asked.
‘By all means.’
I made a great show of examining the object, and ran my finger down its back and then, unobtrusively, along its underside. It seemed perfectly smooth. I tried again, this time with my nail – and yes, Nicholas was right: the ridge was there! A mere hairline in the bone, but definitely there. It was the real thing all right!
I continued to regard it solemnly, still desperately wondering how I was going to effect the change. Then miraculously Clinker exclaimed, ‘I say, Claude, is that a genuine Toledo dagger over there?’ And together they moved towards one of the display cabinets. In a trice I plunged my hand into my jacket pocket, fingers poised to grip the replica …
But even as I did so I knew the act to be futile, that my hand would grasp nothing but the coat lining: for the Singer’s glove box had flashed before my eyes, and I realized with the certainty of doom that I had forgotten to remove the replacement. Such had been my elation in finding a parking spot that all other thoughts had vanished, and I had strolled blithely up to Blenkinsop’s flat with the object of my mission still stowed in its place of safe-keeping!
With hand stuffed pointlessly in my pocket, I heard my father’s voice intoning, ‘Head full of sea air, Francis – nothing but air!’ He had been right.
In helpless dismay I gazed down at the idol while Claude instructed Clinker in the intricacies of Toledo dagger patterns. What could I do? Request another visit? But why on earth should that seem necessary? Make some lame excuse and rush downstairs to the car, get the idol and try to re-enact proceedings? Impossible. Return to the flat disguised as a plumber or tax inspector? … These and other absurdities raced through my mind as I stood there bleak and wretched, cursing myself and cursing Nicholas. Finally I slumped down on the sofa bored out of my mind and longing to return to Molehill. The other two prosed on in front of the cabinets, and I shut my eyes …
Suddenly I heard Clinker saying, ‘Oh, I think that’s quite all right. No trouble at all, dear fellow. As a matter of fact I was going to ask Oughterard here if he wouldn’t mind giving me a lift to Victoria. I have rather important business to attend to there, but there’s plenty of time and we could easily drop it off.’ And then turning to me, ‘That won’t take you out of your way, will it, Francis?’
‘No, I shouldn’t think so,’ I replied vaguely. ‘Er, sorry, where are we going?’
Clinker sighed. ‘To drop off Claude’s pig at the jeweller’s – it’s got an eye loose. Didn’t you hear!’
‘The right eye, is it?’ I asked absently.
‘Well, as a matter of fact it is!’ exclaimed Blenkinsop. ‘How did you know that?’
I had of course remembered Ingaza’s tale of Beano’s wife hurling it at the fender with the resultant dislodging of one of the emeralds. Reset it may have been, but the damage was done, and a hundred and fifty years later it had presumably worked itself loose again.
‘Er, I …’
‘Sharp eyes, that’s what you’ve got, my dear chap. A fellow enthusiast, I can see that!’ And he nodded appreciatively.
I smiled modestly and gave thanks for major mercies. To think that, after everything, the pig was going to drop into my lap just like that!
But not quite – for my offer to carry the package had been pre-empted by Clinker who seemed intent on taking the box himself, assuring Claude of his utmost care in the matter. Thus somehow, between our departure from the flat and arrival at the jeweller’s, it would have to be detached from the bishop’s grasp.
We said our goodbyes to Claude, and with Clinker carrying the package and me pondering logistics, made our way downstairs and out into the street. As we went I noticed that in addition to the pig in its box, Clinker was carrying a dark mackintosh. I recalled Mrs Carruthers’ reference to his incognito garb, and wondered if the ‘important
‘By all means.’
I made a great show of examining the object, and ran my finger down its back and then, unobtrusively, along its underside. It seemed perfectly smooth. I tried again, this time with my nail – and yes, Nicholas was right: the ridge was there! A mere hairline in the bone, but definitely there. It was the real thing all right!
I continued to regard it solemnly, still desperately wondering how I was going to effect the change. Then miraculously Clinker exclaimed, ‘I say, Claude, is that a genuine Toledo dagger over there?’ And together they moved towards one of the display cabinets. In a trice I plunged my hand into my jacket pocket, fingers poised to grip the replica …
But even as I did so I knew the act to be futile, that my hand would grasp nothing but the coat lining: for the Singer’s glove box had flashed before my eyes, and I realized with the certainty of doom that I had forgotten to remove the replacement. Such had been my elation in finding a parking spot that all other thoughts had vanished, and I had strolled blithely up to Blenkinsop’s flat with the object of my mission still stowed in its place of safe-keeping!
With hand stuffed pointlessly in my pocket, I heard my father’s voice intoning, ‘Head full of sea air, Francis – nothing but air!’ He had been right.
In helpless dismay I gazed down at the idol while Claude instructed Clinker in the intricacies of Toledo dagger patterns. What could I do? Request another visit? But why on earth should that seem necessary? Make some lame excuse and rush downstairs to the car, get the idol and try to re-enact proceedings? Impossible. Return to the flat disguised as a plumber or tax inspector? … These and other absurdities raced through my mind as I stood there bleak and wretched, cursing myself and cursing Nicholas. Finally I slumped down on the sofa bored out of my mind and longing to return to Molehill. The other two prosed on in front of the cabinets, and I shut my eyes …
Suddenly I heard Clinker saying, ‘Oh, I think that’s quite all right. No trouble at all, dear fellow. As a matter of fact I was going to ask Oughterard here if he wouldn’t mind giving me a lift to Victoria. I have rather important business to attend to there, but there’s plenty of time and we could easily drop it off.’ And then turning to me, ‘That won’t take you out of your way, will it, Francis?’
‘No, I shouldn’t think so,’ I replied vaguely. ‘Er, sorry, where are we going?’
Clinker sighed. ‘To drop off Claude’s pig at the jeweller’s – it’s got an eye loose. Didn’t you hear!’
‘The right eye, is it?’ I asked absently.
‘Well, as a matter of fact it is!’ exclaimed Blenkinsop. ‘How did you know that?’
I had of course remembered Ingaza’s tale of Beano’s wife hurling it at the fender with the resultant dislodging of one of the emeralds. Reset it may have been, but the damage was done, and a hundred and fifty years later it had presumably worked itself loose again.
‘Er, I …’
‘Sharp eyes, that’s what you’ve got, my dear chap. A fellow enthusiast, I can see that!’ And he nodded appreciatively.
I smiled modestly and gave thanks for major mercies. To think that, after everything, the pig was going to drop into my lap just like that!
But not quite – for my offer to carry the package had been pre-empted by Clinker who seemed intent on taking the box himself, assuring Claude of his utmost care in the matter. Thus somehow, between our departure from the flat and arrival at the jeweller’s, it would have to be detached from the bishop’s grasp.
We said our goodbyes to Claude, and with Clinker carrying the package and me pondering logistics, made our way downstairs and out into the street. As we went I noticed that in addition to the pig in its box, Clinker was carrying a dark mackintosh. I recalled Mrs Carruthers’ reference to his incognito garb, and wondered if the ‘important
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