Chapter 64: Chapter 64 – A tale of scammers and murderers

Fulfilling the wish of the villain, to be left to deal with his problem alone, the following days passed in a tedious monotony for Oscar.

Not that he was in the mood to complain, at any rate, since the situation wasn't so dire that he would be bothered by the latest turn of events. That is, what if Albert had decided to use this time to tour Oxford on his own, knocking on the doors of certain people with the excuse that they could help him recover what was lost? The train tickets might have been paid for between the two of them, but the hotel stay was entirely at the villain's expense. If he wanted, then, to lengthen the period they would remain here, Oscar would have no problem in that regard.

Not that he wanted to go back to Snodland so soon, anyway.

In the first few hours, after hearing about Thomas's blackmail and weighing their options, he might have preferred to return to the village, but now that idea was completely erased from his mind! And it is that returning to Snodland would mean having to deal with Madeleine, Patrick and company. So why not enjoy a few days away from their unfortunate presence? Perhaps this was not the dream vacation one would expect, but then again, no one said moving to Oxford was for pleasure.

Although Oscar could get bored, seeing himself alone in this metropolis, that was always better than having to put up with the same fools as always in the small prison shaped like a rustic village to which he was already accustomed.

He was content with this newfound freedom that he possessed. Respecting Albert's decision and also not wanting to interfere in matters that might not have a simple solution in the short term.

He used the following days to dedicate to tourism. He visited parks, museums, and entertainment establishments in a mere attempt to distract himself from his daily worries, soon being abducted by the realization that not everyone had the opportunity to walk the streets of a city that seemed to have gone back in time. At least, and although Dianne's novel was a botch in general terms, he had to admit she had managed to capture the scenarios well.

Either that, or the universe was playing to keep this world from collapsing, at its own expense recreating a Victorian era more vivid than ever. Which would not be as surprising as it seems: As the plots of some characters developed on his own, without the author doing anything about it, why could not the places evolve at their own pace?

Anyway, Oscar would have wanted to do this spaced tour of his with Albert, missing being able to comment on his impressions of his walks, in the first place, without having to wait for him to return to the hotel. But it couldn't be. He couldn't, and anyway, as the nights came, whatever loneliness he might have felt during the day faded.

Perhaps the villain did not have much time to be in the company of him during the hours of sun, but he never went back on his word to meet him again at dinner time. Albert kept his initial promise, and sooner or later they met each night in the hotel restaurant to tell each other the news. One in the not so fruitless search for him and the other in his wanderings around the city.

Not so unsuccessful because, although it could not be said that he had been successful, it could be confirmed that he was going in the right direction.

The first two days since Thomas was abandoned in his private palace of art passed without incident. The villain had decided to pay a visit to every store, every bazaar, that he accepted merchandise from private individuals to sell. Hoping the cousin hadn't kept the item for himself, but had sold it as soon as he reached the safety of his home.

And what to say about this? The possibility that this piece of gossip, whatever it was, had changed hands was high. After all, Albert never heard of a robbery in Thornfield until Oscar brought it to his attention and the thief himself confirmed it. That being the case, why would Thomas sit idly by for so many months? Why didn't he send a letter to the Northrops demanding the same thing he had now asked of them?

Easy. As he rightly said at the time, and in a way that Oscar had yet to see, in the end he did get the money he needed. Risking blackmail was in no hurry, he could wait for more evidence or for his victims to finally turn their faces towards him.

Thomas had to have sold what he stole, not only because it sounded logical, but also given his exaggerated reluctance to show that he was still in possession of it.

One could doubt that things were like that, there being no tangible proof to prove one fact or another, but Albert's perseverance had its effect and by the third day he was able to find a shopkeeper who claimed to recognize the damned thief. He did not do it for his name, well, because the aforementioned had been clever enough to sign the papers that were required of him with a false name. But both the physical description of him, as well as that of the object that he wanted to place on the owner of this place, coincided completely.

Now, it wasn't going to be all good news. Although he had managed to track down his loot, he must not forget that it had been a long time since Thomas got rid of it, back in January. So it was not at all surprising that the shopkeeper confessed to having already resold said object.

But hey, Albert had already come this far. It was obvious that he wasn't going to stop when he finally got a reliable lead!

Exerting a bit of pressure, since the owner of the store did not seem entirely willing at first, he convinced him to give the contact details of that client to whom he had placed the object. And so, on the morning of the fifth day, he made an appointment with the aforementioned, hoping to settle the matter before the end of the week.

That fifth day, in particular, it had been drizzling since early morning. So Oscar chose to stay in his room.

As part of his baggage, he had brought with him some of his outlines and summaries, so that if his stay was extended he might advance some of his manuscript. How long would it take to finish his novel, in this regard? Mr. Simmons had asked him to do a novella to begin with. Therefore, he calculated, three or four more chapters would be enough to finish his work. He was so looking forward to reaching that point…! Almost as if this were the first finished work of his, come on.

He had devoted himself so much to his blog in the last few months that he stayed in his precious 21st century that he could hardly advance anything in his other literary works. But now he was remedying it with a vengeance.

Free from distractions, he only stopped in the middle of the afternoon. By then the rain had abated and he was, apart from tired, terribly bored with his existence. Hadn't he already done enough? Even if he only had a measly four or five chapters left to wrap up the plot and deliver his resignation to Simmons, it was time to stop.

He was not only tired of writing, but also of staying in the room. All day he had only gone downstairs to eat, wouldn't it be nice to go out for a while and clear his head? Besides, he had a letter for his aunt and uncle to mail and he could take the opportunity to do so.

Of course, he wasn't going to send them documents as important as the ones he acquired at the university using the postal service, that would have been unwise of him. But he thought that, at least, he could tell his relatives that he would have to have a serious conversation with them when he returned, about his son, so that they would not be caught by surprise. Being that, although they were aware that Oscar had come to Oxford with his well-known Mr. Northrop, they had no idea what kind of business would have made them leave Snodland to head to this particular destination.

Thus, once this missive had been sent, and having moved a little away from his hotel, he thought of going for a walk. It was still raining at intervals, but the weather was warm and the intensity with which the drops fell was not as aggressive as when it dawned. Why not take a walk around the city center?

