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where it was going. It was all ‘very odd’, he thought. I told him we would deal with the sale of the house, and after I had put the phone down, I rang Lloyd’s Intelligence Services at Colchester. It took only a moment for them to check the Southampton sailings on the computer. A Greek cruise ship, the
Lemnos
, had left at 20.30 hours the previous evening for the Caribbean, calling at Madeira en route. No other cruise ship was due to sail from Southampton for the next eight days.
    â€˜When will the
Lemnos
return?’ I asked. But they weren’t sure she would dock at Southampton again. It was a fortnight’s cruise, finishing up in Bermuda. The ship would then embark mainly American passengers for a further cruise through the Panama Canal to the Galápagos, then down to Callao and Valparaiso,finishing up at San Francisco on August 2. That was as far as their information went.
    It wasn’t much, but at least I knew that she had sailed, and on a vessel headed for the Pacific. I sat there for a moment remembering the things she had said, the atmosphere of that house, wondering how much Eric Chandler knew about the family.
    I was still thinking about that when the phone rang. It was the chairman of the Rotary Club. Would I take the chair for him at today’s lunch as his wife had suddenly been taken ill? There was a lot of work to get through, and it was only as I was leaving that I remembered Berners was coming at three. I gave the two albums to Miss Paget and told her to remain with him the whole time he was looking through them.
    By the time I got back from lunch Berners was in my office with Miss Paget, the albums open on the desk in front of him. He was a small, thrusting little man, expensively dressed in a dark grey suit, rather square at the shoulders, and a gaily patterned bow tie. He got quickly to his feet, bowing slightly and giving me a limp handshake. As soon as we were alone, he said, ‘Your description of the last few pages of the collection was exact, Mr Slingsby. They’re undoubtedly die proofs, and the stamp is the one that interests my client.’ He folded his neat pale hands across his stomach, a signet ring glinting in the sunlight that streamed in through the open window. ‘Now, if I make you an offer, are you in a position to deal?’
    â€˜Yes.’ I sat down at my desk, waving him to the chair opposite.
    â€˜So, you have heard from Miss Holland.’
    â€˜This morning.’
    â€˜Then perhaps you will inform me what figure I have to beat.’
    â€˜A high one,’ I said, wondering once again whether Tubby really wanted the collection at that price or if I should try to get him off the hook. But looking at Berners, I didn’t think I could. He was so obviously a hard bargainer.
    He stared at me for a moment, his eyes coldly grey and very shrewd behind thick-lensed glasses. ‘How much?’
    â€˜Suppose you name a figure?’
    â€˜This is not an auction.’ His thin lips were compressed into a sour little smile, and he shook his head. ‘First, let me say that the value of this collection for anyone not specifically interested in the Solomons Seal label – and it is no more than that, you understand, it is not in any sense a postage stamp …’ He hesitated. ‘The value is perhaps one thousand pounds. That is, to a dealer.’
    Allowing for the fact that he was pitching it as low as possible, it was close enough to Tubby’s valuation to make nonsense of his subsequent offer. I said, ‘But you are interested. So what is your offer?’
    He shook his head, still with that sour little smile. ‘I don’t make any offer until I know how much I have to beat. I think in fairness to your client, to Miss Holland, you have to tell me that. You say it is high.’
    â€˜Very high,’ I told him.
    â€˜Higher than one thousand pounds?’
    â€˜Much higher.’
    He frowned, his hand moving