Cat O'Nine Tales: And Other Stories (18 page)

“I wish to
leave a deposit on lot twenty-three.”

The clerk
looked down at her list. “A red king,” she said, and double-checked the price.
“Fifty-five thousand dollars,” she added, and looked up at Max for
confirmation.

He nodded as
the assistant began to fill in the little boxes on the purchasing document. A
few moments later she swiveled the form round for Max to sign.

“That will be
five thousand, five hundred dollars deposit,” she said, “and the full amount
must be settled within twenty-eight days.” Max nodded nonchalantly, as if this
was a procedure he was well familiar with. He signed the agreement and then
wrote out a check for $5,500, aware that it would empty his account. He pushed
it across the counter.

The assistant
handed him back the top copy of the agreement and retained the duplicate. When
she checked the signature, she hesitated. It might have been a coincidence:
after all, Glover was a common enough name. She didn’t want to insult a
customer, but she knew she would have to report the anomaly to their compliance
department, before they could consider cashing the check.

Max left the
auction house and headed north to Park Avenue. He strode confidently into
Sotheby Parke
Bernet
and approached the reception
desk. He asked if he could have a word with the Head of the Oriental
Department. He was kept waiting for only a few minutes.

On this
occasion, Max didn’t waste time with any preliminary questions that would have
only been a smokescreen to disguise his true intent. After all, as the sales
clerk at Phillips had pointed out, he only had twenty-eight days to complete
the transaction.

“Should the
Kennington
Chess Set come onto the market, what would you
expect it to fetch?” Max asked.

The expert looked
incredulous, although he had already been briefed on the sale of the red king
at Phillips, and on the price the piece had fetched. “Seven hundred and fifty
thousand, possibly as much as a million,” came back the reply.

“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?” I asked.

“They didn’t,”
Max replied as he stubbed out his cigarette.

I put my pen
down. “I’m not sure I understand,” I murmured from the upper bunk.

“And neither
did I,” admitted Max, “at least not until they charged me.” I remained silent,
as my pad mate began to roll his next cigarette. “When they read out the charge
sheet,” he continued,
“ no
one was more surprised than
me.

“‘Max Victor
Glover, you are charged with attempting to obtain money by false pretenses.
Namely that on October seventeenth, two thousand, you bid fifty-five thousand
dollars for a red king, lot twenty-three at Phillips auctioneers in New York,
while enticing other interested parties to bid against you, without informing
them that you were the owner of the piece.’”

A heavy key
turned in the lock and our cell door cranked open.

“Visits,”
bellowed the wing officer.

“So you see,”
said Max as he swung his legs off the bunk, “I was charged with the wrong
offense, and sentenced for the wrong crime.”

“But why go
through such an elaborate charade, when you could have sold the red king to
either of the brothers?”

“Because then I
would have had to show them how I got hold of the piece in the first place, and
if I had been caught ...”

“But you were
caught.”

“But not
charged with theft,” Max reminded me.

“So what
happened to the red king?”

I demanded, as
we stepped out into the corridor and made our way across to the visits center.

“It was
returned to my solicitor after the trial,” said Max, “and locked up in his
safe, where it will remain until I’m released.”

“But that means...”
I began.

“Have you ever
met Lord
Kennington
?” Max asked casually.

“No, I
haven’t,” I replied.

“Then I’ll
introduce you, old boy,” he mimicked, “because he’s coming to visit me this
afternoon.” Max paused. “I have a feeling that his lordship is about to make me
an offer for the red king.”

“And will you
accept his offer?” I asked.

“Steady on,
Jeff,” Max replied as we entered the visits room. “I won’t be able to answer
that question until next week, when I’ve had a visit from his brother James.”

“
M
ind
your own business,” was Carol’s advice.

“But it is my
business,” I reminded my wife as I climbed into bed. “Bob and I have been
friends for over twenty years.”

“All the more
reason to keep your own counsel,” she insisted.

“But I don’t
like her,” I replied tartly.

“You made that
abundantly clear during dinner,” Carol reminded me as she switched off her
bedside light.

“But surely you
can see that it’s going to end in tears.”

“Then you’ll
just have to buy a large box of Kleenex.”

“She’s only
after his money,” I muttered.

“He hasn’t got
any,” replied Carol.

“Bob’s practice
is quite successful, but hardly puts him in the
Abramovich
league.”

“That may well
be the case, but it’s still my duty, as a friend, to warn him not to marry
her.”

“He doesn’t
want to hear that at the moment,” said Carol, “so don’t even think about it.”

“Explain to me,
O wise one,” I said as I plumped up my pillow, “why not.”

Carol ignored
my sarcasm. “If it should end up in the divorce courts, you’ll just look smug.
If the marriage turns out to be wedded bliss, he’ll never forgive you–and
neither will she.”

“I wasn’t
planning to tell her.”

“She already
knows exactly how you feel about her,” said Carol. “Believe me.”

“It won’t last
a year,” I predicted, just as the phone rang on my side of the bed.

I picked it up,
praying it wasn’t a patient.

“I’ve only got
one question for you,” said a voice that needed no introduction.

“And what’s
that, Bob?” I asked.

“Will you be my
best man?”

Bob Radford and
I first met at St. Thomas’ Hospital when we were both house officers. To be
more accurate, we had first come into contact with each other on the rugby
field, when he tackled me just as I thought I was about to score the winning
try. In those days we were on opposite sides.

After we were
appointed senior house officers at Guy’s
,
we started
playing for the same rugby team and regularly had a midweek game of
squash–which he invariably won. In our final year we ended up sharing digs in
Lambeth
. We didn’t need to look far for female
companionship as St. Thomas’ had over three thousand nurses, most of
whom
wanted sex and for some unfathomable reason considered
doctors a safe bet. Both of us looked forward to taking advantage of our new
status. And then I fell in love.