Murder While I Smile by Joan Smith

outside until they heard Coffen slide the bolt.
    “Very odd, that burglary,” Prance said musingly. “I mean to say, a prigger entering the house when there were lights on and only making off with a few tawdry bits and pieces. Highly unlikely.”
    “Coffen is much too careless,” Corinne said. “I wager Jacob left the door wide open.”
    “At least they didn’t get the Poussin, or I should have to suspect the comtesse said a careless word to someone.”
    “Or had it stolen herself,” Corinne added.
    Prance shook his head. “Luten has given an account of his afternoon, my pet. There is no further need for you to be jealous of Yvonne.”
    “Good night, Prance,” she said coolly, and taking Luten’s arm, they returned to her house, while Prance darted across the street, smiling to himself. What was Yvonne up to, the sly piece?
    “Why did you invite him and Coffen to join us tomorrow, Luten?” she asked. “I am beginning to get the notion you don’t want to be alone with me.”
    “You wrong me. Every way you wrong me, my sweet idiot. I just want to see Reg’s face when he sees the Rondeaux in Hatchard’s window.”
    “Luten, you didn’t! How did you arrange it?”
    “You’ll have to help me get rid of the hundred copies I bought—while you suspected me of dangling after Yvonne.”
    She colored up prettily. She was not only embarrassed for mistrusting him, but proud of Luten for his generous gesture.
    “How do you plan to be rid of them? He has already given a copy to everyone we know and fifty-odd people we scarcely know.”
    “I count on your help. Dry matter burns well,” he said. “But use an upstairs fireplace, in case he drops in during the conflagration. The covers are slow burners, and the leather smells like burning flesh.”
    Black held the door open as they came up the steps. “I trust Mr. Pattle lost nothing of great value, your ladyship?” he asked.
    This, of course, was officious in the extreme, but she replied, “No, nothing of great value.”
    Black lifted his heavy eyebrows and said waggishly, “Did you figure out what was in the bag the fellow carried out of the house?”
    “What do you mean? Black!” she exclaimed. “Did you see the burglar?”
    “I didn’t know he was a burglar,” he said, half-proud of being able to identify the man, but unhappy that he had not apprehended him. “I mean to say, he knocked and went in without waiting for Jacob to admit him. I figured he was a friend, though I did wonder when he left with that bag, along with the picture.”
    “Left with the picture?” Luten asked. “He didn’t steal the picture.”
    “No, milord, he brought it with him, didn’t he?”
    “What picture?”
    “I didn’t see it. ‘Twas all wrapped up in brown paper. It was the same size as the one you had delivered this afternoon. I figured there’d been a mix-up at the comtesse’s house and he was exchanging it.”
    “No,” Corinne said, “he took silver candlesticks, a brass vase, and a little statuette.”
    “That’s what would have been in the bag he carried out.” Black nodded, satisfied.
    “Why the devil didn’t you go after him?” Luten demanded.
    “He was a gentleman, wasn’t he? Wearing a dandy jacket and cravat, though I did think it odd he came on foot and carrying that big parcel.”
    “The picture—this has something to do with Chamaude,” Corinne said.
    “I’d swear that picture Coffen has is the same one we saw in her saloon,” Luten said. “What did the man look like, Black?’
    “Tall and well built. A good-looking fellow, from what I could see. Youngish, stylish.”
    “Harry!” Luten exclaimed. This matched the description of Corinne’s in-law, Lord Gaviston, who had been known to pocket a trinket or two in his time.
    “Nay, it weren’t Lord Harry. This lad who came tonight has never visited any of youse before or I’d know him,” Black said.
    “We’d best tell Coffen,” Corinne said.
    “Allow me to fetch him,