“The medallions?” he repeated. “I’ll get ’em for you in a jiffy.”
He walked across to the show-case, fumbled for a moment at the flat base near one of the legs, and from below this he drew out three medallions.
“Stuck ’em there with plasticine as soon as I’d got ’em. After that anyone would have turned out my pockets if they’d wanted, see?”
Sir Clinton held out his hand and took the medallions from Foxy. For a moment or two he examined them, then he passed them to Cecil.
“Have you any way of telling easily whether these are the real things or the replicas?”
Cecil inspected them one by one with minute care.
“These are the real things,” he announced. “What else could they be?”
“You’ve no doubt about it?” questioned Sir Clinton.
“Not a bit,” Cecil assured him. “When Foxy made the replicas, my father had a tiny hole—just a dot—drilled in the edge of each electrotype so as to distinguish the real things from the sham. There are no holes here; so these are the real Leonardos.”
Sir Clinton swung round suddenly on Foxy.
“Now, Mr Polegate,” he said, sternly, “you’ve given a lot of trouble with this silly joke of yours. I’m not concerned with your taste in humour, or I might say a few things you wouldn’t care to hear. But you can repair the damage to some extent if you give me a frank account of your doings in here to-night. I want the whole story, please.”
Foxy was evidently completely taken aback by Sir Clinton’s tone.
“Come, we’re waiting. There’s no time to lose,” Sir Clinton said, curtly, as Foxy seemed to hesitate. Joan and the others showed by their faces that they could not quite understand the reason for the Chief Constable’s asperity.
“We planned that . . .”
“I know all about that,” said Sir Clinton, brusquely. “Begin at the point where you came in here at twenty to twelve or so.”
Foxy pulled himself together. The Chief Constable’s manner was not encouraging.
“I came in here as arranged, and worked my way over to the central case there—slowly, so as not to attract the keeper’s attention. One or two other people were hanging round it then, too. I remember noticing a chap in a white Pierrot costume alongside me. Suddenly there was a pistol-shot and the light went out according to plan.”
“How do you account for the pistol-shot?” demanded Sir Clinton.
“Try next door,” said Foxy. “I thought it was a fancy tip that Cecil had thrown in at the last moment. It wasn’t in the book of words.”
“You were ready to get to work when the light went out?” inquired Sir Clinton.
Foxy considered for a moment.
“It took me rather by surprise,” he admitted. “I’d counted on having at least another minute, according to the time-table.”
“What happened next? Be careful now.”
“As soon as the light went out, I pulled on a thick pair of gloves and got a bit of lead pipe out of my slapstick. But there was a bit of a scuffle in the dark round the show-case, and someone must have put their elbow through the glass. I heard it go crash in the dark. I shoved along till I was opposite the medallion section of the case—luckily someone made way for me just then—and I got to work with my lead pipe. The glass smashed easily—it must have been cracked before. So I put my hand in and groped about. I could find only three medallions instead of six; but I hooked them out, slabbed on some plasticine, stuck them under the case for future reference, and cut my stick for the door. Someone was ahead of me there, and I heard some sort of mix-up in the dark. Then I wandered out into the garden by the east door, as soon as I could find it in the dark. And I’ve been out there having a smoke till now. When I came in again, I heard you’d been asking for me, so I came along.”
Sir Clinton considered for a moment.
“I want to be quite clear on one point,” he said with no relaxation of his manner. “You say that you heard the glass crack before you began your work. Are you certain of that?”
“Quite,” said Foxy.
“And when you got your hand into the case you could find only three medallions?”
“That was all. I was groping for the top row of the six; and naturally it surprised me when I felt only three altogether. I’m quite certain about it.”
“So you were evidently the second thief at the case to-night?” Sir Clinton concluded.
Foxy flushed at the word “thief” but a glance at the face of the Chief Constable evidently persuaded him that it would be best not to argue on philology at that moment. He contented himself with nodding sullenly in response to Sir Clinton’s remark.
Joan relieved the tension.
“Anyhow, we’ve got the medallions safe, and that’s all that really matters,” she pointed out. “Let’s have a look at them, Cecil.”
She took them from his hand and scrutinized them carefully.
“Yes, these are the real Leonardos,” she affirmed, without hesitation. “That’s all right.”
“Quite all right,” admitted Sir Clinton, with a wry smile, “except for one point: Why were the replicas stolen and the real things left untouched?”
