‘Mrs Bagg,’ said Mr Bagg, ‘is in bed and asleep which game to rouse her, I am not. No more would you be if you knew how she can shape up.’

‘But if your wife—’

‘Wife? Do me a favour! She’s my mum.’

‘Oh.’

As if to confirm the general trend of thought a female voice like a saw screamed from inside the cottage that its owner wanted to know what the hell Mr Bagg thought he was doing creating a nuisance in the middle of the night.

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Now, see what you done.’ He approached a window at the rear of the cottage and tapped on it. ‘It’s me,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s not the middle of the night, Mum, it’s early. It’s Mr Tillottson of the Police, Mum, and a gentleman friend. They was inquiring about them Yanks what bought that stuff.’

‘I can’t hear you. Police! Did you say Police? ‘Ere! Come round ‘ere this instant-moment, Jo Bagg, and explain yerself: Police.’

‘I better go,’ he said and re-entered the cottage.

‘The old lady,’ Mr Tillottson said, ‘is a wee bit difficult.’

‘So it would seem.’

‘They make out she’s nearly a hundred.’

‘But she’s got the stamina?’

‘My oath!’

The Baggs were in conversation beyond the window but at a subdued level and nothing could be made of it. When Mr Bagg reemerged he spoke in a whisper.

‘Do me a favour, gents,’ he whispered. ‘Move away.’

They withdrew into the shop and from thence to the front door.

‘She’s deaf,’ Mr Bagg said, ‘but there are times when you wouldn’t credit it. She don’t know anything about nothing but she worked it out that if this picture you mention is a valuable antique it’s been taken off us by false pretences and we ought to get it back.’

‘Oh.’

‘That’s the view she takes. And so,’ Mr Bagg added loyally, ‘do I. Now!’

‘I dare say you do,’ Mr Tillottson readily conceded. ‘Very natural. And she’s no ideas about how it got there?’

‘No more nor the Holy Saints in Heaven, and she’s a Catholic,’ Mr Bagg said unexpectedly.

‘Well, we’ll bid you goodnight, Jo. Unless Mr Alleyn has anything further?’

‘Not at the moment, thank you Mr Bagg.’

Mr Bagg wrenched open the front door to the inevitable screech which was at once echoed from the back bedroom.

‘You ask them Police,’ screamed old Mrs Bagg, ‘why they don’t do something about them motorbiking Beasts instead of making night hijjus on their own accounts.’

‘What motorbiking beasts?’ Alleyn suddenly yelled into the darkness.

‘You know. And if you don’t you ought to. Back-firing up and down the streets at all hours and hanging round up to no good. Jo! Show them out and get to bed.’

‘Yes, Mum.’