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am.’
    â€˜Our client, David Purcell, is an antiques dealer.’
    â€˜What sort of antiques?’ asked AJ.
    â€˜He specialises in rare snuffboxes, pocket watches and miniatures from the late seventeenth to early nineteenth centuries.’
    â€˜Is there a big demand for that sort of thing?’
    â€˜Yes. Two years ago an eighteenth-century porcelain snuffbox made for King Augustus III of Poland was sold for 1.4 million dollars at auction in New York. Let’s just say that our client deals with the top end of snuffboxes.’
    â€˜You know snuff means dead?’ said AJ helpfully. ‘As in, “he snuffed it”.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Ms Finch with a smile.
    AJ had never imagined walking into the Old Bailey, let alone on the right side of the law. Yet here he was, sitting on a bench outside the robing room, waiting for a barrister.
    â€˜Now, Aiden,’ said Ms Finch as she came out of the robing room, ‘the procedure is that you follow me into court and stay at the back in case I need something.’
    It was a day for firsts. AJ hadn’t been sure what Court Number Two of the Old Bailey might look like. It definitely wasn’t like any of the court rooms that you see on TV dramas – it was much more dignified: panelled walls, with a long bench in front of a row of leather-seated thrones, carved in oak.
    The man in the dock, their client, was dressed in a snappy suit that was cut to impress, but without a tie the suit looked insulted. Mr Purcell sat impassively in the dock with his head up as if an unpleasant smell was wafting from the cells below.
    â€˜Order, order. Will the court rise for His Lordship,’ said the usher.
    Everyone stood as an impressive judge in a red gown and wig entered and sat down. The court waited for the serious matter of the day to begin.
    The first witness for the defence was a Mr Paggs.
    â€˜Mr Paggs,’ said Ms Finch, ‘your expertise is in antique snuffboxes?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Please look at the snuffbox shown in photograph 401 in the evidence.’
    The jury shuffled through the documents to the right page.
    â€˜You have examined this snuffbox. Would you say that it is a fake?’
    â€˜No,’ said Mr Paggs. ‘It’s a puzzle.’
    â€˜In what way?’
    â€˜Well, the case is in mint condition and the snuffbox looks as if it was made thirty years ago but it wasn’t. All the materials used are authentic and there is no doubt that the artist is van Draydon, whose work in gold and miniature enamel painting is highly prized.’
    â€˜Mr Paggs, are you saying that it is a fake or an original?’
    â€˜I would stake my reputation on it being an original. We have had it X-rayed and the processes involved in making an enamel snuffbox such as this no longer exist.’
    â€˜And if this is an original, as my client claims, how much is it worth?’
    â€˜One and a half million – and that is a conservative assessment.’
    â€˜Is it your professional opinion,’ said Ms Finch, ‘that none of the items you have examined for this case are fake?’
    â€˜Most definitely. I have never seen such beautifully preserved antiques in all of my forty years in the business. It’s as if they’ve been handed to us through a loophole in time.’
    There was a ripple of laughter.
    The usher brought in a note and, bowing to the judge, gave it to Ms Finch. She read it then asked the judge if she might approach the bench. Whispering became chattering and it grew louder and louder until the judge shouted, ‘Order, order. This case is to be adjourned for the rest of the day. I will see the counsels in my rooms.’
    AJ waited at the side of the courtroom while everyone else filed out. When they’d left, AJ went up to Ms Finch. She was re-reading the note that had brought proceedings to such a sudden halt.
    â€˜What’s happened?’ he asked.
    Ms Finch