turned to Desai. ‘Leon, how did things go at the lab?’
‘Very well, I think. Bert Freedman sends his apologies—he didn’t get any sleep last night, and went home for a couple of hours. Dr Waverley has more stamina. He worked all through the night with the lab boys, and he’d be best to describe the result.’
‘Fine. We very much appreciate your help, Dr Waverley. Please tell us.’
Waverley looked pale, his eyes bright and rimmed in pink. He stood the briefcase on his knee, opened the flap and groped inside. After a moment he found a pair of white cotton gloves, which he put on before reaching back into the briefcase again, this time lifting out a plain white envelope. Setting the briefcase aside, he drew a piece of cardboard packing out of the envelope, unfolded it and slid the contents out on to the table. There was a murmur of appreciation as everyone saw the envelope with copperplate handwriting and the black stamp.
Melville said, ‘The Canada Cover!’
‘As close as we could get in the time available,’ Waverley said.
Melville took a small magnifier from his pocket and went over to the envelope, peering closely at it, nodding as his eye moved from one part to another. Finally he straightened. ‘Astonishing. Really very good. Have a look, Mr Starling.’
Starling got to his feet, came round the table and took the magnifying glass from Melville. When he’d made his examination he looked at Waverley anxiously, biting his lip with tension. ‘I can’t tell the difference,’ he said.
‘Nor I,’ Melville concurred. ‘It really is quite astonishing. Congratulations, Tim. Well done.’
‘The question is,’ Desai said, ‘can we use it? Should we use it?’
They looked at Brock, who in turn faced Waverley. ‘Will it fool an expert?’
‘I’ve been giving that some thought, Chief Inspector.’ Waverley pushed the unruly lock of hair back from his eyebrows and straightened his glasses. He looked sombre. ‘It’s really a matter of how much time and equipment they’ll have access to.’ He looked apologetic. ‘I’m sure you’ve thought all this through, but presumably your opponents will be just as conscious as you of the possibilities of substituting a fake.’
Brock nodded.
‘Well, then they’re hardly likely to do an exchange on the spot. If it were me, I’d want some time—an hour or more—and access to a microscope and perhaps other equipment to check what I’d been given before I went through with the deal.’
Starling became agitated. ‘You mean I have to trust them? Hand over the stamp, then walk away and wait for them to decide whether to honour their part?’
No one answered him. They could imagine the ending he had pictured in his mind, a scene from an old movie, him leaving the envelope in a specified place, a car squealing into view, the rear door thrown open and Eva jumping out into his arms . . .
‘Sammy,’ Brock said softly, ‘I’m afraid Dr Waverley is right. They will surely want to check what they’re given.’
‘And if that’s the case . . .’ Waverley automatically swept at the lock of hair ‘. . . as James says, it’s really quite astonishing that we were able to get so far in just twenty-four hours. It would certainly fool someone without access to technical tests. But an expert, with a portable microscope, that’s much more problematic.’
The room was silent for a moment, then Brock said, ‘Your professional opinion, Dr Waverley. Is it worth trying?’
Waverley hesitated, then shook his head regretfully. ‘If it were my wife, I wouldn’t risk it. I wish very much I could say otherwise, but I think there’s at least a fifty per cent chance they’d smell a rat.’
Starling’s face dropped. Waverley looked sadly at him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Starling. We did our very best.’
Starling looked round the room at each face in turn, then lowered his eyes. ‘No, you’re right, Tim. I can’t risk it either.’ He sounded tired and
‘Very well, I think. Bert Freedman sends his apologies—he didn’t get any sleep last night, and went home for a couple of hours. Dr Waverley has more stamina. He worked all through the night with the lab boys, and he’d be best to describe the result.’
‘Fine. We very much appreciate your help, Dr Waverley. Please tell us.’
Waverley looked pale, his eyes bright and rimmed in pink. He stood the briefcase on his knee, opened the flap and groped inside. After a moment he found a pair of white cotton gloves, which he put on before reaching back into the briefcase again, this time lifting out a plain white envelope. Setting the briefcase aside, he drew a piece of cardboard packing out of the envelope, unfolded it and slid the contents out on to the table. There was a murmur of appreciation as everyone saw the envelope with copperplate handwriting and the black stamp.
Melville said, ‘The Canada Cover!’
‘As close as we could get in the time available,’ Waverley said.
Melville took a small magnifier from his pocket and went over to the envelope, peering closely at it, nodding as his eye moved from one part to another. Finally he straightened. ‘Astonishing. Really very good. Have a look, Mr Starling.’
Starling got to his feet, came round the table and took the magnifying glass from Melville. When he’d made his examination he looked at Waverley anxiously, biting his lip with tension. ‘I can’t tell the difference,’ he said.
‘Nor I,’ Melville concurred. ‘It really is quite astonishing. Congratulations, Tim. Well done.’
‘The question is,’ Desai said, ‘can we use it? Should we use it?’
They looked at Brock, who in turn faced Waverley. ‘Will it fool an expert?’
‘I’ve been giving that some thought, Chief Inspector.’ Waverley pushed the unruly lock of hair back from his eyebrows and straightened his glasses. He looked sombre. ‘It’s really a matter of how much time and equipment they’ll have access to.’ He looked apologetic. ‘I’m sure you’ve thought all this through, but presumably your opponents will be just as conscious as you of the possibilities of substituting a fake.’
Brock nodded.
‘Well, then they’re hardly likely to do an exchange on the spot. If it were me, I’d want some time—an hour or more—and access to a microscope and perhaps other equipment to check what I’d been given before I went through with the deal.’
Starling became agitated. ‘You mean I have to trust them? Hand over the stamp, then walk away and wait for them to decide whether to honour their part?’
No one answered him. They could imagine the ending he had pictured in his mind, a scene from an old movie, him leaving the envelope in a specified place, a car squealing into view, the rear door thrown open and Eva jumping out into his arms . . .
‘Sammy,’ Brock said softly, ‘I’m afraid Dr Waverley is right. They will surely want to check what they’re given.’
‘And if that’s the case . . .’ Waverley automatically swept at the lock of hair ‘. . . as James says, it’s really quite astonishing that we were able to get so far in just twenty-four hours. It would certainly fool someone without access to technical tests. But an expert, with a portable microscope, that’s much more problematic.’
The room was silent for a moment, then Brock said, ‘Your professional opinion, Dr Waverley. Is it worth trying?’
Waverley hesitated, then shook his head regretfully. ‘If it were my wife, I wouldn’t risk it. I wish very much I could say otherwise, but I think there’s at least a fifty per cent chance they’d smell a rat.’
Starling’s face dropped. Waverley looked sadly at him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Starling. We did our very best.’
Starling looked round the room at each face in turn, then lowered his eyes. ‘No, you’re right, Tim. I can’t risk it either.’ He sounded tired and
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