Skylark by Sheila Simonson Page B

two apiece. Ann began reading hers. I scanned the account of the
burglary and decided it was accurate, though it didn't sound quite like me. I signed it then read
through the second account, visualizing what had happened. When I surfaced I found Ann and
Thorne looking at me.
    I lowered the stiff narrative to my lap and met Thorne's eyes. "There's one thing I'd like
to add."
    His eyes narrowed.
    "On the way to our flat from the South Kensington station, I had Milos's papers
photocopied. I mailed the copies to my father last evening, before the burglary."
    His mouth opened then closed with a snap. He did not look pleased.
    I said doggedly, "I don't suppose that makes any difference to your investigation, but I
thought you ought to know."
    His eyebrows knotted. "Why did you copy them?"
    Good question. I paraphrased the disjointed rationalization I had given Ann the night
before, adding, "I can't shake the feeling that the thief was after those papers."
    "Where did you post them?"
    "At that post office on the Old Brompton Road--near the Tube station. I poked the parcel
through the out-going mail slot."
    "Too late for us to retrieve it," he said, more to himself than to me.
    "Why bother? You have the original document."
    He hesitated. "Mr. Vlaçek may feel you invaded his privacy."
    "He may. I'll apologize when I can talk to him. If he wants me to tell my father to burn
the papers unread I'll do that, too. There's plenty of time. Of course, we invaded Milos's privacy
when we gave the papers to you ."
    That was logical. He shifted gears. "What other information have you withheld, Mrs.
Dodge? Obstructing a police enquiry..."
    "I had no intention of hampering your investigation, Inspector. I wasn't sure the papers
were relevant. I'm still not sure."
    "Happen we'll find out," he said.
    Ann and I exchanged glances. She had listened to the dialog without comment, and I
thought she looked worried. I gave her a weak smile, though I didn't feel wonderfully confident
myself.
    Thorne took my amended statement out to a typist, who redid the last page in short
order. I signed. Thorne told us we should not leave town without letting him know. Though his
tone was not menacing and he showed us out himself, I could see that my little confession had
created doubts. I was sorry for that. I wished I could provide him with a clearer explanation. My
impulses often bewilder me, and photocopying those papers had been one of my weirder
moments.
    By that time I was starved as well as exhausted. I yearned to go home to the flat, fix a
sandwich, and take a long, long nap, but Ann was determined not to waste the afternoon. She
wanted to visit the National Gallery and stroll along Charing Cross Road to look at used
bookstores. I had meant to browse in the bookstores, too.
    One of my customers lusted after nineteenth century travel diaries. Though I dealt in
new books, I was slowly developing a book-search service. I had an appointment to talk to an
antique map dealer in Knightsbridge the next day, Friday, but it wouldn't hurt me to look for
diaries. I thought I might find some interesting oddities for my Christmas display, too. Besides, I
had not been to the National Gallery since I was ten.
    So we headed east. We had a quick lunch in the basement cafeteria and went on upstairs,
galloping past the Spanish masters and dawdling over the impressionists. Ann was awed, except
by Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" which she said was too brown. I wasn't unmoved myself.
    When you're with a person who is experiencing something for the first time, there's a
natural but not very nice tendency to want to come across as the bored sophisticate. Ann's
undisguised wonder provoked that kind of snobbery in me.
    I had been fortunate enough to visit England three times when I was a child, twice for
extended stays during my father's sabbatical leaves. I had also dashed through London as a
college student on my way to international basketball competitions. All the same, I didn't know
London