Silent Nights by Martin Edwards Page A

several of my unfortunate compatriots, and frankly it would be embarrassing for me if it leaked out that I was the vendor.”
    Ferdie nodded. He suspected that a great deal of the property which he was to acquire had been secured by underhand means. He more than suspected that, for all his princely origin, his companion was not too honest.
    â€œThat is why I have asked that the money you pay should be in American currency. By the way, have you made that provision?” Lord Carfane nodded. “And, of course, I shall not ask you to pay a single dollar until you are satisfied that the property is worth what I ask. It is in fact worth three times as much.”
    Lord Carfane was nothing if not frank.
    â€œNow, I’m going to tell you, my dear chap,” he said, “there will only be one person at Carfane Hall who will know anything whatever about this little transaction of ours. He’s an expert jeweller. He is an authority, and he will examine every piece and price it before I part with a single bob!”
    His Highness heartily, but gravely, approved of this act of precaution.
    Lord Carfane had met his companion a few weeks before in a highly respectable night club, the introduction having been effected through the medium of a very beautiful lady who had accidentally spilt a glass of champagne over his lordship’s dress trousers. She was so lovely a personage that Lord Carfane did no more than smile graciously, and a few minutes later was introduced to her sedate and imposing presence.
    Harry the Valet invariably secured his introductions by this method. Usually he worked with Molly Kien, and paid her a hundred pounds for every introduction.
    He spoke no more of jewels smuggled from Russia and offered at ridiculous prices, but talked sorrowfully of the misfortunes of his country; spoke easily of his estates in the Crimea and his mines in the Urals, now, alas! in Bolshevik hands. Lord Carfane was immensely entertained.
    On the following evening, Harry drove down in Lord Carfane’s limousine to Berkshire, and was introduced to the glories of Carfane Hall; to the great banqueting chamber with its high-raftered roof; to the white-tiled larder where petrified turkeys hung in rows, each grisly corpse decorated with a gay rosette…
    â€œMy tenants come in on Christmas Eve,” explained Lord Carfane, “and my butler presents each one with a turkey and a small bag of groceries—”
    â€œAn old feudal custom?” suggested the Prince gravely.
    Lord Carfane agreed with equal gravity.
    The Prince had brought with him a large, heavily locked and strapped handbag, which had been deposited in the safe, which was the most conspicuous feature of Ferdie’s library. The expert jeweller was arriving on the morrow, and his lordship looked forward, with a sense of pleasurable anticipation, to a day which would yield him 400 per cent profit on a considerable outlay.
    â€œYes,” said Ferdie at dinner that night, “I prefer a combination safe. One can lose keys, but not if they’re here”—he tapped his narrow forehead and smiled.
    Harry the Valet agreed. One of his greatest charms was his complete agreement with anything anybody said or did or thought.
    ***
    Whilst he dwelt in luxury in the halls of the great, his unhappy confederate had a more painful task. Joe the Runner had collected from a garage a small, light trolley. It was not beautiful to look upon, but it was fast, and under its covered tilt, beneath sacks and amidst baskets, a man making a swift getaway might lie concealed and be carried to London without exciting attention.
    Joe made a leisurely way into Berkshire and came to the rendezvous at the precise minute he had been ordered. It was a narrow lane at the termination of a footpath leading across the Carfane estate to the house. It was a cold, blue-fingered, red nosed job, and for three hours he sat and shivered. And then, coming across the field in the