Appleby File by Michael Innes Page B

it before. It had hung in some private sanctum of the late Sir Gabriel’s, accessible only to the regard of the particular cronies of its proprietor – who had presumably included the four persons here represented with him over their port and cigars. It was perhaps this fact that had brought the Applebys to have a look at the thing now.
    ‘Do you find it amusing?’ Lady Finch asked. Lady Finch, whether correctly or not, had taken on the role of hostess on this artistic occasion, and was having a word with everybody in turn.
    ‘No, not exactly that.’ Appleby judged the question odd. Apart from a formal introduction, Lady Finch was unknown to him, and he now glanced at her with attention. A harmless vacuous woman, she seemed to be. ‘But extremely interesting. It captures a great deal of a certain style of living. You have very generously given the gallery what must become a notable period piece.’
    ‘Do you think so?’ These simple remarks seemed rather beyond Lady Finch. ‘Gabriel always appeared to find it very amusing. And his friends. They had a gathering before it once a year. With champagne. And there was a great deal of laughter.’
    ‘Dear me! And by his friends you mean, in this connection, the people actually represented with him here in the picture?’
    ‘Yes. At least, I suppose so.’ Lady Finch glanced vaguely at her handsome gift to the nation. ‘I didn’t really know my husband’s business associates very well. Of course, they were important people. Everybody looked up to them – almost as much as to Gabriel himself.’
    ‘I am delighted to hear it,’ Appleby said. Lady Finch’s first appearance before society, he was vaguely conjecturing, had perhaps been across the footlights of a music hall. ‘Did you know the artist, Gwilym Lloyd?’
    ‘I only met him two or three times, during the sittings. They called him Mungo Lloyd, which was some sort of pun. But I thought him very astute. Gabriel did a great deal for him. After the Conversation Piece, I mean. Gabriel got him commissions for portraits all over the City. It was quite the making of Mr Lloyd. He became very good at robes and things. And fur. Aldermen and people have to be painted in fur.’
    ‘Indeed they do. I think Lloyd died some years before Sir Gabriel. Was Sir Gabriel distressed?’
    ‘Oh yes, of course. Gabriel’s feelings were always the proper ones. Only, he used to say funny things. And I remember that when Mr Lloyd died he said it was a good riddance of a damned nuisance. Wasn’t that strange?’
    ‘Very,’ Appleby said. And he made his escape with a bow.
    It was into the arms of Lord Pendragon, whose dress and glass of tomato juice alike suggested that he was going on to a formal dinner. He was, Appleby imagined, a Trustee of the Lyle, and present on this occasion as a matter of civility.
    ‘Keeping an eye on security?’ Pendragon asked humorously. It was the year in which Appleby had become Commissioner of Metropolitan Police, so here were two Top People in a huddle. ‘Can’t say I’d mind if somebody made off with the thing right under your nose, my dear fellow.’
    ‘The Lloyd Conversation Piece? I quite agree – and I’m here merely because Judith brought me. By the way, who are the other people in the picture?’
    ‘I haven’t the slightest idea – and there seems to be nothing to inform us. Let’s have another look at them.’
    ‘They seem younger than their entertainer, and one might expect some of them to be still alive, and present to see themselves attaining fresh celebrity tonight. But Lady Finch is entirely vague about them.’
    ‘A charming woman, but not notably well-informed.’ With this bland pronouncement, Pendragon paused before the Conversation Piece. ‘I knew Finch slightly,’ he said, ‘and it’s a good likeness, so far as I remember. As for the others, I’m not sure now that they don’t ring some vague bell. They hang together, as it were.’ He frowned. ‘But not much of