12 of the best UK breaks to celebrate spring

From blossom trails to bluebell woods, and foraging to farm stays, here are some of the finest seasonal getaways

The Woods of St Francis – 5

“My, my,” said Knowles to himself, “I thought my place was a time capsule, but it’s got nothing on this.”   

He looked at the matching Staffordshire dogs on the mantelpiece, the record player in the corner, Constable’s ‘Hay Wain’ on the flock wall-papered walls, and the cocktail trolley by the window, with fully stocked bottles he noted, and smiled. This had the potential to be a National Trust property from the 1960s / 1970s. He was relieved to see that there was no sign of a pet in the house, no cages, litter trays, dog collars, or aquariums. Not even a goldfish bowl. No need to get the animal shelter involved. Andy Bowen had lived alone.

Knowles looked in the kitchen and had a surprise. The fridge was well stocked with vegetables and fruit, and there were no processed foods. All this made Knowles wonder whether Bowen had turned over a new leaf recently, literally in the salad’s case – or whether he hadn’t included exercise in his daily habits yet. These things take time, as Knowles knew only too well. The milk smelled fresh. The food bank would love all these items. In the dish rack were one plate, one bowl, one spoon, one fork, and one knife, plus a mug full of water in the metal sink.

Some letters were in a letter rack on the counter, containing requests for payment that the estate would have to settle. There was a ticket stub for an event that Knowles didn’t recognise. He popped this in an evidence bag. There was a date on the back, stamped in red ‘25-02’, which presumably was 25th February this year. What events had taken place on Saturday, 25th February? He’d ask Linda to find out.

Barnes came into the Lounge. 

“Anything odd up there?” asked Knowles.

“He made the bed, all neat and tidy. The usual assortment of shirts, T-shirts, trousers, and shoes plus two jackets. He also has a replica England shirt and a Manchester United top.”

“I wonder if he’s a football fan then or just tries to fit in with the crowd?” asked Knowles, “there’s a ticket here for an event, would any local football teams have been playing on 25th February?”

“Well, there’s only two really who would issue tickets, that‘s Scoresby Town and Scoresby Rovers. I will check on my phone to see if either of them was playing on that date.”

As Barnes played with his phone, Knowles looked at the computer on the table and the answerphone. There were no messages. He took the computer and placed it in an evidence bag for the Forensics team to investigate. 

“Well,” said Barnes, “it looks like it was a local derby on Saturday 25th February, Scoresby Town were at home to Scoresby Rovers and it finished as a 2-2 draw, with both teams down to nine players, 4 red cards and 12 yellow.”

“A competitive game then,” said Knowles, “a typical lower league game with the ball only incidental on occasions.” 

“I hadn’t realised you were such an expert on local football clubs, sir,” said Barnes in surprise.

“I’m not, but I remember someone talking about it on the Monday afterwards, because I think things threatened to get out of hand when one player was sent off and some crowd members tried to remonstrate with him about his behaviour. There were three police constables there, and they calmed things down. It’s strange because there were only a few hundred at the match and yet there was almost violence, because one player kicked the ball at another player who he thought was feigning injury.”

“You have a splendid memory, sir,” said Barnes.

“It was the first thing I heard after coming back from my holidays, Barnesy, and I remember thinking that not much had changed during my time away.”

“I see, yes, you would remember that I suppose. Have you found anything out of the ordinary?”

“His computer is in this,” said Knowles, holding up the evidence bag, “it’s just a little Chromebook laptop by the looks of it, nothing fancy, presumably he didn’t use computers that much. As for other things, his last meal was on his own, and he cleaned up afterwards and washed and placed all the items in the dish rack, apart from the mug in the sink. The fridge is well stocked and all of it is healthy. Was there anything in the bathroom up there? And is there another room?”

“The bathroom was just a bath with no shower and very little in the cupboards other than the usual stuff, shaver, toothbrush, toothpaste, cotton buds, mouthwash. And yes, there’s a storeroom next to the bathroom with a spare bed that has no bedding on it, plus empty boxes for both a TV and what looks like an exercise bike.”

“An exercise bike? I wonder where that is? I haven’t seen that.”

Manton Rempville – 4

Knowles and Barnes drove back to Scoresby station and immediately headed to the forensics laboratory, hoping that Dr Crabtree would have some news for them.

