can, and shall, replace it—out of my own spoils, of course.”
Robin grinned and pulled two glasses out of his mess kit. At Kedrington’s raised brow, he explained, “I have acquired some more civilized tools than tin cups and forks since my return—thanks in large part to Hollister, of course.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
The viscount accepted a filled glass, pulled up one of the chairs, and sat on it, stretching his long legs in front of him. “Would you care to give me a hint as to what I am supposed to be thinking about?” he said.
Mr. Campbell, aware of his friend’s facility at keeping two or three trains of thought going at once and pulling one forward while another was in progress, recognized now that he was only answering belatedly his first question.
He sat down, but could not be still. Leaning forward, with his hands on his knees, he announced, “I believe one of those pieces I showed you is a fake. Can you guess which one?”
Kedrington thought for a moment, then said, “The second panel in the frieze which you described as being one of the less damaged pieces because of its sheltered position on the wall of the Parthenon.”
Mr. Campbell sat back with satisfaction and clapped his hands twice on his knees. “I knew it! I knew I could trust you to spot it. What made you pick that one out, not knowing what you were looking for?”
“I expect that was part of the reason, that I was not looking for anything in particular and so my eyes were open to any possibility. It seemed to me that panel did not exactly match the ones on either side of it. Also, the stone, while rough, was not weathered in the same way.”
He was silent for a moment, but his friend gave him no further explanation of why he had called on him.
“Are you telling me,” Kedrington finally ventured, “that the genuine piece has been stolen?”
“That is what I believe.”
“But why? And more important, how? It’s a relatively small piece, but it would take a great deal of effort and at least several men to move it.”
“The why is, as you say, not difficult to imagine. A great many people believe that we—that is, Lord Elgin, but by extension, the British in general—have no right to the marbles and that they should be returned to Greece.”
“So you believe Greek patriots may be behind this.”
Robin shrugged. “Then again, someone with no loyalty to either side may simply wish to steal them.”
“Why? They could not be resold.”
“For ransom. The pieces may be hard to move, but they would not need to be guarded and fed.”
“Which brings us back to the how,” Kedrington mused, sipping lightly at his brandy. “Admittedly, the engineers we had in Spain could move objects that heavy fairly quickly, even over rough ground, and anyone with the same skills could, at least in theory, do the same here. But even under cover of darkness, how would they get out of the building unseen, and where would they take the pieces?”
“That is the question I have lain awake all night pondering. I hoped to put your brain to the same problem, since mine is quite weary of it.”
“Why don’t you call in someone in authority—some member of the board of inquiry, or the museum staff?”
Robin shook his head. “I have been reluctant to bring anyone else in just yet. I’ve pondered the various possibilities until my head aches. If it turns out that the anti-Elgin faction are not actually behind the theft, knowledge of it might encourage them to greater vociferousness, even if they did not take umbrage at the implied accusation. Not to mention that anyone—myself included—who has regular access to the marbles might come under suspicion. If I were removed from this position, I could do nothing further to locate the piece and prevent any further thefts.”
“Is it important to you that you solve this mystery?”
“Yes. It happened on my watch, Duncan. I am not the only guard on duty, but the others are all under my
Robin grinned and pulled two glasses out of his mess kit. At Kedrington’s raised brow, he explained, “I have acquired some more civilized tools than tin cups and forks since my return—thanks in large part to Hollister, of course.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
The viscount accepted a filled glass, pulled up one of the chairs, and sat on it, stretching his long legs in front of him. “Would you care to give me a hint as to what I am supposed to be thinking about?” he said.
Mr. Campbell, aware of his friend’s facility at keeping two or three trains of thought going at once and pulling one forward while another was in progress, recognized now that he was only answering belatedly his first question.
He sat down, but could not be still. Leaning forward, with his hands on his knees, he announced, “I believe one of those pieces I showed you is a fake. Can you guess which one?”
Kedrington thought for a moment, then said, “The second panel in the frieze which you described as being one of the less damaged pieces because of its sheltered position on the wall of the Parthenon.”
Mr. Campbell sat back with satisfaction and clapped his hands twice on his knees. “I knew it! I knew I could trust you to spot it. What made you pick that one out, not knowing what you were looking for?”
“I expect that was part of the reason, that I was not looking for anything in particular and so my eyes were open to any possibility. It seemed to me that panel did not exactly match the ones on either side of it. Also, the stone, while rough, was not weathered in the same way.”
He was silent for a moment, but his friend gave him no further explanation of why he had called on him.
“Are you telling me,” Kedrington finally ventured, “that the genuine piece has been stolen?”
“That is what I believe.”
“But why? And more important, how? It’s a relatively small piece, but it would take a great deal of effort and at least several men to move it.”
“The why is, as you say, not difficult to imagine. A great many people believe that we—that is, Lord Elgin, but by extension, the British in general—have no right to the marbles and that they should be returned to Greece.”
“So you believe Greek patriots may be behind this.”
Robin shrugged. “Then again, someone with no loyalty to either side may simply wish to steal them.”
“Why? They could not be resold.”
“For ransom. The pieces may be hard to move, but they would not need to be guarded and fed.”
“Which brings us back to the how,” Kedrington mused, sipping lightly at his brandy. “Admittedly, the engineers we had in Spain could move objects that heavy fairly quickly, even over rough ground, and anyone with the same skills could, at least in theory, do the same here. But even under cover of darkness, how would they get out of the building unseen, and where would they take the pieces?”
“That is the question I have lain awake all night pondering. I hoped to put your brain to the same problem, since mine is quite weary of it.”
“Why don’t you call in someone in authority—some member of the board of inquiry, or the museum staff?”
Robin shook his head. “I have been reluctant to bring anyone else in just yet. I’ve pondered the various possibilities until my head aches. If it turns out that the anti-Elgin faction are not actually behind the theft, knowledge of it might encourage them to greater vociferousness, even if they did not take umbrage at the implied accusation. Not to mention that anyone—myself included—who has regular access to the marbles might come under suspicion. If I were removed from this position, I could do nothing further to locate the piece and prevent any further thefts.”
“Is it important to you that you solve this mystery?”
“Yes. It happened on my watch, Duncan. I am not the only guard on duty, but the others are all under my
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