"Pierre, I'm almost off the clock," Sinthia replied, sliding the jeweler's loupe off her fingers as she looked up at her supervisor.

When he insisted, she only sighed and stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of her trousers as she followed him towards her workroom, picking up her gloves and slipping them on before she took a loot at what was on the table. It was an egg, which took her aback: it didn't look like any Fabergé egg she knew about. "It's an exquisite piece," she says slowly. "Record on."

She recorded her observations on things she was appraising. "It looks like a copy of the Tsarevitch Egg," Sinthia murmured, "Beautiful sapphires and even enameling." She carefully turned it over, noting the hinges and latch before she opened it.

And stared.