         “Well, Colin, I don’t have that much to tell you, really. You know some of it already. Stabbed in the back with some force by someone slightly taller than the 5ft 7 inch victim – the blade has followed a slightly downward trajectory – victim died instantly and fell in a heap on the ground causing the blade to buckle and bend slightly, so that the murderer was unable to remove the sword cleanly although they had a good go, causing the exit wound to be very messy indeed. There are no fingerprints on the sword whatsoever.”

         “Really? So the murderer was wearing gloves,” said Knowles, “go on Dr Crabtree.”

         “We found a red thread on the hilt of the sword, which looks as though it has come from a sheet or towel used to hide the sword from view.”

         “No great surprise there,” said Barnes, “few people could carry a sword without alerting suspicion of some kind.”

         “Whereas carrying a large red towel is perfectly normal and wouldn’t be in any way uncommon,” replied Knowles, “although it was probably carried in a bag for the most effective disguise. What material is the thread?”

         “I think it’s cotton, Colin, we can have it analysed for you.”

         “Yes, please Doctor, I like to be thorough when analysing evidence.”

         “Of course, Colin, that won’t be a problem.”

         “And now the all important question – what was the time of death approximately?”

         “Well, I am almost certain the time was 11:06pm.”

         “Give or take an hour or so?” said Barnes.

         “Give or take 30 seconds,” said Knowles. “The doctor is indicating that the victim must have smashed his watch when he fell dead to the ground – are there any fingerprints on the watch?”

         “We’ll have to check, Colin, and let you know when it’s been dusted.”

         “Thank you – I wonder whether he would have smashed his watch though, if he fell on to the grass.”

         “The watch face was broken by something” said Dr Crabtree showing Knowles the watch enclosed in a plastic evidence bag.

         “Indeed it was, but there’s no indication it hit the grass, no soil, no colouring of green. Were there any stones lying around where he landed?”

         “Let’s look at the photos, shall we?”

         The men walked over to the doctor’s table and examined the photos that showed the ground around Pritchard’s left hand.

         “There are no stones around where his left hand and wrist would have landed, so what could he have hit the watch on?” pondered Barnes stroking his short beard.

         “There’s nothing obvious is there, so either the killer did it to fool us or it was broken before he was killed,” replied Knowles. “Doctor, what do the other signs tell us about his time of death?”

         “They more or less fit with the watch. I would have put the time at between 10:30 and 11:30 p.m. last night. Perhaps 11:45 p.m. at the outside.”

         “Interesting, so I wonder why half-an-hour could make so much difference, if the murderer knew the body wouldn’t be found until the morning?”

         “It has to be to establish an alibi, sir – I can prove I was with Person X at 11:06 p.m. and they will verify that, whereas half-an-hour earlier or later and that alibi would not hold.”

         “Indeed, Sergeant, we shall have to ask our questions very carefully when we meet our suspects.”

         “You have some suspects already, Colin? That was quick work.” Dr Crabtree readjusted his glasses with some surprise.

         “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t call them suspects yet, as I haven’t even met them, but I was referring to the people who live at the Hall near Manton Rempville. Adelaide Hills saw some people behaving suspiciously when she discovered the body and they must have all come from the Hall.”

         “Try not to bring class politics into the conversation, Colin, especially when there’s a case to be solved.”

         “Right, wait until afterwards, you mean?”

         “Something like that, yes, and don’t forget that Sir Michael Johnson, who owns Manton Rempville Hall, is a personal friend of the Chief Constable, and any complaints will go straight to that level.”

         “Thank you for the warning, Dr Crabtree, I will bear what you say in mind, but I do have to find a murderer after all and that’s the main aim of my investigation. Now, do you have a nice picture of the sword that I can show to the people at the hall, preferably one that doesn’t show it sticking into Mr Edward Pritchard? That would be quite tasteless, wouldn’t it Sergeant?”

         “It would indeed, sir, because we do need those people to be able to easily identify the sword and not have their recall impaired by seeing a dead body.”

         “We have a nice picture here, Colin, which people will enjoy looking at.”

         “Thanks, Doctor Crabtree, my compliments to the photographer.”

         With that, Knowles and Barnes left the lab and headed over to Manton Rempville Hall in Barnes’ sleek white sports car, which Knowles thought would impress the upper-class individuals they were about to meet.