Perhaps, being in his situation, when one said that he wanted to clear his head after a long day of desk work, the last thing that would cross his mind would be to end up in the gallery of the same individual whose face he tried to smash. a few months ago. But Oscar wasn't thinking where he was going. Having already visited the sights that caught her eye in previous days, the sole purpose of his outing had been to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. He didn't care what unlucky place he might end up in.

Now, once he arrived at that well-known street, what harm would it be for him to enter the premises again? Despite having some questions that only Thomas could answer, this was totally an impulse. Not that he needed another confrontation, or that he wanted to deal with such human disrepute. He just wanted to talk to him again, this time, without the mediation of third parties.

Perhaps if Albert was not present, Thomas would stop preamble and be more willing to tell him about a business that did not appear to be legal. Because, although his cousin was not foolish enough to reveal every minute detail of his establishment, Oscar knew well that he was one of those individuals who liked to show off when given enough rope.

And even if he didn't feel like talking, it couldn't hurt another walk around the gallery. This time paying a little more attention to his surroundings. In this way he would have more information to contribute to his uncles about this fateful business. Nothing was lost with it!

Oh well, nothing was lost except the money that the damn concierge demanded from anyone who set foot in the premises. But to be honest, Oscar didn't care about that. He might not have been able to search the place as much as he wanted last time, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that there was no security here. That the only employee working for the public during visiting hours was that old man.

Hence, when he entered, he hardly bothered to warn the aforementioned that he would go looking for his cousin. That he didn't need anyone to escort him, because he already knew the way. And, what could that old man do when he heard such an outrageous statement, since Oscar went to the other door without even going past the counter to pay the ticket? It was likely that he had followed him, yes. But right now he was busy trying to collect from a couple who had walked in a few minutes earlier, he couldn't deal with them all at once!

Oscar took advantage of this confusion to sneak towards the exhibition. And while he walked through the same corridors that he had walked days before, now paying more attention to his surroundings, he realized that all those pictures and deformed statues were not worth the price he was asking to see them. Not only because of their appearance but because, like last time, on this day the gallery was also half deserted.

If it weren't for that lost couple, whom he figured he himself would have frightened by passing so abruptly and without depositing the required fee, no one was in those rooms.

Even when Oscar found the stairs and climbed to the first floor, not a soul was to be seen or heard about. The floor below seemed silent and deserted, but the one above seemed completely abandoned! And it was not just that it did not have the decoration on the ground floor, it was that it was dark and with all its doors closed.

From what the front desk guy had mentioned last time, it sounded like the upper floor was the heart of the administrative side of the business. Perhaps it had a wide hall, with a couple of secretaries who acted as hosts to this part of the building, giving way to a wide corridor filled with offices and meeting rooms.

It was obvious, even before Oscar arrived, that such a scenario would be too promising, considering what lay below. But it was all to fuel the fantasy.

Pausing for a moment by the stairs he had just climbed, he thought. Could you go ahead and peek inside those rooms? That looked bad to him, but he must not forget that this was not an incognito mission. Those in the gallery had seen him enter. The old man from behind the counter heard him say that he was just going to look for his cousin. Wasn't it obvious where he would end up?

And even if he wasn't, he didn't care. Although his impulsiveness had brought him this far, he had no intention of committing any recklessness. He came to pry, not to sneak into someone else's house. Hence, after that moment of hesitation, he decided to ask out loud if there was anyone in those parts and, after not getting an answer, decided to take a few steps until he reached the door that was closest to him.

He called a couple of times, despite already assuming that no one would be there. And, feeling like an idiot, he decided to turn the knob, intending to take a quick look inside the room.

 As expected, since this was more like a corridor lined with residential rooms than a wing containing the offices of high-level employees, the door was not locked. Now, and although he did hope that there would be nothing preventing him from entering, he did not expect to find what he saw next. No, this was not a meeting room, nor a warehouse full of office supplies with paintings of dubious value scattered on the floors. It wasn't even a second-rate office, with worn furniture and more rubbish in the corners than documents of interest. Nothing of that. What he found was a small kitchen, like that of a private home.

There wasn't much to see here. The place was only about four or five square meters and it was quite dirty and messy. A pile of uncleaned dishes could still be seen in the sink and a table laid out with leftover food and drinks still in their respective containers. It was so noticeable that they did not have service…!

It seemed that these people continued to live as if this were an extension of their college life. But in a more disastrous way, since in the university they still had someone who was in charge of providing food for such useless people. Which made sense because had anyone mentioned that Thomas also lived in this apartment block? No one did, but since he had left campus, it was a reasonable conclusion.

Oscar left the kitchen and tried the next door, politely above all, repeating the previous process. And this time what he found was a bedroom even smaller than the last room he had checked. With a couple of bunks that looked worse than the one he slept in at Rose Cottage, and a chest whose drawers were left ajar, probably because their contents were too abundant for them to be closed completely.

There was no one here either.

In the third room, Oscar was luckier, if he found traces of life, discounting the cockroaches that already had signs of wanting to form a colony, in this dump. Here what appeared before him was a humble room, quite in keeping with the decoration of the previous rooms. A bare desk and a couple of half-empty bookcases stood against each wall of the room. There was also a wall clock, a record player, and a small table that looked like it hadn't been dusted for years. But what caught his attention the most were the two unknown individuals sleeping on the sofas.

Or well, saying they slept would be a nice way of putting it. One of them snored so loudly that one could have sworn the building shook with every breath he expelled. The other, although he didn't make so much noise, also remained stretched out in one of the armchairs, as if he had moved over the first place where he had the good fortune to land. He must have woken up when he heard someone enter because, still sleepy, he sat up.

A protest on his part, for having woken him up without warning, died as soon as he saw the stranger standing in the doorway. It was so obvious they didn't usually receive visitors there...! Despite the fact that Oscar was quick to introduce himself as Thomas's cousin, he could have sworn he saw in the eyes of that stranger, and just for a second, a spark of panic just before he identified himself.

"So you're the famous cousin," he muttered reflectively, and just before going to him, making sure to knee the sofa where his friend was still immovable. “Wake up, idiot! Can't you see there's a visitor?”

But the supposed idiot did not wake up. He might have lowered the volume of his snoring a bit, but the blow he received didn't bring him out of the dream realm. On the contrary, he now seemed even more determined to continue sleeping. Because, sensing the movement and even though his partner's knee had landed on the side of the seat rather than the side of him, the guy just turned around and curled up facing the back. As if not only did he want to continue snoring, but he also had no interest in whatever was going on in the room.

