Margaret said, ‘I’m a serious collector. A very serious collector. And I’m willing to pay very highly for exactly what I want. I really don’t have the slightest interest in how you came by these pieces. If I did, do you really suppose I would have agreed to meet you in a car park in the middle of nowhere? But as I say, I am a serious collector. And, like all collectors of any note, what I have to be absolutely sure of is where the pieces in my collection have come from. Provenance is all. If the pieces are right and the provenance is right, I’m willing to reward the seller very handsomely. But I have my reputation to consider. I can’t run the risk of diluting the quality of my collection with inferior material.’

He looked Margaret up and down, apparently considering his options. And after a few moments’ deliberation he said, ‘Alright. I need to get something out of the van.’

Margaret moved to one side and he retrieved an A5 envelope from his glove compartment.

Passing the envelope to Margaret, he said, ‘There you go. Take a look at those. If these aren’t the real McCoy I don’t know what is.’

Margaret withdrew a small sheaf of paper. On them were printed a series of photos of a selection of the objects, including the sword and the figure of a man, lying in the bottom of a series of freshly dug holes. She showed them to Clare. The holes might have been anywhere, except that in a number of them you could clearly see they sat within an open trench, and in one of them you could see not only the trench but the Portakabin that was now their site office in the background.

He added, ‘That number at the bottom is the GPS location. If you’ve got any doubts you can check it out.’

Clare reached into her pocket and brought out her phone to take a shot of the coordinates.

He grabbed her wrist and shook his head. ‘No photos. If you want the GPS coordinates, write them down.’

Clare nodded and punched in the numbers from a couple of the photos, though she and Margaret were only too well aware of where the site was. Margaret stuffed the photos back into the envelope and handed it to him.

He asked, ‘Satisfied now?’

Margaret nodded. ‘As soon as we’ve checked out the coordinates we’ll be back in touch to make the necessary arrangements.’

They turned and walked away. Climbing into the Range Rover, they could see him return to the back of the van to rewrap his goods. As Margaret drove past him, windows down in the late evening sunshine, they could hear him whistling what sounded for all the world like ‘We’re in the Money’.