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.He looked both scared and volcanically prophetic, and his extended arm, seeking more booze, seemed at the same time to be pointing out to some intriguing unknown.‘Words were written on an inside wall of the villa, sprayed from an aerosol can, like in a tower block.’‘In French? But what has this to do with going to the Hulliborn now?’ Lepage heard Julia’s car draw up and then her footsteps on the drive.Youde had heard, too, and spoke hurriedly, so he could finish before Julia entered the room.‘The message was simple, Director.It said, “Gotcha.”’‘“Gotcha”? Like that headline in the Falklands war?’‘A signature after it.’‘What – claiming credit, telling the police who did it? Is this credible?’‘Initials only.’‘Even so.’‘And as a clue, not very helpful.’‘Why not?’‘Some would call it a dead-end.’‘Why?’‘The initials are FBM,’ Youde replied.‘FBM?’‘Yes.’‘A person? An organization?’ Lepage asked.‘Nobody’s sure.’‘The M standing for the Monet?’‘That’s one line of thought, yes.’‘And what about the F and the B?’‘These are problematical, Director.’‘“Fetch Back the Monet”?’ Lepage said.‘More or less the equivalent of “Gotcha”, if the “Gotcha” means the painting.’‘Yes, that’s a theory doing the rounds, apparently.’‘But what others?’ Lepage asked.Youde took a drink.‘My informant suggests – and says it’s a police thought, too – he absurdly suggests … well, can you see it, George?’‘What?’‘FBM.’‘What?’‘The BM.’‘What?’‘Butler-Minton,’ Youde replied.‘What?’ Lepage gasped.‘And the F, Flounce,’ Youde said.‘Flounce?’ Lepage yelled.‘As I say, a fanciful guess, and a very strange bit of theorizing by the police,’ Youde replied.‘Flounce Butler-Minton.’Julia appeared and glanced about the room.‘What’s happening, George.I thought I heard you calling Flounce?’‘Calling Flounce?’ Lepage replied with a fair old laugh.‘Have you forgotten he’s dead, love? I’ve got his job.Remember? Think I’ve caught delusions fever from Nev?’‘That’s what it sounded like,’ Julia said.‘His name, though as a sort of question.’‘I expect you’ve had a trying night.But you’re quite early,’ Lepage said.‘Not much doing,’ she said.He felt she sounded very down and upset.‘Maybe things will be better tomorrow, Julia,’ he told her.‘Yes, maybe.’ It didn’t sound as if she thought so, and for a second Lepage feared she might weep.A bad night’s business could do that to her? He doubted it.She behaved as though she’d been deserted.But who by? After half a minute, she made an effort and smiled towards Youde.‘You’re out late, Quent.You look very full of … very full of import.And so smart!’‘Thank you.’ He straightened his shoulders inside the suit.‘Just over for a gossip: the usual Hulliborn tittle-tattle.’‘But not about Flounce?’ she asked.‘Ah, Flounce.It’s certainly a name that can still ring bells, as it were.But what would there be to discuss, Julia? We have to think forward, even in museums.’‘Yes, well, look, you won’t mind if I don’t stay, will you? Failing to sell is just as tiring as selling.’ She made for the door.‘Try not to be too late coming up, George.’‘Soon,’ he said.‘You’re very lucky, Director,’ Youde said, when she’d gone.‘Sometimes.’Youde went back to his story.Yes, ‘Gotcha.FBM.GOTCHA – the Sun’s front page screamer when we sank the Argentine battleship Belgrano.The French police have put two and two together.’‘Which two and two?’‘They’ve discovered that Flounce was Butler-Minton’s nickname.’‘Oh, great.Real detective work.’‘But, George, can you see the implications? That’s why I came straight over.’‘They thought they’d located the Monet, but they’ve lost it,’ Lepage replied.‘Someone’s lifted it – “Gotcha” – i.e., as I said, the painting.Someone or some gang.’‘The FBM gang?’‘Perhaps.’Youde leaned forward, his eyes brilliant with tension and ale: ‘George, there are people on the art circuit, especially abroad, who think Butler-Minton might still be alive.’ He held up a hand, before Lepage could respond.‘Obviously, it cannot be, but that is the rumour, and this has become a vital, new factor.’Lepage said, wearily: ‘This is mad, Quentin.There was a funeral.Interpol can view the death certificate, for heaven’s sake.’‘Well, Director, there are funerals and funerals.There are certificates and certificates.’‘Hell, what are you saying?’‘George, I don’t necessarily go along with it, of course not, but the French seem to know about that mysterious, clandestine, spooky side of Butler-Minton’s life – the Wall, Mrs Cray, the whippet.In such a world the wrong body can end up in the coffin.Oh, yes, it’s been known.’‘Are we rerunning The Third Man? Someone else buried in place of the villain, Harry Lime? Quent, we—’‘And, in any case, it’s not just the police.The collector is a big-time underworld operator, of course.The story about Butler-Minton has spread among all that fraternity.It doesn’t need to be one hundred per cent verifiable fact to have its impact on them.’‘Which story? That someone does a robbery of an item worth millions, inscribes a triumphant “Gotcha” and then signs his name – the someone being officially dead.’‘“Officially”, yes.’‘Actually.’‘I know the tale is hard to swallow, George, but—’‘And what do they think: that Butler-Minton’s taken it on himself to protect the Hulliborn and pop over to France for one of the museum’s treasures, so—?’‘Or perhaps more than one,’ Youde said, his voice singing with brief hope.‘Having first located it, or them, on his own,’ Lepage went on, ‘he’s then able to snatch it, or them, back, after knocking out the alarms like a pro, at the same time giving the householder a nice bit of strong-arm? And, in any case, Quent, what’s it all to do with an emergency trip to the Hulliborn now?’Youde got his thoughts together.‘I don’t necessarily endorse what I’m about to say, George, but apparently the talk there is that Butler-Minton learned all sorts of dirty tricks in his East Germany era.Yes, they’ve heard of Mrs Cray and the haversack straps and that shooting from the Wall.According to my informant there’s also been mention in Antibes of the windsock and tennis ball.But listen, Director, OK, even given all this, I’ll concede that the whole thing could be regarded as far-fetched
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