And In Walked Portia Adams

In the market for a thief

I took a deep breath of the early morning mist, swinging my uniform baton languidly.

The shops up and down the street were still closed, the sun just now making its way over the horizon, rays of light sifting their way through the fog of London.

The smells of fresh bread drifted along the fog as I walked south to one of the only shops that was abuzz with activity. The bakery was abuzz with activity I could see through their plate glass window, the door propped open to afford a little relief to the sweaty workers inside.

"Constable Dawes," said Mr. Arnold, wiping his hands on his apron as he stepped out to get a breath of that foggy air, "Morning sir."

I didn't know if I would ever get used to being called 'sir' from a man I had known since I was in nappies, but I tapped my hat in greeting, "Mr. Arnold, good morning. It seems the rains of last night have finally petered out."

"An' not a moment too soon if you ask me," he replied with a wink, "maybe I'll get a few hours of business out of it."

As he spoke two of his apprentices were hauling out the big wooden tables that would hold all kinds of pastries and breads, enticing the pedestrians to stop in on their way to work. As if in response to just that enticement, my stomach gave a loud growl, which made Arnold laugh out loud.

"Billy, run in and get the constable a pasty would you?" He said clapping me on the back, "Onion still your favourite?"

It was of course, but I said "I'm on duty Sir, perhaps later..."

Billy was back at his side already though, holding the steaming pasty wrapped in paper, "Then keep it for later, you must be off-duty soon?"

"In a few moments." I agreed, helpless to resist the tasty baking being pressed into my hands.

"Then off you go, with our thanks." Said he, turning back towards his men who were even now arranging fresh items on the tables.

I thanked him, the pasty hot in my hands, and seeing Constable BonHomme approaching, walked briskly towards him, "Dawes, you are hereby relieved," he said, taking in the pasty in my hand with a big grin, "And not a moment too soon I see."

I split the pasty in two and pressed one half into my friends hand, "Share it with me won't you? It's terribly good."

He didn't need much convincing and we set to it, leaning against the brick facade of a tailor who neither of us could afford to use.

"Did you hear about the stolen tiara?" My friend asked, his mouth full of pasty.

I shook my head in answer and he continued, "Sergeant Michaels says it may have been sold to a Turkish businessman on the black market. We only heard about it at all because the man gifted it to his mistress who in turn wore it out to a society party."

"Surely we can get it back then?" I asked, wiping my hands on my kerchief.

BonHomme was doing the same with his own handkerchief, "It turns out there are some legal complications to retrieving stolen items across borders, along with the fact that we must confirm that the two tiaras are in fact the same."

"Legal complications eh?" I said, thinking of the law student residing just upstairs from me.

BonHomme nodded, his smile indicating he might know of whom I was thinking. He had heard a bit about our immigrant landlady over the barstool and being happily married himself had nothing better to do than encourage my own romantic endeavours.

We said our goodbyes and I headed home, my step a bit quicker, my fatigue slightly lessened by a full belly and a good excuse to drop in on Portia Adams.