‘Is there nothing the rightful owners can do about that?’ asked Marjorie.

‘Not a lot,’ said Beth, ‘while the authorities in those countries refuse even to acknowledge their claims. And they certainly wouldn’t loan a looted work to an exhibition in a country where a civil action could be brought against them.’

‘The Russians can’t be the only culprits,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Hermann Göring assembled one of the finest private collections of old masters on earth, and I can’t believe they’ve all been returned to their rightful owners.’

‘Some of them have, but not too many. Most travelled east, not west, after the war. Don’t forget the Red Army made it to Berlin before the Allies. So if you want to see those pictures they picked up on the way, you’ll need a visa.’

‘What about England?’ asked Marjorie. ‘Are there any paintings of dubious heritage hanging in our leading galleries?’

‘Oh yes,’ said William. ‘Three of the Fitzmolean’s finest works were donated by a well-known criminal.’

‘On permanent loan by his generous widow,’ insisted Beth.

‘Who’s almost as bad as her late husband,’ said William, ‘and if he is still alive, you can be sure Booth Watson will find a way of turning permanent into temporary.’

‘Evidence?’ demanded Sir Julian, tugging the lapels of his jacket.

‘Christina Faulkner is represented by none other than Mr Booth Watson QC.’

‘Not exactly proof, but …’

‘Children, children,’ said Marjorie. ‘Desist.’

‘Then there’s my biggest problem,’ continued Beth, ‘which may prove insurmountable.’

‘The bottom line, no doubt,’ said Sir Julian.

‘Exactly. You need to have at least sixty or seventy major works on display to be reasonably confident of good reviews from the critics who in turn will entice the public to visit in sufficient numbers, which in our case is a footfall of around ten thousand a week. Otherwise the gallery could actually end up out of pocket, as my boss continually reminds me.’

‘Speaking of Tim Knox,’ said Sir Julian. ‘There’s a rumour doing the rounds that he’s going to be offered the post as Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures.’

‘Let’s hope it’s only a rumour,’ said Beth, ‘because he’d be difficult to replace.’

‘Does the Royal Collection have any Hals?’ asked Marjorie, remaining on track.

‘Three,’ said Beth. ‘And HM is always very generous when it comes to requests from public galleries.’

‘I can’t wait to see the exhibition,’ said Marjorie.

‘You’ll both be invited to the opening night,’ promised Beth. ‘And now, despite Marjorie’s misgivings, I’d like to hear about Julian’s latest case.’

‘Do you have an hour to spare?’ said Sir Julian.

‘Get on with it,’ said his wife.

Sir Julian sat back, and paused for a moment before delivering the single word, ‘Fraud.’ He waited for as long as he felt he could get away with before adding, ‘I shall be appearing on behalf of the Crown to prosecute a particularly devious and cunning individual who’s been fronting a charity that rescues donkeys which have been ill-treated by their owners.’