Page 74 of The Art of Theft
Mr. Marbleton picked up his glass ofvin chaudand came and sat down in the chair nearest hers. At first she thought he’d come to bolster her courage. But perhaps Mrs. Watson and Charlotte’s repeated counsel on not thinking so little of herself was finally having some effect. He also needed his own courage bolstered, she thought.
And I will do that for you.
They were not alone in the room, but she briefly laid her hand over his. They nodded at each other.
I’m all right.
I’m all right, too.
“Then who do you think the prisoner is, Holmes?” asked Lord Ingram.
“If I must guess now, Madame Desrosiers,” mused Charlotte. “Mr. Finch told me at one point that Moriarty is believed to be thrice a widower—obviously incorrect, as Mrs. Marbleton, his second wife, is still living—and that since his third wife died, he’s chosen not to marry again. But he is said to have a mistress of whom he is very fond. It’s likely that Madame Desrosiers is that long-term mistress; she would also have been in position to have helped Mr. Marbleton’s family over the years.”
Mrs. Watson walked across the library to the decanter of cognac. “Then who was that woman who acted the part of the hostess the other night, to the woman we now presume to be Lady Ingram?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Another woman in Moriarty’s employ, possibly. Remember Madame Desrosiers was said to be indisposed the night of the reception.”
Mrs. Watson brought back two glasses of cognac, one for herself and one for Lord Ingram. Lord Ingram accepted his, thanked her, and returned his attention to Charlotte. “And Moriarty is this Herr Albretcht, the mysterious Swiss manufacturer who owns the château?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he is Monsieur Plantier, although Monsieur Plantier seems a bit young to be Moriarty.” Charlotte poured herself a cup of coffee. “In any case, we do not have the luxury of involving ourselves in this dispute. We are there to help Mrs. Watson’s friend, and we will restrict ourselves to that capacity.
“However, I have racked my brains and even consulted aningénieur, but the fact remains that we cannot work magic tricks on the Van Dyck when we won’t have the gallery to ourselves for any length of time. So I have no choice but to recommend that instead of the Van Dyck, we make the contents of this safe to which we now hold the combination our priority.”
This was news only to Mr. Marbleton—Charlotte had alreadydiscussed her plans, in depth, with everyone else who had returned to England. Livia had fretted over whether this mythical safe in fact existed, Lord Ingram had demanded to know its exact location, and Mrs. Watson had been deeply concerned on how such a significant course change would affect her friend.
In the end Charlotte had convinced them not only that the safe existed and that she knew where it was, but also that the contents of the safe, and not any artworks for sale on the night of the yuletide masquerade ball, were the true aim of the mastermind who blackmailed Mrs. Watson’s friend.
As it stands we have no chance of making away with the Van Dyck. But we do have some chance with the contents of this safe. Should we extract it, we would have more than enough with which to bargain for your friend’s letters, Mrs. Watson.
Mr. Marbleton took some time to consider Charlotte’s proposal. “Your words carry weight with me, Miss Charlotte. If you think that we should concentrate our efforts on the safe, then I trust that you have thought the matter through.
“Still, I have to ask about the residents of the château. Don’t they know where the safe is?”
“I think not,” answered Charlotte without any hurry. Or any hesitation. “I think if they did, then our insurgents wouldn’t be interested in it anymore.”
“But wouldn’t those insurgents stand in our way?”
“I would rather face a few fellow burglars than try to get the Van Dyck off the wall and out of the château.”
Mr. Marbleton thought for some more time, then nodded his assent.
Livia exhaled.
When no one else spoke, Charlotte said, “I have asked Mrs. Watson’s friend to join us today. She should hear from me directly about our change of directions. And also because I shall require her participation, since we are shorthanded.
“She will be here at”—Charlotte glanced at the grandfatherclock—“well, she should have arrived three minutes ago. Forêt should be announcing her any moment now.”
As if she’d summoned him, a knock came at the door, followed by Forêt’s gentle voice. “Mesdames et Messieurs, a visitor to see you.”
?Forêt showed in a woman in a black dress and a widow’s veil. She took a seat next to Mrs. Watson on the chaise longue.
“This is Madame, my friend,” said Mrs. Watson, as if it were quite normal to welcome a covered-up stranger into the midst of a clandestine, possibly criminal discussion—and to divulge nothing of the stranger’s identity.
Then again, they all knew this was the friend for whom Mrs. Watson had taken on this Herculean task.
Forêt served cake and coffee to Madame, even though a woman in a veil was hardly going to expose her face to snack. When he had departed, Charlotte gave a highly condensed version of their earlier discussion, leaving out all references by name to Moriarty and Lady Ingram.
Madame listened intently. At the end of Charlotte’s explanations she asked, “What if this safe isn’t there? Do you have any contingency plan, with regard to the Van Dyck?”
