DRAMA

S.R. Hardie Watchmakers Scotland had been a fixture of the city for well over ten years. The ageing Mr Hardie was a stickler for precision and routine, as could reasonably be expected from a man who worked with timepieces. Miss Simpson usually passed his shop at five to eleven in the morning, on her way to the weekly lunch meeting of the ornithological society. When she did, he was invariably sitting at his desk by the window, hunched over a mechanism of one sort or another. Very occasionally, he would be working on a casing. She always looked in and, on those occasions, when Hardie noticed her, they would exchange nods. So, she was surprised and somewhat concerned to note, on that morning when she was passing, that he was not in his usual place.

Deciding she could spare a couple of minutes, Miss Simpson went into the shop. A bell jangled loudly above her. “Just a moment,” came a voice from behind the curtain at the back. Less than a minute later, a young man in his thirties came out, straightening his jacket.

“You’re not Mr Hardie,” Miss Simpson said.

“No,” said the man. “Well, that is, in fact yes, I am, but not the one you know. Tom Hardie. Pleased to meet you.”

“Gail Simpson,” said Miss Simpson. “Likewise. Is Mr Hardie well?”

“Oh yes,” Tom said. “Uncle Mac is fine. Strong as a horse. I’m sitting in for him this morning. He’s off buying some faces for a set of carriage clocks.”

“I see,” Miss Simpson said. “Do you help him like this often?”

“From time to time, but it’s no bother. I’m very glad to be able to help. What else are family for?”

“What indeed.”

“Did you need to speak to him personally?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I was just concerned as to his wellbeing. He’s a familiar face, if you know what I mean.”

Tom smiled. “Indeed I do. Well, while you’re here, Uncle Mac does actually have something rather special in stock at the moment. A vintage table clock with the most exquisite mother-of-pearl fronting. A lady of your obvious refinement would find it rather enchanting, I think.”

Miss Simpson felt her eyebrow arching, and fought it back under control. “Well, I suppose that I can have a look at least.”

Tom directed Gail’s attention to a table at the far end of the counter. Several pieces stood on it, including the clock in question. It was a genuinely lovely piece. The elegant fronting was quite something to behold, glimmering attractively. The hands looked to be made of gold but edged with jet or basalt, so that they were clearly delineated against both the face and the hour markers. The rest of the case was a mix of gold and clear crystal, giving a tantalising glimpse into the mechanisms inside.

“It certainly is handsome,” she told him. “However, I’m not sure that I – ”

He named a price which must have been fifty per cent of the clock’s value at the very most. “You’d be doing Uncle Mac a good turn,” he said. “The liquidity would be really useful this morning.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Miss Simpson replied. “I must get to my meeting.”

“Of course,” Tom said, looking disappointed. “It was a pleasure. I’ll pass on your concerns when Uncle Mac gets back.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

As soon as she left the shop, Miss Simpson looked up and down the street. Spotting a police officer heading away, she hurried over, calling to him as she got close.

“Officer. Officer! I fear that something is terribly wrong at Hardie’s Watchmakers. Please, you must hurry!”

– Using your skills of language and comprehension, why is Miss Simpson concerned? How is the scene likely to have evolved if she eventually paid the true asking price of the vintage table clock?

Detection level of difficulty: 2