Enter Pale Death by Barbara Cleverly

flea in his ear, a kick up the derrière. Why wasn’t heshowing him the door? He recognised that he’d been captivated by a mystery, charmed by an ancient beauty and caught once again on the hook of the man’s ambition. All that, he could have resisted. No—more important—he was unable to turn down the chance of digging up more information on this unknown who threatened so much that was dear to him. Information Joe might store away and use to his advantage, should it ever become necessary. The more scurrilous, the better. Would that amount to blackmail? He rather thought it would. Perhaps, after all these years and all the bad examples, he was learning a lesson from Dorcas. She would have called it “taking sensible precautions against disappointment.”
    “It’s a personal matter,” Truelove had announced.
    “Too right!” Joe growled silently. But he heard himself saying: “I’ll see what I can do. I shall need to know your upper limit.” Truelove smiled in satisfaction. “Good man! Tell me—how are you planning to …?”
    “Don’t concern yourself. I’ll just say—no need for clanking handcuffs or police whistles. There are quieter ways.”
    “Ah! A touch of your sophisticated shenanigans? I can see I’ve come to the right shop! Oh, there is one thing more. I’m making it quite clear to the management that in the event of a successful bid I want possession of the goods at once. They are to hand them straight over to you after the sale. There won’t be a problem—I’ve dealt with them many times before. They’re aware of my impatient nature. I’ll collect the goods from your front desk. I’m assuming the front desk of Scotland Yard is a reasonably secure place to leave a pair of miniatures?”
    “More secure, apparently, than your country seat, Sir James. Melsett, would that be?”
    W HEN HIS GUEST had completed his briefing and left, Joe telephoned down to the inspector on reception. “Well, thanks forthat, Hawkins! What a treat you sent me! Look, I’m going to have to cancel the rest of my morning and my lunch hour. I shall be back at my desk at two o’clock, should the Prime Minister decide to pop in for a chat.”
    He went to stand by his open window, breathing in lungfuls of air freshly filtered by the stout London planes below him until he felt calmer. The future Minister for Law and Order had just told him two whopping lies. He was only aware of two, it could well be more. The portraits? A smokescreen, a glittering diversion, Joe was quite certain. The man was clearly spending too much time at Wilton’s Music Hall. Joe grinned evilly. His lordship wasn’t to know how many hours his pet plod had spent in the line of duty, watching magic acts from the wings of seedy theatres in Soho. Joe knew all the tricks.

CHAPTER 3
    With a hasty glance at his watch, Joe rang for his secretary and warned Miss Sturdy that he was going out and wouldn’t be back until after lunch. He took the time to make one or two phone calls himself to cancel the rest of his engagements and spent a further five minutes studying the catalogue Truelove had left with him. Only then did he ask to be put through to the Art Investigations Department for a consultation with its head, Superintendent Pearce.
    A little reassured by what Pearce had to say, Joe prepared himself to take advantage of the advertised viewing time. One day before the actual sale, he reckoned he had probably missed the most fruitful moment to make his appearance, but he had to work with what he’d been given. He might not be lucky enough to be caught showing an interest by that smooth villain Despond himself—a busy boy like him was hardly likely to stick around personally in the sale-room for the whole week—but he would have his spies out at all times, observing and noting the names of anyone paying more than passing attention to any item he’d marked down for himself. Comment and gossip to the point of hysteria were rife in this world, and