Sophia Holmes and the Scandal in Belgravia *Completed*

Chapter Nineteen - The Six Thatchers Part III

"Right," I say, coming off the phone to Lestrade fifteen minutes later, "there was a total of four break-ins of which the target has a connection with the victim," I explain.

"Did they know what was taken?" John questions, coming out of the bedroom. He's dressed in a tweed jacket, a bowtie and courdry trousers, equipped with some glasses. Dad 'asked' John to act as the curator of a gallery, but I can't help but let out a snigger at his appearance.

"Of course they don't," dad scoffs, "because the item that was taken isn't significant enough for the target to realise that it's missing."

"You know what was taken?" John questions.

"I can't believe you haven't figured it out yet, Sophia," he says, ignoring John's question.

"I just have a few things to check out first," I lie, and dad raises an eyebrow, seeing straight through me.

"You can join John, then," he says. "You know what needs to be asked."

***

"The Hickman Gallery, you say?" Professor Harker, the lecturer who of whom was the victim of one of the burglaries, asks us half an hour later. "The gallery who exhibited the fake Vermeer?"

"Yes," John says, "but that's behind us now. I'm interested in displaying some of your students' art - you know, to encourage more young people to take it ... er ... more seriously." The lecturer chuckles.

"I teach one of the greatest art courses in the country, Mr Watson. There's a lot of art to choose from. Can you be more specific?"

"Well I must say we were intrigued by some of the sculptures we passed on the way here," John says.

"Ah!" Harker exclaims, "some of the best turn-outs this semester." He pauses for a moment. "It's a shame - did you hear about the boy that died here a few weeks ago? Pietro Venucciti? He was one of the greatest sculptures on the course."

"Was he working on anything at the time he died?" John asks. "Perhaps we could display it as a tribute to him."

"Yes," he says, turning to his computer and typing a couple of words before turning the monitor around to show us the picture of the clay bust of Margret Thatcher - except she would appear to have devil horns. "This would have satisfied the satire section of his portfolio," he continues, "but unfortunately there aren't any left - they were given to his friends."

"Do you have the addresses?" I question, and he flicks through his notes.

"I was one of six recipients of the statues," he explains, "and I auctioned them off, so I should have the logbook somewhere." He stops flicking and grabs a piece of paper. "He was a good student," he says, as he copies the addresses down, "produced some good artwork." I return a false smile as he passes me the slip of paper. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help you any further. Maybe you could take a look at other student's artwork?"

"Sure," John replies. "We'll be in touch."