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  Mr Campion regarded his visitor with mild surprise.

  ‘I’m glad you feel like that,’ he said. ‘But I’m not assisting your father, and I had no idea you’d feel so strongly about this piece of bad taste.’

  Val snorted. ‘Bad taste?’ he said. ‘Of course, you’re a stranger, and you’ll appreciate how difficult it is for me to explain how we’ – he hesitated – ‘regard the Chalice.’ He lowered his voice upon the last word instinctively.

  Mr Campion coughed. ‘Look here,’ he said at last, ‘if you could unbend a little towards me I think I could interest you extremely. For Heaven’s sake sit down and be a bit human.’

  The young man smiled and dropped back into his chair, and just for a moment his youth was apparent in his face.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know who you are. Forgive me for harping on this,’ he added awkwardly, ‘but it does make it difficult, you know. You see, we never mention the Chalice at home. It’s one of these tremendously important things one never talks about. The photograph knocked me off my balance. My father must be crazy, or –’ He sat up, a sudden gleam of apprehension coming into his eyes. ‘Is he all right?’

  The pale young man nodded. ‘Perfectly, I believe,’ he said. ‘That photograph was evidently taken and given to the Press without his knowledge. I expect there’s been some trouble about it.’

  ‘I bet there has.’ Val spoke grimly. ‘Of course, you would hardly understand, but this is sacrilege.’ A flush spread over his face which Mr Campion realized was shame.

  Gyrth sat huddled in his chair, the open paper on his knee. Mr Campion sighed, and perching himself upon the edge of the table began to speak.

  ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I’m going to give you a lesson in economics, and then I’m going to tell you a fairy tale. All I ask you to do is to listen to me. I think it will be worth your while.’

  Val nodded. ‘I don’t know who you are,’ he said, ‘but fire away.’

  Mr Campion grinned. ‘Hear my piece, and you shall have my birth certificate afterwards if you want it. Sit back, and I’ll go into details.’

  Val leant back in his chair obediently and Mr Campion bent forward, a slightly more intelligent expression than usual upon his affable, ineffectual face.

  ‘I don’t know if you’re one of these merchants who study psychology and economics and whatnot,’ he began, ‘but if you are you must have noticed that there comes a point when, if you’re only wealthy enough, nothing else matters except what you happen to want at the moment. I mean you’re above trifles like law and order and who’s going to win the Boat Race.’ He hesitated. Val seemed to understand. Mr Campion continued.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘about fifty years ago half a dozen of the wealthiest men in the world – two Britons, an American, two Spaniards and a Frenchman – made this interesting discovery with regard to the collection of objets d’art. They each had different hobbies, fortunately, and they all had the divine mania.’

  Once again he paused. ‘This is where the lesson ends and the fairy story begins. Once upon a time six gentlemen found that they could buy almost anything they wanted for their various collections, of which they were very fond. Then one of them, who was a greedy fellow, started wanting things that couldn’t be bought, things so valuable that eminent philanthropists had given them to museums Also national relics of great historical value. Do you follow me?’

  Gyrth nodded. ‘I don’t see where it’s leading,’ he said, ‘but I’m listening.’

  ‘The first man,’ continued Mr Campion, ‘whom we will call Ethel because that was obviously not his name, said to himself: “Ethel, you would like that portrait of Marie Antoinette which is in the Louvre, but it is not for sale, and if you tried to buy it very likely there would be a war, and you would not be so rich as you are now. There is only one way, therefore, of getting this beautiful picture.” So he said to his servant George, who was a genius but a bad lot, I regret to say: “What do you think, George?” And George thought it could be stolen if sufficient money was forthcoming, as he knew just the man who was famous for his clever thieving. And that,’ went on Mr Campion, his slightly absurd voice rising in his enthusiasm, ‘is how it all began.’

  Gyrth sat up. ‘You don’t expect me to take this seriously, do you?’ he said.

