Mrs. Pargeter's Point of Honour Read Online Free PDF Page B

mesmeric fascination. Palings Price looked at it again, shook his head and let out a low whistle. ‘It’s good stuff, this. Some of the most famous art thefts of the last twenty years.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And all together in the one collection at the moment, is it?’ Truffler Mason nodded. ‘Could I hazard a guess at the collector’s name . . .?’ Palings Price went on. ‘Lou Ronson . . .? Sultan of Arbat . . .? Sticky Fingers Frampton . . .?’
    But Truffler wasn’t rising to the bait. ‘I think this is one occasion, Palings, when the less detail you know the better.’
    â€˜Funny,’ Mrs Pargeter observed innocently. ‘That’s what my husband always used to say to me, Truffler.’

Chapter Six
    â€˜How did Palings Price get all his knowledge of fine art?’ asked Mrs Pargeter, as the limousine sped silkily on its return journey.
    â€˜Oh, he done all the legit training,’ Truffler replied. ‘University. Galleries. Then worked for one of the big auction houses. Left there under something of a cloud, I’m afraid.’
    â€˜Ah.’
    â€˜Trouble is, places like that, they tend to count the Goyas at the end of the day.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, I suppose they would.’
    â€˜Nothing they could pin on him, of course, but, er . . . well, mud does tend to stick, doesn’t it?’
    â€˜So I’ve heard.’
    â€˜Anyway, he never looked back, career-wise. I mean, he helped your husband in, like, an advisory capacity, but lots of other people used him too. He never worked exclusively for Mr P. Oh no, his services was very much in demand.’
    Mrs Pargeter thought she probably shouldn’t enquire which particular services these were, and fortunately Truffler needed no prompting to spell it out. ‘Paling’s speciality used to be
very
private collections.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜There’s still a lot of millionaires out there desperate to own something unique.’
    â€˜Like a world-famous painting, say . . .?’
    â€˜You got it.’
    â€˜. . . that they can gloat over on their own in a gallery nobody else is allowed to enter . . .?’
    Truffler nodded. ‘Palings used to procure the paintings and design the galleries where they was to be hung.’
    â€˜Do you reckon he still does that kind of stuff?’
    â€˜Shouldn’t think so.’ The detective let out a mournful chuckle. ‘If he can get well-heeled boneheads to pay him for painting their rooms grey, taking all the furniture out and making them sit on cheese-graters, why bother?’
    Mrs Pargeter grinned agreement. The limousine had come to a rest in front of the distinguished façade of Greene’s Hotel.
    â€˜Thanks, Gary,’ she said as the chauffeur ushered her out. ‘You’d better be off to fetch that MP from Heathrow.’
    â€˜Right. Give us a call if you need me.’
    â€˜Sure. Cheerio.’ And as Gary got back into the car, she called after him, ‘And don’t forget to send me an invoice!’
    He grinned. This was part of a running battle between them. Gary, out of gratitude for all that the late Mr Pargeter had done for his career, was keen to provide the man’s widow with free chauffeuring. Mrs Pargeter, who knew how difficult it could be to start up a new business, was adamant about paying at the proper rate.
    As the limousine slipped away, she looked up with some satisfaction at her current home.
    The elegance of Greene’s Hotel, ravishingly set in one of London’s most exclusive squares, was so understated it almost hurt. The hotel provided an environment in which every whim was anticipated. No sooner had the shadow of a desire for something crossed the brain of a guest than a member of staff had glided into place with the required object neatly presented on a silver salver. The atmosphere of