The Modigliani Scandal - Ken Follett [84]
Julian realized he had trespassed on the ethics of the profession. ″Sorry,″ he mumbled.
The butler rang the bell for dinner.
Samantha was flying. Tom had given her the funny little flat tin that evening, and she had taken six of the blue capsules. Her head was light, her nerves tingled, and she was bursting with excitement.
She sat in the front seat of the van, squashed between Tom and Eyes Wright. Tom was driving. There were two other men in the back.
Tom said: ″Remember, if we′re very quiet we should have it off without waxing anybody. If someone does catch us bang to rights, pull a shooter on him, and tie him up. No violence. Quiet now, we′re there.″
He switched the engine off and let the van coast the last few yards. He stopped it just outside the gate of Lord Cardwell′s house. He spoke over his shoulder to the men in the back: ″Wait for the word.″
The three in the front got out. They had stocking masks, pulled up to their foreheads, ready to cover their faces if they were seen by the occupants of the house.
They walked carefully up the drive. Tom stopped at a manhole and whispered to Wright, ʺBurglar alarm.ʺ
Wright bent down and inserted a tool into the manhole cover. He lifted it easily and shone a pencil flashlight inside. ″Piece of cake,″ he said.
Samantha watched, fascinated, as he bent down and put his gloved hands into the tangle of wires. He separated two white ones.
From his little case he took a wire with crocodile clips at either end. The white wires emerged from one side of the manhole and disappeared on the other. Wright clipped the extra wire from his case onto the two terminals on the side of the manhole farthest from the house. Then he disconnected the wires at the opposite pair of terminals. He stood up. ″Direct line to the local nick,″ he whispered. ʺShortcircuited now.″
The three of them approached the house. Wright shone his flashlight carefully around a window frame. ʺJust the one,″ he whispered. He delved in his bag again and came up with a glass cutter.
He cut three sides of a small rectangle in the window near the inside handle. He pulled a strip of tape from a roll and bit it off with his teeth. He wound one end of the tape around his thumb, and pressed the other against the glass. Then he cut the fourth side of the rectangle and lifted the glass out on the end of the tape. He placed it carefully on the ground.
Tom reached through the opening and undid the catch. He swung the window wide and climbed in.
Wright took Samantha′s arm and led her to the front door. After a moment it opened silently, and Tom appeared.
The three of them crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. Outside the gallery, Tom took Wright′s arm and pointed at the foot of the doorpost.
Wright put down his bag and opened it. He took out an infrared lamp, turned it on, and beamed it at the tiny photoelectric cell embedded in the woodwork. With his free hand he took out a tripod, set it under the lamp, and adjusted its height. Finally he put the lamp gently on the tripod. He stood up.
Tom took the key from under the vase and opened the gallery door.
Julian lay awake listening to Sarah′s breathing. They had decided to stay the night at Lord Cardwell′s house after the dinner party. Sarah had been sound asleep for some time. He looked at the luminous hands of his watch: it was 2:30 A.M.
Now was the time. He pulled the sheet off him and sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His stomach felt as if someone had tied a knot in it.
It was a simple plan. He would go down to the gallery, take Lampeth′s Modigliani, and put it in the trunk of the Cortina. Then he would put the fake Modigliani in the gallery and come back to bed.
Lampeth would never know. The pictures were almost identical. Lampeth would find that his was a fake, and assume that Julian had had the real one all along.
He put on the dressing gown and slippers which had been provided by Sims, and opened the bedroom door.
Creeping around a house at the dead of night was all