A Prisoner Of Birth

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

'HOW INTERESTING. HOW very interesting,' said Mr. Blundell as he placed his magnifying glass back on the table and smiled at his potential customer.

'How much is it worth?' asked Danny.

'I have no idea,' Blundell admitted.

'But I was told you were one of the leading experts in the field.'

'And I like to think I am,' replied Blundell, 'but in thirty years in the business I've never come across anything quite like this.' He picked up his magnifying glass again, bent down and studied the envelope more closely. 'The stamp itself is not all that uncommon, but one franked on the day of the opening ceremony is far more rare. And for the envelope to be addressed to Baron de Coubertin…'

'The founder of the modern Olympics,' said Danny. 'Must be even rarer.'

'If not unique,' suggested Blundell. He ran the magnifying glass over the envelope once again. 'It's extremely difficult to put a value on it.'

'Could you give me a rough estimate, perhaps?' asked Danny hopefully.

'If the envelope was purchased by a dealer, two thousand two hundred to two thousand five hundred would be my guess; by a keen collector, perhaps as much as three thousand. But should two collectors want it badly enough, who can say? Allow me to give you an example, Sir Nicholas. Last year an oil painting entitled A Vision of Fiammetta by Dante Gabriel Rossetti came under the hammer here at Sotheby's. We put an estimate on it of two and a half to three million pounds, which was certainly at the high end of the market, and, indeed, all the well-known dealers had fallen out some time before it reached the high estimate. However, because Andrew Lloyd Webber and Elizabeth Rothschild both wanted to add the picture to their collections, the hammer came down for the final time at nine million pounds, more than double the previous record for a Rossetti.'

'Are you suggesting that my envelope might sell for more than double its valuation?'

'No, Sir Nicholas, I am simply saying that I have no idea how much it might sell for.'

'But can you make sure that Andrew Lloyd Webber and Elizabeth Rothschild turn up for the sale?' asked Danny.

Blundell lowered his head, fearing Sir Nicholas might see that he was amused by such a suggestion. 'No,' he said, 'I have no reason to believe that either Lord Lloyd Webber or Elizabeth Rothschild has any interest in stamps. However, if you decide to put your envelope into our next sale, it would be featured in the catalog, and sent to all the leading collectors in the world.'

'And when will your next stamp sale be?' asked Danny.

'September the sixteenth,' replied Blundell. 'Just over six weeks' time.'

'That long?' said Danny, who had assumed that they would be able to sell his envelope within a few days.

'We are still preparing the catalog, and will be mailing it to all our clients at least two weeks prior to the sale.'

Danny thought back to his meeting with Mr. Prendergast at Stanley Gibbons, who had offered him ?2,200 for the envelope, and probably would have gone as high as ?2,500. If he accepted his offer he wouldn't have to wait for another six weeks. Nick's latest bank statement showed that he only had ?1,918, so he might well be overdrawn by September 16th with still no prospect of any income.

Blundell did not hurry Sir Nicholas, who was clearly giving the matter his serious consideration, and if he was the grandson of… this could be the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship.

Danny knew which of the two options Nick would have settled for. He would have accepted the original offer of ?2,000 from Mr. Prendergast, walked back to Coutts and banked the money immediately. That helped Danny come to a decision. He picked up the envelope, handed it to Mr. Blundell and said, 'I'll leave you to find the two people who want my envelope.'

'I'll do my best,' said Blundell. 'Nearer the time, Sir Nicholas, I'll see that you are sent a catalog, along with an invitation to the sale. And may I add how much I always enjoyed assisting your grandfather in the building of his magnificent collection.'

'His magnificent collection?' repeated Danny.

'Should you wish to add to that collection, or indeed to sell any part of it, I would be only too happy to offer my services.'

'Thank you,' said Danny. 'I may well be in touch.' He left Sotheby's without another word-he couldn't risk asking Mr. Blundell questions to which he himself would be expected to know the answers. But how else was he going to find out about Sir Alexander's magnificent collection?

No sooner was Danny back out on Bond Street than he wished he had accepted Prendergast's original offer, because even if the envelope raised as much as six thousand, it still wouldn't be nearly enough to cover the costs of a prolonged legal battle with Hugo Moncrieff, and if he were to settle the writ before the expenses ran out of control, he'd still have enough money to survive on for a few more weeks while he looked for a job. But unfortunately, Sir Nicholas Moncrieff was not qualified to work as an East End garage mechanic; in fact, Danny was beginning to wonder what he was qualified to do.

Danny strolled on up Bond Street and into Piccadilly. He thought about the significance, if any, of Blundell's words 'your grandfather's magnificent collection.' He didn't notice that someone was following him. But then, the man was a professional.

***

Hugo picked up the phone.

'He's just left Sotheby's and he's standing at a bus stop in Piccadilly.'

'So he must be running out of funds,' said Hugo. 'Why did he go to Sotheby's?'

'He left an envelope with a Mr. Blundell, the head of the philatelic department. It will come up for auction in six weeks' time.'

'What was on the envelope?' asked Hugo.

'A stamp issued to mark the first modern Olympics, which Blundell estimated to be worth between two and two and a half thousand.'

'When's the sale?'

'September sixteenth.'

'Then I'll have to be there,' said Hugo, putting down the phone.

'How unlike your father to allow one of his stamps to be put up for sale. Unless…' said Margaret as she folded her napkin.

'I'm not following you, old gal. Unless what?' said Hugo.

'Your father devotes his life to putting together one of the world's finest stamp collections, which not only disappears on the day he dies, but isn't even mentioned in his will. But what is mentioned are a key and an envelope, which he leaves to Nick.'

'I'm still not sure what you're getting at, old gal?'

'The key and the envelope are clearly connected in some way,' said Margaret.

'What makes you think that?'

'Because I don't believe the stamp is of any importance.'

'But two thousand pounds would be a great deal of money to Nick at the present time.'

'But not to your father. I suspect that the name and address on the envelope are far more important, because they will lead us to the collection.'

'But we still won't have the key,' said Hugo.

'The key will be of little importance if you can prove that you are the rightful heir to the Moncrieff fortune.'

***