The Big Over Easy

Foozle gasped audibly and looked to either side in a very surreptitious manner. “Extraordinary! You detective johnnies have an uncanny sixth sense! You see, a chimp did do them—but that’s our secret, right?”

Jack laid the painting on the counter. “It’s my mother’s,” he explained. “It’s of a cow. She says it’s a Stubbs.”

Foozle unwrapped the canvas. “How is Mrs. Spratt? More cats?”

“Don’t ask.”

“And your delightful wife? Her cover this morning was a real corker—Oh!”

It was said with a surprised tone that made Jack wonder whether it was an “Oh!” good or an “Oh!” bad. Foozle took a magnifying glass from his coat and examined the painting minutely, hunching over it like a surgeon. He grunted several times and finally stood up straight again, taking off his spectacles and tapping them against his teeth.

“Well, you’re right about one thing.”

“It’s a Stubbs?”

“No, it’s a cow.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a fake?”

Mr. Foozle nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s painted in his style and dates probably from the early years of the nineteenth century. It’s interesting for the fact that it’s a prize cow. Stubbs usually painted horses, so it’s unusual that a forger would copy work in his style yet not his favorite subject.”

Jack ventured a theory. “Is it possible that it was painted in his style quite innocently, and then someone else added the signature, intending to pass it off as a Stubbs?”

Foozle smiled. “You should be a detective in our business, Mr. Spratt. I think you’re probably right. In any event I don’t suppose it’s worth much more than a hundred pounds, perhaps more if an auction house would take it.”

Jack sighed. His mother would be mortified when she heard. He pulled the picture back across the counter and looked at it. It was a good painting and the only one of his mother’s that he would have had on his own wall.

“Do the best you can, Mr. Foozle.”

Foozle smiled and placed the picture behind the counter, then had an idea and pulled out a small cardboard box. “I wonder whether your mother would be interested in… these?”

He opened the box. Inside were six brightly colored broad beans about the size of walnuts. They flashed and glowed as the light caught them. They were exceptionally beautiful, even to Jack’s jaundiced eye.

“What are they?”

A smile crossed Mr. Foozle’s face. “I got them from a dealer the other day. He said they were magical and very valuable. If you planted them, something wonderful would be sure to happen.”

Jack looked at him dubiously. “He said that, did he?”

Mr. Foozle shrugged. “Take them to your mother and if she likes them, we’ll call it a straight swap. If she doesn’t, I’ll give you a hundred pounds for the painting. Fair?”

“Fair.” They shook hands, and Mr. Foozle replaced the lid of the box, then wrapped a rubber band around it for safekeeping.

It was the sort of thing Jack’s mother liked. Her house was almost full to capacity with knickknacks of every size and description; something this unusual might take the disappointment out of the Stubbs-that-wasn’t.

Jack walked out of the shop and paused on the pavement as a curious feeling welled up inside him. “Magic beans for a Stubbs cow,” he murmured to himself. There was something undeniably familiar about what he had just done, but for the life of him he couldn’t think what. He shrugged and joined Mary in the car.

7. The Nursery Crime Division