2015년 12월 3일 목요일

Quinneys 24

Quinneys 24


"I’d like to get back a slice o’ that lost four hundred quid."
 
"Maybe I can help you to do it. A customer of mine is in the Kaffir
Market."
 
"Kaffir Market! What’s that?"
 
It has been said that Quinney was grossly ignorant of things outside his
own business.
 
"If you ain’t as innocent as Moses in the bulrushes! African Mines, you
greenhorn! He tells me of things. Never let me downnot once. He says
a boom is just due."
 
"Do you risk much, Tom?"
 
"Lord bless you, no! I buy a few likely shares on margin, and carry ’em
over. A man must have some excitement."
 
"Yes," said Quinney thoughtfully, "he must."
 
He did not mention this talk to Susan, but as he kicked his heels
waiting for customers, the necessity of excitementany
excitementgripped at his vitals. Meanwhile, let it be placed to his
credit that he resisted the daily temptation to sell stuff to dealers.
He could have sold his treasures to Lark at a fine profit, but he
remained true to the principle: keep your best things to attract private
customers. He hoped that his kind patron, Lord Mel, would come to see
him. Possibly his lordship was offended, because his advice had been
spurned. Then he heard that Lord Mel was abroad, and not likely to
return to England for several months. He missed the bi-weekly meetings
at the Mitre, and he did not dare to tell his Susan that he was
depressed and dull, because he dreaded the inevitable "I told you so."
Susan missed her few friends, and Quinney strained his powers of
deception in the attempt to cheer her up by affirming that he had
bettered his position by leaving Melchester.
 
Many wise persons contend that if you want anything inordinately, you
get it. Excitement came to Quinney when he least expected it.
 
 
*II*
 
Hitherto adventurers of the first flight had left him alone. Small
imposters are easily detected. Nobody could deal with the baser sort of
trickster more drastically than Quinney. Rappers, for example, rapped
in vain at his door. If he opened it, they never crossed the threshold.
But when a provincial pigeon, preening his wings, is discovered within a
stone’s throw of the Greek quarter in London, some fancier is likely to
make an attempt to bag the bird. Such a one entered Quinney’s
establishment some three months after the lamentable sale of the
commode. He appeared to be a quiet, well-dressed man, and he wore a
single pearl in his cravat, which inspired confidence. He asked Quinney
if he ever attended sales as an agent, to buy things on the usual
commission. Quinney had acted as agent for Lord Mel upon several
occasions, and we may pardon him for mentioning the fact to the
stranger, who seemed mildly impressed. He remarked casually that he
knew Lord Mel, and had shot some high pheasants at Mel Court. Quinney,
in his turn, was impressed by this information, for he knew that Lord
Mel was nice in his selection of guests. Eventually Quinney consented
to attend a certain sale, and to bid for two Dutch pictures which the
stranger had marked in a catalogue.
 
"This is my card," said the stranger. "I shall be happy to give you a
banker’s reference." He named a well-known bank, but Quinney was quite
satisfied with the name and address on the card. His visitor was an
army officer, a Major Fraser, and he belonged to a famous Service Club.
 
Somewhat to his disappointment, the two Dutch pictures fetched a price
beyond the limit imposed by the Major, who dropped in next day and
expressed his regrets. He was so civil and genial that Quinney hoped to
have the honour of serving him on some future occasion. The Major
glanced at the sanctuary and before leaving paid ten pounds for a small
Bow figure, and ordered it to be sent to the Savoy Hotel. After he had
gone, Quinney found a letter addressed to Major Archibald Fraser, of
Loch Tarvie, Inverness, N.B. He sent back the letter with the Bow
figure, and he was curious enough to look up Major Archibald Fraser in
Kelly’s _Handbook to the Titled, Landed, and Official Classes_. He
discovered, to his satisfaction, that the Major owned two properties in
Scotland, and was a Justice of the Peace. He had married the daughter
of a well-known Scotch magnate. Quinney chuckled and rubbed his hands.
The right sort were finding their way to Soho Square at last. After this
the Major dropped in again and again, always in search of knowledge,
which Quinney supplied with increasing pleasure. In a word, the pigeon
was ready for plucking.
 
