'Thanks.'
'Dandy Jack and Randy Lovejoy.' He gave out a cackle and swigged again, wiping the bottle neck on his tattered sleeve.
'And they say wit is dead.'
'No harm intended, love,' he confided to Sheila, his hand on her shoulder.
'None taken,' she said bravely without recoiling.
'You phoned,' I reminded him. 'But before you tell me why, have you still got those jades?'
'Of course.' He delved into a pile of open trays and pulled one out. A jade tumbled off. He picked it up, rubbing it on his tatty pullover.
I snatched them all off him irritably and took them toward the light. It was still there, an unreal lustrous netsuke masquerading among jade and agate. I pulled off the ticket I'd written for it. A netsuke is a little carved figure of ivory, jade, or other decorative material. The Japanese made them for embellishing sword handles. We, of course, rip them out and ruin the entire setting.
'I've had second thoughts, Dandy.' I tried not to feel guilty and avoided Sheila's eye.
He crowded close, stinking of rum. 'It's not duff, is it, Love-joy?' he asked anxiously.
'No. It's superb.'
The bitterness in my growl made him cackle with glee. 'You're too bloody soft for this game,' he croaked.
'Don't keep saying that,' I snapped. I wrote out a new ticket upping the price five hundred per cent. 'Here. Now,' I said ferociously, 'move them, Dandy. Move them! They should be treated with velvet gloves, not rattled around this cesspit of yours, and sold fast.'
He cackled again and offered me a swig, which I declined. He glanced toward Sheila as a caution, but I nodded.
'Well,' he said, reassured. 'Some geezer phones me early. He'd heard I was putting the whisper out for flinters and rings to ask what sort. Wouldn't leave a name.'
'That's useless, Dandy.'
'Wait. He asks after a Mr. Lovejoy, did I know if he'd anything for sale in that line.'
'Eh? Are you serious?'
'Straight up.'
There was nothing more. Now this smacked of some amateur sleuthing on somebody's part. No dealer would tackle A about B's intentions so directly. I cast about for Margaret on the way out of the arcade but didn't see her. Her small den across the shopping arcade was unlit and carried its 'Closed' sign. I don't know what I'd done wrong.
We pushed down the High Street among buses and cars toward Adrian's. It's a cut above the arcade. He has a spruce display, tickets on everything. Today's offerings included a series of Adam-style chairs, good copies, a lush mahogany Pembroke table by Gillows—a great name—of Lancaster about 1820, and a run of Byzantine icons on the walls among English watercolors.
Incidentally, remember that the watercolor game is a characteristically English art. Continental light is too brilliant. It's the curious shifting lights in our countryside that imparted a spontaneity and skill to the art that made it a feature of this land as opposed to others. Praise where it's due.
Adrian had a Rowbotham (moderate value, great skill), a Samuel Palmer (much value, brilliant skill), an Edward Lear (moderate value, moderate skill) and a minute Turner that must have taken less than a minute to do. I touched the frame just to say I'd done so, not kneeling, and recoiled stunned by bells. Huge value plus the skill of genius.
'Now, dear boy,' Adrian was saying when I could concentrate. 'You're not going to tell me it's phony. Don't you dare.'
'It's perfect, Adrian.'
'Isn't he sweet?' he cooed at Sheila. She concurred while I looked daggers.
'You wouldn't by any chance have popped in one of the local auctions, Adrian?'
I waited, but he stayed cool. 'All the time, sweetie.'
'Seddon's.' Still not a flicker.
'Fortnightly.' He smiled. 'To remind myself how low one can sink, dear boy. They have rubbish and rubbishy rubbish, just those two sorts.'
'You wouldn't have bought some gadgets about maybe a year ago? A collection of card cases, early nineteenth century… ?' My lies flowed with their usual serenity.
'No luck, love.' He sat and thought. 'Not heard of them either.'
'Started out from a box job, so word is.'
'Not even a whisper.' He was sympathetic. 'Ask Jane Felsham. It's more in her line. Got a buyer for them?'
I gave a rueful shrug. 'I would have if I could find them.'
'How many?'
'Ten—some mother of pearl, black lacquer, engraved silver, one silver filigree, and a couple chatelained.'
