Drat.

"Now all I’ve got to look forward to is hopefully not being ripped off" I cursed.

"Sorry?" said Francois Devine.

"Yes. I only wish you were. But we were talking at crossed purposes – I was answering a question posed entirely in my own head while you were reacting to an out-of-context remark made as part of the earlier scenario" I explained.

"I think I preferred ignorance" muttered Francois Devine. "I shall get my cheque book for when our visitor arrives."

"I don’t accept gifts, Francois Devine, for they may impair my objectivity."

"I wasn’t intending to buy you a gift, Dennis Brent, heaven forefend. I know and admire your integrity code. I am intending to buy the item for myself if it proves worthy of admission to my collection."

"A mass produced plastic David Tennant action figure would be worthy of admission to your collection" I said wittily. "Whereas only a mass produced plastic David Tennant figure in its original packaging with its original carrier bag and a receipt with an appealingly low reference number could even hope to be put in storage next to the main body of my collection."

"Balder, if I may say so, dash" snapped Francois Devine. "Only the mould used to produce a David Tennant action figure would be considered for my collection. And even then it would have to be a rare mould such as the one which produced three legged figures until an operative noticed and shut the machine down."

"I think I speak for all of us when I say that David Tennant with an extra foot hanging down between his legs is something we would move heaven and earth to get our hands on" I said poetically. And I meant it in spite of the rather floral language.

"Anyway, I shall out bid you if I think it worthwhile" said Francois Devine pompously.

"We shall see" I replied through narrowed eyes.

"We shall indeed."

"Indeed" I added, not wanting him to get the last word if we were about to go into battle. Such a victory would give him a psychological edge and I couldn’t allow that to happen. I don’t want to sound childish but this was war.

"Yes" he said before shoving his fingers in his ears and running from the room shouting "La la la can’t hear you la la la".

Damn him.

I barricaded the drawing room door for all the good it would do. If Francois Devine could get through my wall he could surely get through a ramshackle barricade. But it might buy me a few seconds and those few seconds could be crucial.

"Hello?" said a weedy voice from the garden.

"Hello?" I replied.

"I’m here to see Dennis Brent" he answered.

"Come in" I told him.

So far so good.

"What can you do for me?" I asked.

"Well, Mr Brent, I thought you might be interested in this." He took a small parcel from his pocket and held it reverently in cupped hands.

"I don’t impress easily" I said sneeringly. He unwrapped the brown paper package and took from within it a jewellery case.

"A trinket?" I suggested. He snapped open the case and I saw…

BOOOOOM went my barricade as Francois Devine smashed his way into the drawing room.

"Your handle is a little stiff, Dennis Brent" he explained. "I think I may have loosened it."

"Hmm" I said dismissively. "Try it again on your way out."

"Richly comic" he snubbed. "What are we doing now?"

"I was showing Mr Brent this miraculous object" said the little man.

"What is it?" asked Francois Devine, always behind the times.

"It’s a plastic nose" I scoffed.

"I do beg your pardon" said the funny little man, "It is NOT a plastic nose. It is a hand sculpted polymer based synthetic nose replica. It has been produced by a craftsman from over ten thousand different photographs."

"Whose nose is it?" asked Francois Devine.

"Bah" I replied. "Don’t you know anything? It is clearly Peter Purves’s nose."

"Oh yes – so it is."

"I can see I’m dealing with connoisseurs here."

"Connoisseurs who do not buy plastic noses from second rate con artists" I told him.

"Would you mind leaving?" added Francois Devine.

"You haven’t heard the best bit" he protested.

"I’ve heard quite enough I’m sure."

"The nose may be a man-made polymer but the contents are genuine."

"What?" I asked.

"Explain" added Francois Devine.

"All the hairs, mucus shards and liquids within the polymer fibre nose were authentically produced by Peter Purves and harvested by a member of my team. I have a certificate to prove it."

This changed things considerably. The market for fake body parts was almost completely dead ever since Fraser Hines sued after a manufacturer made what was described as an "educated guess" as to what might be under his kilt. But genuine and certified bodily fluids were another matter. They had little historical value but as items which would appreciate exponentially after the person’s death they were almost without equal. And the plastic nose really was awfully convincing. I could even scoop out the contents, freeze them and use the nose for the next Firkinside Doctor Who Club fancy dress seminar.

"I’ll give you twenty pounds" said Francois Devine. The seller’s eyes did not light up.

"Thirty pounds" I countered. Still no lights.

"Fifty pounds" countered Francois Devine. The first glimmer.

"Sixty."

"Seventy"

By the time we reached eight hundred pounds, the funny little man was dancing some sort of spasmodic jig. He clearly didn’t realise the value of fluids produced by actors who were surely on their last legs.

"One thousand pounds" cried Francois Devine.

"One thousand and one pounds" I retorted.

By the time bidding reached twelve hundred pounds we were literally shouting our bids and waving our cheque books in each others faces. We came to a mutual agreement that it would save time if we used a white board to record the first three digits of our bids and simply announced the fourth. So the funny little man had £134 on the board and I only had to say "Six" for my bid to be £1346. Francois Devine only had to say "Seven" for it to be £1347 and so on. It was an efficient system and a credit to the minds which came up to it. Trust Francois Devine to spoil it.

"Three thousand pounds" he announced unexpectedly. I was about to counter when Uncle Gaylord shouted at me.

"Three thousand pounds for a plastic nose with snot in it?" he bellowed. "Are you completely stupid? You’re beneath contempt, Dennis."

"Sold to Mr Devine" said the funny little man. Uncle Gaylord’s distraction had meant I missed my chance. Francois Devine beamed at me.

I was a loser.