Chapter 9 September

Peregrine Slade made up his mind to keep silent about what was to be done that day.He was delighted to discover that Ellen Leigh-Travers was also a model of tight-lipped, and hadn't even mentioned the incident at all.Still, every time they met in the hallway, Slade flashed him a big smile. Leigh-Travers was getting worried.In the past, he often thought that the vice chairman was a playboy. He had also heard that middle-aged men would occasionally engage in homosexuality outside because of the boring marriage.As a father of four, he sincerely hoped that Slade hadn't set his sights on him.

On the morning of September 8th, the auction hall of the Darcy Building was filled with the familiar exciting buzz, which was the rush of adrenaline, a kind of compensation for the hard work in the art world to distinguish the dross. Slade had told Bertram, the respected head porter, to come early, and had given him all the details.In the years of service for Darcy Building, Bertram has witnessed five changes in the ownership of Darcy Building.As a young man who just transferred from the army, he inherited his father's career as a porter.He had attended the retirement farewell party of the last heir of the Darcy family, old Mr. Darcy.Mr. Darcy was a true gentleman, and even the porters, who were new to the job at the time, were invited to the party, but this was the last event attended by all.The subsequent management never entertained them ordinary employees like this again.

Bertram was the last man to wear a black bowler hat to work at Darcy House; he had moved billions of pounds worth of art around the building and never had a hard time thinking about it. Now he sits in his tiny office, pushing cup after cup of tea through his walrus mustache.His order was simple: he was to sit in the back of the hall in a blue serge suit, holding a bidding plaque, and he was only bidding for one work.He had already seen the two dead partridges hanging on the hooks so that he would not mistakenly bid for other still lifes.He had also been told to remember that the title of the work was The Hunting Bag, and that Mr. Slade would pronounce that name clearly on stage.

Finally, just to be on the safe side, he was told to pay attention to Slade's facial expressions.If Slade asked him to bid and he hesitated, Slade gave a quick blink of his left eye.That was the signal for him to raise the sign in his hand.Bertram went to make another cup of tea, and went to the bathroom for the fourth time.The last thing Slade asked for was for his nurse to leave the scene to go to the bathroom at a critical moment. Alan Leigh-Travers has selected a valuable list of paintings.The standouts are two Pre-Raphaelite paintings, a Millais masterpiece from a recently deceased collector, and a Holman Hunt, which has not been seen in years. The public met.It was followed by two other equally important canvases, two by Johann Frederick Herling and the other, A Sail on a Raging Sea, by James Carmichael.

The auction starts promptly at ten o'clock.Bidding was vigorous, and the hall was filled with people, even leaning against the back wall.Slade, who has three still lifes, all of game and shotgun, decided to put the Scottish work up for sale as the unlisted fourth in the lot.It will come as no surprise to no one that things can be resolved in a matter of minutes.When he greeted the crowd that filled the hall, he was extremely amiable. Everything went smoothly.Bertram sat at the back of the auction hall, staring ahead, with the plaque on his lap. Onstage, Peregrine Slade was humorous, even grinning, as batches of lots sold near or above high estimates.He was able to recognize most of the bidders, but there were a dozen he didn't.Occasionally he would see a gleam of light reflected in thick glass lenses from an electric light on the ceiling, which belonged to a man in a dark suit sitting in the third row from the bottom.

In the brief pause between the staff removing one picture and placing another on the easel, he motioned for a young female staff member to come to him.He leaned forward and muttered softly, "Who is that Japanese sitting in the third row from the bottom to the left?" The girl walked away. When the painting was changed next time, the girl came back and handed him a small note.He nodded his thanks, and unfolded the note.What he saw was: "Mr. Yoshihiro Yamamoto, Osaka Gallery, Tokyo and Osaka. He has brought a letter of credit draft in the amount of one billion yen issued by the Bank of Tokyo."

