“Killing time till the evening session, I headed back into Ashford, popping the Fiesta into the Vicarage Lane car park, not very far from Rob Sampson’s Antiques Emporium. As I said, he wasn’t a mate, but if he’d been landed with anything dodgy, he might want to know. I was jumping the gun a little, though, wasn’t I? This might be a genuine white horse, worthy of the little label round his front hoof telling anyone who knew these things he was worth five hundred and fifty pounds. About right, giv...en that Ashford wasn’t a tourist Mecca. First of all, however, as I’d not been able to find any books on miniatures on Griff’s shelves, I popped into the library and found what seemed a nice, clearly-written guide. Then I headed for Rob’s, trying to plan how to approach the subject of the horse. Not an idea worth having. So just I mooched in, catching him in mid-scratch. I wasn’t sure I wanted to shake the hand he promptly removed from his crotch, however – but since I’d sloshed that hospital germ-killer liquid all over my hands before and after visiting Griff I supposed I could risk it.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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