Professor Chilmark was silent for some moments.
‘Yes,’ he said at last, ‘I think it’s quite possible. I had a look at the cathedral three years ago, and found it disappointing. It was very dark, and had a rather dusty derelict appearance, as if it had been left high and dry by the decline of traditional religious observance. Lecci is not a well-known painter, and only a comparatively few people would take the trouble to hunt down one his pictures in the artistic embarras de richesse in that part of the world.’ He broke off and looked at Pollard. ‘I’ve no right at all to ask you this question, but what steps are you proposing to take in view of this link-up with Portrova?’
‘It seems to me,’ Pollard replied, ‘that the significance — if any — of the Portrova link-up will be settled by the lab verdict on the Wellchester picture. I shall drive down to fetch it tomorrow and get it to the fake experts by the early afternoon. If it turns out to be the real thing, my next step will be to see my AC. I suppose in this case it might be difficult and pretty time-consuming to get the co-operation of the Italian authorities?’
‘It certainly could be. But as it happens, the Regional Director in charge of the monuments and art treasures generally in the area is a personal friend of mine.’
The two men looked at each other. Pollard grinned.
‘If you’re free after lunch tomorrow by any chance,’ he said, ‘would you care to come along to the Yard?’
Twenty hours later, in the secluded clinical atmosphere of a forensic laboratory at New Scotland Yard, Pollard found himself marginal to a small group of absorbed technicians closely watched by Professor Chilmark. ‘Flight into Egypt’, duly collected from Wellchester police station that morning, was being subjected to systematic testing to establish its approximate age and history. It was photographed with elaborate cameras, some incorporating microscopes. It was X-rayed. After lengthy discussion a minute quantity of solvent was applied to its bottom left-hand corner.
At this point Professor Chilmark detached himself from the group and came over to Pollard, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.
‘Not a doubt in the world,’ he told him. ‘It’s genuine early-eighteenth-century apart from the faked label on the back with old Gilmore’s particulars. They’re doing the full run of tests for the record, though. It’ll be about another hour, I should think.’
Pollard nodded.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Here we go, then. I’ll go on to the AC.’
He returned to the laboratory after a time and reported that the Assistant Commissioner would expect them at five o’clock.
‘By the way,’ he added, ‘the AC’s another of you people who are hooked on detective novels...’
The meeting, as Pollard told Jane later, went like a bomb from the word go. Professor Chilmark’s presence had saved him from the usual comments about fancy cases with cloak and dagger touches. He had managed to get his substitution theory and the Portrova link across with just the right degree of conciseness.
‘Good story, don’t you think, sir?’ Professor Chilmark had asked helpfully. ‘Better plot than a good many on my own shelves.’
A literary diversion had followed, enjoyed by both participants, and the AC had surfaced from it reluctantly.
‘Well, I suppose we’d better get down to the matter in hand,’ he said. ‘I understand from Superintendent Pollard, Professor, that you’ve offered to go out to Portrova and pull a few wires. We’ll pay all your expenses, of course. It’s obviously essential to find out what’s hanging in the cathedral as a genuine Lecci.’
After a short discussion it was arranged that Professor Chilmark should fly out to Milan on the following Wednesday. The AC turned to Pollard.
‘You say you want to return to Wellchester and deal with various loose ends?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. If it turns out that the painting at Portrova is the copy of Lecci’s original by Malcolm Gilmore’s great-uncle, or a more modern fake, there seem to me to be three matters that we’d have to clear up before making a charge.’
‘One presumably — assuming that a substitution of pictures has taken place — is why the hell Gilmore allowed the original to go to this “Pictures for Pleasure” show.’
‘Exactly, sir. A second one is finding out if Gilmore or Rossiter or both were abroad in early June last year. The third is to discover how Rossiter got into both Fairlynch Manor itself and the library on the night of Francis Peck’s death. It seems fairly obvious that Gilmore distracted Peck’s attention somehow, but at the moment there’s no proof of how he managed it.’
‘Well, I suppose you’d better go down and get these points cleared up, then,’ the AC commented unenthusiastically. ‘The sooner the better, that’s all. Then the case can go into cold storage until Professor Chilmark gets back. I imagine you’ll be in Italy for at least a week, Professor? It’s extremely good of you take this on for us.’
