thankee, sir. Now this gent as called on you, Ronald Herriton, what can you tell me about him, ma’am?”
Charlotte sat straighter, hands folded before her. “Well, he said he was an antiquities dealer, and he wished to purchase my husband’s entire collection. On the spot. For what he called a very good price. He evidently expected me to take his word for the value. As if I wouldn’t have the sense to consult several experts about such a sale. He also claimed that Henry had promised him the opportunity to buy after his death. Clearly a lie, considering Henry’s will. He was loud and unpleasant. My maid and I had a good deal of trouble getting rid of him.” She paused, thinking. “He is very fat.”
A corner of Jem Hanks’ lips twitched. “That he is. Did you tell him that you en’t allowed to sell, ’cause of the will?”
“No, I didn’t wish to reveal anything to him, or talk to him any longer than I had to. He…” Her shoulders shifted. “There was something… unsettling about him.”
“Was there now?” The Runner’s sharp gaze flicked up from his notebook and down again. He wrote something on the page. “I looked through your husband’s papers at Mr. Wycliffe’s office. There’s a pile of letters about this or that pot or coin or statue. Were you acquainted with any of the writers?”
“No. Well, except…” She stopped.
“Yes, ma’am?” The Runner’s pencil was poised.
“My father,” Charlotte continued in a low voice. “They corresponded for several years about ancient Rome. But my father died six months ago.”
“Very sorry to hear that, ma’am.” Jem Hanks waited a moment, then said, “So the others…?”
She shook her head. “On the very rare occasions when my husband had visitors—always to look at his collection—I was not… invited.”
Alec wondered if his uncle had actually been off his head. The more he learned about his life, the less he thought of his reclusive relative.
“Too bad. I would like to find those gen’lmen.”
“Have you talked to Holcombe? I would say, of the household, he knew Henry best. I don’t imagine that my husband… confided in him.” The idea was unimaginable. “But Holcombe liked to poke his nose into everything.”
“Who’s this Holcombe?” Hanks leaned forward like a hound on the scent.
“My uncle’s former valet,” Alec replied. He was feeling rather left out of the conversation. “He was dismissed right after my uncle’s death.”
“And no one told me?”
“I thought you had received a list of the servants from Wycliffe.”
“He missed one, seemingly. First name?” The Runner’s pencil hovered over the page.
“Uh…” Charlotte looked blank, then chagrined. “I have no idea.”
The pencil drooped. “No matter. I’ll find ’im.”
“So what have you discovered so far?” Alec asked. “Have you anything to report?”
“It’s early days yet, sir. But one thing I know. Twarn’t your common garden-variety criminal as broke into the house. How would they know about this ‘collection,’ fer one thing? And it en’t the type of stuff they can sell easy, is it? Old coins and papers and the like. Second thing I know—there’s no word on the street about the job.”
“That’s why you’re wondering about Henry’s fellow collectors?” said Charlotte. Most astutely, Alec thought. “But surely none of them would…”
Jem Hanks shrugged. “By what I’m hearin’ some folk are close to daft about this old jun… these ‘antiquities.’ Go to just about any length to get their hands on ’em.”
“It’s true there is a great rivalry amongst collectors,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “Henry used to positively gloat when he beat someone out on a purchase.”
“Yes, ma’am. And if they’ve heard they can’t be buyin’ these perticular ones…”
“They might try to steal them?”
“Send someone to do it, more like.” Hanks nodded to himself. “There’s just the one thing…”
“What?” said Charlotte and Alec at the same moment.
“Well, some as I’ve talked to say this Henry Wylde was fooled and cheated a good deal. Paid too much for poor stuff or fakes. So…”
“It needed only that!” Charlotte exclaimed. “He didn’t just spend my money, he wasted it.” She pounded the arm of the sofa with a closed fist. Jem Hanks watched her with an interest that Alec found unsettling.
“Have you any other questions?” Alec said.
“Only one, sir.” He turned to Charlotte. “Is there anyone your husband mentioned in perticular? Friend, enemy, person he envied? Anybody at all that I should concentrate on, like?”
Charlotte frowned, took her time. But in the end, she shook her head. “Not that I remember. Henry talked mostly about things, you know—things and their history—not