Elizabeth Kidd (10 page)

Kedrington had entered the building through the gardens, thinking to thus avoid being seen, but he was followed almost at once by a grey-haired matron of impressively aquiline features, who was now examining a frieze through her lorgnette and remarking to her companion—a tall, angular young man who might have been a grandson or great-nephew—that she supposed this rather belligerent depiction of warlike figures was intended to symbolize the triumph of Greek civilization. The young man replied in a bored tone that in his estimation it more accurately depicted a civilization whose time was not only long gone but had never reached the heights of Britannic majesty in the present century.

A somewhat less informed young woman in a gown that was more revealing of her charms than was customary for afternoon wear, inquired of her friend, similarly attired, which of the statues were the ones that had been lost overboard on their passage to England from Greece. Her friend replied that she believed the lost ones were the subject of Byron’s poem, “Maid of Athens.”

Kedrington was now unashamedly listening to the conversation of two gentlemen who appeared to actually have some knowledge of sculpting techniques and the texture of marble when he felt a presence at his back.

“Spying again, eh, Duncan?”

Recognizing the voice, Kedrington smiled. “Merely eavesdropping, my dear Robin—a poor younger cousin of your full-fledged spying.”

“But a necessary talent to cultivate as a precursor to more serious espionage, I believe.”

Kedrington did not deny it. He turned to face his friend, keeping his back to the room so that they could not be identified, nor their conversation overheard, by any interested parties. It was perhaps an unnecessary precaution, but Kedrington performed it automatically.

Robin smiled and said, “There is no urgent need for discretion. We may speak in my office.”

“You have an office on the premises? I am impressed.”

“You will not be when you see the office. However, I should like first to give you a short tour. I know that you have seen all the works already, but indulge me in this, and I shall explain my reasons afterward.”

“More and more intriguing. Lead on, Macduff.”

Campbell winced. “I wished you would not make such unfortunate allusions.”

“Macduff slew a tyrant and was covered in glory.”

“But at a cost greater than I would care to pay. I long only for a settled life.”

Kedrington studied his friend’s expression closely, but the object of his scrutiny must have been aware of it, for he gave nothing away.

“Yet something has unsettled your life lately.”

“Indeed,” was Mr. Campbell’s only reply.

Leaning lightly on his cane, he led the viscount around some of the less monumental sculptures, naming each and giving a brief history. Kedrington was at first more interested in observing his friend, who seemed invigorated by whatever complication had entered his life as a result of his position as caretaker of the infamous marbles. However he might wish for a settled life, a part of him, Kedrington suspected, still craved the exhilaration of his army days. Even his limp was less noticeable.

He soon, however, turned his attention to the pieces he was being shown, aware that something about them was important in this mysterious matter regarding which Robin had called on his advice. He tried to look at them in a different way than he had before and observed their surface textures and other physical features this time over their artistic merit. He ran his hand over several of them, at which gesture he caught Robin looking at him in satisfaction.

“Well, what do you think?” Campbell asked, almost eagerly, a short time later—as if, Kedrington thought, he were an apprentice artist who had presented his works for the first time to his master for approbation.

They had now retired to Robin’s office, which was, as he had indicated earlier, little more than a glorified pantry. Nonetheless, it boasted two reasonably comfortable chairs and a writing table, as well as a narrow cot and a bookcase which, other than a few volumes of popular reading, contained what looked to be Mr. Campbell’s mess kit, bedroll, and field telescope. There was also a bottle of brandy. The viscount picked this up.

“Spanish.” He glanced at his friend. “Contraband?”

“Not at all. Legitimate spoils of war. Would you care for a glass?”

“Thank you, yes. I accept despite my suspicion that your supply of the stuff is limited because I can, and shall, replace it—out of my own spoils, of course.”

Robin grinned and pulled two glasses out of his mess kit. At Kedrington’s raised brow, he explained, “I
have
acquired some more civilized tools than tin cups and forks since my return—thanks in large part to Hollister, of course.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

The viscount accepted a filled glass, pulled up one of the chairs, and sat on it, stretching his long legs in front of him. “Would you care to give me a hint as to what I am supposed to be thinking about?” he said.

Mr. Campbell, aware of his friend’s facility at keeping two or three trains of thought going at once and pulling one forward while another was in progress, recognized now that he was only answering belatedly his first question.

He sat down, but could not be still. Leaning forward, with his hands on his knees, he announced, “I believe one of those pieces I showed you is a fake. Can you guess which one?”

Kedrington thought for a moment, then said, “The second panel in the frieze which you described as being one of the less damaged pieces because of its sheltered position on the wall of the Parthenon.”

Mr. Campbell sat back with satisfaction and clapped his hands twice on his knees. “I knew it! I knew I could trust you to spot it. What made you pick that one out, not knowing what you were looking for?”

“I expect that was part of the reason, that I was not looking for anything in particular and so my eyes were open to any possibility. It seemed to me that panel did not exactly match the ones on either side of it. Also, the stone, while rough, was not weathered in the same way.”

He was silent for a moment, but his friend gave him no further explanation of why he had called on him.

“Are you telling me,” Kedrington finally ventured, “that the genuine piece has been stolen?”

“That is what I believe.”

“But why? And more important, how? It’s a relatively small piece, but it would take a great deal of effort and at least several men to move it.”

“The why is, as you say, not difficult to imagine. A great many people believe that we—that is, Lord Elgin, but by extension, the British in general—have no right to the marbles and that they should be returned to Greece.”

“So you believe Greek patriots may be behind this.”

Robin shrugged. “Then again, someone with no loyalty to either side may simply wish to steal them.”

“Why? They could not be resold.”

“For ransom. The pieces may be hard to move, but they would not need to be guarded and fed.”

