“Vile piece of shit,” he muttered, which infuriated me, for the beautiful Embden watercolour was one of my personal favourites. His obviously philistine comment angered me to the point where I felt emboldened enough to speak, despite his threat.

“Not that I want you to steal it,” I said evenly, “but that painting is most definitely not as you described it.”

The thief turned from his thieving and looked at me sharply. For the briefest of moments I thought he was going to cross the room and commit an act of violence upon me. Then the violent gleam left his eyes and he laughed softly.

“What are you, an art critic?”

“I used to be, yes.”

“Famous?”

“Reasonably,” I supplied.

“Would I have heard of you?”

I shrugged and gave my name.

He nodded.

“Yeah, I remember reading one of your books. You gave it all up a while ago. Why?”

“I had a heart murmur,” I replied. “A condition which I’m sure this invasion of yours is unlikely to help.”

He shrugged.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to stay still and quiet until I’m gone.”

“My nearest neighbour is a quarter of a mile away,” I told him.

“I know, that’s why I chose this place. Nice cottage. Nice location.” He paused, then said: “I didn’t like your book.”

“Why not?” I asked, unable to help myself. The situation seemed vaguely surreal.

“Because you’re attitude to what art is – and should be – is wrong.”

I found myself analysing this statement and finding its obvious flaws.

“In what way?” I asked, knowing already what the intruder was going to say.

“Because any work of art that is put into the public arena should be produced by an artist with an ethical code,” he said, which completely surprised me, for it wasn’t an answer I’d been expecting.

“Do you doubt that Mister Embden has an ethical code?” I asked.

“If he has, it’s clearly not in evidence in his work. Quite the opposite, I’d say.”

“How?”

“It contains a subtext that advocates totalitarianism,” he said. “

“I hardly think that dear Mister Embden’s watercolour really contains any such thing,” I said, looking for a hint of humorous put-on in the burglar’s eyes, but finding nothing but absolute seriousness.