The handle had the patina of hard use, and inset in the top was a large, smoothly polished red stone the size of a pigeon's egg. The sheath wasn't straight but sharply curved and adorned with fancy silver and gold-coloured filigree work into which were set three similar tear-shaped red stones, decreasing in size as they reached the curved point and looking for all the world as if the stone on the handle was bleeding along its length.

The man said nothing for so long that Violet said, 'If I'd seen it on a market stall I'd have sworn it was a pantomime prop. Something the genie might wear in Aladdin.' The crowd, obligingly, laughed. 'All glass beads and plastic handle,' she added.

Then, as he eased the knife out of the sheath and the lights glinted off the blade, the laughter died.

'It's not a theatrical prop,' he said, unnecessarily.

'No.' And belatedly Violet wondered exactly how many laws she'd broken simply by carrying the thing in public.

'You found it under the floorboards, you said?' he prompted, with a keen, assessing glance. 'And which floorboards would they be?'

'My floorboards,' she replied a touch defensively, although now that the equity release people had done their sums the floorboards-along with most of the structure-were apparently theirs.

'I'm the fourth generation of my family to live there,' she added. And the last.

'Then it's likely that someone in your family hid it?'

'Unless burglars have started breaking in and leaving loot instead of taking it,' she agreed, and raised another laugh from the people crowded round to listen to what he had to say. Maybe she should consider a career in stand-up…

'Indeed,' he agreed, his smile as fake as his tan. It was his job to make the humorous remarks. 'Maybe we can come back to that.' Then, turning back to the knife, 'The Arab world has always been famous for its weapons and this is a khanjar, mostly worn now as a ceremonial piece in the same way as swords are worn with dress uniforms.'