Book of Stolen Tales by D. J. McIntosh Page A

he brought our talk sharply around to the purpose of our meeting. “Were you successful in acquiring it?” His heavy, reddish eyelids blinked rapidly. “I’d be happy to take possession of the article now if it’s all the same to you.” He opened a desk drawer, removed a small bottle of ink and a booklet, and reached for the quill. “Excuse this little penchant of mine. I like to use the quill for my official signature.”
    â€œWith a broken nib?”
    Coloring slightly, he said, “The nib was replaced. Some time ago.”
    I smiled. “Of course you realize that by repairing it you’ve degraded its value—that is, if Swift ever did use it. We kebabs know a fake when we see one.”
    He ignored my rejoinder and cleared his throat. “Let’s get to the business at hand, shall we? What was the book’s final price?”
    â€œWell under your client’s maximum. One hundred twenty-four thousand pounds.”
    Newhouse leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. “Very good. We hadn’t dared hope for a decent sum. People seem willing to pay anything these days.”
    The praise felt genuine. I smiled in response to his compliment. “I’ll take possession of it then.” He bent his head to write in the notebook. When he saw I hadn’t reached for my case, he looked up abruptly. “Well?”
    â€œI can’t give it to you. Someone stole it from me last night.” I watched his pale eyes closely but didn’t find the flash of surprise that should have been there.
    He dropped the quill, ink splattering his receipt book. “This comes as a shock, Mr. Madison. Sherrods has our money already?”
    â€œOf course. They wouldn’t let the book out of their sight without the funds.”
    â€œI see. Now tell me, what happened exactly ?”
    â€œA man robbed me. He took the book and some rare gold coins. He knew a great deal about me. My name, my occupation, and the daily routines of family members in New York.” My voice faltered as I recalled the threat against Evelyn. “How did he know I was your point man for the purchase?”
    â€œI’ve no idea, I can assure you of that. Perhaps a contact at Sherrods?”
    â€œI suppose that’s possible.” I remembered how forthcoming Amy had been with me about the other bidders. “I’ve learned the book consisted of five separate volumes. Was your client expecting to buy the entire book or just one volume?”
    Newhouse sat up straighter. “Why, the whole book of course. As it was, the price turned out to be very dear. He’d never pay that much for only part of it.”
    â€œWell, he’ll be doubly disappointed then. Sherrods offered only the one volume.”
    â€œThis is a disaster! You’ve reported this to the police and your insurance company, I hope.”
    â€œOf course, right away. I gave the police a preliminary report last night and am due to be interviewed at New Scotland Yard tomorrow morning. As for insurance, you’ll have to get in touch with my broker, Jack Edison. He’s handling it personally. He’ll take a bit of time with this. You know how these companies are. Tons of paperwork. Always is in the case of art theft. In fact, he’s out of the country right now.”
    This time his cheeks flared to crimson; there was no hiding his anger. “All the same, a significant amount of money is involved. I can tell you, Mr. Madison, I’ve been practicing law for over twenty years. The book was in your possession and stolen or not, you are responsible. I can assure you I’ll press the case to its limit. You have my word on that.”
    â€œI understand it’s a difficult situation all around. The onus should be on the auction house to straighten things out.”
    â€œThat’s a fine thought, Mr. Madison. It disappeared while in your possession.” He stared at me