In reply Professor Chilmark was cautiously optimistic about the duration and outcome of his mission, and promised to keep in close touch.
Chapter 11
‘You wouldn’t have thought it was worth it,’ Jane Pollard said suddenly in the middle of supper on Tuesday evening. ‘For Rossiter and Gilmore, I mean. All the planning and the risk and the worry. It’s not as though the Lecci is all that valuable. Wouldn’t it have been pinched from Portrove cathedral by now if it was?’
‘Probably,’ Pollard replied, absently fiddling with a spare fork. ‘You’re right about the cash aspect. Chilmark thinks that twenty thousand would be the absolute maximum they could hope to net in the States. Ten thousand apiece tax-free’s nice and handy, but not exactly a fortune these days. Personally, having met the two blokes and picked up quite a bit about them, I don’t believe they were in it simply for the money. ’
‘So what, then?’ Jane asked.
Pollard was silent for a moment and then looked up at her with a grin.
‘The substitution idea was pure inspiration, you know. Brilliant, challenging and risky. Right up a chap like Rossiter’s street. Enormous fun to pull off, nobody much the worse, and the Lecci much better looked after in some rich and not too scrupulous art lover’s private collection. No violence or unpleasantness involved. Julian turning up at the critical moment and the Peck disaster couldn’t possibly have been foreseen.’
‘How do you suppose Rossiter got on to the original Lecci? Was he looking for it?’
‘I think the odds are that it was pure chance. He goes on painting trips to Italy, and could have landed up in Portrova. It would have been the natural thing for an artist to take a look round the galleries and churches. Artists have good visual memories, and if he spotted the Lecci he’d have been struck by the resemblance to the Gilmore version. He’d consult a reputable guide book, vet the painting unobtrusively and come to the conclusion that it was the original copied by Great-uncle Gilmore. He’s a quick thinker and wouldn’t have taken long to see the possibilities of a swap, especially after observing the rather casual cathedral routine.’
‘What about Gilmore? Has he got the same sort of mental make-up?’
‘He hasn’t anything like Rossiter’s imagination and reckless streak, but he’s a very competent bloke. I should expect the meticulous organisation behind the actual theft to be largely his contribution. He’s got a bit of a one-track mind, too, and single-mindedness is a help to anybody planning a criminal enterprise. There’s an outsize chip on his shoulder about official interference with profitmaking in private enterprise. Scooping a cool ten thou tax-free would appeal to him immensely, as well as dodging the art export licence people.’
They sat in silence for a few moments.
‘But would it be possible to prove that Rossiter and Gilmore were in the Portrova area at the time Julian was set on? It’s nearly a year ago now,’ Jane queried.
‘With reasonable luck, yes,’ Pollard replied. ‘If Chilmark is satisfied that the painting now in the cathedral isn’t the original Lecci, he’s going to get the authori
ties on to hotel registration records. Proprietors are careful about passports and so on. But even if we can establish that the two chaps were within a reasonable distance of Portrova at the time, we’re far from home and dry, as the AC won’t hesitate to point out.’
There was another silence.
‘I still think Rossiter and Gilmore were absolutely mad to do it,’ Jane said emphatically. ‘Especially Gilmore: he’s got so much more to lose. You can go on painting when you come out of jail, but certainly not running a firm, even if you’d built it up yourself.’
Pollard agreed, yawning and stretching.
‘Roll on, news from Portrova,’ he said. ‘It all depends on old Chilmark’s findings.’
On the road to Wellchester the next morning, Toye expressed reservations about Professor Chilmark’s trip to Portrova. He commented on amateurs who fancied themselves bringing home the bacon and asked leading questions about the next move.
‘We’ll start,’ Pollard replied, secretly amused, ‘by making Maynard and Rendell do a spot of can-carrying. They can find out if Rossiter and Gilmore were away in early June last year. It’s the sort of thing it’s much easier for the local chaps to bring conversations round to. If you and I start ferreting about, people will start talking, and ten to one it’ll get back to Rossiter and Gilmore. It doesn’t do to underestimate those two, you know.’
‘Escape routes lined up?’ Toye asked.