"Let's leave it, okay? Last night we were in a meeting until late, it's normal for him to be tired” said the first guy, in a good mood.

"I didn't want to interrupt, I only went in because I thought there was no one there," Oscar lied, as he had been able to hear the snoring as he approached the room; it seemed that not even the knocks on the door were enough to wake up those inside and that was why he entered, believing that Thomas would be among the occupants of the place. “I was going to ask that very friendly gentleman you have at reception if my cousin was here because of the atmosphere, but he was so busy that I didn't want to bother him. So I went ahead. I hope you don't mind.”

"No, no, not at all! You can come in…” Perhaps assuring himself that it would not be proper to invite a visitor to enter the same room where his partner was still transfixed, he immediately corrected himself. “Well, actually let's talk outside. Do you fancy some tea? Maybe we can even take a stroll through the gallery while we're at it.”

“I do not think that it's necessary.”

“Of course it is, I insist! Thomas had to go out to meet with some promoters and I don't think he'll be back for… half an hour? three quarters of an hour? Hell, I didn't know it was already this late.”

The unknown partner sighed, after taking that quick look at the clock. Unlike Thomas's forced cheerfulness, this person's kindness seemed genuine. There was no doubt that either his dear friend hadn't spoken badly about Oscar to him, or he had, but he decided to behave like a proper person and give him room for doubt.

Either that, or he was one of those who thought it didn't matter who entered his business. As long as he got out of there happy and provided them with benefits—whether monetary or publicity—he was treated like the devil himself.

Oscar didn't care what his reasons were for being hospitable. As for him, as long as he didn't get kicked out of the gallery so quickly it was fine.

"I'm afraid they haven't introduced us," this guy continued, guiding Oscar back into the hallway and slamming the door of the living room on purpose, perhaps as a last attempt to get his friend to wake up once and for all. “Lowell Travers. I've known your cousin since… I don't know, maybe since the very first day the first semester of our first year started. He had to share a room, you know?”

“Oh, so you studied the same career?”

"God save me from it, no! I studied architecture. Or well, I tried; After four months I discovered that it wasn´t for me and I stopped.”

Why am I not surprised? Oscar wondered wryly.

"Regarding your partner, the one who seemed tired...”

"Oh, he has nothing to do with the university," Lowell explained. “Jimmy used to work in a restaurant that his father owns. As this was located just a couple of blocks from the campus, from time to time we visited his place.”

"He doesn't work there anymore?"

“It's just that Jimmy has an older brother who went on to study finance. He is the typical responsible boy who never goes out to parties and who´s given all the diplomas par excellence, so his father has already decided that he will leave the business to him in the future. The result? Well, poor Jimmy was frustrated because, given that scenario, he would never stop being a simple waiter in that restaurant.”

"Not even trying a little harder? If they are two brothers, the fair thing would be for them to share the business in the future.”

"That's what I thought too, but nah. The old man is a curmudgeon, he says that Jimmy is hopelessly irresponsible. Even he is afraid to leave him alone in the shop, just in case he burns it down inadvertently! Where has it been seen that a father thinks so badly of his son?”

"It's horrible," Oscar affirmed, although he was really thinking that he should have reason to think that way if it was common for this Jimmy to avoid his duties, complain about his misfortune even without doing anything to remedy it and, as he had seen today, staying transfixed until the afternoon after a mid-week binge. “I imagine that is why he no longer works in that place, right?”

"He had a pretty bad row with his relatives last time and, since they didn't let him progress, he decided to join us in our little business." As he said this he had guided his impromptu guest back to the kitchen, with every intention of complying with his word to offer him a drink. “It's wrong for me to say it, but we are the perfect team! Everyone has their role here: I take care of the administrative part, Vincent does the publicity, Jimmy is the workforce for when we have to put on a new exhibition, and… Oh, sit wherever you want! There is enough space.”

Despite Lowell saying this, if Oscar had been reluctant to take a seat it was because, apart from the fact that the table was not in a state that could be considered hygienic, the chairs were also piled with clutter. Between half-open boxes of unknown content and magazines that had nothing to do with the art world, there was not a single space to sit down.

Perhaps inviting him to make himself comfortable might have been a futile offer on the part of the one who must now consider himself his host, a mere mockery to establish that there was no place for him in these parts. Thomas, without a doubt, would have behaved that way. And then he would have dropped some sharp comment, after a protest from his cousin, making him look like the bad guy even though he wasn't to blame for anything. But then again, Lowell seemed more sincere in that regard.

And it is that, seeing that Oscar did not move from where he was standing, he did not take long to realize what was happening. What manners of his, not making sure to clean up the kitchen when they finally had a visitor! Perhaps it was because of habit, because nobody used to pass through those rooms other than his friends and they were used to dealing with dirt.

Lowell set aside the few clean cups he could find on a shelf and hurriedly removed a handful of newspapers from a chair, making sure to mop the chair's surface with whatever papers he had removed, before inviting the other to sit down again.

This time, only slightly more confident, Oscar did do as asked.

There was no doubt that this guy, Lowell, had a different character than Thomas. The false cousin would never have agreed to make room for him if he had had to clean up right under his nose.

"As I was saying, Thomas is the brains of the team," he continued, turning to some countertops that he'd somehow cleared enough of the pots and pans that he could start maneuvering the crockery without breaking anything in the process. “He had the idea to set up this business and, right now, he is the one in charge of dealing with both suppliers and our sponsors.”

“I didn't know you had sponsors too.”

“Not a big deal yet, I'm afraid. We have just started and we have only caught the attention of a couple of humble establishments that very kindly offered to keep our advertising brochures to distribute among their customers. Well, that and the relatives of some artist that we captured. But it is not that they bring us many benefits yet. Aside from recommending us to their friends, it's not like they're offering us cash to cover all our expenses or even invest in new artists.”

"Well, isn't that how most businesses start? Contacts and time with the public are always essential to make yourself known and make a good impression. It is a matter of finding the opportunity and knowing how to handle yourself with patience.”

"That's what Thomas used to say! There is no doubt that you are relatives, huh? That's why great minds think alike.”

Oscar almost choked on his own saliva when he heard that. But he quickly recovered, assuming it was a non-malicious comment from a guy who was so busy looking for some tea bags that he hadn't even noticed his unusual reaction.

"I hope you don't mind settling for coffee," he kept saying. “We are not much of tea in this apartment; It seems that coffee is what makes us go down better after a hangover.”

