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Conradda paused as though to allow Dame Beatrice to comment, but all she heard from the other end was:

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Do you think anybody can tap this line?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes, quite alone. The servants are in the kitchen and Laura is in the dining-room finishing her breakfast.’

‘Good. I shall speak quietly, like this. Are you able to hear?’

‘Perfectly. You are making my flesh creep.’

‘So mine when I saw what was shown me. You know that I have made a special study of ceramics?’

‘I noticed that you were careful not to say so when we were at Basil Honfleur’s house.’

‘It does not do to say too much. Dame Beatrice, I was shown such articles as nobody unknown to the trade could have come by honestly. There was T’ang, there was Famille Rose of Ch’ien Lung period, there was enamelled porcelain of Chia Ching period, Famille Verte of K’ang Hsi period, painted stoneware of Sung dynasty. I have seen nothing like it outside a museum or perhaps the very best of private collections. It is fabulous.’

‘Why could it not have been come by honestly?’

‘Because I have seen descriptions very like some of these pieces before. You know where? In the lists the police issue to people in my line of business. Of course I shall not split on him because I do not want to cause trouble. Also I have not time to spare in police courts.’

‘But, my dear Miss Mendel, if you are sure these things are stolen, you might be in trouble yourself if you do not report your findings.’

‘I shall say nothing. I do not wish to get my throat cut. That Vittorio is an assassin. All I say to you is this: however nice a price he asks you, do not buy.’

CHAPTER 2

The Missing Coach-Drivers

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Almost a year went by before Dame Beatrice saw Basil Honfleur again, and when she did the meeting was neither of his seeking nor of hers, although both consented to its taking place.

As for the Jewish antique-dealer, she had telephoned again just after Christmas to say that she had sold both her shops and was going to America.

‘I suppose when she knew she’d been shown some pretty hot goods,’ said Laura, ‘she was in a bit of a flap, especially as she didn’t intend to go to the police.

‘You don’t think she bought the stuff from Vittorio at a reasonable figure and took it to America with her?’

‘Your imagination, as usual, is running away with you. If she recognised some of the pieces, possibly others would be able to do so. I hardly think it would be worth the risk. The receivers of stolen goods, knowing them to have been stolen, face heavy penalties if they are found out, you know, and Miss Mendel is not a foolish or a reckless woman.’

‘Would it be easy to take the contents of high-class antique shops out of the country?’

‘I do not think she has attempted to do that. I gather that she sold all her business interests over here before she left, and that, I imagine, would include the stock. But to matters of greater moment: what did you make of the letter from the chairman of County Motors which came by this morning’s post?’

‘A cry from the heart. Honfleur’s bosses, aren’t they? Are you dipping into the affair? They certainly want your help.’

‘I had better go and see them and find out more about the matter. It sounds interesting.’

‘Do I accompany you?’

‘No, George will take me. When the interview is over I shall come straight back here unless there is any good reason for my remaining, but I really cannot imagine what the motor-coach company thinks I can do in an affair of this sort. It is a case for the police.’

As a result of a telephone call to the chairman, who had written from his private address, Dame Beatrice found herself once again confronting Basil Honfleur, this time in his office from which he worked out the schedules and appointed the drivers for his branch of County Motors. It was what might be called the mother house of the coach company and his job was a good one. He had to report at board meetings, but otherwise he was his own master and enjoyed almost unlimited freedom, except from responsibility.

He greeted Dame Beatrice cordially and said that he was glad to see her.

‘It’s these missing drivers of ours,’ he went on, when they were seated. ‘A most mysterious business. We can’t think what can have happened to them.’

‘No, indeed,’ Dame Beatrice agreed. ‘All the same, if I may invoke the formidable shade of Lady Bracknell and reiterate her concise opinion on such matters, to lose one driver may be a misfortune; to lose two looks like carelessness. I suppose your directors have informed the police?’

‘Yes, of course, but you know what the police are! Report a missing child and they’ll turn on the whole works – dog-handlers, walkie-talkies, make life hell for every male in the neighbourhood, drag every river, canal, gravel-pit and dirty pond in the area and set a whole squad of flatties to search woods and beat bushes. Report a missing man, particularly if he’s married and the father of a family, and what do they do? Look at you as though you need to have your head examined and ask whether you know how many men go missing from their homes every year and are never traced.’

‘A fair enough question, of course. There comes a time in most men’s lives when they sicken of the trivial round, the common task, and yearn to explore fresh woods and pastures new.’

‘The police seem to think these men don’t want to be found.’

‘The police may well be right. They so often are right in matters which fall within their vast experience.’

‘You mean you’re not interested? The directors did hope you might be. They say they could believe that one of our steady, respectable fellows had felt the urge to cut loose and go missing, but that I must surely admit that for two of them to go off within the space of four weeks, and apparently vanish without trace, does take a bit of swallowing. They say even the police admit that and so, I suppose, do I.’

‘Oh, I admit it, too, but there is an aspect of the matter which no doubt the police have touched on.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, it seems to me that your drivers are in almost a unique position, even more so than sailors or commercial travellers. There they are, under no official supervision once the tour leaves the depot. They have a suitcase already packed, money in their pockets and anything from five days to a fortnight, I suppose, in which to put their plans into operation.’

‘I think that’s an exaggerated view of the amount of freedom they have. Hotel managers, for example, would soon be on the blower to us if a coach failed to arrive on the appointed day.’

‘Ah, yes, of course. To turn to another aspect, I suppose your men are happy in their work?’

‘Happy? I don’t see why they shouldn’t be. We’re a subsidiary of the bus company, you know, and we recruit our men from among their drivers. It’s a promotion for those whom we employ. The pay is better and the conditions are excellent. Then, of course, there are the perks.’

‘The perks?’

‘The drivers put up at the same hotels as the passengers and get the same food. At the end of each tour most of the passengers put something into the hat and when you consider that we run the tours from the end of April to the middle of October, these tips can amount to something pretty substantial. It’s not a job that chaps would chuck up without a jolly good reason, I can tell you.’

‘I see. No wonder the defection of two of these fortunate men has upset and perplexed the directors. I should be interested to hear more. Begin at the beginning, if you will. I am intrigued by what you tell me. How does it all start? What happens after the middle of October, I mean?’