successfully from the police. They had witnesses who could identify her. What other explanation might there be for the fact that she, too, had gone missing?”
“She got out the back, somehow.”
“Well, I suppose the police might have been that sloppy. But—”
“Yes?”
“Let me ask you a question: If you were carrying a valuable sculpture around, what kind of wrapping would you use?”
“Something that would protect it, I suppose.”
“But would you advertise its presence?”
“No.”
“That raises a question: For what purpose would you use a transparent wrapper?”
I hesitated. “Only to show it off, I suppose.”
“Very good, Chase. It strikes me that the most feasible explanation is that this woman was never there in the first place. It was someone else, probably a male, wearing a disguise.”
At times like that, my head starts to spin. “Isn't it unlikely that she—or he —would have been on board, wearing a disguise, just in case a sculptor left something valuable in a seat?”
“Yes. I'd say so. Which suggests it would have been a setup.”
“A setup in what way?”
“Eddy was still at the beginning of his career.”
“And—?”
“A little publicity wouldn't hurt.”
I got a good laugh out of that. “I guess you'd know best. But where'd she hide the sculpture?”
“Chase, I don't think the Clockwork ever existed.”
“How do you mean?”
“It was a fable. From the beginning.”
“But he brought it on the train. There were witnesses.”
“What they probably saw was something thrown together, probably using corbicide. Or anything else that's dissoluble in water and can be broken apart fairly easily.”
At the time, we were sitting on one of the benches at Cuirescu. While I began to see what he was saying, a train glided into the station, kicking up a gust of wind. It settled down onto the rail, and passengers started climbing out. I had to raise my voice, almost shout, to make myself heard. “You're saying she flushed it down the toilet?”
“Then he took off the wig. And probably had dinner with Eddy that evening.”
“What was the payoff?”
“Oh, Chase. Instead of having a minor piece of sculpture on display at the Vancouver Center, he became the media highlight of the week. It's the kind of story everyone loves. A potentially valuable piece of art stolen. And before you object, the perception would be that it must be valuable, or it wouldn't have been taken. And certainly not in such an elegant manner. Add an apparently insoluble mystery. And there are some people who will tell you that Eddy never really lived up to his reputation. But he became famous because of the Clockwork incident. And he had just enough talent to make it pay off.”
As we started home on the train to Andiquar, his head sank onto the back of the seat, and his eyes closed. “You okay?” I asked.
“Tired.” He'd been tired a lot lately.
“You need a vacation.”
He smiled, but the eyes stayed shut. “Who'd run the business?”
“I'm serious.”
“I'm fine, Chase.”
The sunlight blinked off as we entered a tunnel. Within seconds, we were out the other end. “When are you going to set a date for the auction?”
“I've been thinking about it. The artifacts keep going up. But you're right. We ought to get it moving while we're still headed in the right direction.”
He fell quiet again.
“Is it Robin?” I asked.
“No. Why would you say that?”
I shrugged. “Just a thought.”
“He been on your mind?”
“A little.” He lapsed into silence again. I watched the forest racing past. “You know what I keep thinking—?” I said.
“That he might still be alive somewhere? Off in the islands enjoying himself?”
“It's a possibility.”
Alex shook his head. “Robin was too committed to his work to disappear. No, whatever happened, he didn't instigate it.”
“You have any idea at all?”
“Not a thing. I've talked with Shara. Told her about Robin's being at
“She got out the back, somehow.”
“Well, I suppose the police might have been that sloppy. But—”
“Yes?”
“Let me ask you a question: If you were carrying a valuable sculpture around, what kind of wrapping would you use?”
“Something that would protect it, I suppose.”
“But would you advertise its presence?”
“No.”
“That raises a question: For what purpose would you use a transparent wrapper?”
I hesitated. “Only to show it off, I suppose.”
“Very good, Chase. It strikes me that the most feasible explanation is that this woman was never there in the first place. It was someone else, probably a male, wearing a disguise.”
At times like that, my head starts to spin. “Isn't it unlikely that she—or he —would have been on board, wearing a disguise, just in case a sculptor left something valuable in a seat?”
“Yes. I'd say so. Which suggests it would have been a setup.”
“A setup in what way?”
“Eddy was still at the beginning of his career.”
“And—?”
“A little publicity wouldn't hurt.”
I got a good laugh out of that. “I guess you'd know best. But where'd she hide the sculpture?”
“Chase, I don't think the Clockwork ever existed.”
“How do you mean?”
“It was a fable. From the beginning.”
“But he brought it on the train. There were witnesses.”
“What they probably saw was something thrown together, probably using corbicide. Or anything else that's dissoluble in water and can be broken apart fairly easily.”
At the time, we were sitting on one of the benches at Cuirescu. While I began to see what he was saying, a train glided into the station, kicking up a gust of wind. It settled down onto the rail, and passengers started climbing out. I had to raise my voice, almost shout, to make myself heard. “You're saying she flushed it down the toilet?”
“Then he took off the wig. And probably had dinner with Eddy that evening.”
“What was the payoff?”
“Oh, Chase. Instead of having a minor piece of sculpture on display at the Vancouver Center, he became the media highlight of the week. It's the kind of story everyone loves. A potentially valuable piece of art stolen. And before you object, the perception would be that it must be valuable, or it wouldn't have been taken. And certainly not in such an elegant manner. Add an apparently insoluble mystery. And there are some people who will tell you that Eddy never really lived up to his reputation. But he became famous because of the Clockwork incident. And he had just enough talent to make it pay off.”
As we started home on the train to Andiquar, his head sank onto the back of the seat, and his eyes closed. “You okay?” I asked.
“Tired.” He'd been tired a lot lately.
“You need a vacation.”
He smiled, but the eyes stayed shut. “Who'd run the business?”
“I'm serious.”
“I'm fine, Chase.”
The sunlight blinked off as we entered a tunnel. Within seconds, we were out the other end. “When are you going to set a date for the auction?”
“I've been thinking about it. The artifacts keep going up. But you're right. We ought to get it moving while we're still headed in the right direction.”
He fell quiet again.
“Is it Robin?” I asked.
“No. Why would you say that?”
I shrugged. “Just a thought.”
“He been on your mind?”
“A little.” He lapsed into silence again. I watched the forest racing past. “You know what I keep thinking—?” I said.
“That he might still be alive somewhere? Off in the islands enjoying himself?”
“It's a possibility.”
Alex shook his head. “Robin was too committed to his work to disappear. No, whatever happened, he didn't instigate it.”
“You have any idea at all?”
“Not a thing. I've talked with Shara. Told her about Robin's being at
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