Slade smiled.One billion yen is equivalent to two million pounds.no problem.He was sure he had heard or read about the name Yamamoto before.He remembered correctly, it was Japanese Navy Admiral Yamamoto Fifty-Six who attacked Pearl Harbor that year.It is impossible for him to know that the Japanese with the same surname came to Darcy Building to carry out a similar sneak attack this time; he also would not know that the letter of credit draft of the Bank of Tokyo was a masterpiece completed by Susie with a computer. Mr. Yamamoto made several initial bids for some unusual works, but did not hold out.He withdrew it and gave it to other bidders before the painting was finally auctioned.Despite his thick, impenetrable glasses, he has established himself as a genuine buyer.

Here comes the first of four still lifes.The three cataloged paintings, all by relatively unknown artists, sold for between £5,000 and £10,000 at auction.When the third painting had been removed, Slade said with a sort of mischievous humor: "There is a fourth still life not included in the catalogue, which was added later. A very nice little painting." , by artist Collen McPhee from the Scottish Highlands." Cory Burnside couldn't resist the temptation to put his name—part of it, at least—into the artist's title.This is the only place where he can be recognized. "The title is The Hunting Bag," said Slade clearly. "Any bids? Anyone want a thousand pounds?"

Bertram held up the sign in his hand. "A thousand pounds was agreed to later on. Any more than a thousand?" Another sign was held up.That man must be nearsighted.The rest of the bidders, dealers, collectors, agents and gallerists stared in disbelief. "I challenge you, sir, at two thousand pounds," said Slade, keeping his eyes on Bertram.He closed his left eyelid.Bertram held up the sign in his hand. "Three thousand pounds," said Slade. "Any four thousand?" There was silence in the hall.Then the Japanese nodded.Slade was confused.He could see white streaks in the man's thick black hair, but his almond eyes were obscured by thick lenses like the bottom of a beer bottle.

"Are you bidding, sir?" he asked. "Hi." Mr. Yamamoto said and nodded again.His voice is like in the movie "The General". "Will you hold the sign up, please?" Slade said.The Japanese said clearly: "Oh, yes." He raised the sign in his hand. "Four thousand pounds," said Slade.He remained composed, but it never occurred to him that anyone would outbid the unresponsive Bertram.After receiving the cue, Bertram held up the sign again. The most confused person in the hall was Alan Leigh-Travers, who was leaning against the back wall at this moment.He had never seen or heard of The Hunting Bag, and if he had, it would have been on the van back to Suffolk.Now that the catalog is in print, if Slade wants to add a work to the auction, he should mention it.Also, who is McPhee?He never heard of it.Perhaps ancestors of Slade's hunting companions.Now the price is over five thousand pounds, God knows how, but it doesn't matter, any item can get a decent price, it's a miracle for this piece of junk.The commissions earned can make the directors drink a lot of expensive red wine.