Manton Rempville – 3

Barnes and Knowles drove their vehicles back to Goat Parva and parked outside The Cottage, the imaginatively named residence of Adelaide Hills and her retriever, Bingo.

         “Well, here we go again, sir,” said Barnes as he knocked on the door and heard the mad barking of Bingo inside.

         “Bingo is in fine voice today, oh how I have missed those desperate notes of happiness from our favourite retriever,” replied Knowles, “give me a cat any second of the day.”

         “And how is your kitty, Gemma?”

         “I’ve bought her a male friend from the animal shelter in Madeley. His name is Freddie and he knows who’s boss in our house. He tried to pick a fight with Gemma on his second day in residence and he won’t be doing that again. She has a mean straight right and she scratched his nose quite badly. He was so upset; he hides behind me whenever he can…oh here is Mrs Hills.”

         Adelaide Hills opened the door and flashed a relieved smile as she recognised the two officers. She looked slightly greyer than the officers remembered her from earlier in the year. Her husband had died a few years previously in a camel dismounting accident and she now lived alone, apart from Bingo. She was always wary about opening her door to anyone.

         “Sergeant Barnes and Inspector Knowles, what a surprise, I rather thought we’d never meet like this again, but how wrong I was.”

         “Well, we thought the same thing, but Bingo seems to have a nose for dead bodies,” grinned Barnes.

         “You won’t be having me followed on my morning walks will you, Inspector Knowles?”

         “Not yet, Adelaide, not yet. Could we come in? It’s a bit cold out here.”

         “Of course, where are my manners – Bingo stop there and allow these two gentlemen to pass by.”

         Bingo withdrew slightly, but eyed the shoes of the two policemen with great suspicion. As usual, the 6 foot 3 inch Barnes had to duck his head to get through the low doorway, but Knowles was a good six inches shorter and didn’t have the same problem.

         Knowles and Barnes sat on Adelaide Hills’s settee in her living room and declined her offer of a cup of tea. Barnes straightened his trousers and rubbed a speck of dirt from his left shoe. Knowles just looked crumpled.

         Barnes began: “Adelaide, you and Bingo were walking this morning near Manton Rempville when something quite familiar happened.”

         “Yes, Sergeant, Bingo started barking when we were walking through the monastery grounds and straining at his leash; I followed him into the refectory where we saw that man who had been stabbed with the sword.”

         “Did Bingo take anything?”

         “No, he was on a tight leash, and I have learned my lesson. I phoned you from the scene of the crime and waited until your local constable arrived from Norton-juxta-Wychwood and then went home. Bingo didn’t pick up anything from the scene and didn’t take any clothing.” Adelaide Hills smiled as she knew the officers couldn’t rebuke her this time.

         “Things are improving – now did you see anyone in the area of the monastery, Adelaide?”

         “I did Sergeant. There were three young men horsing around as they walked through the trees away from me towards Manton Rempville Hall and also a youngish couple sitting on a fence by the monastery car park having an animated discussion. There were no vehicles in the car park, so I presume they’d walked there too. I also heard an older couple arguing about some money related subject such as wills when I was walking back here after the constable had arrived.”

         “And how old were the young men and the youngish couple would you say?”

         “The young men were around 20 and the youngish couple were slightly older, say around 25, but no older than that.”

         “When you say the young men were horsing around – what were they doing?”

         “They were fooling around, pretending they had swords and fighting each other.” Adelaide Hills waved her arm in front of her, parodying a fencer.

         “That’s a very strange coincidence, isn’t it?” interjected Knowles, leaning forwards.

         “I suppose so, Inspector, but could their horse-play and the murderer’s modus operandi be connected, do you think?”

         “We’ll be heading to the big Hall later on today, so we’ll find out who you saw and why they were acting in that manner.”

         “Well I hope I have been of help, Inspector, and do call again if you need to ask any more questions.”

         “We will certainly do that, Adelaide, thank you.” Barnes and Knowles stood up and Knowles tried to pull the dog hairs from his trousers without much success. He glared at Bingo.

         As the two policemen left, Bingo looked rather sad. Neither of the two men had patted him on the head as they passed.

