“My collection is catalogued in here,” he said, tapping his right temple with one scrawny finger, his round eyes gleaming. “It might look like a guddle on the shelves, but I know exactly where every single item is. If anything went missing, I’d know the instant I walked in the room. I’dfeelit.”
Lindsay felt a shudder go down his spine at the intent, obsessive look on Cruikshank’s face. Again he was struck by the conviction that Cruikshank’s interest in these things was a solitary, miserly thing. Something gloating about it.
Cruikshank was unlocking one of the drawers of his desk now, rifling through the contents then drawing out the same packet of yellowed papers he’d shown Lindsay before, tied up with the same greying ribbon. He set them on the desk and Francis moved closer, pulling the packet towards him.
Francis untied the ribbon and unfolded the first of the papers. Unlike Lindsay, he spent little time reading it, but quickly scanned both sides, then reached for the next paper, and the next, unfolding each in turn and spreading the papers over the whole surface of the desk. When they were all laid out, albeit overlapping, he bent down to examine them—and, Lindsay saw, to scent them.
Lindsay, standing to the side, waited quietly for Francis to finish. Cruikshank was rather less patient, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair.
Francis ignored him.
At last he straightened, and began folding up the papers, settling them back into order and tying them up.
“Well?” Lindsay said. “What do you think?”
Francis looked unimpressed. He gave a negligent shrug. “They are of the period and therefore authentic in that sense,” he confirmed. “But I have my doubts as to the authenticity of the claims of the author. For that reason, I judge them to be of little real interest to a serious collector.”
Cruikshank glared at him. “What nonsense!” he exclaimed, then, turning to Lindsay, snapped, “I can assure ye, Mr. Somerville, that my opinion on such matters carries a deal more weight than yer friend here.”
Francis didn’t react to that, merely said, “Remind me what sum you are asking for them.”
Cruikshank’s gaze was challenging. “Five hundred guineas.”
“What?” Francis scoffed. He turned to Lindsay. “That is a very steep price, my friend. Are you sure you want them so badly? That is far more than they are worth. Ten times as much, I’d venture.”
They’d discussed this on the way over here. Francis would be the voice of reason, talking down the asking price, to see if Cruikshank might offer to drop it in the face of more apparent expertise than Lindsay could pretend.
“What doyouthink they’re worth?” Lindsay asked
“Nowhere near what this gentleman’s asking,” Francis replied, then glancing at Cruikshank, added insincerely, “No offence intended.”
“None taken,” Cruikshank bit back, his evident irritation giving the lie to his words. “But let us be clear on this, gentlemen. I set my prices according to commercial principles: supply, demand, risk. As Mr. Somerville knows, I already have a customer for these papers. If I break my agreement with him, there may be consequences for me, and that factors into the price I have set.”
“I see,” Francis replied waspishly. “In short, if you’re to break your word, you need more gold. Is that right? You have an interesting view of what is good business, Mr. Cruikshank.”
Cruikshank’s eyes sparked with anger at that and his lips thinned till his mouth looked stitched together. “You may take it or leave it,” he snapped.
Francis turned to Lindsay. “If it were me,” he said, “I’d offer a hundred guineas and be done with it. They’re not worth half that.”
“I already offered him two hundred and fifty guineas and he refused,” Lindsay said. He gave a sulky pout. “And I want them.”
Francis sighed theatrically. “Your trouble is, you have too much money.” He turned to Cruikshank, his gaze sharpening. “Two hundred and seventy-five.”
“Five hundred,” Cruikshank bit back.
“Three hundred, final offer.”
Cruikshank glared at him. “No. Five hundred.”
Francis made an angry noise. “This is absurd. Come on, Somerville.” He grabbed hold of Lindsay’s arm and began marching him to the door.
“Four hundred.”
Francis halted first, Lindsay an instant later, jerking back in his firm grasp. Together they turned.
“Not a penny less,” Cruikshank added, his expression curiously flat now.
“Done,” Lindsay said, before Francis could speak.
