TINSLEY MYSTERY SERIES

Mystery of the Traveling Timepiece

 

By Nuala Galbari

 

     On a blustery October morning in 1964, the mood at Sotheby's auction was animated. Everyone who was anyone was in attendance for the Fine Arts Miniatures Event. The rooms buzzed with excitement and low-level conversational mutterings.  The auctioneer gazed over his bifocals and cleared his throat in an attempt to silence the ostensible chatter.  He lifted the hammer and all in attendance, save for the antique chairs, fell quiet.  In an adjoining room, Lady Westroppe-Smythe tilted forward in her chair, the desired lot number firmly in hand.  The object she greatly sought was a 1929 Victrola Grammophone; but in the Miniatures' room, a rare object would be offered to the discerning group:  a Black Forest Quartz carved, emerald embedded cuckoo clock.  The only miniature cuckoo clock in the world, this timepiece had been exclusively designed for an 18th Century Countess and speculation abounded as to who would secure this item.  The room now silent, bidding commenced.  Within one hour, the successful bidder slipped out the side extrance and entered a waiting car.  Lady Westroppe-Smythe, thrilled at having secured the Victrola, left Sotheby's to meet a party of friends at Harrods.  As she left the building, she noticed some police constables at the entrance and further down the street.  Two Metropolitan Police Mini Coopers moved slowly into position. Not one to miss the opportunity of a good story to relate to the ladies over tea, Lady Westroppe-Smythe returned to the building momentarily to inquire into the goings-on outside.  A frequent client at Sotheby's, she was advised that the police were in pursuit of a suspected thief, the man apparently having posed as Lord Carton during the auction.  Or so the police thought.  As Lady Westroppe-Smythe returned to her car, she noticed a third police constable entering an unmarked car. She might not have paid much attention were it not for the fact that his socks did not match - a little odd for a uniformed policeman.  She shook her head, and drove to Harrods.

     The two Mini Coopers followed another vehicle to Selfridges department store in Oxford Street.  The suspected thief took the elevator to the gentlemans' department, selected some tweed trousers and jackets, and then entered a private changing room.  Within a few minutes, the department Floor Walker looked on in cool amazement as the two police constables cornered the now red-faced Lord Carton, as he stood in his rather worn underwear, trying on a pair of tweeds.

     "What the devil is going on?"  Carton enquired.

     The police stood back, somewhat shocked.

     "I'm terribly sorry, m'lord," replied P.C. Sutterton, "a case of mistaken identity, Sir. There has been a theft of a rare cuckoo clock at Sotheby's - we were responding to a tip from our inside man at the auction.  We apologize for the inconvenience, m'lord."

     "I should say so!  Your DCI will be hearwing about this!  Now, kindly wemove yourselves fwom my dwessing woom!"

     The department floor walker couldn't resist a smirk as the police constables, also red-faced, left the scene, realizing that the phonetically-challenged gentleman was indeed the real Lord Carton and they had the wrong man.  Not a good day for the Metropolitan Police and no doubt, the constables would soon be called in to the DCI's office to explain themselves.  While P.C. Sutterton radiod to Scotland Yard, the imposter travelled in comfort to Victoria Station in his chauffeur-driven Bentley.  At Victoria, he quietly boarded the first class compartment of the 12:48 to Brighton, and settled into his Financial Times, the quartz-carved miniature secured in his briefcase.

     The train rattled and clanked out of Victoria Station at a gentle pace and soon left the drab grey-brown buildings, for the open countryside.  The suspect, seated alone in the compartment, abandoned his clothing, changing into country casuals.  A police constable's clothing was soon scattered over the hedgerows en route to Sussex.  The train would stop at Tinsley Green, by Gatwick Airport, before proceeding to Brighton and, as the line was under repair, it had to slow to 10 m.p.h. just outside Tinsley Green.  As the train reduced speed, the compartment door opened and the suspect casually hopped on the grass, briefcase in hand, pipe in mouth.  He travelled across a field, passing a flock of black-faced sheep who eyed him suspiciously.  As he entered a disused barn, he found the waiting 3-wheeled Morgan 'Moggie', with a full tank of petrol and a map for his onward journey.  He removed an airline ticket from the glove compartment and placed it on the passenger seat.

     Afternoon tea at Harrods was a fine affair.  Lady Westroppe-Smythe, arriving slightly late from the auction found her group already seated.

     "I am sorry ladies!" she said, as the elegant tea was served.  "There was a bit of trouble at Sotheby's, a theft of an antique clock.  The police were all over the place, one wearing odd socks and I don't know what else!  But I did get the Victrola for Mummy!  She will be absolutely, totally thrilled!"

     Leaving Tinsley Green, the suspect travelled north along verdant country roads.  With tweed cap and silk crevate, and smoking his favourite pipe, he cogitated upon his forthcoming trip to Spain, lost in images of sun, sand, sea and sangria.  Paying little attention to anything else, and gazing otiosely around the countryside, he didn't even notice a gust of wind enveloping the airline ticket, whipping it out of the car and onto the road, while he circumnavigated a roundabout and changed direction.  He continued his journey north toward Luton Airport, unaware that his airline ticket had flown and now confident that he had neither been detected nor followed.