  ‘Listen,’ said his host sharply, ‘that’s all I’m asking you. When Ethel had got the picture, and the police of four countries were looking everywhere for it except in Ethel’s private collection at his country house, where they didn’t go because he was an Important Person, Evelyn, a friend of his who was as wealthy as he was, and a keen collector of ceramics, came to Ethel’s house, and Ethel could not resist the temptation of showing him the picture. Well, Evelyn was more than impressed. “How did you get it?” he said. “If you can get your picture of Marie Antoinette, why should I not obtain the Ming vase which is in the British Museum, because I am as rich as you?”

  ‘ “Well,” said Ethel, “as you are a friend of mine and will not blackmail me, because you are too honourable for that, I will introduce you to my valet George, who might arrange it for you.” And he did. And George did arrange it, only this time he went to another thief who was at the top of his class for stealing vases. Then Evelyn was very pleased and could not help telling his friend Cecil, who was a king in a small way and a collector of jewels in a large way. And of course, in the end they went to George and the thing happened all over again.

  ‘After fifty years,’ said Campion slowly, ‘quite a lot of people who were very rich had employed George and George’s successor, with the result that there is today quite a number of wealthy Ethels and Cecils and Evelyns. They are hardly a society, but perhaps they could be called a ring – the most powerful and the most wealthy ring in the world. You see, they are hardly criminals,’ he went on, ‘in the accepted sense. It is George, and George’s friends, who meet the trouble when there is any, and they also pocket all the money.

  ‘Besides, they never touch anything that can be bought in the open market. They are untouchable, the Ethels and the Cecils, because (a) they are very important people, and (b) nobody but George and George’s successor ever knows where the treasures go. That is the strength of the whole thing. Now do you see what I mean?’

  As his voice died away the silence in the little room became oppressive. In spite of the lightness of his words he had managed to convey a sense of reality into his story. Gyrth stared at him.

  ‘Is this true?’ he said. ‘It’s extraordinary if it is. Almost as extraordinary as the rest of the things that have happened to me tonight. But I don’t see how it concerns me.’

  ‘I’m coming to that,’ said Mr Campion patiently. ‘But first of all I want you to get it into your head that my little fairy story has one thing only to mitigate its obvious absurdity – it happens to be perfectly true. Didn’t the “Mona Lisa” disappear on one occasion, turning up after a bit in most fishy circumstances? If you think back, several priceless, unpurchasable treasures have vanished from time to time; all things, you will observe, without any marketable value on account of their fame.’

  ‘I suppose some of the original members of – of this “ring” died?’ said Gyrth, carried away in spite of himself by the piquancy of the story.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Campion, ‘I was coming to that too. During the last fifty years the percentage of millionaires has gone up considerably. This little circle of wealthy collectors has grown. Just after the War the membership numbered about twenty, men of all races and colours, and the organization which had been so successful for a small number got a bit swamped. It was at this point that one of the members, an organizing genius, a man whose name is famous over three continents, by the way, took the thing in hand and set down four or five main maxims: pulled the thing together, and put it on a business basis, in fact. So that the society, or whatever you like to call it – it has no name that I know of – is now practically omnipotent in its own sphere.’

  He pa
used, allowing his words to sink in, and rising to his feet paced slowly up and down the room.

  ‘I don’t know the names of half the members,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you the names of those I do know. But when I say that neither Scotland Yard, the Central Office, nor the Sûreté will admit a fact that is continually cropping up under their noses, you’ll probably see that Ethel and his friends are pretty important people. Why, if the thing was exposed there’d be a scandal which would upset at least a couple of thrones and jeopardize the governments of four or five powers.’

  Gyrth set his glass down on a small book-table beside him. ‘It’s a hell of a tale,’ he said, ‘but I think I believe you.’

  The pale young man shot him a grateful smile. ‘I’m so glad,’ he said. ‘It makes the rest of our conversation possible.’

  Val frowned. ‘I don’t see how they did it,’ he said, ignoring Campion’s last remark. ‘The George in your fairy story: how did he set about it?’