Lowell laughed at his own joke, and Oscar reluctantly agreed. He did not care what was offered, he had only decided to stay to talk.

"You mentioned the relatives of the artists helped you a little to promote you," he began after a few moments, when a teapot had already been put on the fire. “May I inquire, in connection with this, how many do you have? I imagine that will be quite a few, given that a considerable number of paintings are needed to cover the walls of a gallery of these proportions.”

“Don't believe it. The number of painters and sculptors willing to lend us their works for the exhibition is irrelevant. What matters is quality, that's what we rely on when recruiting them.”

Oscar would have thought Lowell had made a point here were it not for what he next added:

“It´s for this reason that we have not associated with more than three authors. Oh well, that's what we tell the public. The reality is that it is cheaper for us to work with fewer people and, anyway, the artists we hang out with are the children of rich people from big cities. In other words, they have always had painting as a hobby because they never needed it. So why not take advantage of the fact that they are so willing to give us their art?”

"I guess it doesn't sound bad at all, exploiting well-off young men for personal gain."

Oscar smirked, and Lowell, afraid he had said something terrible, corrected himself quickly.

"No, no, don't get me wrong! It is not exploitation, they also charge their percentage for this. It's just that, you know how they are, most of these people are only studying for a degree because their parents force them to, or because they have to prepare to take on an important position in some family business. In other words, they do not choose their own path of study. All we do is provide them with an outlet for their own stress.”

"All your artists belonged to the campus?"

“And they still belong. I'm afraid they wouldn't have as easy a time as we do to quit.”

"If it's true that they come from renowned families, it's understandable that their relatives are twice as strict when it comes to their education," mused Oscar, wondering if it was really possible that those high-ranking people were recommending among their acquaintances a as seedy a place as Thomas's seemed to be. “Perhaps for this reason, because they cannot dedicate all the time they want to their paintings, it is worthwhile that only three people can fill a gallery of this size.”

Lowell, who was starting to serve the coffee at that moment, almost spilled it on the counter when he heard that last sentence spoken with apparent innocence. No, it was too obvious that things were not as they appeared on the surface. Oscar already imagined it before, and now he only confirmed it.

"It's not like they went out of their way for it either," Lowell laughed nervously, placing a cup of steaming contents in front of his guest with a trembling hand. “Keep in mind that they have been painting and sculpting since they were children, it is not that they have gotten into it in recent months, when we told them that we would be willing to collaborate with their works.”

“I see. In this case, it could be said that you have made a compilation of paintings created since the artists were children, right?”

“Exactly! Of course, and given that all artists evolve over the years (especially these very young people, who even now still have a long way to go), I will not deny that we have some slightly mediocre paintings... But they all have their periods of ugliness and brilliance, you know.”

Oscar waited a moment for Lowell to take a seat in another nearby chair and sample his own drink before following suit. It was likely that the coffee hadn't been poisoned on purpose, but considering that there was no guarantee that these cups had been in contact with the soap at some point in the last thirty years, any security measures were little.

Finally, seeing that there was no danger that Lowell would fall dead before that concoction, Oscar decided to continue asking:

“Could you tell me more about these artists?”

And he could indeed. His attitude was that of someone who had been holding back all this time, waiting to be asked that question. It was obvious that not many tourists passed by eager to know the meaning of the doodles on duty, much less about the lives of their authors, because Lowell expanded at ease.

Over coffee that, to his surprise, wasn't the worst he'd ever tasted and pastries he didn't dare touch because of their suspicious appearance, Oscar let Lowell tell him where they'd gotten the actors for their farce.

According to what he said, those three artists were not only university students, but also old acquaintances of his. This fact, by itself, did not say much. After all, weren't those people of rank who were studying prestigious careers? Even if they didn't have the best grades in college, coming from such well-known families, it was obvious that they should be popular! Maybe not among other individuals in their class, of course, but they would certainly make a name for themselves among the humbler students as Thomas and his cronies might have been.

Besides, Thomas was pretty smooth-talking. So much so that Oscar was sure that if he put his mind to it, he could convince any idiot to jump off a rooftop. With that talent added to his desire to collude in trickery for quick profit at the expense of others, how much could it cost him to cajole a couple of nobles into painting a few pictures for him?

To be specific, those nobles whose dreams were on a forced pause because of their strict parents would be easy to convince.

Lowell only confirmed it when he explained that the aforementioned were recruited just after the last semester exams. Apparently, the disaster in these was great for some people who did not feel that their true vocation was medicine, law or some other prestigious career similar to the one that their relatives had their eye on. Thomas, according to what he said, it was in these notes that he first noticed. Then, aided by both his associates and a handful of known regulars still left at the university, they tried to reach out to those individuals who hadn't done too well and who otherwise had some artistic talent. As small as it was.

The result was that they found, without too much difficulty, three ignorant people who really had faith in their potential for the arts.

The first of them was an aspiring doctor who had been drawing abstract art since he was a child, when his father made him accompany him—Oscar didn't know what or why—to several of his patients' surgeries.

The second belonged to a family of prosecutors and since he was a teenager, when he saw what in his opinion was the best statue that had ever been made in a park fountain, he wanted to make a perfect sculpture that would surpass it or, at least, approach his greatness. And what to say about it? The only thing he had achieved to date was to dismantle a family heirloom that had been with his family for generations. He pissed off his relatives so much that from then until he came to live alone on campus, he was unable to continue his experiments in modern sculpture.

The third of the chosen was perhaps the most pitiful in terms of abilities. He came from a military family, although he was studying economics. He discovered that he liked to paint for a scant four days before he was recruited. His ambitions were at their peak, nothing to do with the other two human wastes mentioned above, but his talent was still to be developed… If it was developed at all. Lowell had faith in him, but Oscar remained skeptical.

How was someone going to set up a gallery with mediocre people who, despite having a good social status, their families did not support them?

Because, despite what Lowell said at the beginning, after hearing the story of these guys, it was no longer possible to hide that these families did not give a damn what their children did outside of class. As long as they fulfilled their duty to attend courses and study for their exams, they could do whatever they wanted with their free time. That is, as long as his grades didn't drop so low that he had to fail classes.

