machines, these fine, these beautiful-' He broke off, and lowered his
gaze, placed a delicate chocolate brown hand over his troubled brow. 'A
price, gentle mens Please, start me with a price.'
'One pound!' a voice called in the lilting accents of the Texan
ranges. For a moment the Sikh did not move, then raised his head with
dramatic slowness and stared at Jake who towered above the crowd around
him.
'A pound?' the Sikh whispered huskily. 'Twenty shillings each for
these fine, these beautiful-' he broke off and shook his head
sorrowfully. Then abruptly his manner changed and became brisk and
businesslike. 'One pound, I am bid.
40, I Do I hear two, two pounds? No advance on one pound?
Going for the first time at one pound!' Gareth Swales drifted forward,
and the crowd opened miraculously, drawing aside respectfully.
'Two pounds.' He spoke softly, but his voice carried clearly in the
hush. Jake's long angular frame stiffened, and a dark wine-coloured
flush spread slowly up the back of his neck. Slowly, his head
swivelled and he stared across at the Englishman who had now reached
the front row.
Gareth smiled brilliantly and tipped the brim of his panama to
acknowledge Jake's glare. The Sikh's commercial instinct instantly
sensed the rivalry between them and his mood brightened.
'I have two--' he chirruped.
Five,' snapped Jake.
'Ten,' murmured Gareth, and Jake felt a hot uncontrollable anger come
seething up from his guts. He knew the feeling so well, and he tried
to control it, but it was no use.
It came up in a savage red tide to swamp his reason.
The crowd stirred with delight, and all their heads swung in unison
towards the tall American.
'Fifteen,' said jake, 'and every head swung back towards the slim
Englishman.
Gareth inclined his head gracefully.
'Twenty,' piped the Sikh delightedly. 'I have twenty.'
'And five.' Dimly through the mists of his anger, Jake knew that there
was no way that he would let the Limey have these ladies. If he
couldn't buy them, he would burn them.
The Sikh sparkled at Gareth with gazelle eyes.
'Thirty, sir?' he asked, and Gareth grinned easily and waved his
cheroot. He was experiencing a rising sense of alarm already they were
far past what he had calculated was the Yank's limit.
'And five more.' Jake's voice was gravelly with the strength of his
outrage. They were his, even if he had to pay out every shilling in
his wallet, they had to be his.
Forty.' Gareth Swales's smile was slightly strained now.
He was fast approaching his own limit. The terms of the sale were cash
or bank-guaranteed cheque. He had long ago milked every source of cash
that was available to him, and any bank manager who guaranteed a
Gareth Swales cheque was destined for a swift change of employment.
