Thud! - Terry Pratchett [16]
But the thieves had slashed the painting out as if they didn’t care about making a sale. There were several ragged inches all along the—just a moment…
Fred stood back. A Clue. There it was, right there. He got lovely, tight little shiver inside.
“This painting,” he declared, “this painting…this painting which isn’t here, I mean, obviously, was stolen by a…troll.”
“My goodness, how can you tell?” said Sir Reynold.
“I’m very glad you asked me that question, sir,” said Fred Colon, who was. “I have detected, you see, that the top of the circular muriel was cut really close to the frame.” He pointed. “Now, your troll would easily be able to reach up with his knife, right, and cut along the edge of the frame at the top and down a bit on each side, see? But your average troll don’t bend that well, so when it come to cutting along the bottom, right, he made a bit of a mess of the job and left it all jagged. Plus, only a troll could carry it away. A stair carpet’s bad enough, and a rolled-up muriel would be a lot heavier than that!”
He beamed.
“Well done, Sergeant!” said the curator.
“Good thinking, Fred,” said Nobby.
“Thank you, Corporal,” said Fred Colon generously.
“Or it could have been a couple of dwarfs with a stepladder,” Nobby went on cheerfully. “The decorators have left a few behind. They’re all over the place.”
Fred Colon sighed.
“Y’see, Nobby,” he said, “it’s comments like that, made in front of a member of the public, that are the reason why I’m a sergeant and you ain’t. If it was dwarfs, it would be neat all ’round, obviously. Is this place locked up at night, Mr. Sir Reynold?”
“Of course! Not just locked, but barred! Old John is meticulous about it. And he lives in the attics, so he can make this place like a fortress.”
“This’d be the caretaker?” said Fred. “We’ll need to talk to him.”
“Certainly you may,” said Sir Reynold nervously. “Now, I think hwe may have some details about the painting in our storeroom. I’ll, er, just go and, er, find them…”
He hurried off toward a small doorway.
“I wonder how they got it out?” said Nobby, when they were alone.
“Who says they did?” said Fred Colon. “Big place like this, full of attics and cellars and odd corners, well, why not stash it away and wait awhile? You get in as a customer one day, see, hide under a sheet, take out the muriel in the night, hide it somewhere, then go out with the customers next day. Simple, eh?” He beamed at Nobby. “You’ve got to outsmart the criminal mind, see?”
“Or they could’ve just smashed down a door and pushed off with the muriel in the middle of the night,” said Nobby. “Why mess about with a cunning plan when a simple one will do?”
Fred sighed. “I can see this is going to be a complicated case, Nobby.”
“You should ask Vimesy if we can have it, then,” said Nobby. “I mean, we already know the facts, right?”
Hovering in the air, unsaid, was: Where would you like to be in the next few days? Out there, where the axes and clubs are likely to be flying, or in here, searching all the attics and cellars very, very carefully? Think about it. And it wouldn’t be cowardice, right? ’Cos a famous muriel like this is bound to be part of our national heritage, right? Even if it is just a painting of a load of dwarfs and trolls having a scrap.
“I think I will do a proper report and suggest to Mr. Vimes that maybe we should handle this one,” said Fred Colon slowly. “It needs the attention of mature officers. D’you know much about art, Nobby?”
“If necessary, Sarge.”
“Oh, come on, Nobby!”
“What? Tawneee says what she does is Art, Sarge. And she wears more clothes than a lot of the women on the walls around here, so why be sniffy about it?”
“Yeah, but