During his next visit the Major spoke with enthusiasm of a picture he
had discovered in Dorset. He assured Quinney that the picture was a
genuine Murillo. Then he pulled a bundle of notes out of his pocket,
handed twenty pounds to Quinney, and delivered the following speech:
 
"I must go to Inverness to-night," he said regretfully. "My factor has
wired for me about the letting of a forest of mine. Take this money on
account of expenses, go to Dorchester, do yourself wellthere is an
excellent inn there, and a few bottles left of some ’68 port. To-morrow
there will be a sale at a small auction mart in the town. This picture
will be offered. Here’s a photograph of it. Buy it for me. In three
days I shall be back in town."
 
He was hurrying away when Quinney stopped him. Queer notions of business
these army gentlemen had, to be sure!
 
"What am I to bid for the picture, Major?"
 
"I’ll go to fifteen hundred. I shouldn’t be furious if you paid a
hundred more. Wire to Loch Tarvie! Bye-bye!"
 
He was away before Quinney could get in another word.
 
"Thruster, and no error!" murmured Quinney to himself.
 
He travelled to Dorchester that afternoon and paid a visit to the
auction mart before dinner. The auctioneer knew him, and expressed
surprise at seeing him, for he was selling only job lots.
 
"Nothing to interest you, Mr. Quinney."
 
"Perhaps not. I’ll have a squint round as I am here."
 
The auctioneer accompanied him, and Quinney soon found his picture,
which was very dirty and inconspicuous. Old masters were not in his
line, but he recognized the frame at once as being genuinea fine
specimen of carved wood, although much battered. The auctioneer said
carelessly:
 
"I had a gentleman staring at that picture this morning. You’re after
the frame, I dare say."
 
Quinney made no reply. He saw that a small portion of the dirty canvas
had been rubbed.
 
"Might look quite different if it was cleaned," said the auctioneer.
"The other fellow did that with his handkerchief and a small bottle of
stuff he carried in his pocket. I didn’t like to object. Colour comes
out nicely!"
 
"Who does it belong to?"
 
"A stranger to me. I take everything as it comes. I’m in a small way of
business, as you know, Mr. Quinney; but some nice stuff has passed
through my hands."
 
He plunged into an ocean of reminiscences, punctuating his remarks with
lamentations of ignorance.
 
"If I really knew. Suppose it’s a gift. You have it, Mr. Quinney. I
have a sort of general knowledge of values, but it’s the special
knowledge that picks up the big bargains."
 
Quinney returned to his hotel.
 
At the auction next day two or three country dealers, small men, with
whom he had a nodding acquaintance, were bidding. The gentleman who was
interested in the picture was present also, languidly indifferent to the
proceedings. However, he became animated when the picture was put up as
"a valuable Madonna and Child, the work of an old master." The
gentleman bid a hundred for it, apparently to the surprise of the small
dealers.
 
"One hundred and twenty-five," said Quinney.
 
The gentleman bent down to whisper a word to a man who stood next him,
and then he stared hard at Quinney, with a slight frown upon his smooth
forehead.
 
"One hundred and fifty," he said quietly.
 
Finally Quinney secured the picture for eleven hundred pounds, well
pleased at having secured it so cheap. The rival bidder led him aside.
 
"You are the famous dealer, Joseph Quinney?"
 
Quinney smiled complacently. The gentleman continued in a whisper:
 
"I expected to get that picture for a hundred pounds. You have fairly
outbidden me, and I could not bid a farthing more to-day; but will you
kindly tell me what you will take for your bargain?"
 
"Sorry," said Quinney; "but I bought it on a commission for a well-known
collector."
 
"There is no more to be said," replied the other.
 
He nodded pleasantly and vanished. Quinney never saw him again. Nor
did he see Major Archibald Fraser. Quinney paid the auctioneer with a
cheque, and returned to London, after wiring the Major that the treasure
was his. Three days later, not hearing a word from his client, he
became slightly uneasy. His cheque had been cashed; the picture was in
his possession. The abominable truth leaked out slowly. Major
Archibald Fraser, of Loch Tarvie, had been impersonated by a _chevalier
d’industrie_. The picture was worth, perhaps, forty pounds, and the
frame another five-and-twenty!The pigeon from the country had been plucked.

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