‘A hundred pounds if they all had their original dust jackets.’
‘And a signed set?’
‘Three hundred, possibly three-fifty if they were in mint condition.’
‘May I ask how much you paid for them?’
‘Two hundred and fifty pounds.’
‘So our man could have picked up an unsigned set for about a hundred pounds, added the six signatures and made a profit of a hundred and fifty. Not exactly the great train robbery,’ said William.
‘I agree,’ said Giddy, clearly not amused. ‘But if one of our customers were to find out that we’d sold them a forgery, and the press got hold of it, we could lose our Royal Warrant.’
William nodded. ‘Do you think he’ll come back?’
‘Not a chance. He won’t risk trying to pull off the scam a second time in the same bookshop. And frankly, there are enough of us out there to keep him going for years.’
‘So where do you think I should begin?’
‘I can give you a list of bookshops that specialize in signed first editions,’ said Giddy, opening a drawer in his desk and handing over a slim pamphlet.
‘Thank you,’ said William, flicking through the pages.
‘Don’t worry, there are at least a dozen within a mile of here,’ said the manager, as he accompanied William to the lift.
Detective Constable Warwick spent the rest of the day tramping from bookshop to bookshop, and soon discovered that the Churchill forger was an industrious individual. When he wasn’t buying, he was selling. The kind of cottage industry the government was so keen to encourage.
Every one of the managers promised to let him know if a man fitting that description offered them a signed set of Churchill’s The Second World War, but they all agreed with Giddy that it was unlikely he would appear in the same shop a second time.
‘If he does show up, please call me at Scotland Yard, 230 1212. I’m on extension 2150,’ said William, before moving on to the next shop.
William didn’t stop his inquiries until the last door closed behind him at six o’clock. He took the tube to Victoria, then jogged all the way back to Trenchard House. He had a quick shower and changed his clothes, taking an unusually long time to decide what to wear. He eventually settled on a blue blazer, an open-neck white shirt, and a pair of grey trousers, but decided against wearing his old school tie.
As he closed the front door behind him, he realized he would have to take a taxi if he wasn’t going to be late; an expense Mrs Walters wouldn’t have approved of. The cab dropped him off outside Elena 1 in the Fulham Road, with seven minutes to spare.
‘This is a very special date for me, Gino,’ said William after the head waiter had introduced himself. ‘A first in fact. So I may need your help.’
‘Leave it all to me, Mr Warwick. I’ll put you in a quiet alcove.’
‘Oh help, there she is,’ whispered William.
‘Ah, signorina,’ said Gino, bowing slightly before taking her hand. ‘Mr Warwick has arrived and is sitting at his usual table.’
William leapt up, trying not to stare. She was wearing a simple off-the-shoulder yellow dress that fell just below the knee, with a pale green silk scarf, and a jade necklace to complement the outfit.
Gino pulled back the chair for her, while William waited for Beth to be seated.
‘This must be one of your usual haunts,’ said Beth as she settled in her chair.
‘No, first time. It was recommended by a friend.’
‘But the waiter said—’
‘I met him five minutes ago,’ admitted William as Gino reappeared, and handed them both a menu. Beth laughed.
‘Now, Mr Warwick, will you have your usual drink?’
‘And what is my usual drink?’ asked William. Gino looked puzzled until William added, ‘Beth knows I’ve never been here before. What do you recommend?’