"It could always be that these people's parents would get mad at them, cut off their assignment, and forbid them to continue participating in the gallery," Lowell mused. But hey, we take precautions for that. We had them sign a contract and then we invited them to a restaurant to celebrate our new partnership. If they don't want to continue painting, nothing happens. But the works that are here will have to stay for as long as those pieces of paper stipulate.

First it was the low-spirited students caught at the moment when they were most vulnerable and then the bribery to happily sign papers they very possibly would not have read. Marvelous!

"They must have been satisfied," Oscar commented, with an irony that the other did not detect.

"And how can they not be if they live like royalty? We don't even rush them to produce! For now, it is enough for us to exhibit the old works that they passed us and, if they have time and have made progress with something in their spare time, we are also happy to add it. No rush, I'm telling you. For us, as if they come up with something new every six months. It does not matter.”

"I didn't believe it when my cousin told me, but business must be going well for you to be able to afford to take each step with such parsimony."

“Eh… Yes, well… As I was saying, I handle the administrative part and, at least until now, there have been no losses. We had a bit of a tight moment at the end of the year, but it's mostly fixed now.”

“Oh, that's great. When I arrived the other day and saw so few people visiting the gallery I became concerned that you were not raising the necessary funds.”

“It is true that not many people come, but it is not as bad as it seems. Your cousin does a good job contacting sponsors and clients, so even if not too many people come, there are always people willing to sponsor us.”

“How is that?”

“Well, how are most museums and galleries sponsored? With events, it's obvious!”

"Are you doing any soon?"

"No dates have been finalized yet, but we hope to do one in early summer." Lowell laughed after saying this, although you could tell he was having a hard time answering those questions. “Our gallery may not have many visitors during the week, but it doesn't have to be. I can't give you details of the matter, of course, but let me tell you that Thomas found a venture capital partner that he is more than willing to provide in exchange for trifles.”

"Now that's interesting. He is also engaged in art transaction?

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“Well, not exactly. He does some business here and there, you could say that he is a born investor.”

“That company of his must be successful, whatever it is, if he is always on the move.”

This is either because he has to move to look for the best deal or to escape from the police, thought Oscar, but he decided to skip this last part.

“I think that is a basic rule for any business to work. After all, the market is not static. Does it move. And we should move with him if we don't want him to...”

Lowell, who for a moment seemed willing to continue to cooperate willingly, stopped here. And this time he did it forever and for a compelling reason.

No, it wasn't that some toxic substance introduced into the coffee was having a late effect. It wasn't that he had been speechless because of some pastries that he did decide to eat. Much less that he had suffered a sudden loss of memory when he began to tell the juiciest part of that gossip. No, if the guy closed his mouth instantly it was because Thomas's voice was heard from the bottom of the stairs, calling him.

It seemed that the aforementioned had returned and, as the gallery was still deserted at that time, he had no problem raising his voice from so far away.

It must not have been Thomas's intention for someone to come to meet him, because not two seconds after he heard him call, footsteps were heard coming up the stairs and coming down the hall. Lowell, knowing his partner was coming, made no move to get to his feet. Instead, he only raised his voice even higher to indicate that he was in the kitchen, with the obvious intention of inviting him to join them.

"There's that abnormal Jimmy snoring in the middle of the afternoon again," Thomas had begun to say, just before he appeared through the doorway. “How many times do I have to tell you to wake him up? He can be heard from downstairs and gives a bad impression… Why are you here again?”

Thomas's expression wasn't one of anger at Oscar, although there was some hostility in his voice. It was as if he was tired of dealing with him but, at the same time, he was also tired enough not to want to make a scene in front of his partner.

"I invited him," Lowell said quickly with a smile, oblivious to any animosity between the two cousins. “He showed up by surprise saying that he wanted to see you, but since you weren't there it occurred to me that we could sit down and chat for a while while we waited for you.”

“Is that right?” Without giving Oscar time to respond, he rebuked with a smile that had nothing to do with Lowell's sincere expression. “Cousin, you always so inopportune! You should have warned! We are no longer in the village, I'm afraid. And it seems unbelievable that, after so many months working for high-class families, you still haven't learned that it's ugly to show up at someone else's premises without having made an appointment. You really are lucky that your new employer tolerates these slips!”

"I would have warned but, as far as I know, there is no way to contact you that far in advance. Also, when I arrived the man lying on the front desk seemed busy. And with the amount of work there seems to be around here, I didn't want to keep you too long.”

"It was a very nice detail of you. Surely you did not want to pay before entering.”

"Pay, me?" How could I? I am your dear cousin… Family should not be charged.”

"Has Mr. Northrop come with you?" Thomas asked; his smile was beginning to twist, a sure sign that he was getting angry.

Thomas could play whatever he wanted with the minds of others, but the fact that others used the same tricks to address him was reason enough to make him angry.

"No, he couldn't. So now you can go back to being the same old scum, nothing and no one will stop you.”

"M-may there be peace, okay?" Lowell stepped in, seeming to be the only scared person in that kitchen. “Why don't we all go for a walk through the gallery? I promised Oscar that he would show it to him, and anyway, I think it will do us good to calm things down.”

"Lowell, why don't you go wake up Jimmy instead? Bring him that dirty water you were drinking, by the way. And, if you see that it is not enough to take away his hangover, put him in the bathtub head first. Too bad he would have to go so that he wouldn't finally stop snoring.”

“But then…”

"Don't worry, I'll take care of my cousin."

What Thomas had said was commented on as a suggestion, but from Lowell's reaction, it seemed more like an order. And yes, maybe the latter was a little worried about leaving those two alone in the same room, without any kind of surveillance. What if the atmosphere of tension had not been charged when the glances of the two cousins ​​​​crossed! If it hadn't been for the fact that they both gave the appearance of being civilized men, anyone could have sworn that they were waiting for any small sign to get into blows.

As much as his conscience bothered him to leave them alone, Lowell wasn't going so far as to want to contradict Thomas and decide to stay in case something went wrong. He considered himself a pacifist, as he had told Oscar a while ago. He didn't want to get into a fight and, if he could help it, he didn't want to mediate in one either.

So when Thomas asked him to leave, he vanished from the kitchen without a word.

“Why did you come?” Asking this, Thomas had moved towards Oscar, but he was still keeping a safe distance of a couple of meters, as if he was afraid that if he let his guard down he would get a punch now that they were finally alone.

He should never have considered before that it would be possible to be afraid of the idiot's cousin, and that only unnerved him even more.

