“Yes,” said Brett without enthusiasm. He was in no mood to be entertained by post-sales talk. Miss Cole had disappeared. He had done something which he was cross with himself for half regretting.

He stared gloomily across the shop. Through an arch he could see into another room, where three men were discussing some porcelain bowls which lay before them, and which at frequent intervals they lifted and tapped with their knuckles. The bowls gave forth pure, bell-like notes. Sometimes two were struck in quick succession, and the rooms throbbed to mellow tones or semitones. Ring out, ye crystall sphears, Once bless our human ears, thought Brett. This was the month, after all, and nearly the happy morn. And he could think of something else he’d like once to bless his ears. No information had greeted him this morning, no encouraging reports of unusual underworld activity, no dank Ivan fished from the canal. He hadn’t yet spoken to the Division; they, perhaps, would have unearthed a little of what he’d asked about, although they hadn’t had much time for probing.

With relief he took his receipt, managed a civil farewell to Mr. Emmanuel, and departed for a less luxurious sphere of operations.

* * *

Outside the divisional office he met Beddoes.

“I left early,” said he hastily, while Nightingale was still staring at him in silence. “I am all right. I told you I was last night. No one tried to stop me coming out, anyway.”

“No, I suppose you’ll pass,” said Nightingale, looking him up and down. “How’s the head?”

“Functioning quite normally, I think, thanks. Were you going in to see what they’ve got for you?”

“Yes. But as you’ve been before me I needn’t bother—I hope?”

Beddoes shook his head, and then flinched. “I’ll tell you. Where shall we go?”

“I’ll drive down to the car park and we can sit there in the car. I’ve a flask of coffee—you can have some if you like, but it’s black and sweetened and there’s only the flask cup to share with me.”

Beddoes was already making a face and noise such as small children often make when served with a helping of spinach.

“Good,” said Nightingale, “I can have it all. There wasn’t going to be much for two. Anyway, I expect it would have been bad for you.”

As he drove down the road he outlined his gleanings from Majendie. Beddoes received with his usual affectation of nonchalance the description of some of Princess Olga’s treasures; and Majendie’s valuation with a gesture of scepticism.