― Joshua Becker
I went to bed secure in the belief that my treasures were safely locked up and protected by my alarms.
But the following morning something felt queer.
It was a beautiful sunlit day and I had elected to take tea on the terrace. I had read the Times and was prepared to leave for my office, but as I walked back through the French doors into the living room, I sensed something was not right.
An icy tingle ran through my veins—My collection!
I hurriedly crossed the room to the Vitrine and gazed at the contents.
My breathing eased. Everything was still intact—except, something was wrong—I could sense it.
I examined the glass case. It wasn’t damaged and was still securely locked.
There was still something disconcerting. Then, it hit me—a few of the artifacts were out of place—the collar and the mirror.
Impossible, I told myself. Nevertheless, the objects had been moved. I knew exactly how I arranged them—always being a stickler for correct placement. The mirror was always next to the make-up pot, never, next to the anklets.
As I stood there wondering if I were losing my faculties, I noticed a faint scent in the air. It was strangely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
I looked about the room wondering if the scent were from flowers or some other source, but the room contained nothing that would cause such a sweet fragrance.
It was indeed puzzling.
I sat down and mentally retraced all my steps, but try as I might, I couldn’t recall rearranging the items in the display case—and the strange scent in the room convinced me something was wrong.
I decided to call in Bernard and my security team and have them assess the risk threat in my home. I was so upset, in fact, I took the day off and waited impatiently while they investigated thoroughly.
“There’s no sign of forced entry,” Bernard concluded, “ but to be safe, I’d suggest infra-red beams, video cameras and motion detectors—we’ll tie them into the existing alarm system.”
I readily agreed and cursed myself for being lax.
After the new security measures were installed, I was still feeling anxious. I put Bernard’s number on my speed dial and decided to cancel a dinner engagement and eat in instead.
I sat up until ten watching a TV movie, but by then, had thoroughly worn myself out with worry. I decided to go to bed.
The following morning was a repeat of the previous day. Again, the objects in the vitrine had somehow mysteriously been moved and there was that same familiar scent in the room.
I called Bernard and together we reviewed the videotape recordings and he checked all the detectors to ensure everything was in good working order—which it was.
“It’s baffling, Mr. Allenby—I watched you place the objects and then lock the display case.”
“The vitrine,” I corrected him and then felt a bit of a prig. “I’m sorry, Bernard—I’m not usually so testy, but this situation’s driving me mad.”
He commiserated, but really, there was nothing that could be done. The contents of the vitrine were intact and there were no signs of forced entry.
There was only one other thing I could do and that was to sit up all night and guard the collection—and that’s what I finally decided to do.
Being a collector of rare and ancient artifacts brings with it an enormous burden of responsibility, not only for concerns of financial loss, but also of failure to preserve a part of the past for the benefit of posterity.
I intended to do my utmost to protect the treasures in my care.