Silver Guilt by Judith Cutler Page A

man who’s a public benefactor. Trust me, I’ll tell you if there’s anything you should look at.’
    Eventually they got the message, and retired to the kitchen to drink tea. I walked Morris into every room we could open.
    I was terrified there’d be gaps where Titus had removed whatever Lord Elham used for the activities I didn’t want to know about, but Titus was too wily a bird for that. Everything looked as cluttered and messy as it ought. I thought I could smell pot in one of the rooms, but there were no fag ends lying about. Perhaps Titus had spotted them too, and decided to deal with them. He wouldn’t want any impor . . . impertinent questions being asked.
    At last Morris came to a halt, spreading his hands helplessly.
    â€˜Well?’ I asked. ‘You want to do a fingertip search, or do you trust me? I can’t see anything here I’m not familiar with, and I don’t think anything’s missing.’ I stopped short. This was a room I’d never really given a thorough going over – with so much else in the wing, this wasn’t surprising.
    The dratted man picked my hesitation up immediately. ‘Well? Have you spotted something?’
    I shushed him with open palms. And walked gently to a glass-fronted bookshelf, crammed with a jumble of filthy Staffordshire pottery figures. I could have got a couple of hundred, maybe a little more, for most. But one wasn’t Staffordshire. Nor was it pottery. It was Meissen china.
    â€˜I know it sounds silly,’ I said, ‘but I’d love one of your scene of crime officers to check that lock and tell me when it was last used.’
    â€˜You
have
found something.’
    â€˜Yes, but not what you’re looking for.’
    Arms folded, we watched Hazel, the Scenes of Crime Officer – on whom the standard white jumpsuit was embarrassingly tight – inspect the cabinet.
    â€˜Dust of ages,’ she said. ‘God knows when it was last touched. I might get some dinosaur’s DNA off it, but—’ She pulled a face.
    â€˜So no one’s put anything in there recently? In the last twelve months, say?’ I said. ‘You’re absolutely sure?’
    â€˜Why?’ Morris asked.
    â€˜Because I might one day want to get something out of it.’
    â€˜Not now?’ The SOCO’s hand hovered over the lock.
    â€˜Nope. I try to limit the amount I sell for him, so I can ration his booze intake. He’s got loads in his cellars, of course, but he’s got some sort of pact with himself not to touch it for everyday use.’
    â€˜Is he all there?’ The SOCO touched her forehead.
    â€˜Let’s just say I’m glad I’ve got someone else’s genes to balance his.’
    Morris looked at me with narrowed eyes. ‘Whatever it is you’ve found: did you divvy it?’
    â€˜I don’t think so. I think this time it was just a case of observation at a level I didn’t even notice. Like a batsman picking the wrong ’un.’
    This time his eyes were laughing. ‘I didn’t have you down as a cricketer.’
    â€˜I didn’t know you had me down as anything. Actually,’ I admitted, ‘it’s not me but Griff who adores cricket. Something to do with the white flannels, I should think. He’s not nearly so keen on the coloured pyjamas forms of the game.’
    â€˜Are you? Because I can usually get tickets for one of the big games at Lord’s . . . if you wanted, that is . . . But back to this here figure. Talk us through it.’
    Not at all sure whether he’d meant to invite me or Griff to Lord’s, and not, for a moment, sure whom I hoped he’d meant, I thought I’d stick to the antiques side of the conversation. ‘You can see most of the figures are a bit crude. And one isn’t.’
    The SOCO peered. ‘That shepherdess?’
    â€˜Exactly. And you’re not a divvy, are you?’ I