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Get the blowtorch. Nobody make a move. I really wouldn’t, you know, he’s trained and sexually frustrated. Those bank codes won’t fall into the wrong hands again. Back away from the painting. Oh, don’t do that! For heaven’s sake. For England! Oh, dear. Everyone out! Okay. The local authorities were displeased. Strago and Georgina fled, leaving the rest of us to answer some rather pointed questions. I recounted the sordid tale as best I could game This may be a customary greeting in America. I don’t know. All the while, my thoughts were only of home. If indeed Johanna and I still had a home to go to. I’m not sure if Jock has mentioned it, but I am very, very sorry about everything. Darling? Please? I suppose that we will have to open the house to tours. I’ll have Jock fix up the servants quarters for us. Do you think that Jockie will stay on without pay or lodging? Don’t be daft. This isn’t finished yet. That painting was a fake. A fake? How do you know? A chap called Bunny’s got the real one. Bunny? Bronwen lied from the start. She never found the lost Goya. She painted it. Of course! Bronwen makes a fake, and calls Krampf. Am I interested? I’m wildly interested. Krampf calls Spinoza. Georgina finds out about it and tells Emil, who goes to steal the painting from Bronwen. But Spinoza’s already there. He boffs Emil on the bean and takes the painting. Spinoza then secrets the painting into the Rolls and I unwittingly smuggle it to Krampf. The Duke told me that Bunny has the painting, but I can’t find him. Which Duke? Of Asherboroughdon. Bronwen’s lover. Bunny. “Love, your Bunny!” Oh! The note in the studio. It was not from a child, it was from him. The Duke is Bunny. And it wasn’t his tadger. Come again? The Duke kept trying to get me to go into his lavatory to look at his John Thomas. Oh. Randy bugger. Only that wasn’t it at all! He was trying to show me the real painting. The Duchess of Wellington is in Bunny’s loo. Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my! Oh, my. Oh, my. Well, the water bailiff won’t bother him now.



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