     Travelling merrily in the opposite direction, Police Constables Pinkerton and Cooper were giving the Mini Cooper a workout over the hills and around the S bends, while laughing about the antimonious meeting they had just emerged from that morning at police headquarters.  As they entered the roundabout recently vacated by the suspect, a flying object slapped their windscreen and jammed at the foot of a wiper, causing P.C. Pinkerton to stop the Mini. "Well, well." said Pinky, "It appears to be an airline ticket sir!  The flight is scheduled to depart for Alicante this evening - from Luton!" P.C. Cooper assumed the wheel and turned the Mini north. While Luton bound, they received a radio contact from the Met, "Calling all cars - southeast region.  Suspect in Sotheby's theft may have travelled on a Brighton train this afternoon.  Description, male caucausion, dark hair, about 5' 11".  May be impersonating a police constable.  Suspect last seen at Victoria station, possibly in the Gatwick vicinity now.  P.C. Cooper responded:  "Car No. 4, Tinsley Green.  On our way sir, heading north to Luton to deliver lost property.  Will keep a lookout."

     At Luton airport, the gates for the Spanish flights were crowded.  A woman approached Gate No. 3 and fumbled in her purse.

     "May I have your ticket please, Madam?" the agent requested.

     The woman's search was futile and, considering the long line behind her at the gate, she advised the agent that she may have left the ticket in her car. She returned to the parking lot.  Behind her in the line, stood a rambunctious group of schoolboys who appeared to be insulting many of the other passengers and taking no notice of the teachers who seemed unable to control them.  Police Officers Cooper and Pinkerton arrived at Gate No. 3 and handed the lost ticket to the agent.

     "Miss Emeline Hatter?" said the agent.  "Thank you, officers, I will send the ticket over to Gate No. 7, the flight departs shortly for Alicante."

     A number of the schoolboys then piped in, mimicking the gate agent like parrots, "Send the ticket to Gate 7!  Send the ticket to Gate 7!"

     Police constables Cooper and Pinkerton proceeded through the mob of schoolboys and decided to have a nice cup of tea at the cafe. 

     An agent moved to the microphone. "Britannia Airways announces the departure of Flight No. 156 to Alicante. Would all First Class passengers please proceed to the door in preparation for boarding at this time.  Thank you."

     Seated by the window, amid the cavalry of boys in black and white striped blazers and caps, a striking woman in a berre, wearing rather large black-rimmed spectacles, quietly read her novel, gazing out the window periodically at the Bristol Britannia turboprop now awaiting its guests. Although a First Class passenger, she made no immediate attempt to proceed to the door, preferring to wait until the second announcement was made.

     Just then, a rather dough-like, teratosic schoolboy appeared in front of her. He resembled a loaf of unbaked bread beneath a striped cap.  He stared at her for a moment with two beady-blue eyes, and then said, in a loud voice,  "That's a wig you're wearing isn't it?  And you have really hairy legs!"

     The unfortunate and now embarrassed teacher sternly reprimanded young Freddy Fortiskew, who subsequently ignored her and made a swing for the woman's hair.  The young man was grabbed, just in time, by an airline agent.

     "Now, lad, that'll do!" said the agent.  "Run along now." 

     The teacher demanded, "Freddy! How dare you be so rude!  Apologize at once to the lady!"

     But Freddy Fortiskew did not apologize, and ran off toward the cafe.

     As the First Class passengers climbed the airstairs, the wind from the propellors of a passing turboprop lifted the woman's berre and wig and blew them ungraciously across the tarmac.  P.C. Cooper and two security guards met 'Miss Emeline Hatter' at the top of the airstairs.

     "I'll be having that briefcase," said P.C. Cooper. "It's Miss Hatter, isn't it?  Or should I call you Notorious Nick from Nottingham?  I'm afraid your passport was out of order, my lad.  Next time, you had better make sure you settle your debts with the forger! Handcuffs please, Pinky!"

     As Miss Hatter released the briefcase and it dropped onto the airstairs, the muffled sound of a miniature 'CUC-KOO' was barely discernable.

     P.C. Cooper raised his thick eyebrows, "It is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest for the theft of fine art, impersonating a Metropolitan Police officer and fraud.  I'm afraid there'll be no sun and sangria for you, lad!"

     Notorious Nick suffered his first indignity that day: transportation back to Central London in the rear seat of a 1962 Mini Cooper.

     Meanwhile, aboard Flight 156 to Alicante, young Freddy Fortiskew, having assisted the police in nabbing Notorious Nick, found himself comfortably lodged in Miss Hatter's First Class seat, busily blowing raspberries at his schoolmates behind him, while the other boys amused themselves by aiming clotted cream scones at the unfortunate air hostesses.

 

 

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