‘Yes, and plenty of ready cash at the end of the road... As to what we do next, I honestly don’t know at the moment, old chap. Wait Micawberishly for something to turn up, perhaps.’
‘In and out you get a real stroke of luck,’ the habitually cautious Toye remarked unexpectedly, sweeping ahead of a Jaguar into the fast lane of the M4. ‘Something you’ve never thought of in the way of a lead.’
Touched by this blatant attempt at encouragement, Pollard responded by reminiscing on bonanzas of this sort in some of their former cases.
At Wellchester Superintendent Maynard and Inspector Rendell reacted predictably. At first they were openly incredulous that two well-known local figures of the standing of Hugo Rossiter and Malcolm Gilmore could possibly be implicated in a serious crime. As Pollard put the facts before them, however, they unwillingly came round to admitting that a case against the pair was taking shape, and undertook to have enquiries made about their whereabouts in June 1977.
‘I don’t say we can do it at the drop of a hat,’ Superintendent Maynard told them. ‘Gilmore won’t be much of a problem with all his employees, but Rossiter’s more of a loner, and often off painting. Still, we’ll do what we can.’
As he came out of the police station with Toye, Pollard made a sudden decision.
‘Let’s go out to Fairlynch and poke about,’ he said. ‘If Rossiter did the job, he left his car somewhere near the Manor, and we’ve got to find out where. It’s as simple as that.’
On arriving they realised that a normal open afternoon was in full swing, with a surprising number of cars in the car park. Toye remarked that any sort of publicity paid off from the look of it. They returned to the drive and walked up to the house. As they arrived on the upper terrace the front door opened and a man of about forty came out, carrying some papers. He paused on seeing them, and Pollard raised his hat.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘Are you the acting Warden, by any chance?’ and introduced Toye and himself.
‘David Harrow,’ the man replied. ‘I’ve been sent down from HQ to hold the fort until a new Warden’s appointed.’ He had a pleasant sensible face, and hesitated briefly. ‘As a matter of fact I’m glad I’ve run into you. I’ve been debating trying to contact you. Could you spare a few minutes?’
‘Certainly,’ Pollard replied, inexplicably conscious of a faint tingle of excitement in the region of his spine. ‘If you can help us in any way we’ll be grateful.’
As they followed David Harrow into the house and up the staircase to the Warden’s office he raised an eyebrow at Toye.
Facing them across a desk, David Harrow showed signs of diffidence.
‘I’m probably wasting your time,’ he said. ‘I expect you get a lot of that from the public. But anyway, something that seems decidedly odd to me has happened, so here goes.’
As he spoke he stooped, opened a drawer in the desk, and extracted a large manila envelope. It contained a yellow folder of papers. The folder was stained with what looked like mud, and was stamped with the words GILMORE CONSTRUCTIONS LIMITED.
Pollard realised that he was holding his breath.
‘I must explain,’ David Harrow went on, ‘that Heritage is considering converting part of the stable block into a tea room, and these people —’ he tapped the folder — ‘who are doing the alterations and so on here were asked for plans and an estimate. I’m due to take them up to the Finance Committee on Friday, so this morning I thought I’d better have a look at them and found them in this mess. I asked Mrs Peck if there was a duplicate set and she was simply baffled by the whole thing. It seems they arrived by post on the morning of Friday, April the first, and she and her husband went through them in detail that evening. She would have been in charge of the tea room, so naturally she was interested. It so happened that she came in here when her husband was putting them away and he made some remark about not having to think about them again until the meeting. I didn’t want to bother her, so I said Mr Peck must have had them out to show somebody on the Saturday afternoon, and gone over to the stables and accidentally dropped the folder in the yard. I also said I’d ring Gilmore Constructions and ask for another set.’
‘And have you?’ Pollard asked.
‘Well no, actually. Not yet. Somehow I felt that there was something off-beat about it. You see, the tea room idea isn’t public property, and Mr Peck was a most correct and discreet chap. And it isn’t as though the situation here has been normal. So I thought I’d pass the buck, just on chance,’ David Harrow ended rather lamely.