  Campion shrugged his shoulders. ‘That was easy enough,’ he said. ‘It was so simple. That’s where the original gentleman’s gentleman was so clever. That’s what’s made the business what it is today. He simply set himself up as a “fence”, and let it be known in the right quarter he would pay a fabulous sum for the article indicated. I dare say it sounds rather like a “Pre-Raffleite” Brotherhood to you,’ he added cheerfully. ‘But you must take Uncle Albert’s word for it. They pay their money and they take their choice.’

  Gyrth sighed. ‘It’s extraordinary,’ he said. ‘But where do I come in? I’m not a famous crook,’ he added, laughing. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t pinch anything for you.’

  Mr Campion shook his head. ‘You’ve got me all wrong,’ he said. ‘I do not belong to the firm. Don’t you see why I’ve got you here?’

  Val looked at him blankly for a moment, and then a wave of understanding passed over his face and he looked at Campion with eyes that were frankly horrified.

  ‘Good heavens!’ he said, ‘the chalice!’

  Mr Campion slipped off the table. ‘Yes,’ he said gravely, ‘it’s the chalice.’

  ‘But that’s impossible!’ A moment’s reflection had convinced Val of the absurdity of any such suggestion.

  ‘I won’t discuss it,’ he went on. ‘Hang it all! You’re a stranger. You don’t know – you can’t know the absurdity of a story like this.’

  ‘My dear chump,’ said Campion patiently, ‘you can’t protect anything unless you accept the reality of its danger. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to find you because I happen to know for a fact that unless you do something the Gyrth Chalice will be in the private collection of a particularly illustrious Mohammedan within six months from today.’

  For a moment the boy was speechless. Then he laughed. ‘My dear sir,’ he said, ‘you’re mad.’

  Mr Campion was hurt. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said. ‘But who do you suppose went to the length of trying to kidnap you in a taxi? Why do you imagine there are at least four gentlemen at present watching my front door? You’ll probably see them if you care to look.’

  The young man was still incredulous, but considerably startled. All the vagueness had for a moment vanished from his host’s manner. Mr Campion was alert, eager, almost intelligent.

  Val shook his head.

  ‘You’re not serious,’ he said.

  Campion took off his spectacles and looked his visitor straight in the eyes.

  ‘Now, listen, Val Gyrth,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to believe me. I’m not nearly so ignorant of the position that the Gyrth Chalice holds in your family, and in the country, as you imagine. By warning you I am placing myself at direct variance with one of the most powerful organizations in the world. By offering you my assistance I am endangering my life.’ He paused, but went on again immediately after.

  ‘Would you like me to tell you of the ceremony connected with the Chalice? Of the visits of the King’s Chamberlain every ten years which have taken place regularly ever since the Restoration? Or of the deed by which your entire family possessions are forfeit to the Crown should the Chalice be lost? There’s a great deal more I could tell you. According to your family custom you come of age on your twenty-fifth birthday, when there is a ceremony in the East Wing of the Tower. You’ll have to go to Sanctuary for that.’

  Val took a deep breath. The last barriers of his prejudice were down. There was something in his host’s sudden change from the inane to the fervent which was extraordinarily convincing.

  Mr Campion, who was pacing rapidly up and down the room, now turned.

  ‘However you look at it, I think you and your family are in for a pretty parroty time. That’s why I looked you up. “Ethel” and his friends are after the Chalice. And they’ll get it unless we do something.’

  Val was silent for some minutes, surveying his host with critical eyes. His colour had heightened, and the heavy muscles at the side of his jaw beneath his stubbly beard were knotted.

  ‘The swine!’ he said suddenly. ‘Of course, if this comes off it’ll mean the end of us. As you know so much you must realize that this relic is the reason for our existence. We’re one of the oldest families in England. Yet we take no part in politics or anything else much, simply devoting ourselves to the preservation of the Chalice.’

  He stopped dead and glanced at his host, a sudden suggestion of suspicion in his eye.

  ‘Why are you interesting yourself in this affair?’ he demanded.

