Page 150 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘Your watch is counterfeit.’

‘Excuse me?’

He stares at him, dumbfounded, as the owner picks up the watch and hands it back to him, as if it’s contaminated.

‘It’s a worthless fake.’

Is it then Theo realizes he’s been had and the game is up? Or is it seconds later, when he turns to leave and hears sirens outside, and he realizes the shopkeeper has called the police?

London

‘It’s valuable?’

Maggie is looking at the watchmaker in astonishment.

‘Extremely,’ he nods, rubbing his bearded chin and appearing visibly excited.

‘But that’s impossible. There must be a mix-up. Dad would’ve told me if it was worth anything.’

‘No, I’m quite sure,’ he’s saying now, ‘that’s why I went to check it with a colleague of mine, who’s a specialist in Second World War watches. It’s exceptionally rare.’

Maggie presses her hand to her forehead and looks down at her dad’s watch. Sitting between them on the black velvet cloth, with its worn leather strap, slightly scratched gold case and flat, rather unremarkable face, she’s trying to process what he’s telling her.

‘May I ask how you came by this watch?’ The specialist now appears, his face flushed by the discovery of what’s just landed on their desk.

‘It was my dad’s,’ explains Maggie. ‘Well, my granddad’s, actually. It was a gift from a Swiss soldier he helped during the war.’

The specialist looks elated. ‘It’s got everything, even the fascinating provenance.’ He whispers something to his colleague.

‘Have you ever had this watch valued for insurance purposes, Ms . . .?’

‘Insurance purposes?’ She’s beginning to feel a bit dazed. ‘It’s Fletcher, Maggie Fletcher, and no, no I haven’t . . . I only came in for a new battery as it’s stopped working.’

‘That’s because it works on perpetual motion, the automatic winding occurs when you’re actively wearing it. Simply put, if you’re not wearing it, the power reserve will run out,’ explains the watchmaker.

‘So it doesn’t need a new battery?’

The specialist looks almost amused. ‘No, there is no battery.’

‘Oh.’

‘Ms Fletcher, this watch is quite some find, from a limited edition of only twenty-four known to the market. It could be potentially worth quite a sum.’

Maggie blinks, still in disbelief. ‘How much is quite a sum?’

The specialist clears his throat.

‘I believe when one last came up for auction, it fetched close to half a million . . .’

The Algarve

The doors of the pawnbroker’s burst open and several armed police charge in, yelling something in Portuguese as the shopkeeper dives for cover. There’s nowhere to run and he throws his hands up in surrender as they push him roughly up against the wall, forcing his hands behind his back. He feels the handcuffs around his wrists, hears the click of the metal. This time there’s no need for a translation. Theo C. Stratin is under arrest.

Like the detective inspector said, it was only a matter of time.

Epilogue

Three months later