“Good God! The risk—”

“Wacey lives by risks. Of course he was careful, cagey. When he was sure you were ripe for it, he pointed out that it would be better to make sure of part than to lose the whole. He suggested you sell not the trunk, but the information of its existence, and share the money proceeding from its professional dispersal with whoever helped you to lay your hands on it. You fell. I expect he pretended he wasn’t interested for himself, and screwed a few pounds out of you as the price of passing the information to the right place. Anyway, he must have arranged a second meeting, probably not at the Oak Tree. Vanbrugh Street? Never mind. You went. He introduced a nameless friend, an interested party, whom you regaled with each beloved detail of the treasures. You explained the difficulties—her close watch on it, the bolted door open only to you or Mrs. Minelli. They were quite confident of finding a way round all that. You were to be in the clear. Everything would happen while you were at work. They fixed a date, a long time ahead, to give them time to organise. After the event you were to receive the first instalment of your money—what, fifty in advance?—but I expect they told you it was useless to stipulate for a definite final sum, as they couldn’t say how much they’d make. And in the circumstances you had to be content.”

“Honour among thieves, they say, I know,” said Majendie, “but it does seem to me that such a haphazard way of setting about a dangerous enterprise, such a lapse of time between promise and performance, would give rise to doubt—”

“Doubt! Ivan, you must have been exhausted by constant change of mood. Mostly you feared that they’d steal the trunk in their own time, leaving you helplessly cheated. And if nothing worse, you’d still lost the money you’d been induced to part with. But then you’d dream of the approaching liberation. The trunk gone, she’d have lost her sting. She could either stay in Bright’s and rot while you went off to better yourself, or come with you—on your terms, and with you holding the reins. What if she raved to the police? Who would believe that anything had existed outside her addled brain? Your sudden affluence? Lucky bets, accumulated savings—it would have been troublesome to disprove. But in fact, Ivan, you, and they, were in a false position from the start. There was someone who had—not seen—but received part of what was in the trunk. Mrs. Minelli. Your grandmother gave her an ikon and a brooch, long before you’d seen the treasures. But of course you knew nothing of that, so, in good time, you went to the doctor for sleeping tablets.”

“Hm! No cheaper, and certainly less anonymous, than a shillingsworth of aspirins from a strange chemist,” commented Majendie.