For the next thirty minutes, Leigh-Travers began to feel uneasy.He could see the Japanese guy in the back of his head nodding and saying "Hi" all the time, and someone sitting further back, behind a pillar, out of his view, kept haggling with him.Do they know what they are doing?It's an ugly, bad painting, and anyone with eyes can see it.The auction hall has fallen into silence.The price has risen to £50,000. Leigh-Travers shuffled along the back wall and looked up when he was near the post.He almost had a heart attack.For God's sake, the mysterious bidder turned out to be Bertram.That could only mean that Slade wanted to buy it for Darcy House. Leigh-Travers, pale-faced, met Slade's gaze across the hall.Slade smiled and gave him another wink provocatively.This is clear.His vice chairman must be crazy.He hurried out of the hall to the girls who were handing out the signs, grabbed an intercom, called the chairman's office, and asked the Duke of Gateshead to answer, because he had something urgent to report. Before he returned to the halls, the price had gone up to £100,000, and Mr Yamamoto still didn't want to quit.Slade is now bidding up with a price increase of 10,000 pounds, and he is already very anxious. Only Slade knew that beneath the two dead partridges was a multimillion-pound masterpiece, but why were the Japanese still bidding?Does he also know something inside?Impossible, the painting broke into the Bury St Edmunds branch by accident.Did Professor Carpenter slip up somewhere in the Far East?Also impossible.Could it be that Mr. Yamamoto is only fond of this painting?Has he no taste at all?Did he think that the tycoons of Tokyo and Osaka would flock to his gallery and pay a hefty price for this shabby painting? What went wrong, but what?He couldn't refuse Mr. Yamamoto's offer, let alone in front of the entire lobby crowd.But knowing what was under the partridge, he could not imply that Bertram stopped bidding and let the work go to Japan. The rest of the bidders realized that something strange was happening before their eyes.None of them had seen such a thing before.What was displayed on the stage was an extremely ugly work, usually only seen on street stalls, but now two bidders raised its price to the sky.One is an odd old man with a walrus beard, and the other is a samurai who won't give an inch.Their first thought was: there is something inside. They all knew that the world of fine arts was not for the faint of heart, and that a Corsican killer looked like a priest compared with some of the artifice of the trade.Every expert in the room remembered the fact that two art dealers went to a fair at a dilapidated old manor, and one of them found a still life painting of a dead hare. Hanging by the stairwell, it wasn't even on display, but they bought it on sixth sense.The Dead Hare turned out to be the last oil painting recorded by the great master Rembrandt.Who can be sure that Rembrandt, who was sick in bed, would not paint such an ugly partridge?So now they stared wide-eyed, looking for the genius hidden in it, but found nothing.The auction is still going on. When the auction reached 200,000 pounds, there was a commotion at the door.A passage was cleared, and the sullen Duke of Gateshead entered.He leaned against the back wall like a vulture ready to peck at live flesh. With £240,000 at the auction, Slade's self-control began to crumble.A fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead, which was particularly conspicuous under the light.His pitch was several octaves higher.Something inside him was screaming for the drama to stop, but he couldn't.His carefully written script has completely spiraled out of control. At £250,000, he started throbbing around his left eye again with a nervous spasm.At the other end of the hall, old man Bertram continued to bid while watching him blink.At this point, Slade wanted him to stop, but Bertram knew his order: one wink, one tender. "Beyond you, sir." Slade barked harshly at the Japanese.There was a long pause.He prayed that this nightmare would end.Mr. Yamamoto said in a clear voice, "Hi." Slade's left eye quivered rapidly, and Bertram held up his sign again. At three hundred thousand pounds Leigh-Travers whispered something in the Duke's ear angrily, and the vulture moved decisively from the wall towards his employee Bertram.In the quiet hall, all eyes fell on the Japanese.He stood up suddenly, put the sign on the seat, bowed respectfully to Peregrine Slade, and walked towards the door.The crowd made a way, as the Red Sea made way for Moses. "One," said Slade feebly, "two." His gavel struck the dais, and the hall erupted, as every man wanted to say to his neighbor after every unbearable tension passed.Slade recovered somewhat, wiped his brow, handed over the rest of the auction to Leigh-Travers, and walked offstage. Having completed his task, Bertram walked to his small office to make a good pot of tea. The Duke turned to his vice-chairman and snapped, "My office. Five minutes, please." "Perry Green." When the two of them were alone in the chairman's office, the Duke began to speak.Didn't call him "Perry" or "Old Man".Even the superficial friendliness is gone. "Can you tell me, do you know what you were doing just now?" "Host