?What did you have to give for it?? he asked.
?I?m afraid I forked out fifty thousand pounds.?
?It?s worth double that.?
Lipsey moved the painting to the floor and sat down again. ?I think it?s hideous,? he said.
?So do I. But it?s absolutely unique. Quite astonishing. There?s no doubt it?s Modigliani—but no one knew he ever painted stuff like this.?
?I?m glad you?re pleased,? said Lipsey. His tone said he wanted to introduce a more businesslike note into the conversation.
?You must have put a good man on it,? Lampeth mused.
?The best.? Lipsey suppressed a grin. ?He went to Paris, Livorno, Rimini ...?
?And he beat my niece to it.?
?Not exactly. What happened—?
?I don?t want to know the details,? Lampeth cut in. ?Have you got a bill ready for me? I?d like to pay it right away.?
?Certainly.? Lipsey went to the office door and spoke to his secretary. He came back with a sheet of paper in his hand.
Lampeth read the bill. Apart from the ?50,000 for the painting, it came to ?1,904. He took out his personal checkbook and wrote the amount in.
?You?ll get an armored truck to deliver it??
?Of course,? Lipsey said. ?That?s in the bill. Is everything else satisfactory??
Lampeth ripped out a check and handed it to the detective. ?I consider I?ve got a bargain,? he said.
The New Room was closed to the public, and a long conference table had been brought in and set in the center. All around the walls were dark, heavy Victorian landscapes. They seemed appropriate to the somber mood of the men in the room.
The representatives of nine other galleries were there. They sat at the table, while the assistants and solicitors they had brought with them sat in occasional chairs nearby. Willow was at the head of the table with Lampeth beside him. Rain pattered tirelessly against the high, narrow windows in the wall. The air was thick with cigar smoke.
?Gentlemen,? Willow began, ?we have all lost a good deal of money and been made to look rather foolish. We cannot retrieve our pride, so we are here to discuss getting our money back.?
?It?s always dangerous to pay a blackmailer.? The high Scots accent belonged to Ramsey Crowforth. He twanged his suspenders and looked over the top of his spectacles at Willow. ?If we cooperate with these people, they—or someone else—could try the same stunt again.?
The mild, quiet voice of John Dixon cut in. ?I don?t think so, Ramsey. We?re all going to be a lot more careful from now on—especially about provenances. This is the kind of trick you can?t play twice.?
?I agree with Dixon,? a third man said. Willow looked down the table to see Paul Roberts, the oldest man in the room, talking around the stem of a pipe. He went on: ?I don?t think the forger has anything to lose. From what I read in the press, it seems he has covered his tracks so well that the police have little or no hope of finding him, regardless of whether we call them off or not. If we refuse to cooperate, all the villain does is pocket his half a million pounds.?
Willow nodded. Roberts was probably the most respected dealer in London—something of a grand old man of the art world—and his word would carry weight.
Willow said, ?Gentlemen, I have made some contingency plans so that, if we do decide to consent to these demands, the thing can be done quickly.? He took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase on the floor beside him. ?I?ve got Mr. Jankers here, our solicitor, to draw up some papers for the setting up of a trust fund.?
He took the top folder from the pile and passed the rest down the table. ?Perhaps you would have a look at these. The important clause is on page three. It says that the trust will do nothing until it receives approximately five hundred thousand pounds from one Monsieur Renalle. At that time it will pay ninety percent of the money to the ten of us, in proportion to the stated amounts we paid for the forgeries. I think you will find those figures correct.?
Crowforth said: ?Somebody?s got to run the trust.?
?I have made some tentative arrangements on that point too,? said Willow. ?They are subject to your approval, quite naturally. However, the Principal of the West London College of Art, Mr. Richard Pink-man, has agreed to be chairman of the trustees if we so require. I think the vice-chairman should be one of us—perhaps Mr. Roberts.
?We would each have to sign a form of agreement withdrawing any claim on the money apart from the arrangement with the trust. And we would have to agree to withdraw our complaint to the police against Monsieur Renalle and his associates.?
Crowforth said: ?I want my solicitor to study all these papers before signing anything.?
Willow nodded. ?Of course.?
Roberts said: ?I agree—but all the same, we want this business over with quickly. Could we not agree in principle today? The rest could be done by our solicitors over the next day or two, unless there are any snags.?
?A good idea,? Willow approved. ?Perhaps our Mr. Jankers could coordinate the solicitors? activities? ? Jankers bowed his head in acknowledgment.
?Are we all agreed, then, gentlemen?? Willow looked around the table for dissenters. There were none. ?All that remains, then, is a statement to the press. Will you be happy to leave that with me?? He paused for dissent again. ?Very well. In that case I will release a statement immediately. If you will excuse me, I will leave you in Mr. Lampeth?s hands. I believe he has organized some tea.?
Willow got up and left the room. He went to his own office and sat down by the telephone. He picked up the receiver—then paused, and smiled to himself.
?I think you?ve redeemed yourself, Willow,? he said quietly.
Willow walked into Lampeth?s office with an evening newspaper in his hand. ?It seems it?s all over, Lampeth,? he said. ?Jankers has told the press that all the agreements are signed.?
Lampeth looked at his watch. ?Time for a gin,? he said. ?Have one??
?Please.?
Lampeth opened the cabinet and poured gin into two glasses. ?As for its being all over, I?m not sure. We haven?t got our money yet.? He opened a bottle of tonic and poured half into each glass.
?Oh, we?ll get the money. The forgers would hardly have bothered to set this up just to cause trouble. Besides, the sooner they give us the cash, the sooner the police lay off.?
?It?s not just the money.? Lampeth sat down heavily and swallowed half his drink. ?It will be years before the art world recovers from a blow like this. The public now thinks we?re all frauds who don?t know the difference between a masterpiece and a seaside postcard.?
?I must say, er ... ? Willow hesitated.
?Well??
?I can?t help feeling they have proved a point. Quite what it is I don?t know. But something very profound. ?
?On the contrary—it?s simple. They?ve proved that the high prices paid for great works of art reflect snobbery rather than artistic appreciation. We all knew that already. They?ve proved that a real Pissarro is worth no more than an expert copy. Well, it?s the public who inflate the price, not the dealers.?
Willow smiled and gazed out of the window. ?I know. Still, we make our percentage on the inflation.?
?What do they expect? We couldn?t make a living out of fifty-pound canvases.?
?Woolworth?s do.?
?And look at the quality of their stuff. No, Willow. The forger may have his heart in the right place, but he won?t change anything. We lose prestige for a while—a long while, I expect—but before too long everything will be back to normal, simply because that is the way it has to be.?
?I?ve no doubt you?re right,? said Willow. He finished his drink. ?Well, they?re closing up downstairs. Are you ready to go??
