Page 13 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
“And what if they already know you as Henri Bonheur?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get to it. Come on.”
Chapter Seven
The inside of the museum was hardly less fantastical than the outside. Harry magnanimously paid the entrance fee of one shilling each, and together they started through the exhibition rooms.
Rows of glazed cabinets held curiosities from around the world, including those brought back from the South Seas by Captain Cook, and large naturalistic displays showed such wonders as taxidermy kangaroos, birds, and giraffes.
“I came here a few months ago,” Ellie said, “to see Napoleon’s carriage. Bullock had a special exhibition. It was a terrible crush.”
“A pickpocket’s dream,” Harry said with a smile. “Scores of people all pushing and shoving, paying no attention to their personal belongings.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Ellie said primly.
The Grand Hall, lined with even more pillars, was (according to Ellie’s guidebook) a replica of the avenue of the sphinxes at the Karnak Temple, near Luxor, and included an alabaster sarcophagus from the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh.
It was there that Bullock met them, and after a brief greeting, he got straight down to business.
“You’re here, Mr. King, to investigate a brazen theft,” he said, directing his attention to Harry. “This way, if you please, and I’ll show you the scene of the crime.”
He led them into a smaller, considerably less crowded part of the museum and unlocked a door hung with a sign that readEXHIBIT TEMPORARILY CLOSED.
Ellie immediately saw the issue: the glass to one of the cabinets had been smashed, leaving a hole with jagged edges. She and Harry both stepped closer to investigate.
“That’s odd,” she murmured.
The case contained several gold brooches, a carved medieval chess piece, and some silver Roman coins, but only one label seemed to be lacking a corresponding artifact. “The thief left quite a number of precious items behind. Perhaps he was disturbed before he could steal it all?”
Harry shook his head. “A good guess, Miss Law, but I’m afraid that’s incorrect.”
Ellie raised her brows. “Oh, really?”
He sent her a beatific smile that made her want to stamp on his foot. “May I present my theory?”
“Please do,” she said with false sweetness, conscious of appearing subservient to her “employer” in Bullock’s presence. “I bow to your superior knowledge of such things, Mr. King.”
His lips twitched at her dig.
“This is a very inelegant theft,” he said. “It isnotthe work of a professional.” He gestured at the broken glass with a disapproving shake of his head. “A professional would have been more careful, more subtle. This is brutal. Amateur work.”
He turned to Bullock. “I tell you, Mr. Bullock, all theartistry has gone from thieving nowadays. People are so impatient. Nobody cares to learn the beauty of picking a lock, or to become expert at anything, because it takes a huge amount of time and dedication. To cheat at cards, for example, takes hours in front of a mirror learning sleight of hand: how to hold the cards correctly, how to palm them, to deceive the watcher, all accompanied by a seamless flow of conversation and witty repartee to distract and entertain. It’s a lost art.”
Ellie snorted. “You sound as if you admire such things.”
He turned to her with a smile. “I admit I have a certain professional respect for anelegantthief. I once encountered a man in Italy who stole a silver tea service, but tipped the contents of the sugar bowl out onto a napkin instead of emptying it out on the floor, so as not to make a mess.”
“How considerate,” Ellie said drily. She was sure the thief he was talking about was himself. “But wouldn’t it have been more considerate not to steal the silver in the first place?”
“Of course,” he agreed amiably, turning back to Bullock. “This may have been a crude smash-and-grab, but our thief was no opportunist. This was a targeted burglary. He or she wanted that one particular item. What exactly was stolen?”
Ellie bent closer to the cabinet in an attempt to read the writing on the little card, then cast vanity to the wind and fished her spectacles from her reticule and put them on.
“It says it was a jeweled Book of Hours once owned by the French king François the First, Henri the Fourth, and Cardinal Mazarin,” she read aloud.
Harry turned to Bullock. “There are thousands of items here in your museum, Mr. Bullock. Why would someone steal this particular book? Was it very expensive?”
“Well, yes, it was.” Bullock frowned. “It had a gold cover decorated with jewels and precious stones—rubies and turquoises and whatnot. And inside it was very pretty, with colored pages and little paintings in the borders. But it was quite small, maybe six inches by four. There are plenty of other things here in the museum worth considerably more.”