Bone Idle by Suzette Hill Page B

sleight of hand with the idols! Anyway, why wasn’t he at home in the diocese doing episcopal things in the Palace? What brought him up here, for God’s sake?
    I heard Claude’s thin tones directing him to the study where presumably the telephone was. A door shut and then my host re-entered the room. He looked peeved.
    ‘Clinker,’ he announced. ‘I suppose he’ll want to use the lavatory next! Anyone would think I was some sort of club or public facility. Haven’t seen the fellow for five years and now he suddenly takes it into his head to use my telephone. Typical of Horace – always did take liberties! … Did you know he was up in London?’ (Said in slightly accusing tones.)
    I cleared my throat nervously. ‘Absolutely not,’ I replied. ‘Rather a coincidence!’
    ‘Oh well,’ he observed scathingly ‘we shall just have to put a brave face on things.’
    ‘Ah, that’s lucky!’ the bishop’s voice boomed from the doorway. ‘Actually managed to get through. Thanks, Claude, saved my bacon! I –’ He suddenly saw me, broke off and recoiled. ‘Good God, Oughterard, what are you doing here!’
    I was about to mumble something about just passing, when Claude said pointedly, ‘Francis and I have had a most restful luncheon and I was about to show him my rampant pig.’
    ‘Show him your what ?’
    ‘My Poona pig.’
    Clinker looked startled and said cautiously, ‘A pig, eh? Where do you keep it?’
    ‘Well, it’s rather precious, so I prefer to house it in the study – too public in here.’
    ‘I see,’ said Clinker slowly. ‘I, er, don’t think I saw it …’
    ‘Probably not,’ replied Claude carelessly, ‘after all, it’s not everyone who would recognize the Beano Pig, and of course it’s quite small so –’
    ‘Oh,’ cried Clinker, relief and recognition dawning, ‘you mean you got it out of the Beano ! I remember. Wonderful little creatures! Mind you, it was three weeks’ pocket money plus four tokens, but well worth it. So you’ve still got yours, have you? Lost mine years ago. Well, I never!’ And he laughed loud and long. Claude did not.
    ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Horace,’ he replied stiffly. ‘Suffice it to say, I did not get this remarkable objet d’art out of some comic! Fortunately Francis is a connoisseur in these matters. You evidently are not.’
    To give Clinker his due he was quite unfazed. ‘Sorry, old chap. Put my trotter in it there, didn’t I!’ And he let out another bellow of mirth.
    Claude Blenkinsop raised his eyes to the ceiling, sighed heavily, and between what I took to be gritted teeth said, ‘Well, Horace, since you are here and are obviously in need of some enlightenment perhaps you would like to see the item in question.’ And so saying, he herded the two of us out of the drawing room and into the study.
    Unlike the tiny dining room this was surprisingly spacious. It had the same elegance as the rest of the flat, but apart from a large roll-top desk and a couple of bookcases, was largely taken up with display cabinets and a vitrine table. Gesturing towards the latter, he turned to me and said, ‘At least you , Francis, will recognize my treasure!’
    I did indeed, and was rapidly working out how on earth I should manage to make the switch. It hadn’t occurred to me that the thing might be kept under glass – a detail that Nicholas had helpfully omitted to mention. Clinker’s presence was also a dratted encumbrance. However, I made all the right noises and peered closely at the glass top, trying as it were to get a closer look.
    ‘Just a moment,’ murmured the proud owner, ‘I’ll take it out.’ And touching a knob at the side he slid back the glass panel, took out the little pig and placed it on a side table.
    ‘I like the green eyes,’ observed Clinker appreciatively. ‘Do they glow in the dark?’
    ‘Certainly not,’ snapped Claude. ‘It’s not a lighthouse, you know!’
    ‘May I pick it up?’ I