‘I think it’s possible that your instinct’s been sound,’ Pollard said, ‘and we’re glad to know about this matter. I’d like you now to do two things. First of all, hand over the folder to us for the moment. Inspector Toye will make out a receipt for it. Secondly, ring up Gilmore Constructions and ask for a duplicate. You’re in a good position to say that you’ve hardly had time to get on top of things here yet, and the original set seems to have been mislaid. Perfectly convincing, and they are bound to have duplicates. And one more thing: I’d rather that this affair didn’t leak out. You’ll understand that I can’t be more explicit at the moment.’
David Harrow grinned.
‘It’s desperately tantalising, but I take your point, of course.’
On leaving the Manor shortly afterwards, they returned to the car.
‘So what?’ Pollard said, when they were ensconced. ‘For the first time we’ve got a possible link between Gilmore and Rossiter’s getting into the Manor. It would have been perfectly normal — after Alix had been dropped at the lodge — for Gilmore to have asked Peck if he could have a quick look at the estimate about some point, or other. Peck would say that he’d go up to his office and get the folder if Gilmore would come in for a moment. Let’s assume that Rossiter has managed to beat them to it, and is hiding round the side of the house. When Peck has gone upstairs, Gilmore opens the front door and lets him in.’
‘Where’d he go?’ Toye demanded. ‘There’s no cover in the hall?’
‘If I’d been Gilmore,’ Pollard said slowly, ‘I’d have asked Peck to let me have the key to the library for a moment to see if Lydia had left her pen there when she wrote a cheque for that appalling picture in the afternoon. As soon as Rossiter was safely inside I’d come out again, with a pen I’d brought in my pocket, slam the door, lock it noisily, unlock it quietly and meet Peck in the hall, saying I’d locked up again. How’s that? Don’t tell me there’s no supporting evidence at the moment. I know that. But is it logically sound?’
Toye was silent, carefully appra
ising the ideas put forward.
‘I’d say it’s logically sound,’ he said at last, ‘but not psychologically.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Well, we keep on hearing about Peck being so careful about security. Seems to me he’d have tried the library door to make sure that Gilmore had locked up properly.’
Pollard looked at his serious face with amusement.
‘Haven’t you ever felt a bit blurred after a good evening out, old man? The Gilmores do themselves pretty well from all accounts, and even young Alix admitted coyly to having had a few drinks. And don’t forget that Peck had had the whale of a day.’
Toye reluctantly admitted that there could be a point there.
‘Suppose he had tried the door and found it wasn’t locked? There was the risk of Rossiter being locked in.’
‘Pity it didn’t work out that way. Peck would be alive now. Rossiter could have monkeyed about with the Ridley portrait, and then sloped off out of one of the windows with the five pictures. No risk, really... Look, there aren’t many people here now. Nip up and get a sample of any mud and earth you can find near the front door, and we’ll get that folder tested at Wellchester.’
Toye collected a couple of sterilised containers and a palette knife from a case.
‘I wonder how he came to drop the thing,’ he said.
‘He’d have come out to see Gilmore off in his car, probably still holding the folder and his keys. It was a windy night, remember. That keeps cropping up, doesn’t it? I think it’s quite possible that Peck had to make a grab at the front door when he opened it to go in again, and dropped the folder then. Gilmore would have driven away knowing nothing about it.’
Toye went off, and Pollard sat on in the Rover, his thoughts on Hugo Rossiter’s return from the party at Weatherwise Farm. Quite suddenly he found himself acutely conscious of his own immediate surroundings, and contemplated the car park in some surprise. Then he remembered Toye’s suggestion that the chap they were after might have parked there, well out of sight of the Pecks’ windows, and used the car for his get-away during the night, coasting down the drive and out on to the road in neutral. The idea had been discarded on the strength of Tom Basing’s statement that the car park was empty when he cut through it on his way home, after paying in his takings for the sale of plants during the afternoon. But suppose Hugo Rossiter had driven straight to it on leaving the Gilmores, and cut up the steps leading from the ticket office to the upper terrace? That would have been the easiest way of getting there before the Gilmore car arrived. But wouldn’t Mrs Ridley have heard Rossiter’s car go past the lodge? It was a difficult turn into the drive for anyone coming from the Weatherwise Farm direction, and one which would almost certainly have involved changing down...
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