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described them. He had ordered the maids not to touch them until he spoke to Sir Reginald.
    Prance limped about, examining things, picking up small objects and shaking his head, complaining about spines of books being broken, scratches on table tops and a broken lock on his latest acquisition, an Italian desk which he called an escrivata.
    He was about to return to his bed when Soames announced, “Mr. Pattle.”
    Coffen wandered in, took one look at Prance’s discoloured face and swollen nose and said, “Good God! What happened to you? Did you fall downstairs?”
    “Nothing so tame, Pattle. I was set upon by a brace of vicious footpads last night, beaten and robbed.”
    “That explains it. I wondered why you didn’t show up at Jergen’s do. Everyone was asking about you.”
    Prance was highly gratified to hear this but decided a recital of his ordeal would be more exciting. He eased his aching body into a soft chair and made a good story of the attack.
    “Got your watch and purse, eh? That’s a pity,”Coffen said. He looked around the drawing room and added, “I’m surprised to see you rearranging your room when you look as if you ought to be in bed. I came over to tell you what happened to me, but your story puts mine in the shade entirely.”
    “I am not rearranging the furniture,”Prance said. “Did I forget to mention the little detail that my house was broken into last night?”
    “So the ken smashers got you as well! I came to tell you they broke into my place. Any clues?”Coffen dearly loved a clue, by which he meant something tangible he could pick up and hopefully associate with the criminal. He found these clues useful in solving the various cases in which the Berkeley Brigade became involved.
    “You mean your house was broken into last night too?”Prance was disappointed at this sharing of the drama. It made him wonder, too, whether it was the imaginary outline for his next novel that had been the aim of his assault and the break-in.
    “Torn apart,”Coffen said.
    “How could you tell?”
    Coffen ' s took no offence at this facer. “Books scattered about the floor in the library. No one reads at my house. Bills and invoices all over the floor in the study. Nothing actually broken. I’m pretty sure that red vase I use for a waste basket was already cracked. Odd they didn’t take anything.”
    “How did they get in?”Prance asked.
    “P’raps some door was left unlocked,”Coffen said vaguely. This was nothing new in his appalling household. “The question is, how the deuce did they get into your place? You keep it locked up like a bank.”
    “It seems André left the back door unlocked amidst all the confusion last night."
    “Did you send for Bow Street?”
    “No, did you?”
    “Not yet. They’ll never find who did it, and since nothing’s been stolen, I didn’t bother. Are any of your treasures missing?”
    “Nothing I have spotted so far,”Prance said. “I removed most of the smaller pieces when I redecorated.”
    Coffen looked around at the gloomy room. “Ah, is that what you call it? And it’s too late to hope to find the footpads that beat you up, of course. Well, I believe I’ll ankle over and tell Corrie and Luten the news. I wonder if Luten’s house was hit as well. That’s where they’d make a haul worth taking. I can understand they didn’t find anything valuable at my place, but I would have thought some of your art stuff was worth their while.”
    “When you go to Luten ' s, ask them if they would be kind enough to come here, as I obviously can’t go out.”
    “I’m on my way,”Coffen said, and left without even hinting for a cup of coffee and something to eat, which was half the reason he had come.
     

Chapter Five
     
    Luten and Corinne were still in the morning parlour enjoying a last cup of coffee when Coffen was announced. “Coffen, you’ve come for the tablecloth,”his cousin said. “Do join us for coffee. Have you had breakfast?”
    “No, but