Manton Rempville – 2

The two men started to walk over to the eastern wall of the monastery’s refectory where the body had been found an hour earlier by Bingo the retriever, out on a long walk with his owner Adelaide Hills from Goat Parva. Both dog and owner were well known to the police from a few months before when Bingo had made a habit of finding bodies in the early morning.

         “According to his credit cards, his name is Edward Pritchard; we are just running some computer checks to find out where he lives. It’s how he’s been killed that you will find interesting, sir.”

         With his hands in his trench coat pockets, Knowles stood on the wall and looked down at the body lying on what would have been the refectory floor. Edward Pritchard had been run through with a sword and the handle was sticking out of his back on the left-hand side. Knowles smiled at Dr Crabtree, the forensic doctor, who was examining the body.

         “Dr Crabtree, we have a real sword being used as a murder weapon?” Knowles would have rubbed his hands with glee if they hadn’t been warming up in his pockets.

         “We do indeed, Colin, a very real sword. This is a heavy cavalry sword with a straight blade with one cutting edge whereas the other side has been thickened for greater strength. The blade is around three feet in length. It directly penetrated his heart and he would have died instantly.”

         “Any prints on the handle?” Knowles looked hopeful when he said this.

         “We’ll check back at the lab Colin, can we move him now?”

         “Yes, that will be all I think. We’ll be back at the station in an hour or so; could you have something by then in terms of fingerprints, time of death, and any ideas on a profile of who could have done it?”

         “We’ll try Colin – no promises, but we’ll try.”

         “I presume the person who murdered Edward wasn’t aware of the type of sword they were using, “ said Barnes, “because that’s a sword for slashing people with, not for running them through.”

         “So, you would have expected a murderer who knew what he was using to have hit Edward here in the neck with the sharp side,” replied Knowles.

         “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

         “So we’re looking for an ignorant murderer then? We show the suspects the sword and ask them how they would kill someone using the sword and those who opt for the neck slash are innocent?”

         “They might be bluffing sir, so we shouldn’t just use that as a method of elimination from our enquiries,” said Barnes, playing along with Knowles’ quite acerbic sense of humour.

         “OK, we’ll just confine ourselves to telling the murderer, when we catch him, that he/she murdered Edward here in the wrong way. So where could the sword have come from? It’s not the sort of weapon you can easily conceal.”

         “The nearest house is Manton Rempville Hall – you can see it just poking through the trees over there. That might be the best place to start.”

         “Agreed – they probably maintain an assortment of weapons to keep the staff subdued and repel invasions by the local peasants in times of crisis. We should go there after visiting our oldest friend in Goat Parva, Mrs Adelaide Hills, and her bundle of fun, Bingo.”

         “It’s just like old times, sir.”

         “Indeed it is, Barnesy. I just hope that this is the only body Bingo finds in this murder investigation.”

Manton Rempville – 1

Detective Sergeant Rod Barnes surveyed the remains of Manton Rempville monastery with incredulity. He’d heard that 100,000 pounds had been spent on preserving the ruins and he couldn’t understand why anyone would do such a thing. Ruins were ruins for a reason. The natural order of things, in Barnes’s mind at least, was gradual decay – preservation only delayed the inevitable, like applying skin cream to wrinkles or a new coat of paint to a rusting car. Besides, the ruins were open to anyone and there was no entry charge, so they were never going to get their money back.

Barnes stiffened slightly as he saw Detective Inspector Colin Knowles’s Land Rover chug into the car park and lurch to a halt too close to Barnes’s Morgan sports car for his comfort. He glanced down at the body and thought that Knowles, his boss, would find this crime scene interesting indeed. Barnes had heard that Knowles was on a new diet and that his latest culinary delight was vegetable kebabs cooked on his nearly new barbecue even in the depths of autumn.

Taking care not to get his highly polished shoes muddy, Barnes walked across the uneven grass as a low, cold wind whipped across the historical site slightly disturbing his short, brown hair. He hadn’t seen much of Knowles in the past month as they’d both been away on holiday at separate times since the murders in Goat Parva. As he came towards him, Barnes noticed that even though the Inspector had lost weight, he still wasn’t able to tuck his Marks and Spencer shirt into his trousers.

“Good morning, sir, how are you today?”

“Fair to middling, Barnesy old son, the diet’s working well, nearly 15 pounds lost.” Knowles gripped his much reduced stomach with some pride.

“How’s the gym going?”

