Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [46]
“And if I was able to deliver the Kennington Set, and you were in a position to authenticate it, what amount would Sotheby’s be willing to advance against a future sale?”
“Four hundred thousand, possibly five, if the family were able to confirm that it was the Kennington Set.”
“I’ll be in touch,” promised Max, all his immediate and long-term problems solved.
Max checked out of his little hotel on the East Side later that evening, and took a taxi to Kennedy Airport. Once the plane had taken off, he slept soundly for the first time in days.
The 727 touched down at Heathrow just as the sun was rising over the Thames. Having nothing to declare, Max took the Heathrow Express to Paddington, and was back in his flat in time for breakfast. He began to fantasize about what it would be like to dine regularly at his favorite restaurant and always hail a taxi, rather than having to wait for the next bus.
Once he’d finished breakfast, Max put the plates in the sink and settled down in the one comfortable chair. He began to consider his next move, confident that now the red king had found its place on the board, the game must end in checkmate.
At eleven o’clock—a proper hour to phone a peer of the realm—Max put a call through to Kennington Hall. When the butler transferred the call to Lord Kennington, his first words were, “Did we get it?”
“Unfortunately not, my lord,” replied Max. “We were outbid by an unknown party. I carried out your instructions to the letter, and stopped bidding at fifty thousand dollars.” He paused. “The hammer price was fifty-five thousand.”
There was a long silence. “Do you think the other bidder could have been my brother?”
“I’ve no way of knowing,” replied Max. “All I can tell you is that they were bidding by phone, no doubt wishing to ensure their anonymity.”
“I’ll find out soon enough,” responded Kennington, before hanging up.
“You certainly will,” agreed Max as he began to dial a number in Chelsea.
“Congratulations,” said Max the moment he heard the Hon. James’s plummy voice. “I’ve purchased the piece, so you’re now in a position to claim your inheritance, under the terms of the will.”
“Well done, Glover,” said James Kennington.
“And the moment you deliver the rest of the set, my lawyers have been instructed to hand over a check for four hundred and forty-five thousand dollars,” said Max.
“But we agreed on half a million,” snapped James.
“Minus the fifty-five thousand I had to pay for the red king.” Max paused. “You’ll find it’s all spelled out in the contract.”
“But—” James began to protest.
“Would you prefer me to call your brother?” Max asked, as the front door bell rang. “Because I’m still in possession of the piece.” James didn’t immediately reply “Think about it,” added Max, “while I answer the front door.” Max placed the receiver on the side table, and strolled out into the hall, almost rubbing his hands. He released the chain, undid the Yale lock, and pulled the door open a couple of inches. Two tall men wearing identical trench coats stood in front of him.
“Max Victor Glover?” inquired one of them.
“Who wants to know?” asked Max.
“I’m Detective Inspector Armitage of the Fraud Squad, and this is Detective Sergeant Willis.” They both produced warrant cards, with which Max was only too familiar. “May we come in, sir?”
Once the police had taken down Max’s statement, which consisted of little more than, “I’ll need to speak to my solicitor,” the two men departed. They then drove up to Yorkshire for a meeting with Lord Kennington. Having obtained a detailed statement from his lordship, they returned to London to interview his brother James. The police found him just as co-operative.
A week later Max was arrested for fraud. The judge took into account his past blemished record, and did not grant bail.
“But how did they find out that you’d stolen the red king?