"Because I imagine it wouldn't be to accept my offer," he continued. “After all, a deal as generous as the one I'm offering only Mr. Northrop would appreciate.”

"I can't accept your previous offer to show me the exhibition?"

No, he couldn't. It was written on the face of a little guy who, however, said:

"Of course, although I didn't expect you to be interested in it." Motioning for him to follow him down the stairs, he added. “You were always a bit of a redneck for everything related to art and culture in general. I will try to explain it to you, but do not get stressed if you see that you do not understand everything. With your intellect, it is normal that you do not grasp the majority.”

Oscar didn't protest when he heard that insult, he just let himself be guided. Was Thomas willing to show him around? Very good. It wasn't as good an option as using Lowell for this, but at least it would save him the trouble of having to wander around on his own. Making the pertinent deductions while he was fleeing from a concierge that he, he supposed, he would not give up on charging his entrance if he was not accompanied by one of his bosses.

On the other hand, and this was something Oscar discovered as he visited room after room, this exhibition may have been a complete scam, but there was no doubt that Thomas had mastered the art of building castles in the air. And it is that, where anyone could see a canvas stained with colors and irregular shapes that did not resemble anything in particular, he was able to invent a story about a rural landscape seen in dreams by some renowned artist who died three decades ago and whose paintings, very kindly, his family donated to the gallery.

This type of lies were something of everyday, he seemed to do them with all the works. Nothing to do with what Lowell had commented moments ago.

Thomas must have even cared that, in some of the paintings, the artist's signature had nothing to do with the description of the painter that he was giving. Or that their quality was far from what he promised. Perhaps the original Oscar would have been shocked by the supposed beauty that they tried to sell, asking multiple questions about the works and even releasing several phrases of praise addressed to even the most disgusting paintings, but this Oscar was not like that. He knew what was going on and so he remained silent, keeping his expression of impassive seriousness no matter what the other told him.

That attitude must have bothered Thomas, because he hadn't shown him even a third of the works in his exhibition when she stopped in front of him, changing the subject.

"Have you already gone to the university to get information out of me? Oh no, don't answer me. I know you did, why would you have come if not?”

“It was obvious.”

"Although I thought it would take you longer to come, that's why you're still poor and enslaved to the wishes of your lords in that shitty town. Who would have thought that Mr. Northrop would bring you with him knowing that you also had unfinished business here? But then again, I'm not surprised either. If what Ms. Warren mentioned is true…”

"Taking into account that you already knew what I would propose if I came," Oscar cut him off, "I have to assume that you have prepared what you will do next."

"Well, I see my cousin isn't as dumb as he seems," Thomas laughed. “Oh, but don't worry. I have no intention of taking those documents from you, if so, I would have already mobilized to steal them from the day I saw you appear in this city. What am I saying… I don't even care if you still have them with you or if you already sent them to Snodland!”

“That tranquility on your part worries me more than what you can or cannot do to get that documentation.”

“Why? I was just trying to tell you that I'm going to do the right thing. I've thought about it a few times in recent months and I've come to the conclusion that you were right. It is absurd to hide from my parents that I dropped out! That is why I have written them a letter talking about it, apologizing for the inconvenience caused and letting them know how I am and what business I am in.”

“Really?”

"I even went to the trouble of writing them a check, for I have made a firm promise to return every penny they have invested in me."

That was even funny.

Oscar could assume that this hypothetical letter of apology, along with the idea of ​​starting to return the money, had already been in his mind for months. That he was just waiting for him or someone else to come and ask him for an account on the subject to send it. This way, by hurrying to do so, he could make amends for some of the damage he had done to his parents by telling them the news before anyone else did.

Even if Oscar went back to talk to his aunt and uncle, accompanied by the required evidence and added to his own testimony, he would remain an informer. A snitch who, for some cause Thomas would no doubt invent, decided to betray his promise of silence. Because it was clear that the cousin hoped his business would be a success to compensate for his leaving the university!

If he put it all up as a profitable surprise, he couldn't look bad. Not when his relatives came from a family of servants who never had a chance to study and who, by tradition more than anything else, valued hard work more than the diplomas one could muster.

The only way to get out of the mess more or less well was for Albert to tell the Stevens about the robbery... And even then, would that be possible? Aside from the villain seeming reluctant to talk about what was taken from him, how could he prove himself? There was no evidence, not until the object was recovered. And even with it, could it be said that the Stevens would be distressed by Thomas's behavior when he had, on the surface, been willing to make amends?

No, not only that. One could not forget the material for blackmail.

Perhaps at this very moment Thomas had nothing but his own testimony, something too insignificant to pay attention to. But what if he really did team up with Dianne to bring them down? That would be another long-term plan, a bit difficult to achieve considering that one of the two involved would have to remain in Oxford despite everything, but it was not impossible.

It was worth being on guard because, at the end of the day, both cousins ​​had something against the other that they could use.

"If you wish to speak ill of me unfairly to my parents, go ahead," Thomas continued. As you can see, and unlike you, I have nothing to hide. You may not see much of an audience right now, but it's normal this time of year. Either way, the numbers speak for themselves: If I were doing such a terrible job, I couldn't afford to start paying them back some money.

If you were doing the job as you should, without illegalities involved and both with the public and the works that you now have, the normal thing would have been for this to close before even opening, Oscar thought, but said nothing.

This was going from weird to murky at breakneck speed.

"I thought business meetings used to be in this building." Noticing that Thomas's expression was one of confusion, as if he couldn't understand how she came to that conclusion, he added. “Or, at least, that's what the old man at the front desk gave me to understand. Didn't you have offices upstairs?”

"Oh yes, of course I do! Didn't Lowell show it to you? In any case, we don't always stay there, as many of our clients and associates prefer to meet us in a slightly more relaxed environment.”

Oscar nodded, though he was choosing not to believe him. He may not have investigated the first floor for more than a couple of minutes, not being able to pry into all the rooms there, but that was enough to perceive a charged atmosphere, totally unsuitable for a professional business.

On the other hand, wasn't this building where Thomas and the others had their residence? Although it had two floors and a roof terrace, the place was not that spacious.

"And the service?"

“What?”

“I was thinking: They must have someone who leaves the rooms like a whistle, because having this clean is the minimum for the public to decide to stay. And, obviously, from how well you say your business is going, I can't believe that the man at the reception is the only employee.”

“We have a woman who cooks and cleans upstairs, but the gallery is entirely run by Barnes. Who, it may not seem like it, but is extremely efficient.”

