Mr. Majendie frowned, and put the tips of his fingers together. “Yes—but it’s very difficult—a treasure, certainly, especially to a lover of all forms of jewellery. But much of it, you see, would not have found a ready buyer—it belonged to an awkward period, not yet restored to grace by the turn of taste and fashion. Most of the pieces would have had to be broken up for the sake of the gems, and even then, a great number of those were rose diamonds, for which there’s almost no demand in modern jewellery. Again, some of the pieces were silver set—and silver, you know, has quite lost to platinum and palladium. So when I spoke of a considerable undertaking, and the need to consult my partners, you must realise that it was in the sense of responsibility.” Mr. Majendie leaned forward to poke the fire.

“Oh. You had no misgivings, afterwards, of the Princess’s ability to keep her property safe? Perhaps if you had set a security officer to watch—”

“But my dear sir,” objected Mr. Majendie in great surprise, “the trunk and its contents had not yet become our property. The firm, I am happy to say, was in no way dependent on the sale. Why should we have troubled?”

“I see,” said Nightingale. He rose. “Thank you very much for your help. I’m sorry I had to call so late in the evening.”

“Not at all, not at all. How pleasant, if duty were always so agreeable. Now if, tomorrow, I should be called out—I don’t anticipate, but at Christmas one must be prepared for anything—I’ll leave the list with my secretary, tell her to hand it to you personally.”

“Your secretary—not the girl who sits on the waste site in fine weather?”

“No, no, dear me, no! That’s Miss Cole, our youngest member of staff—came to us just over a year ago, straight from school. Charming girl, charming. So agile—hockey, you know, lacrosse. Only the other day someone knocked a Chaffers off a shelf—underneath were some pieces of faience brought in from Sotheby’s, a most interesting pair of Strasbourg pigeon tureens. If you had seen Miss Cole move! Lightning, sir, positively lightning! Wonderful save. You frequent Fitch Street?”

Nightingale, who was wondering what a Chaffers might be, collected himself. “I’ve bought records from the shop next to yours,” he said.

Mr. Majendie’s face could not, probably would not, have altered more profoundly if Nightingale had uttered an abrupt obscenity. Nightingale decided to pursue the subject a little.

“I drove along Fitch Street this evening,” he said. “I see from a notice they’ve put up that they’re to extend their premises to that site.” It occurred to him that Majendie’s apparent dislike of the gramophone shop might be prompted by resentment at their having acquired a coveted space. “What used to stand there?”