  Mr Campion hesitated. ‘It’s rather difficult to explain,’ he said. ‘I am – or rather I was – a sort of universal uncle, a policeman’s friend and master-crook’s factotum. What it really boiled down to, I suppose, is that I used to undertake other people’s adventures for them at a small fee. If necessary I can give you references from Scotland Yard, unofficial, of course, or from almost any other authority you might care to mention. But last year my precious uncle, His Grace the Bishop of Devizes, the only one of the family who’s ever appreciated me, by the way, died and left me the savings of an episcopal lifetime. Having become a capitalist, I couldn’t very well go on with my fourpence-an-hour business, so that I’ve been forced to look for suitable causes to which I could donate a small portion of my brains and beauty. That’s one reason.

  ‘Secondly, if you’ll respect my confidence, I have a slightly personal interest in the matter. I’ve been practically chucked out by my family. In fact most of it is under the impression that I went to the Colonies ten years ago …’

  Gyrth stopped him. ‘When you took off your spectacles a moment ago,’ he said, ‘you reminded me of …’

  Mr Campion’s pale face flushed. ‘Shall we leave it at that?’ he suggested.

  A wave of understanding passed over the boy’s face. He poured himself out another drink.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘but you’ve treated me to a series of shocks and opened a bit of a chasm beneath my feet. You’re a bit hard to swallow, you know, especially after the way you hooked me in here. How did you do it?’

  ‘Conjuring,’ said Mr Campion simply and unsatisfactorily. ‘It’s all done with mirrors. As a matter of fact,’ he went on, becoming suddenly grave, ‘I’ve been looking for you for a fortnight. And when I spotted you I couldn’t approach you, because “George’s” friends were interested in you as well, and I didn’t want to put my head in a hornet’s nest. You see, they know me rather better than I know them.’

  ‘I was followed?’ said Val. ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘Well, they wanted to get hold of you, and so did I,’ said Mr Campion. ‘If a friend of mine had tapped you on the shoulder and led you into a pub, one of “George’s” friends would have come too. You had to come to me of your own volition, or apparently so. That explains why my people had to drop a score of envelopes under your nose before you’d rise to the bait. Lugg’s been spending his evenings at Kemp’s for the last fortnight. He’s my man, by the way.

  ‘You see,’ he added apologetically, ‘I
had to get you to go down to Clerkenwell first just to make sure they hadn’t already approached you. I fancy they wanted to see you in slightly more desperate straits before they came forward with their proposition.’ He paused and looked at his visitor. ‘Do you follow me?’ he said.

  ‘I’m trying to,’ said Gyrth valiantly. ‘But I don’t see why they should want to get hold of me. Here am I, completely penniless. I’m no use to anyone. I can’t even get a job.’

  ‘That,’ said the pale young man gravely, ‘is where we come to a personal and difficult matter. You are – estranged from your father?’

  Val nodded, and the obstinate lines round his mouth hardened. ‘That’s true,’ he said.

  Mr Campion bent forward to attend to the fire. ‘My dear young sir,’ he said, ‘as I told you, the practice of these collectors is to employ the most suitable agent for the job on hand. And although it might be perfectly obvious to anyone who knew you that the chance of buying your services was about as likely as my taking up barbola work, the dark horse who’s taken on this job obviously hasn’t realized this. Some people think a starving man will sell anything.’

  Val exploded wrathfully. The young man waited until the paroxysm was over and then spoke mildly.

  ‘Quite,’ he said. ‘Still, that explains it, doesn’t it?’

  Val nodded. ‘And the “long road”?’ he said.

  ‘A form of salutation between “George’s” friends.’

  Val sighed. ‘It’s incredible,’ he said. ‘I’ll put myself in your hands if I may. What are we going to do? Call in the police?’

  Campion dropped into a chair beside his kinsman. ‘I wish we could,’ he said. ‘But you see our difficulty there. If we call in the police when nothing has been stolen they won’t be very sympathetic, and they won’t hang about indefinitely. Once the treasure has been stolen it will pass almost immediately into the hands of people who are untouchable. It wouldn’t be fair do’s for the policemen. I have worked for Scotland Yard in my time. One of my best friends is a big Yard man. He’ll do all he can to help us, but you see the difficulties of the situation.’