Free Death of an Elgin Marble by David Dickinson

mouth of the Gulf of Patras where the poet Byron gave his life for Greek freedom. Maybe your readers would like to pay their respects?’
    Powerscourt noted that there was a famous portrait of Lord Byron in Albanian dress above the fireplace, holding an Eastern sword and with a great storm about to break out behind him. The Ambassador informed him that this was on loan from the British Government Collections as a gesture of friendship to Greece from the British people. When asked if there were any points of disagreement, any areas of conflict between the two nations, one an empire of the past, the other an empire in the present, the Ambassador simply laughed.
    ‘There are no disagreements at all, my dear Lord Powerscourt. Why do you think the post of Ambassador to the Court of St James is one of the most coveted posts in the Greek Prime Minister’s gift? We have little to do here except attend official functions and represent our country on state occasions. It is a post for a lotus-eater rather than a real diplomat, I assure you!’
    Powerscourt was anxious to meet with the Head of Greek and Roman Antiquities at the British Museum as soon as he returned from the mountains. He had remembered only the day before another account of Tristram Stanhope from his, Powerscourt’s, brother-in-law, the banker William Burke, who had sat next to him at some grand dinner in Guildhall.
    ‘There we all were, Francis, white tie and tails, course after course of French cuisine, decorations will be worn, the odd Victoria Cross on show amongst the baubles, and this fellow Stanhope beside me. He didn’t look out of place at all, cufflinks and shoes all passed muster, that sort of thing. But he had this air about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it for a long time. Then it came to me. Even there, in the beating heart of the City of London, Stanhope had the air of one forever looking to recover the dramatic excitement of some long forgotten sporting event like a cricket match. “There’s a breathless hush in the Close tonight, Ten to make and the match to win.” I rather had the impression he’s been playing the game for most of his life.’
    Powerscourt longed to talk to classical academics, art dealers, sculpture experts, modern Greek historians. If you were a serious thief, he would have asked after half an hour or so, what would you do with a Caryatid if you had stolen one? Copy it? If so, how many copies? Who might want to buy it? Greeks in Greece? Greeks in America? Greeks in London? How much would it be worth? Were there any examples of other works of major importance walking out of European museums apart from the
Mona Lisa
? Tristram Stanhope would have to answer for them all. Powerscourt thought about the links between the worlds of art, scholarship, Greek nationalism and crime. Somewhere, he felt sure, they intersected. If he could find that point, he might be able to solve the mystery. Once again Stanhope would be his guide.
    A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
    An hour to play and the last man in.
    Theophilus Ragg, Deputy Director of the British Museum, thought he recognized the handwriting. The envelope too looked familiar. Feeling a great wave of anger sweep through him, he slid open the letter with an elaborately carved Japanese paper knife, a gift from the National Museum in Tokyo.
    ‘Dear Ragg,’ he read, ‘you have dared to disobey my instructions. I have received no suggestions about the transfer of the monies mentioned in my earlier letter. The relevant sum is therefore going to increase by ten thousand pounds a day, starting today.’
    Ragg felt that the anger coursing through him was growing stronger.
    ‘Furthermore,’ the writer continued, ‘your pathetic attempts to secure your own safety and those of your family through the intervention of the Metropolitan Police have been noted. Their plain clothes policemen stand out on the streets of London like giants in a land of pygmies.
    ‘As I said before, we know