Thud!

displayed. And now this!”
    “If you were going to move it, why didn’t you just take it down and put it away nice and safe, sir?”
    “You mean roll it up ?” said Sir Reynold, horrified. “That could cause such a lot of damage. Oh, the horror! No, hwe had a very careful exercise planned for next wheek, to be done with the utmost diligence.” He shuddered. “hWhen I think of someone just hacking it out of the frame I feel quite faint—”
    “Hey, this must be a clue, Sarge!” said Nobby, who had returned to his default activity of mooching about and poking at things to see if they were valuable. “Look, someone dumped a load of stinking ol’ rubbish here!”
    He’d wandered across to a plinth, which did, indeed, appear to be piled high with rags.
    “Don’t touch that, please!” said Sir Reynold, rushing over. “That’s Don’t Talk to Me About Mondays! It’s Daniellarina Pouter’s most controversial hwork! You didn’t move anything, did you?” he added nervously. “It’s literalleah priceless, and she’s got a sharp tongue on her!”
    “It’s only a lot of old rubbish,” Nobby protested, backing away.
    “Art is greater than the sum of its mere mechanical components, Corporal,” said the curator. “Surely you hwould not say that Caravati’s Three Large Pink Women and One Piece of Gauze is just, ahem, ‘a lot of old pigment’?”
    “What about this one, then?” said Nobby, pointing to the adjacent plinth. “It’s just a big stake with a nail in it! Is this art, too?”
    “ Freedom ? If it hwas ever on the market, it hwould probableah fetch thirty thousand dollars,” said Sir Reynold.
    “For a bit of wood with a nail in it?” said Fred Colon. “Who did it?”
    “After he viewed Don’t Talk to Me About Mondays! , Lord Vetinari graciousleah had Ms. Pouter nailed to the stake by her ear,” said Stitched. “However, she did manage to pull free during the afternoon.”
    “I bet she was mad!” said Nobby.
    “Not after she hwon several awards for it. I believe she’s planning to nail herself to several other things. It could be a very exciting exhibition.”
    “Tell you what, then, sir,” said Nobby cheerfully. “Why don’t you leave the ol’ big frame where it is and give it a new name, like Art Theft ?”
    “No,” said Sir Reynold coldly. “That would be foolish.”
    Shaking his head at the way of the world, Fred Colon walked right up to the wall so cruelly—or cruelleah—denuded of its covering. The painting had been crudely cut from its frame. Sergeant Colon was not a high-speed thinker, but that point struck him as odd. If you’ve got a month to pinch a painting, why botch the job? Fred had a copper’s view of humanity that differed in some respects from that of the curator. Never say that people wouldn’t do something, no matter how strange it was. Probably there were some mad rich people out there who would buy the painting, even if it meant only ever viewing it in the privacy of their own mansion. People could be like that. In fact, knowing that this was their big secret probably gave them a lonely, tight little shiver inside.
    But the thieves had slashed the painting out as if they didn’t care about making a sale. There were several ragged inches all along the—just a moment…
    Fred stood back. A Clue. There it was, right there. He got lovely, tight little shiver inside.
    “This painting,” he declared, “this painting…this painting which isn’t here, I mean, obviously, was stolen by a… troll .”
    “My goodness, how can you tell?” said Sir Reynold.
    “I’m very glad you asked me that question, sir,” said Fred Colon, who was. “I have detected, you see, that the top of the circular muriel was cut really close to the frame.” He pointed. “Now, your troll would easily be able to reach up with his knife, right, and cut along the edge of the frame at the top and down a bit on each side, see? But your average troll don’t bend that well, so when it come to cutting along the bottom, right, he made a bit of a mess of the job and left it all jagged. Plus, only a troll could carry it away. A stair carpet’s bad enough, and a rolled-up muriel would be a lot heavier than that!”
    He beamed.
    “Well done, Sergeant!” said the curator.
    “Good thinking, Fred,” said Nobby.
    “Thank you, Corporal,” said Fred Colon generously.
    “Or it could have been a couple of dwarfs with a stepladder,” Nobby went on cheerfully. “The decorators