Trickery Read online

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ she said, taking the martini and seating herself on the sofa with her handbag on her lap. ‘And what did you do last night?’

  ‘I stayed on in the office and cast a few inlays. I also got my accounts up to date.’

  ‘Now really, Cyril, I think it’s high time you let other people do your donkey work for you. You’re much too important for that sort of thing. Why don’t you give the inlays to the mechanic?’

  ‘I prefer to do them myself. I’m extremely proud of my inlays.’

  ‘I know you are, darling, and I think they’re absolutely wonderful. They’re the best inlays in the whole world. But I don’t want you to burn yourself out. And why doesn’t that Pulteney woman do the accounts? That’s part of her job, isn’t it?’

  ‘She does do them. But I have to price everything up first. She doesn’t know who’s rich and who isn’t.’

  ‘This martini is perfect,’ Mrs Bixby said, setting down her glass on the side table. ‘Quite perfect.’ She opened her bag and took out a handkerchief as if to blow her nose. ‘Oh look!’ she cried, seeing the ticket. ‘I forgot to show you this! I found it just now on the seat of my taxi. It’s got a number on it, and I thought it might be a lottery ticket or something, so I kept it.’

  She handed the small piece of stiff brown paper to her husband, who took it in his fingers and began examining it minutely from all angles, as though it were a suspect tooth.

  ‘You know what this is?’ he said slowly.

  ‘No dear, I don’t.’

  ‘It’s a pawn ticket.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A ticket from a pawnbroker. Here’s the name and address of the shop – somewhere on Sixth Avenue.’

  ‘Oh dear, I am disappointed. I was hoping it might be a ticket for the Irish Sweep.’

  ‘There’s no reason to be disappointed,’ Cyril Bixby said. ‘As a matter of fact this could be rather amusing.’

  ‘Why could it be amusing, darling?’

  He began explaining to her exactly how a pawn ticket worked, with particular reference to the fact that anyone possessing the ticket was entitled to claim the article. She listened patiently until he had finished his lecture.

  ‘You think it’s worth claiming?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it’s worth finding out what it is. You see this figure of fifty dollars that’s written here? You know what that means?’

  ‘No, dear, what does it mean?’

  ‘It means that the item in question is almost certain to be something quite valuable.’

  ‘You mean it’ll be worth fifty dollars?’

  ‘More like five hundred.’

  ‘Five hundred!’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ he said. ‘A pawnbroker never gives you more than about a tenth of the real value.’

  ‘Good gracious! I never knew that.’

  ‘There’s a lot of things you don’t know, my dear. Now you listen to me. Seeing that there’s no name and address of the owner …’

  ‘But surely there’s something to say who it belongs to?’

  ‘Not a thing. People often do that. They don’t want anyone to know they’ve been to a pawnbroker. They’re ashamed of it.’

  ‘Then you think we can keep it?’

  ‘Of course we can keep it. This is now our ticket.’

  ‘You mean my ticket,’ Mrs Bixby said firmly. ‘I found it.’

  ‘My dear girl, what does it matter? The important thing is that we are now in a position to go and redeem it any time we like for only fifty dollars. How about that?’

  ‘Oh, what fun!’ she cried. ‘I think it’s terribly exciting, especially when we don’t even know what it is. It could be anything, isn’t that right, Cyril? Absolutely anything!’

  ‘It could indeed, although it’s most likely to be either a ring or a watch.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it be marvellous if it was a real treasure? I mean something really old, like a wonderful old vase or a Roman statue.’

  ‘There’s no knowing what it might be, my dear. We shall just have to wait and see.’

  ‘I think it’s absolutely fascinating! Give me the ticket and I’ll rush over first thing Monday morning and find out!’

  ‘I think I’d better do that.’

  ‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘Let me do it!’

  ‘I think not. I’ll pick it up on my way to work.’

  ‘But it’s my ticket! Please let me do it, Cyril! Why should you have all the fun?’

  ‘You don’t know these pawnbrokers, my dear. You’re liable to get cheated.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get cheated, honestly I wouldn’t. Give it to me, please.’

  ‘Also you have to have fifty dollars,’ he said, smiling. ‘You have to pay out fifty dollars in cash before they’ll give it to you.’

  ‘I’ve got that,’ she said. ‘I think.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t handle it, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘But Cyril, I found it. It’s mine. Whatever it is, it’s mine, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Of course it’s yours, my dear. There’s no need to get so worked up about it.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just excited, that’s all.’

  ‘I suppose it hasn’t occurred to you that this might be something entirely masculine – a pocket-watch, for example, or a set of shirt-studs. It isn’t only women that go to pawnbrokers, you know.’

  ‘In that case I’ll give it to you for Christmas,’ Mrs Bixby said magnanimously. ‘I’ll be delighted. But if it’s a woman’s thing, I want it myself. Is that agreed?’

  ‘That sounds very fair. Why don’t you come with me when I collect it?’

  Mrs Bixby was about to say yes to this, but caught herself just in time. She had no wish to be greeted like an old customer by the pawnbroker in her husband’s presence.

  ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think I will. You see, it’ll be even more thrilling if I stay behind and wait. Oh, I do hope it isn’t going to be something that neither of us wants.’

  ‘You’ve got a point there,’ he said. ‘If I don’t think it’s worth fifty dollars, I won’t even take it.’

  ‘But you said it would be worth five hundred.’

  ‘I’m quite sure it will. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh, Cyril, I can hardly wait! Isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘It’s amusing,’ he said, slipping the ticket into his waistcoat pocket. ‘There’s no doubt about that.’

  Monday morning came at last, and after breakfast Mrs Bixby followed her husband to the door and helped him on with his coat.

  ‘Don’t work too hard, darling,’ she said.

  ‘No, all right.’

  ‘Home at six?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Are you going to have time to go to that pawnbroker?’ she asked.

  ‘My God, I forgot all about it. I’ll take a cab and go there now. It’s on my way.’

  ‘You haven’t lost the ticket, have you?’

  ‘I hope not,’ he said, feeling in his waistcoat pocket. ‘No, here it is.’

  ‘And you have enough money?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Darling,’ she said, standing close to him and straightening his tie, which was perfectly straight. ‘If it happens to be something nice, something you think I might like, will you telephone me as soon as you get to the office?’

  ‘If you want me to, yes.’

  ‘You know, I’m sort of hoping it’ll be something for you, Cyril. I’d much rather it was for you than for me.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you, my dear. Now I must run.’

  About an hour later, when the telephone rang, Mrs Bixby was across the room so fast she had the receiver off the hook before the first ring had finished.

  ‘I got it!’ he said.

  ‘You did! Oh, Cyril, what was it? Was it something good?’

  ‘Good!’ he cried. ‘It’s fantastic! You wait till you get your eyes on this! You’ll swoon!’

  ‘Darl