“Which brings us back to the how,” Kedrington mused, sipping lightly at his brandy. “Admittedly, the engineers we had in Spain could move objects that heavy fairly quickly, even over rough ground, and anyone with the same skills could, at least in theory, do the same here. But even under cover of darkness, how would they get out of the building unseen, and where would they take the pieces?”

“That is the question I have lain awake all night pondering. I hoped to put your brain to the same problem, since mine is quite weary of it.”

“Why don’t you call in someone in authority—some member of the board of inquiry, or the museum staff?”

Robin shook his head. “I have been reluctant to bring anyone else in just yet. I’ve pondered the various possibilities until my head aches. If it turns out that the anti-Elgin faction are not actually behind the theft, knowledge of it might encourage them to greater vociferousness, even if they did not take umbrage at the implied accusation. Not to mention that anyone—myself included—who has regular access to the marbles might come under suspicion. If I were removed from this position, I could do nothing further to locate the piece and prevent any further thefts.”

“Is it important to you that you solve this mystery?”

“Yes. It happened on my watch, Duncan. I am not the only guard on duty, but the others are all under my supervision, and I feel responsible.”

“Can you vouch for the honesty of all the other guards?”

“I think so. I will, of course, investigate them all again, as discreetly as possible.”

Kedrington considered that for a moment, then pulled a pocket notebook out of his coat and made a notation.

“When did you first notice the missing piece?”

“Last night. That is not to say the switch could not have been made days ago, but I generally walk around the entire collection once before I retire, and I believe I would have noticed the change before last night if it had been done before then.”

“Have you noticed any suspicious-looking persons lurking about?”

Robin smiled. “You were watching them today when I met you. They
all
look odd to me—although that may be simply because I am inordinately sensitive to oddities today.”

“Which reminds me to ask you how all those people got in. Has the collection been opened to the public?”

“Not officially, at least not at this venue.” Robin shrugged. “But it has become pretty much public knowledge where the stones are being kept, and people simply come in by the garden gate. I posted a guard there, as of today, and he has everyone sign a registry, but that is as much as I have the authority to do.”

“Do you recall any visitors before today who seemed to take an unusual interest in that particular frieze?” Kedrington asked. “Or in any of the pieces, for that matter?”

“I recall only a young man, who came by himself three or four times, but has not returned. He looked as if he might be Greek, but I did not speak to him or overhear him in conversation with anyone else. There were also two fellows who looked as if they worked on the docks and knew nothing about art. They spent only five minutes all told giving the place the once-over.”

“Which may very well be precisely what they were doing,” Kedrington said, making a note. “Obviously no one man could have moved that piece, so there must be some kind of a gang involved, if only to provide the muscle.”

He was silent again for a moment, gazing thoughtfully off into the distance, as if he were not hemmed in closely by four walls. “They would also need an artist, or at least a craftsman, skilled enough to make the forgeries.”

His friend snatched at the plural. “So you think there may be another theft, that this gang will not stop at one piece?”

Kedrington shrugged. “What use is only one, and not one of the better pieces at that? It has little intrinsic value for purposes of ransom, and less symbolic purpose. For that, they would have taken a more well-known piece—Dionysus, for example. I suspect that this panel was a kind of test, to see if the piece were missed. If it were not, or it seemed that it was not, they might be emboldened to try again. That is why I agree with you about not informing anyone in authority about the theft. Also, if they become emboldened, we may be able to catch them in the act.”

“We?”

Kedrington smiled. “I hope you did not seek my opinion only as an academic exercise. Now that you have whetted my curiosity, you must allow me to help solve the puzzle.”

Robin looked relieved. “I hoped I would not have to beg for your help, but I must tell you I am tremendously grateful. I do not know what I should have done had you not offered it.”

“I daresay you would have thought of something, but perhaps I may speed the process up. We cannot chance the forgery going unnoticed for very long. Once the cat was out of the bag, we would be considerably hampered in our efforts.”

“What can I do?”

“First, approach Sergeant Hollister and see if you can recruit some of the men living with him as additional guards, particularly at night.”

“That did occur to me, but I’m glad you suggested it.”

“Next, lower the light as much as you can on that particular frieze to take wandering eyes away from it.’

“Perhaps I could have a scaffold put around it and say a crack has been discovered or some such thing.”

Kedrington shook his head. “That would only call more attention to it, and we wish neither the thieves nor the authorities to take a second look. Also, as discreetly as you can, keep an eye on that piece and make note of who looks at it with any special attention.”

“Shall I take any of the other guards into my confidence?”

“Not just yet. I will do the investigation you mentioned earlier, since it would be less noticeable if I did it than you, and I may have other sources of information.”

“I should think that highly likely.”

“Don’t grant me powers I may not have, dear boy. I was only a fair to middling spy.”

“Rubbish. And even if that were true, you have an infinitely wider circle of acquaintance than I and far greater…resources.”

Kedrington knew very well that his friend referred to his fortune, but knew too that Robin did not resent him for it. Men became his friends in large part because differences of wealth and station meant nothing to them in comparison with compatibility of experience and outlook. He also chose his friends on the basis of their honesty, and he had never doubted Robin Campbell’s. If there were any possibility of harm coming to him because of this theft, even if there was never another one, he must do what he could to prevent it.

“I must go now,” he said, rising and setting aside his brandy glass. “Antonia will not demand to know where I have been if I contrive to be on time for dinner—as you well know. Later, after she is asleep, I shall return and keep watch with you for a part of the night at least.”

“Thank you. That is more than I dared ask, Duncan. But you cannot be here every night.”

“I don’t intend to be. Tomorrow should be time enough to put some of Hollister’s men in place—if they are willing. Or we may be able to inform another of the present guards what is afoot. Have you a key?”