“Gradually doing more on the treadmill, lifting a few weights, and getting some stretching done on those large blue balls they have. That’s not easy – those balls are bouncy as hell – I almost fell off the first few times I tried to lie on the thing. Anyway, not only can I see my toes now, but I can almost touch them too.”

“That’s good to hear, sir. The trick to keeping the weight off is by committing to a lifestyle change rather than thinking you’re on a diet.”         “Good point, Sergeant, lifestyle sounds very magazine like though, very posh Sunday newspaper, but I know what you mean. Anyway, who do we have over there?” Knowles pointed in the direction of the photographer and Forensics team, who were investigating the crime scene.

The Woods of St Francis – 4

Knowles screwed up his face with doubt and rubbed his chin. Barnes nodded.

“Well, that’s a theory,” said Knowles,”but, she must have been drunk or blind. Strong too, to smack him on the back of the head at the same time as looking seductive. I’m not sure I’d go anywhere near a woman holding a brick, even if I was desperate.”

“There’s a picnic table over there,” said Barnes, “wouldn’t that have been a better place.”

“The voice of experience,” said Knowles, looking at Smythe and pointing at Barnes, “but I understand what he means.”

“Perhaps there was an accomplice, like Bonnie and Clyde, the woman, the distraction the man with the implement.” 

“You could be correct, Linda, I’m not discounting it at all. Barnesy, what else is there?”

“He lives in the village and has done so for about 20 years. He was a waiter at the bistro here when it was open and before that at a couple of restaurants in Scoresby. That’s all I found out from a couple of passers-by.”

“Fair enough,” said Knowles, “we should get those PCs on the house-to-house once we’re at the victim’s home. Shall we try to find the object? Let’s take 5 minutes to see if there’s anything obvious.”

The three police inspected the area with great care, but came up with nothing. Knowles bent over the body and noted that the victim wasn’t wearing any jewellery.

“You looked in his wallet, Sergeant?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s in this plastic bag,” said Barnes, “his credit cards are there and thirty pounds in cash, plus some loose change in his jacket pocket. They did not rob him unless he was wearing a pendant or something. His watch is still there too. Nothing expensive.”

“OK, Forensics can have this, I see they’re over there looking alert. Linda, go to the pub and ask the landlord, Tim Fearns, what Andy Booth was up to last night and whether he was with anyone at any point in the evening. And ask about the jewellery too. Not that anyone would have been examining him that closely. Then come over to the cottage at….what’s the address, Sergeant Barnes?”

“12 London Street,” replied Barnes, “thankfully, people in these remote villages still know each other’s business.”

“Indeed, parochialism has its uses sometimes,” said Knowles, “OK, DC Smythe, any questions?”

“No, sir,” said Smythe, “everything is very clear.”

“OK, let’s split, as people used to say, and meet up at the victim’s cottage at a time to be determined by fate.”

Our Cats in Amsterdam – 10

On the rest of this today and the next today the humans packed and unpacked their bags several times each and changed their suitcases twice. This suggests indecision to me, but they eventually settled on the right items to take and then in the evening of the next today, there was a knock on the front door.

========= 

Gemma and I look at each other – this must be Mrs Elkins, our cat sitter although she was going to have an easy time of it, moving two stuffed toys around the house wouldn’t be too strenuous. Where she’d have to be clever is removing the right amount of food, both tins of wet and bags of dry, from the house on a regular basis, even though we weren’t eating it. Mary walks to the front door and opens it and welcomes in a tall, fair-skinned woman with piercing blue eyes. She looks nice to me. Gemma looks at her with practised disdain.

“Yes, Mrs Elkins, welcome,” says Mary, “I’ll just get our flight information for you. Somewhat surprisingly, the two cats are here to meet you, normally they scamper off and we have to go and find them.”

Mary walks into the kitchen and Mrs Elkins looks at us with a smile. We look back at her with interest. Mary soon comes back clutching a neatly typed piece of paper which she hands to the lady visitor along with a front-door key. 

“Oh you’re going to The Maldives, how nice, I’ve always wanted to go there. Direct flights too, that’ll be nice.”

“Yes, we could have gone via Amsterdam,” says John, coming into the room clutching a toothbrush still in its wrapper, “but we decided to go direct, though we could change it I suppose and spend a day in the city.”

