Page 102 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘I wouldn’t know what a thief might do.’

‘You could take a guess,’ Afton suggested.

He thought for a minute, staring hard at Afton, who stared steadily back. ‘You could try Pogrebin’s, up at New Ashmore. He’s not as particular as some. But I never told you that.’

‘Of course not. I was never here,’ Afton said.

New Ashmore was the settlement that had grown up around the railway, larger than a hamlet, but with no parish church, so it was not a village. There were rows and rows of terraced brick cottages, a couple of low-looking ale houses, and a flight of shops catering to basic needs. One of these had the three golden balls hanging outside. It was small and dark and there was nothing in the window but dust. Inside the space was choked with racks and racks of clothes, and the counter at the back had metal bars fixed above it all the way to the ceiling, suggesting the owner was not unfamiliar with the violence of the desperate.

Behind the bars, a figure emerged from some crepuscular haunt in the rear: shortish, a smudge of pale face between bushy dark hair and a massive dark beard. Afton suspected all the foliage was Pogrebin’s defence, as Thavey’s was his unyielding expression.

‘What can I do for you?’ the man asked, in a rich voice with a hint of some accent. The dark eyes were unfriendly.

Afton thought he was probably too well-dressed to be in here, raising suspicion. ‘A friend of mine sent me,’ he said. ‘He pledged something and now he wants it back. Sentimental value, you understand.’

‘Everybody’s sentimental,’ said Pogrebin. ‘Why don’t your friend come himself?’

‘He’s at work – can’t get away. I said I’d come as a favour.’

Pogrebin sniffed, as if he didn’t believe this but didn’t much care. ‘Wot’s this thing he pledged, then?’

‘A stamp album, bound in red leather. Have you got it?’

‘Wot’s he look like, your friend?’

‘Tall, skinny, dark hair.’

‘Face like a skellington?’

‘That’s him.’ Afton suppressed a thrill. He was on the right track.

‘He didn’t pledge it. He sold it. Too bad for him if he wants it back.’

‘He’ll pay,’ Afton said. ‘With interest.’

Pogrebin bared unexpectedly white teeth in what was not a friendly smile. ‘Too late. He can’t have it. It’s gone.’

‘You’ve sold it on?’

‘Reckons he can get more for it somewhere else now, eh? Too bad. Should have thought of that before. Sold is sold. If he didn’t know the value of it, that’s his fault.’

‘Who did you sell it to?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Please. He’s very attached to that collection.’

‘I bought it fair and square and sold it the same. He was glad to get what I give him.’

‘But maybe I could get it back, if you tell me who bought it.’

‘London dealer. It was too rich for my blood. Specialist items like that, I sell ’em in London.’

‘Specialist items? You mean stolen goods?’

The face tightened with anger. ‘What’s your game? Who are you? Are you police?’

‘No, I’m just—’