Джеффри Арчер - To Cut a Long Story Short

I continued to admire the inscrutable lady, wanting to lean across and touch her — always a sign that the artist has achieved what he set out to do.

‘Huxley Hall,’ the curator droned on, ‘has been administered by the National Trust for the past twenty years. This sculpture, The Reclining Woman , is considered by scholars to be among the finest examples of Moore’s work, executed when he was at the height of his powers. The sixth edition of the sculpture was purchased by the fifth Duke — a Yorkshireman, like Moore — for the princely sum of £1,000. When the Hall was passed on to the sixth Duke, he discovered that he was unable to insure the masterpiece, because he simply couldn’t afford the premium.

‘The seventh Duke went one better — he couldn’t even afford the upkeep of the Hall, or the land that surrounded it. Shortly before his demise, he avoided leaving the eighth Duke with the burden of death duties by handing over the Hall, its contents and its thousand-acre grounds to the National Trust. The French have never understood that if you wish to kill off the aristocracy, death duties are far more effective than revolutions.’ The curator laughed at his little bon mot , and one or two at the front of the crowd politely joined in.

‘Now, to return to the mystery of the edition of thirteen,’ continued the curator, resting a hand on The Reclining Woman ’s ample bottom. ‘To do this, I must first explain one of the problems the National Trust faces whenever it takes over someone else’s home. The Trust is a registered charity. It currently owns and administers over 250 historic buildings and gardens in the British Isles, as well as more than 600,000 acres of countryside and 575 miles of coastline. Each piece of property must meet the Trust’s criterion of being “of historic interest or natural beauty”. In taking over the responsibility for maintaining the properties, we also have to insure and protect their fabric and contents without bankrupting the Trust. In the case of Huxley Hall, we have installed the most advanced security system available, backed up by guards who work around the clock. Even so, it is impossible to protect all our many treasures for twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year.

‘When something is reported missing, we naturally inform the police immediately. Nine times out of ten the missing item is returned to us within days.’ The curator paused, confident that someone would ask why.

‘Why?’ asked an American woman, dressed in tartan Bermuda shorts and standing at the front of our group.

‘A good question, madam,’ said the curator condescendingly. ‘It’s simply because most petty criminals find it almost impossible to dispose of such valuable booty, unless it has been stolen to order.’

‘Stolen to order?’ queried the same American woman, bang on cue.

‘Yes, madam,’ said the curator, only too happy to explain. ‘You see, there are gangs of criminals operating around the globe who steal masterpieces for clients who are happy that no one else should ever see them, as long as they can enjoy them in private.’

‘That must come expensive,’ suggested the American woman.

‘I understand that the current rate is around a fifth of the work’s market value,’ confirmed the curator. This seemed to finally silence her.

‘But that doesn’t explain why so many treasures are returned so quickly,’ said a voice from the middle of the crowd.

‘I was about to come to that,’ said the curator, a little sharply. ‘If an artwork has not been stolen to order, even the most inexperienced fence will avoid it.’

He quickly added, ‘Because...’ before the American woman could demand ‘Why?’

‘... all the leading auctioneers, dealers and galleries will have a full description of the missing piece on their desks within hours of its being stolen. This leaves the thief in possession of something no one is willing to handle, because if it were to come onto the market the police would swoop within hours. Many of our stolen masterpieces are actually returned within a few days, or dumped in a place where they are certain to be found. The Dulwich Art Gallery alone has experienced this on no fewer than three separate occasions in the past ten years, and, surprisingly, very few of the treasures are returned damaged.’

This time, several ‘Whys?’ emanated from the little gathering.

‘It appears,’ said the curator, responding to the cries, ‘that the public may be inclined to forgive a daring theft, but what they will not forgive is damage being caused to a national treasure. I might add that the likelihood of a criminal being charged if the stolen goods are returned undamaged is also much reduced.

‘But, to continue my little tale of the edition of thirteen,’ he went on. ‘On September 6th 1997, the day of Diana, Princess of Wales’s funeral, just at the moment the coffin was entering Westminster Abbey, a van drove up and parked outside the main entrance of Huxley Hall. Six men dressed in National Trust overalls emerged and told the guard on duty that they had orders to remove The Reclining Woman and transport her to London for a Henry Moore exhibition that would shortly be taking place in Hyde Park.

‘The guard had been informed that because of the funeral, the pick-up had been postponed until the following week. But as the paperwork all seemed to be in order, and as he wanted to hurry back to his television, he allowed the six men to remove the sculpture.

‘Huxley Hall was closed for the two days after the funeral, so no one gave the incident a thought until a second van appeared the following Tuesday with the same instructions to remove The Reclining Woman and transport her to the Moore exhibition in Hyde Park. Once again, the paperwork was in order, and for some time the guards assumed it was simply a clerical error. One phone call to the organisers of the Hyde Park exhibition disabused them of this idea. It became clear that the masterpiece had been stolen by a gang of professional criminals. Scotland Yard was immediately informed.

‘The Yard,’ continued the curator, ‘has an entire department devoted to the theft of works of art, with the details of many thousands of pieces listed on computer. Within moments of being notified of a crime, they are able to alert all the leading auctioneers and art dealers in the country.’

The curator paused, and placed his hand back on the lady’s bronze bottom. ‘Quite a large piece to transport and deliver, you might think, even though the roads were unusually empty on the day of the theft, and the public’s attention was engaged elsewhere.

‘For weeks, nothing was reported of The Reclining Woman , and Scotland Yard began to fear that they were dealing with a successful “stolen to order” theft. But some months later, when a petty thief called Sam Jackson was picked up trying to remove a small oil of the second Duchess from the Royal Robing Room, the police obtained their first lead. When the suspect was taken back to the local station to be questioned, he offered the arresting officer a deal.

‘“And what could you possibly have to offer, Jackson?” the Sergeant asked incredulously.

‘“I’ll take you to The Reclining Woman ,” said Jackson, “if in return you only charge me with breaking and entering” — for which he knew he had a chance of getting off with a suspended sentence.

‘“If we recover The Reclining Woman ,” the Sergeant told him, “you’ve got yourself a deal.” As the portrait of the second Duchess was a poor copy that would only have fetched a few hundred pounds at a boot sale, the deal was struck. Jackson was bundled into the back of a car, and guided three police officers across the Yorkshire border and on into Lancashire, where they drove deeper and deeper into the countryside until they came to a deserted farmhouse. From there, Jackson led the police on foot across several fields and into a valley, where they found an outbuilding hidden behind a copse of trees. The police forced the lock and pulled open the door, to discover they were in an abandoned foundry. Several scraps of lead piping were lying on the floor, probably stolen from the roofs of churches and old houses in the vicinity.