“No,” said Sebastian, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “You didn’t tell me you had another conflict with the man just a few weeks ago.”
Basil Thistlewood kept his focus on the thin strip of wood he was measuring. “You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone hereabouts that Preston didn’t have more than one run-in with. The man was opinionated and quick to take offense.”
Sebastian found himself smiling. In his observation, the description could be applied to Thistlewood as easily as Preston. “Tell me about the rosary.”
Thistlewood grunted and walked over to select another length of wood from his stack. “Always trying to show off, he was. Acting like he was the big expert because he went to Cambridge and I didn’t. I weren’t born yesterday, you know. Grew up in the business, I did.”
“Preston questioned the rosary’s authenticity?”
“He did. ’Cept he only decided it was questionable after I refused to sell it to him. If it weren’t authentic, then why’d he want to buy it from me? You answer me that.”
“I understand you were rather upset by his claims.”
“Course I was. Who wouldn’t be? Questioning my judgment and knowledge like that? Cast aspersions on the authenticity of everything in my collection, it did.”
“Did it?”
“Of course it did!” Thistlewood pointed one end of the narrow strip of wood at Sebastian. “I can tell you right now, there’s more than a thing or two in his collection that I wouldn’t have in mine. Do you have any idea how many folks have stirrups said to have been used by Richard III at Bosworth Field? The man would’ve needed to be an octopus to have used half of them.”
“Did you tell Preston that?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“That’s when he turned ugly. Called me an impudent jackanapes, like he was some high ’n’ mighty lord of the manor, and me no more than a medieval serf tilling his lordship’s fields.”
“And?”
“I told him—” Thistlewood broke off, his jaw sagging open in a ludicrous expression as he realized once again where his runaway mouth was leading him. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly up and down, and said more calmly, “A man says things sometimes in the heat of the moment he don’t mean.”
“Things like, ‘I could kill you’?”
“I may’ve said some such thing. Can’t rightly recall it now.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Ever hear of a man named Douglas Sterling?”
The sudden shift in topic seemed to confuse the coffee shop owner. “Who?”
“Dr. Douglas Sterling.”
“Can’t say I have. Who’s he?”
“An aged physician who lived in Chatham Place. Someone killed him last night. Cut off his head.”
Thistlewood carefully set down his strip of wood with a hand that was suddenly far from steady. “An old man, you say? Why would someone want to kill him?”
“Perhaps because he met with Stanley Preston less than twelve hours before Preston was killed.”
“And now he’s dead too?”
“Yes.”
Thistlewood shook his head. “Worrisome, ain’t it?”
Sebastian studied the curiosity collector’s mobile, almost comical face. “Have you heard about the recent discovery out at St. George’s, Windsor Castle?”
“No.” An eager gleam crept into Thistlewood’s watery eyes. “Has there been some new find?”
“There has. Although I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to go into the details.”
Thistlewood nodded. “Heard they’ve been doing some digging in the crypt. Not surprised they run into something. When they was doing some work a few years back, they found a woman and child wrapped in lead. Obviously wellborn, they were, though nobody ever did figure out who they were. I got a look at ’em, and if you ask me, they dated back to Saxon times—maybe even late Roman. Wouldn’t surprise me if there was an older church on that very site.”
“How did you happen to get a look at them?” asked Sebastian.
Thistlewood gave a sly smile and winked. “Knows folks, I do.”
“Ever hear of a man named Diggory Flynn?”
“Don’t think so, no. He dead too?”
“Not to my knowledge. He followed me yesterday evening, after I’d paid a visit to Priss Mulligan’s shop in Houndsditch.”
Thistlewood made a sucking sound with his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Told you she weren’t somebody you wanted to cross.”
“She claimed she hadn’t seen Stanley Preston for a month or more.”
“Huh. She lies for a living, that woman; don’t ever forget it. She got a new shipment in just last week, she did. And Preston was always one of the first she let know about it.”
“A new shipment from the Continent, you mean?”
“Aye. Told you she was in thick with smugglers, didn’t I?”
“So you did.” Sebastian touched his hand to his hat. “You’ve been very helpful.”
The curiosity collector’s wrinkled face broke into a wide smile. “I try. I do try.”