Joe translated freely for himself: “In every master there is a servant; in every servant, a master.” Some sort of nod to the name of this pub, he supposed, and wondered from what or from whom the eponymous Footman was, by tradition, fleeing. Content with his surroundings, he sighed with satisfaction and raised his glass to his companion. “Your good health!” he said. “We’ve earned this!”

Both men sank half their beer in contemplative silence. Joe judged the moment to say, “Thank you for your support back there in the sale-room, Hunnyton. That unscripted display of disgust was very convincing—and unexpected. But you were going to tell me how—”

“No. You have the advantage. I’ll humour you. I’ll let you tell me how you guessed. Was it the size twelves? Flattened by a year of pounding the streets?”

“That, yes … But you recognised my uniform and addressed me correctly by rank. I don’t think anyone outside the force could do that with conviction. It was your name, though, that told me who you were. Not surprisingly. It’s unusual. It’s the name of an officer of a County Constabulary who has recently made enquiries of the art crimes section at the Yard. They keep extensive and meticulous records down there in the basement. And I do my homework! Your name came up an hour ago. I love what some call ‘coincidences,’ don’t you?”

“I share your scepticism, Commissioner. I’m Superintendent Hunnyton, Cambridgeshire CID, and I’m very pleased to meet you. And entertained! I must say, I thought I’d blow a gasket when you winkled Audley out of his sleek shell. I’ve never encountered anyone actually stamping a foot outside of a romantic novel, but he did it! Well, it was more like a petulant tap of his little patent-leather-shod toe, if I’m being honest. It’ll be all round the coffee-houses by now.”

“Oh, dear. Yes, I regret upsetting the man. A manipulative, plausible rogue as all will tell you but he’s very good at his job and I admire him. He’s always dealt straight with me.” Joe sighed. “Fences to mend there, I’m afraid. I feel especially guilty since my interest in the affair of the portraits, I’ll confess, is peripheral. It’s certainly not professional and it’s not even personal to me. I’m just acting as agent on behalf of a …” Joe paused. What the hell was the minister to him? “An acquaintance,” he finished lamely.

Hunnyton grinned. “Truelove ensnares everyone unless they’re fast on their feet. Will he care if he’s curdled your relationship with Audley? Not in the slightest! Get your long spoon out if you’re supping with him, sir.” Correctly reading Joe’s astonished expression, he went on: “He’s using you to get hold of them for him on the quiet, isn’t he? Having scared the opposition off first.” He began to laugh. “Clever bastard,” he added genially. “How high are you instructed to go?”

“A hundred was suggested. Though he did say I could use my experience and judgement to exceed that if I scented victory.”

“He certainly trusts you, then? I can’t think of anyone I’d send into a saleroom for me with an open chequebook. What hold has he got on you?” And, to soften the boldness, a hurried and embarrassed: “Look here, Sandilands—sir—if there’s anything I can do … Forgive me—you don’t seem entirely at ease with all this. I’m a useful pair of hands and perhaps we coppers should stick together in the face of exploitation. Just say the word.”

Joe smiled back over his glass at the troubled eyes and the leathery knuckles nervously swiping a springy quiff of hair from his forehead, glad that the mask was off and that he liked the bluff countryman’s face beneath it. “The word is ‘thanks!’ But sadly, swiftly followed by ‘no thanks,’ Hunnyton. A hold, you say? My instinct is to splutter into my ale and deny he has any such thing. But the fellow is likely to take over the Home Office before we’re much older and by that, become my boss.” Hunnyton gave a sympathetic growl and Joe ventured to say, “Your boss, too. Apart from the political power, he holds the financial strings that the girl I love dangles from and he pipes the tunes she dances to. The Truelove Foundation sponsors research in her department at the university. The man has a scientific interest. He rolls up his sleeves and involves himself at the laboratory level. They work well—and all too frequently—together. He fancies his chances—she rebuffs him in a good-humoured way from time to time.” Joe fell silent. This was a confidence too far. He blamed the draught of excellent ale on an empty stomach and the sympathetic understanding of a stranger. All the same—loose words.

“Gawd! It’s worse than I thought. Would you like me to push him under a bus for you?”

Joe laughed, glad of the invitation to make light of his confession and he replied in kind: “Don’t you worry! I have several trained killers on the books who might oblige. I’m sorry to ruin your chances of possessing the miniatures but at least they’ll be ‘going home’ as you said they ought. To Truelove’s place in Suffolk. He has an ancestral home out there—not so very far from Cambridge. I expect you know it?”

Hunnyton nodded.

“A good and right outcome, I think you’d say?”

“Yes. None better,” Hunnyton agreed. “If that’s really where they’re going,” he added mysteriously.

They came to the end of their pints at the same moment and Joe prepared to take his leave. They solemnly exchanged cards, promising to be on hand for each other in any future emergency. Joe thanked Hunnyton for his hospitality and declared a polite intention to visit the pub again and stand his round.

“Ah. Might be some difficulty there, sir,” the superintendent murmured as he handed Joe his hat. “You see, it’s more of a club here. You have to be a member to buy the drinks. It’s the headquarters of the Federation of Domestic Servants—the ‘Narcissus Club,’ as it’s known. Named for the Narcissus who was slave, secretary and later freedman to the Emperor Claudius. He ran the Roman Empire in the name of his old master for many a year. Not to be confused with the self-regarding youth of legend who liked to peer into pools. Membership is granted to anyone of the rank of senior footman or above. And, of course, you have to have been in service in the family of a gentleman for a minimum of five years.”

“Good Lord!” Joe said. “There are some strange establishments flourishing within the douce confines of St. James’s!”

“This is a long way from being the strangest! Have you enquired into the ‘Slippered Orchid’ four doors down?” He shook his shaggy head in disapproval.

“Can’t wait! Well, it was a pleasure, Superintendent. See you at the sale tomorrow perhaps? It should be quite safe. I don’t think the Minister for Mischief will be making an appearance himself. Have you met the devilish Truelove? Do you know him?”

“I wondered when you’d ask me that.” Hunnyton began to turn the brim of his bowler through his fingers, deep in thought. Joe didn’t press for a response but let him take his time, mindful that people were very much divided in their opinions of the minister and quite often took a while to think of something polite to say. “I can’t say that I know him. Though I certainly ought to. The man’s my brother.”

“Your what?” Startled, Joe dropped his fedora to the ground.

“My younger brother. Half-brother to be precise.”

Joe snorted, hurried to the door and yelled, “Landlord! Two more pints in the snug please!”

He returned to the table, glaring at Hunnyton. “I never walk about town without a pair of thumbscrews in my back pocket. Shall I need to use them?”

Hunnyton held out his hands. “I’ll come quietly. You can pull rank rather than fingernails. That’ll do.”

“I always find confessions slide down more easily with a steak pie,” Joe said. “I’m sure I heard you mention …”

Hunnyton went to the door and called, “Confirm order for ale, Mr. Pocock, and will you add to that a couple of steak pies if they’re ready? With horseradish, mustard and mash.” He settled back in his seat. “You’ll enjoy this, sir. Albert in the kitchens used to work for the Duke of Northumberland.”