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29

“What were you arguing with Mr Gannaway about last night?” I asked Craig Osborne brusquely.

          “Look, Mr whatever your name is, please don’t waste my time, I have very urgent business to attend to in London.”

          “And you’ll have some very important questions to attend to down the police station,” DI Silver bellowed, “if you don’t answer Mr Handful.”

          I suddenly saw fear in Osborne’s eyes.

          “We were arguing about something he had stolen from Miss Bellagamba,” he said quietly.

          “Which was?”

          “An Anthonie Van Borsom oil painting.”

          “Pricey,” I exclaimed.

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