“I think direct flights are so much better,” says Mrs Elkins, “and then you don’t have to worry about what to do about your luggage or having it lying around the tarmac for hours unsupervised.”

Gemma and I stared at the humans trying to transmit thoughts of direct flights into their minds.

“Yes, that’s true,” says Mary, “we’ve been to Amsterdam and I thought the Anne Frank House was poignant and the Rijksmuseum quite overwhelming in terms of the amount of art. I don’t think we’ll want to change our flights, once we’re there we’ll want to enjoy ourselves and not want to think about coming home.”

“I think you’re right, enjoy the sunshine and forget about coming home. Anyway, which of these kitties is which? I’d guess the male one is the kind one and Gemma is the one who’s been glaring at me.”

“She glares at everyone,” says John, “in fact she normally glares at them and then runs off, so you’re quite honoured because she has stayed in your presence. She must really like you.”

I turn to stare at the wall for 10 seconds as I’m quite amused by what John has said and I can imagine Gemma is not pleased.

“I think she’s just inquisitive,” says Mrs Elkins, “anyway, I will see you two kitties tomorrow morning after your human parents have caught their rather early flight from the airport. Bye kitties and you two have a wonderful time in The Indian Ocean and don’t worry about your pets who will be well looked after I can assure you.”

With that she turns around and Mary accompanies her out of the room. John goes into his bedroom to put his toothbrush somewhere and Gemma trots downstairs to kick the stuffing out of a toy dog with her back paws, one of the exercises she learned as part of an anger management course she took online. I retire under the newly covered blue chair where Whose Body is waiting. Before they go to bed, both John and Mary come over and stroke me, telling me they’ll miss me and they’ll be back very soon. I purr and miaow to indicate I will miss them too, which I will as they are both kind people with their hearts in the right place. From what I’ve heard of The Maldives, they’ll soon be underwater because of Climate Change and I hope that doesn’t happen when John and Mary are there.    

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Our Cats in Amsterdam – 9

“Hello Freddie and Gemma, how are you, and who were your friends?”

“Hello Rufus, how’s the flying going? Are you going further?” I ask.

“I am increasing the distance a little, but I’m not obsessing too much about it. I’m not eating acorns before I go on the slide, only afterwards.”

“Hello squirrel,” says Gemma, “to answer your question, those were our friends who were telling us what we would be doing when the humans are away in terms of the cat sitter and when they’d be coming.”

“Hello, Gemma,” replies Rufus, “that’s the first time you’ve ever spoken to me and the first time you’ve ever looked at me without giving me the impression you want to eat me.”

“Because, Rufus,” says Gemma, “it is the first time I’ve looked at you and not wanted to eat you. I’ve decided that raw flesh is uncouth and unnecessary.”

“Oh, I see, “ says Rufus.

I nod my head – “Yes, Rufus, Gemma is becoming quite refined in her eating habits, I’ve even caught her reading a cookbook.”

“It was for baked goods, Rufus, I’ve often wondered how they create those flapjacks that are rectangular in shape and I found my answer in a book, but I didn’t attempt the recipe as I wouldn’t be able to grip the measuring cups the humans have.”

“Cooking is overrated,” replies Rufus, “I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten anything that’s been cooked by humans.”

“Flapjacks would be difficult for us to chew,” I say, “because they’re full of grains and we don’t have the teeth to process that kind of food.”

“I think we should be going, Freddie,” says Gemma, “I can see the male human walking along the street towards us and even from this distance he looks a lot happier than normal.”

“We should go inside,” I say to Rufus, “and we’ll see you soon. I’m pretty sure the humans will close all the windows when they go on holiday and so we may not be able to meet again for around 15 todays.”

“Yes,” replies Rufus, “I suspect you’re right, but your secret is safe with me, I won’t tell anyone.” With that, he ran up the tree trunk and disappeared into the branches.

Gemma and I skedaddled into the house and made ourselves scarce as we were sure the humans would be packing their bags for their holidays over the next few hours and wouldn’t want us to get under their feet. Gemma went downstairs for a nap and I went to read Whose Body by Dorothy L Sayers, a murder / mystery story not written by Agatha Christie. This had been a recent purchase by the male human who’d found the book on sale at the local bookshop and brandished it in the air when he arrived home as though he’d found a diamond at a cheap price.