Faberge Egg stolen from Dog and Duck.
A stolen bag. Nothing remarkable about that, you’d think. The sort of petty, forgettable crime that barely troubles the police blotter. And yet, tucked inside, almost absurdly, was something else entirely: a Fabergé piece. Not costume jewellery, not a trinket from a seaside shop, but a genuine object from the world of imperial Russia, the kind of thing once handled by tsars and now quietly commanding five or six figures at auction.
It’s the contrast that does it. A Tesco-bag sort of crime colliding with the rarefied air of priceless craftsmanship. Fabergé, after all, produced only around…
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