that the Inland Revenue people don’t even know you exist.”
Ned Nitry smiled slightly. “I think you’re getting the picture, Mr. St. Ives. I think you are indeed. It’s a terrible tax burden that the average man must bear up under these days, especially here in England.”
“Suppose I had a Thomas Eakins painting,” I said.
“You’d be a fortunate man,” Ned Nitry said. “Most fortunate.”
“Uh-huh. But suppose I was a little short of cash and I wanted to sell it. Of course, I’d have it insured since it was an Eakins.”
“I’d hope so, lad, I’d certainly hope so,” Ned Nitry said.
“And suppose I wanted to evade paying taxes on the proceeds of the sale. In the states there’s a fine line between tax avoidance and tax evasion.”
“Is there now?” Uncle Norbert said.
“Tax avoidance is legal; tax evasion isn’t.”
“Well, I’d say that’s wise, wouldn’t you, Ned?”
“Absolutely.”
“And suppose I came to you with this problem of mine?”
“Well, sir, I think we could be of some assistance,” Ned Nitry said. “I do indeed think we could.”
“You want to tell me how?”
“Well, I don’t think we need go into the details,” he said.
“If you don’t go into the details, I catch the plane back tonight.”
“It’s like that, is it?”
“It’s like that.”
“Tell him, for God’s sake, Ned,” Eddie Apex said. “He’s not stupid.”
Ned Nitry nodded a couple of times. “Well, lad, if you had an Eakins like you say, and you were hard pressed for a bit of cash, and you wanted to sell it discreet like, well, here’s what we could do for you. First of all, there’s the insurance company to bother about. You’ve got to keep them happy. They’re a gossipy lot and if you just canceled your policy, well, they’d want to know why. And if you kept on paying the premiums on a painting that you’d sold on the sly, so to speak, well, they have those investigators of theirs, you know. But suppose you had a fair likeness of the painting that you wanted to sell?”
“Like the one that’s hanging above the mantel in the red room?”
“Like that exactly, sir.”
“That’s better than a fair likeness,” I said. “That’s perfect.”
Ned Nitry nodded judiciously this time. “It’s good enough to satisfy any insurance company I know of.”
“And most museums,” Eddie Apex said.
“I think you’re getting the idea now, aren’t you, Mr. St. Ives?” Ceil Apex said.
“I think so,” I said.
“Don’t you think Dad and Uncle Norbert are terribly wicked?
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Terribly.” I looked at Uncle Norbert. “Okay. We’ve got a phony painting in place to satisfy the insurance company. What next?”
“Well, next is finding you a discreet buyer who’ll pay a fair price. That’s next.”
“And you can do this?”
“We can.”
“A cash deal?”
“Of course. And in a Swiss bank, too, if you’d like—or Panama or Beirut, whatever’s your pleasure.”
“And you charge a commission?”
“A fair commission.”
“How much?”
“Thirty percent.”
“That’s a little more than fair, isn’t it?”
“We have terrible expenses, lad,” Uncle Norbert said. “We have to spirit the painting out of the country usually and get it into another one. We have to commission the fair likeness and, well, you know what dealing with artists is like. They’re a bad lot mostly. Drink too much. Get temperamental.”
“But they don’t talk?”
“We get them in a little too deep to talk. We get them in a little too deep and make them a little too fat. They don’t talk.”
“Whoever did that Eakins in there is a genius,” I said.
“At copying, he is. He’s that. But he can’t paint an apple on his own without making it look like an orange.”
“Let’s get back to the sword. You’re not going to duplicate that, are you?”
Ned Nitry shook his head. “No need. And nobody even knows it exists except us and our client.”
“And
Ned Nitry smiled slightly. “I think you’re getting the picture, Mr. St. Ives. I think you are indeed. It’s a terrible tax burden that the average man must bear up under these days, especially here in England.”
“Suppose I had a Thomas Eakins painting,” I said.
“You’d be a fortunate man,” Ned Nitry said. “Most fortunate.”
“Uh-huh. But suppose I was a little short of cash and I wanted to sell it. Of course, I’d have it insured since it was an Eakins.”
“I’d hope so, lad, I’d certainly hope so,” Ned Nitry said.
“And suppose I wanted to evade paying taxes on the proceeds of the sale. In the states there’s a fine line between tax avoidance and tax evasion.”
“Is there now?” Uncle Norbert said.
“Tax avoidance is legal; tax evasion isn’t.”
“Well, I’d say that’s wise, wouldn’t you, Ned?”
“Absolutely.”
“And suppose I came to you with this problem of mine?”
“Well, sir, I think we could be of some assistance,” Ned Nitry said. “I do indeed think we could.”
“You want to tell me how?”
“Well, I don’t think we need go into the details,” he said.
“If you don’t go into the details, I catch the plane back tonight.”
“It’s like that, is it?”
“It’s like that.”
“Tell him, for God’s sake, Ned,” Eddie Apex said. “He’s not stupid.”
Ned Nitry nodded a couple of times. “Well, lad, if you had an Eakins like you say, and you were hard pressed for a bit of cash, and you wanted to sell it discreet like, well, here’s what we could do for you. First of all, there’s the insurance company to bother about. You’ve got to keep them happy. They’re a gossipy lot and if you just canceled your policy, well, they’d want to know why. And if you kept on paying the premiums on a painting that you’d sold on the sly, so to speak, well, they have those investigators of theirs, you know. But suppose you had a fair likeness of the painting that you wanted to sell?”
“Like the one that’s hanging above the mantel in the red room?”
“Like that exactly, sir.”
“That’s better than a fair likeness,” I said. “That’s perfect.”
Ned Nitry nodded judiciously this time. “It’s good enough to satisfy any insurance company I know of.”
“And most museums,” Eddie Apex said.
“I think you’re getting the idea now, aren’t you, Mr. St. Ives?” Ceil Apex said.
“I think so,” I said.
“Don’t you think Dad and Uncle Norbert are terribly wicked?
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Terribly.” I looked at Uncle Norbert. “Okay. We’ve got a phony painting in place to satisfy the insurance company. What next?”
“Well, next is finding you a discreet buyer who’ll pay a fair price. That’s next.”
“And you can do this?”
“We can.”
“A cash deal?”
“Of course. And in a Swiss bank, too, if you’d like—or Panama or Beirut, whatever’s your pleasure.”
“And you charge a commission?”
“A fair commission.”
“How much?”
“Thirty percent.”
“That’s a little more than fair, isn’t it?”
“We have terrible expenses, lad,” Uncle Norbert said. “We have to spirit the painting out of the country usually and get it into another one. We have to commission the fair likeness and, well, you know what dealing with artists is like. They’re a bad lot mostly. Drink too much. Get temperamental.”
“But they don’t talk?”
“We get them in a little too deep to talk. We get them in a little too deep and make them a little too fat. They don’t talk.”
“Whoever did that Eakins in there is a genius,” I said.
“At copying, he is. He’s that. But he can’t paint an apple on his own without making it look like an orange.”
“Let’s get back to the sword. You’re not going to duplicate that, are you?”
Ned Nitry shook his head. “No need. And nobody even knows it exists except us and our client.”
“And
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