum of Silver some three months ago,” the inspector informed them. “The bloody local police didn’t even bother to let us know. No doubt they considered it was none of our business.”

“So what happens now?” asked Becky.

“The Nottingham constabulary have already visited Mrs. Dawson, where they found several other pieces of silver and jewelry hidden around the house. She’s been taken to her local station in order to, as the press would have it, help the police with their inquiries.” He placed the newspaper back in his briefcase. “After I’ve phoned them to confirm my piece of news, I expect that she’ll be charged later today. However, I’m afraid I shall have to take the tea set away with me for processing at Scotland Yard.”

“Of course,” said Becky.

“My sergeant will write out a receipt for you, Lady Trumper, and I’d like to thank you for your cooperation.” The inspector hesitated as he looked lovingly at the tea set. “A month’s salary,” he said with a sigh, “and stolen for all the wrong reasons.” He raised his hat and the two policemen left the gallery.

“So what do we do now?” said Cathy.

“Not much we can do.” Becky sighed. “Carry on with the auction as if nothing had taken place and when the lot comes up, simply announce that the piece has been withdrawn.”

“But then our man will leap up and say, ‘Isn’t this yet another example of advertising stolen goods and then having to withdraw them at the last moment?’ We won’t look so much like an auction house,” said Simon, his voice rising with anger. “More like a pawnbroker. So why don’t we just put three balls outside the front door, and a fence to give a clue as to the class of person we’re hoping to attract?”

Becky didn’t react.

“If you feel so strongly about it, Simon, why not try and turn the whole episode to our advantage?” suggested Cathy.

“What do you mean?” asked Becky as both she and Simon swung round to face the young Australian.

“We must get the press on our side for a change.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”

“Phone that journalist from the Telegraph—what was his name? Barker—and give him the inside story.”