"It must be tough, dealing with maintenance and visitors on a daily basis."

“Who knows? One cannot be aware of the dramas that the service has. But if he said he could handle it, I have to believe he can. If we see that it is not possible, in the long run, he is fired and someone else is hired. Nothing happens.”

How was such a lack of empathy possible coming from the son of some servants? Oscar didn't understand, even though Thomas had never been a full-time servant to anyone.

"Well, do you want us to continue with the visit or not?" Thomas went on, resuming his fake smile. “I can bear your intrusive questions, that you get impertinent already by the way. But when I talk to my parents again, I don't want to have to tell them that his precious nephew only paid me a visit in an effort to find excuses to attack me. Even though I so graciously offered to show him my life project. See, this gallery.”

"And what have I been doing up until now if not listening to you mess around?" Oscar interjected. “Continue, please. Since you've worked so hard to invent a story for each of the paintings, I wouldn't want to prevent you from continuing.”

Thomas muttered a few expletives under his breath before heading back on his way, still leading Oscar through the rooms despite the fact that his own speech was diminished. And this was perhaps because, he must have realized, Oscar had not the slightest interest in what they were telling him. Thomas put up with showing him five or six more plays, until he was interrupted.

And, this time, it wasn't Oscar who was to blame for his stopping. No. It turned out that this old man at reception, this Barnes guy, had addressed them, getting Thomas to cut off his pedantic sermon on the spot. And, after giving Oscar a look of disdain, he turned to his boss to say:

“You have a visitor waiting for you in reception.”

“See? There are still polite people who wait where they're asked and don't walk into someone else's property without making an appointment,” Thomas pointed out, referring to Oscar, before addressing his employee. “Who is it?”

"He's just a visitor," Barnes cleared his throat, as if it was inconvenient for him to say his name in front of someone other than his boss.

Thomas must have understood that it was someone who did not want people outside his establishment to know that he had entered, so he did not insist. Instead, he sentenced that he would go right now to meet him. Oscar, on the other hand, would have to be alone for a while, waiting for him to return.

"I don't think we should leave him alone," Barnes said in a whisper, though loud enough for Oscar to hear. “He even refused to pay the entrance fee, who knows what he intends to do if…”

"Don't be so suspicious. In the case of Oscar, that he is like a brother to me, what harm could he do? I do trust that he will not destroy what I managed to raise with so much effort.”

And with that, Thomas asked Barnes to take him to the new visitor. Without waiting for an answer from Oscar and with his head held high, proud of how he was managing his company.

In truth, if Thomas had been right about one thing, it was that Oscar had no intention of doing anything to harm his exposition. He also did not think or carry out a search. He had seen enough already, chatting with Lowell and escorted by his cousin. He would have been at a disadvantage if he had thought to go a step further and, say, try to take a look upstairs again.

Because, if they caught him snooping, they might have another reason to accuse him not before his uncles, but before the very police. And it was a little more complex to get rid of those uniformed people with nothing more than a simple warning.

Hence, Oscar sighed out of sheer boredom thinking that since he wasn't even in his own playing area, the wisest thing would be to stay where he was. He would sit on one of the few benches on one side of the room and wait for Thomas or one of his other henchmen to come and kick him out. That way no one could claim anything from him.

And yes, he had intended to stand there, silently analyzing only the works that he could see from where he was sitting, but he didn't last more than a couple of minutes in that spot. It didn't last because, not three minutes after he'd carved out that spot against the wall, he thought he heard someone yell from the building's entrance. And although he heard nothing more than a bawl, it did manage to alert him enough to get to his feet and go to the reception area.

From the room where he found himself waiting, he could hear nothing but a shout, but as he walked slowly down the corridors, he could also hear the sounds of a heated argument in which, no doubt, Thomas was participating.

If Oscar hadn't also recognized the other voices in the brawl, he probably would have turned around and walked back to the showroom he was in, rightly thinking it was none of his business. That he didn't need to get involved, and so if anyone wanted to beat Thomas to death, he had his blessing.

But Oscar did recognize the voices of all the participants, so he had no qualms about approaching that little room that was so close to the outside and opening the door, suddenly encountering a dantesque spectacle.

"What the hell are you doing?" He inquired, halfway between concern and amusement, although just looking at it made it clear what was happening.

The villain was there, roughly grabbing Thomas's shirt collar, to the point where Thomas had to stand on tiptoe to keep from being suspended in midair.

From Albert's angry expression and the grimace of pain that his cousin could be seen wearing, Oscar could deduce that the former had hit the latter. And that perhaps, had he not arrived so unexpectedly, he would have continued.

That violent scene was so improper…! Oscar had never seen Albert raise his hand to anyone, until now. Even poor Barnes was scared! The guy, whom Oscar had heard trying to break up the fight with some friendly words shortly before he opened the door, was now hiding behind his counter, fearing he might be the next one they pick on.

"Oscar, t-tell Mr. Northrop to stop, okay?" Thomas stammered, in a plea totally out of keeping with his character of old. “A-a gentleman shouldn't behave like this. Much less in a respectable place like ours.”

But Oscar didn't need to utter a single word because, even before the cousin finished saying his sentence, Albert released him. And, although he did not do it with force or with the desire to push him, the other almost fell to the ground, taking some time to regain his balance, because one of his eyes remained closed, giving the impression that it hurt enough not to dare to open it. Curiously, it was the opposite eye to the one he had been the victim of a punch in previous months.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Albert said nervously, turning to Oscar and completely forgetting that he had just hit someone. “I thought you'd wait for me at the hotel.”

That way of addressing him was hilarious, so much so that it was difficult for him to remain serious. Opening the door, there was a menacing aura around the villain. In his face, therefore, could be seen an expression of unleashed fury, impossible to contain. Instead, now that Albert was speaking to him, that expression changed to a more usual one. Not only did he remain with the familiar impassivity and friendly tone of his, but assuring himself that he had done something wrong, he even seemed to want to apologize to him.

"I was going to wait for you, yes, but I'd been stuck there all day and it occurred to me to go for a walk." Seeing that Thomas's expression continued as ugly or even uglier than a moment ago, he pointed out. “But if you're busy right now, I have no problem continuing to pretend to be entertained by the exhibition. Knowing how things are going, it even makes me want to retire so you can finish the job in peace.”

