Clare reached down into her bag, withdrew her laptop and started it up. Margaret sat silently, hands folded neatly together in her lap, waiting for Clare to find what she was looking for. When Clare turned the laptop screen round to show her, Margaret was confronted with the image of what gave every indication of being an Iron Age sword.

‘May I?’

Clare nodded, and Margaret took hold of the laptop, holding the screen out in front of her so that she could see the image more clearly. She placed the machine on her lap and adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of her nose to allow her to read the text that accompanied the image, mouthing the word ‘Bailsgrove’ as she did so.

Looking up from the screen, she let out a long sigh. ‘Oh Lord, Clare, this is serious!’

‘Quite. And there are more of them, all claiming to be from Bailsgrove. I’d be really grateful if you could take a look at the website for me and see what you make of them.’

Back in her office thirty minutes later and having partaken of her afternoon pick-me-up of a cup of Assam with just a splash of Irish whiskey, Margaret looked up from the laptop and across her desk to where Clare sat patiently, sipping her unadulterated coffee, waiting for Margaret to deliver her verdict. ‘Well, I think you’re right, Clare. They definitely all look Iron Age to me. How did you find them?’

‘A local resident, Sheila Foggarty, tipped me off.’

‘That was good of her. It’s a welcome change to see some of the members of the Great British public taking an active interest in their heritage for once.’

‘I’m not entirely sure that was her only motive. She’s a parish councillor and made it very clear that she’s opposed to the housing development.’

‘Well, whatever her motives, she seems to have done us a favour in bringing this to our attention. I can see why you’re worried, Clare, but what I don’t understand is why you don’t want David to know about this. I really think you should tell him. After all, he’s ultimately responsible for the institute.’

Clare put down her coffee cup and straightened up in her chair. ‘Oh, I’ve already told him.’

‘Then I don’t understand; why all the secrecy?’

‘He told me I should leave it to the police.’

Margaret smiled. ‘Well, he’s got a point. If this is the work of nighthawks we’re in dangerous territory here. You need to report it.’

‘The thing is, I have. And they weren’t interested. They said there was nothing they could do unless there was some actual evidence that anything had been stolen from our site.’