room. This place looked more like an old neglected antique shop than the local office of the most prestigious auction house in the world. Had he made a mistake about the address?
A middle-aged, heavy-set woman appeared through the door at the opposite end of the rug path. She wore a stern look on her face that matched her attire: a baggy brown sweater, tweed skirt, opaque stockings and flat walking shoes. As soon as she realized that she was not alone in the room she stopped, startled.
“Pouvoir je vous aide?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” Hans replied. “English, please, or German, if you wish”
In a sarcastic voice, she replied, “But of course, I’m sorry. I thought you were Swiss. May I help you?”
“I’m here to speak to the director about the upcoming auction.”
“He’s occupied in his office. Perhaps I can help you. What is your name?”
“I am Klaus Dohring.” He gave no more information than necessary.
“Mr. Dohring, nice to meet you.” She shook hands with Hans, thinking he was very strong for one who appeared to be so old. She guessed sixties. She noticed the shine on his shoes. He did not look wealthy though, because his hands did not look manicured.
“And how may I help you, sir?”
“I am interested in learning how your auctions operate. Perhaps you could be so kind as to explain them to me. I may have some things to offer. Also I may be interested in purchasing some jewels for my collection.”
“Of course, I have a pamphlet that will cover most of the basic questions.” She walked back to the table and shuffled through the papers spread across its surface, finally drawing forth the pamphlet, handing it to Hans.
He glanced over it, but nothing struck him, as pertinent to his search.
“What I am most interested in are the jewels in your auctions. Do you have any auctions coming up soon?”
“Why yes, tomorrow, in fact. However, I do not believe that there are any jewels or jewelry in that one. If you are interested, all of our auctions are held at the Hotel Richmonde. Let me get you a catalogue of tomorrow’s offerings.” She retrieved a brochure from the table and waited while he looked it over, noting how young his hands looked, and somewhat dirty.
“If you don’t mind me asking, my dear lady, since you’ve been so kind, how can one learn when a particular jewel that is not on the current program might be offered…a jewel such as a ruby or diamond or emerald…for my collection, you understand?”
“Most jewels are offered privately, sir. You would have to have an invitation for those auctions, that is, if you are speaking of something very valuable…over a million.”
“I would be very interested to get an invitation to such auctions.”
“At this time, there are none scheduled. Could you give me your telephone number? I can call you.”
“That won’t be necessary. Thank you for your kindness, and, may I add, for your pleasant company. What did you say your name was?”
“Emily, Emily Muller.”
“And you may please call me Klaus. Good day, Emily.” Hans walked away from the old bag, hoping his flattery would leave the door open for another visit should he not find out what he needed from the pamphlet.
However, after reading it, he learned that all the gems Christie have offered for auctions were usually held at the Bank du Mont Blanc to insure their safety, before the auction, which was always held at the Four Seasons Hotel des Bergues.
So that’s where his beloved emerald must be
.
Leaving Christies, Hans took the Map of Geneva out of his pocket and standing under the shade of the awning of the small grocery next door found the street Quai des Bergues at the north end of the bridge over the Rhone River. The morning was pleasant, yet not too hot, and he decided instead of hailing a cab, to walk the five or six blocks to the bank. He felt good this morning and had a keen sense that his stone was close at hand. A plan began
A middle-aged, heavy-set woman appeared through the door at the opposite end of the rug path. She wore a stern look on her face that matched her attire: a baggy brown sweater, tweed skirt, opaque stockings and flat walking shoes. As soon as she realized that she was not alone in the room she stopped, startled.
“Pouvoir je vous aide?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” Hans replied. “English, please, or German, if you wish”
In a sarcastic voice, she replied, “But of course, I’m sorry. I thought you were Swiss. May I help you?”
“I’m here to speak to the director about the upcoming auction.”
“He’s occupied in his office. Perhaps I can help you. What is your name?”
“I am Klaus Dohring.” He gave no more information than necessary.
“Mr. Dohring, nice to meet you.” She shook hands with Hans, thinking he was very strong for one who appeared to be so old. She guessed sixties. She noticed the shine on his shoes. He did not look wealthy though, because his hands did not look manicured.
“And how may I help you, sir?”
“I am interested in learning how your auctions operate. Perhaps you could be so kind as to explain them to me. I may have some things to offer. Also I may be interested in purchasing some jewels for my collection.”
“Of course, I have a pamphlet that will cover most of the basic questions.” She walked back to the table and shuffled through the papers spread across its surface, finally drawing forth the pamphlet, handing it to Hans.
He glanced over it, but nothing struck him, as pertinent to his search.
“What I am most interested in are the jewels in your auctions. Do you have any auctions coming up soon?”
“Why yes, tomorrow, in fact. However, I do not believe that there are any jewels or jewelry in that one. If you are interested, all of our auctions are held at the Hotel Richmonde. Let me get you a catalogue of tomorrow’s offerings.” She retrieved a brochure from the table and waited while he looked it over, noting how young his hands looked, and somewhat dirty.
“If you don’t mind me asking, my dear lady, since you’ve been so kind, how can one learn when a particular jewel that is not on the current program might be offered…a jewel such as a ruby or diamond or emerald…for my collection, you understand?”
“Most jewels are offered privately, sir. You would have to have an invitation for those auctions, that is, if you are speaking of something very valuable…over a million.”
“I would be very interested to get an invitation to such auctions.”
“At this time, there are none scheduled. Could you give me your telephone number? I can call you.”
“That won’t be necessary. Thank you for your kindness, and, may I add, for your pleasant company. What did you say your name was?”
“Emily, Emily Muller.”
“And you may please call me Klaus. Good day, Emily.” Hans walked away from the old bag, hoping his flattery would leave the door open for another visit should he not find out what he needed from the pamphlet.
However, after reading it, he learned that all the gems Christie have offered for auctions were usually held at the Bank du Mont Blanc to insure their safety, before the auction, which was always held at the Four Seasons Hotel des Bergues.
So that’s where his beloved emerald must be
.
Leaving Christies, Hans took the Map of Geneva out of his pocket and standing under the shade of the awning of the small grocery next door found the street Quai des Bergues at the north end of the bridge over the Rhone River. The morning was pleasant, yet not too hot, and he decided instead of hailing a cab, to walk the five or six blocks to the bank. He felt good this morning and had a keen sense that his stone was close at hand. A plan began
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