Saying this, the reactions that Oscar obtained were diverse. Barnes tensed again, perhaps even praying to the heavens that he please not go away and leave them alone with a man who only seemed to have calmed down when he entered. Albert, for his part, was surprised. Didn't Oscar care that he was going around losing control and hitting people? Or was it that he depended on which person he wanted to use violence against?

Thomas's reaction was perhaps the most exaggerated of all. Well, recovering all the lost courage, he demanded loudly, both the villain and Oscar:

"Leave my establishment immediately! You already got what they wanted, right? So leave me alone! Get out of here before I call the police and report you for assault and battery.”

Albert wanted to make a point here, perhaps noting that it was Thomas who provoked him. But Oscar didn't let him clarify anything. Glad that he was back, and thus having an excuse to get out of that seedy place, he simply said goodbye without further delay. And, taking the doll of the villain, drag him towards the exit of the building.

"Is it true that you managed to recover what you were looking for?" Oscar inquired, already on the street, nipping in the bud the apologies that the other had already begun to blurt out.

“It was costly, but yes,” said Albert, not sure if he was relieved to have his own back or to have gotten rid of Oscar taking offense at his outburst. “A marquis was the one who acquired it, apparently with the intention of giving it to a close relative. It was almost a miracle that it was still in his possession, and although he was initially rather reluctant to part with it, I was able to convince him when I offered him an exchange of goods”  Making sure that might have sounded like an immeasurable sacrifice, he hastened to add. “Oh, but it was nothing major. I mean, the Marquis doesn't live far from the city and therefore often goes there to do his shopping. I only took the opportunity to offer him a discount and preferential treatment in our stores so that he could make a couple of suits.”

“I figured it must have been complicated, given all the effort that went into it. So I'm glad you got it back.” After a short pause, Oscar confirmed. “Now you can tell me what it was, right?”

And yes, Albert agreed to tell, since there was no longer any reason to hide it. But he decided to wait until they arrived at the hotel, claiming that there it would be more convenient to take a look at that object that had piqued Oscar's curiosity for months. So that they would not be interrupted by traffic or by the people who were walking through those central streets at that time.

They took a carriage and, barely twenty minutes later, they were already in one of the rooms they rented. Albert had taken out of one of the inside pockets of his jacket a little box not so small as the one that the protagonist had shown Oscar on Christmas Eve, but not so big that it would not go unnoticed in the place where it was hidden until they reached that room.

Then, confirming that he had permission to open it, he handed it over to Oscar.

Removing the cap, he found what he might consider the prettiest fountain pen he had ever seen. Unlike those he had used in his work, this one apart from being shiny black, had small golden details: It was not only the nib that looked as if it were made of gold, but also a circular strip that surrounded the body of the pen and, on the cap, some discreet figures that resembled flowers, acting in turn as a kind of clip that could adhere to the clothes of whoever wore it.

But those little details weren't the only interesting thing. If you took the pen and looked at the end opposite the nib, you could see a couple of letters sticking out of that gold coating.

So this was why Thomas knew he was mine, Oscar mused, recognizing his initials immediately.

“I've been wanting to give it to you for a long time. I even thought about offering it to you as a Christmas present, to be specific,” Albert confessed. “But since I didn't know if it was okay for me to do so, since you still hadn't told me you wrote for the paper, I thought I'd better wait and gave you the scarf instead. After all, I might be weighing you down by suddenly giving you this, without you telling me about your writing, so… Well, come to think of it, maybe I should have given it to you earlier. It could have saved me from that cousin of yours stealing it.”

"If I'd known, I would have told you sooner," Oscar muttered, silently wondering why he hadn't told Albert earlier about his exact job at the paper.

That is to say, if it were someone like Kenneth or Dianne, who did not read or did not value the effort he put into his texts, it would make sense. But what about Albert? It was almost even an insult not to have told him! Or come on, Oscar thought so; the villain wasn't upset.

"I appreciate the detail, but is it okay for me to use it?” he inquired more to himself than to Albert, as he held the quill up to the light, never tired of staring at her beauty and how light she felt in his hands. “In the newspaper, the writing instruments that exist are much more modest, surely they will ask me where I got it from! Not to mention that it would even be a shame to stain it with ink, using it for my unfortunate stories. Somehow it even seems that I am not worthy!”

"You say that, but you really want to use it," Albert laughed.

And he was not wrong. Although it was true that Oscar had been overwhelmed with a pen of such quality and that, in truth, he thought that even he could have been content just looking at it, he also wanted to use it. Since Albert had gone to the trouble of acquiring it, it would have been a waste not to use it.

"I think from now on I won't write in the office anymore. Not only to avoid being asked about this, but because I don't think I'll get used to using another, more modest pen,” Oscar joked, and then, to the villain's astonishment, he began to laugh. “Why were you keeping so quiet about this, by the way? With so much secrecy on your part, added to the clues Thomas gave me that it was something of mine that you had, for a moment I even thought it was an engagement ring!”

"I-I couldn't…!" Albert protested, blushing in a matter of seconds and perhaps even feeling a sense of having lived through a similar scene before. “I-it's too soon for that, as you said the other day. Besides, when I got that pen it was well before Christmas. So I didn't even know if...”

If my feelings were reciprocated, Oscar thought he was going to add. Although Albert had left the sentence halfway, perhaps to avoid a nervous breakdown.

“Oh, in that case… Shouldn't I expect an alliance?

"Would you like one?"

Oscar let out a laugh; Albert was a fast learner.

"I don't know, can you? In any case, it's not as if we could wear matching rings these days… Not in plain sight, I mean, Oscar thought aloud. On the other hand, have you tried proposing to someone? Nah, don't answer me. I can see the answer written on your face.”

"In our case, alliances could not lead to marriage. Not today, not in ten years from now," Albert pointed out correctly, alluding to the century they lived in, then almost imperceptibly whispering, "Unfortunately.”

"Be that as it may, it must be uncomfortable to receive an engagement ring by surprise," Oscar continued, not wanting to delve into the matter of what the distant future would hold for them. “If I wanted one, I would prefer to talk to you beforehand and go together to choose it.”

“That being the case, don't hesitate to let me know whenever you want.”

It was funny how serious Albert had shown when he said that and Oscar couldn't help but laugh. When he finally managed to reestablish himself and knowing that nothing was holding them back in that city, he only had one question left to ask:

"When are we going back home?"

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