Devil Take The Hindmost

Chapter Ten

"Just run that by me one more time," Priya struggled to regain her composure. Having only just stopped laughing, she wiped a stray tear of mirth away from the corner of her almond shaped eye with a finger around which a henna design curled like an over-amorous snake.

"I'm serious, this is important," I insisted, frustrated. "I don't need you to take the piss, just say no and I'll sort something else out."

"Oh, I haven't decided one way or the other yet. Which is why I'd like you to go through this incredible get-rich-quick scheme a second time. And, just to confirm, this is entirely your own original thinking? You didn't get the idea from an email sent to you by a hard-up Nigerian prince?" she laughed again, this time at her own joke.

"This is part of an ongoing investigation," I scowled. "Waifs and Strays Detection is merely suffering a short-term cash flow issue."

"And so," she interrupted, abruptly stopping her chortling. "You want me to finance you to the tune of an as-yet-undetermined amount to buy an antique clock at auction?"

"Look, this isn't easy, you know?"

"Oh, obviously. In many ways giving you money for a mantelpiece ornament seems almost sensible. I would otherwise be worried you would blow my hard-earned on strippers and magic beans," Priya snapped, her tone sharp.

I got a glimpse of the strength of character that enabled her to create a phenomenally successful business from nothing. She built, and was continuing to grow, a small fortune distributing Bollywood films across the West Midlands.

"Doesn't that make you the Widow Twanky?" I jabbed back, annoyed.

"Though, on second thoughts, if you had come asking me for a couple of grand to spend on strippers, I would have probably taken your proposition more seriously," she interlaced her fingers on the table between us and I saw the intricate henna stencils entwining their way across both hands and up beneath the sleeves of her distractingly snug fitting cream jumper.

"OK," I sighed, conceding defeat, "I'll explain it again."

Priya beamed. It was the kind of smile that, had she deployed it in the British Museum, it would cause the juices to begin to flow in the dust-clogged veins of the exhibits, giving the ancient pharaohs entombed behind the display glass an erection as impressive as any of their pyramids.

I repeated the situation, more slowly and with feeling, starting with the parlous financial position I found myself in and how it was impacting my relationship with Sophie.

This, I hoped, would play on her emotional heartstrings. Especially as she seemed to have developed some sort of connection with Sophie.

When that failed, I proceeded to step through the incredible series of detective feats leading me to discover the whereabouts of the clock. I carefully omitted to mention Tish and her role, largely on account of Priya having developed some sort of connection with Sophie.

I then explained that, having found the current owner was auctioneer Barnaby Montague, I engaged in an effort to recover the prize. Montague had, it transpired, been reluctant to part with the item in the absence of any evidence to suggest it was stolen rather than sold in a mixed lot by a house clearance man of universally admitted suspect character.

He also shared the information that the clock had been entered into his two previous weekly auctions, both times having been won by a telephone bidder who on each occasion failed to pay. This frustrated him to no end but suggested there was sufficient commercial potential in the item to warrant persisting with an auction, rather than taking an offer from me.

Thus, I determined my options to be somewhat limited.

I could either gain entry to Barnaby's place and re-steal the clock, or I could go to the auction and buy it legitimately. Lastly, I could alert my clients to its whereabouts.