the auction." "Don't be crazy about me, sir. A doodle of two partridges, that's rubbish." "That's how it looks at first glance." "You want to buy it. For Darcy House. Why?" Slade took the two pages of the letter from his breast pocket, and the report from Professor Carpenter of Colbert College. "I hope that explains everything. There would have been a maximum of £5,000. I would have had it if it hadn't been for the crazy Japanese." The Duke of Gateshead pored over the report in the sunlight from his window.His expression changed.His ancestors became famous by killing and robbing. Like Benny Evans, the genes of his ancestors are tenacious. "It's different, old man, it's totally different. Who else knows?" "Nope. I received this report at home last month and have kept it myself. Stephen Carpenter, me, and now you. That's all. I think the fewer people who know, the better." "Then what about the original owner?" "An idiot Scot. I offered him £50,000, but the idiot turned him down. I have the letter and the recording of his refusal. Now, of course, I wish he had agreed. But I didn't." Didn't expect that crazy Japanese guy to do something like this this morning. Damn, he almost took the baby out of our hands." The Duke thought for a while.A fly buzzed on the windowpane like a chainsaw in silence. "Cimabue," he murmured, "Duccio. My God, we at Darcy House haven't seen their work in years. Seven million? Eight million pounds? Listen, immediately with this The owner of the painting settles the bill. I'll approve it. Who do you want to restore it? The Colbert Institute?" "It's a big institution with lots of people talking. I want to give the job to Edward Hargreaves. He's also one of the best in the world, and he works alone and he's very tight-lipped." "Good idea. Let's do it. You're in charge. Let me know when the fix is ​​done." Edward Hargreaves indeed worked alone, a sullen and secretive man who kept a private studio in Hammersmith.He is unrivaled in restoring and removing the superficial layers of famous paintings. After reading Carpenter's report, he wanted to interview the professor.But Professor Carpenter would have been furious if he learned that a substantial commission had gone to someone else, so Hargreaves decided to keep quiet.But he knew the authority of Colbert's stationery, envelopes, and professors' signatures, so he used the report as the basis for his own work.When Slade personally delivered the Scottish still life to his studio, he told the Darcy House vice-chairman that he would need two weeks to restore it. He put the painting on an easel under the north-facing window, and for the first two days he just stared at it.The heavy coat of Victorian oil paint had to be removed with extreme care so as not to damage the masterpiece underneath.On the third day, he started working. Peregrine Slade finally got the call after two weeks.He can't wait. "Well, how is it, my dear Edward?" "The work is done. The work underneath the still life is now fully revealed." "How is the color? Is it as vibrant as when it was painted?" "Oh, there's no doubt about it," said the voice on the line. "I'll send a car for you," Slade said. "Perhaps I should bring the painting with me," said Hargreaves cautiously. "Excellent," Slade smiled. "My Bentley will pick you up in half an hour." He called the Duke of Gateshead. "Nice job!" said the chairman. "Let's unmask it. My office." He used to be a soldier in China, and he likes to add some military terms when speaking to his subordinates. At five minutes to twelve, a porter set up an easel in the chairman's office and left.At twelve o'clock sharp Edward Hargreaves, accompanied by Peregrine Slade, wrapped the tempera woodblock in a soft blanket, entered the room.He put the painting on the shelf. The duke has opened a bottle of Dom Pérignon.He poured a glass for each guest.Slade readily accepted.Hargreaves hesitated to accept. "So," said the duke, smiling, "what have we got? Duccio?" "Well, not this time," Hargreaves said. "Surprise me," said Slade, "by Cimabue?" "Exactly, no." "We can't wait," said the duke. "Come on, lift the blanket." Hargreaves complied.The painting is apparently exactly as described in the letter from the Colbert Institute.The picture is exquisite, in the style of the Florentine and Sienese schools of the early Renaissance. The background is a medieval landscape with gentle hills and an ancient clock tower in the distance.Close-ups are the only ones that are alive.It was a donkey, or rather, a biblical donkey, staring hopelessly at the viewer. Its genitals hung limply to the ground, as if they had been pulled completely out not long ago. The middle ground is a shallow valley, and there is a dirt road leading down to the center.On the dirt road, emerging from the valley, is a small but perfectly recognizable Mercedes-Benz sedan. Hargreaves stared thoughtfully somewhere in the room.Slade felt that he was about to die of a heart attack, and then he became hopeful that he would die immediately, and then began to fear that he would not die immediately. In the heart of the Duke of Gateshead, five centuries of upbringing struggled to keep his ego in check.In the end, parenting prevailed, and he walked out of the room without a word. An hour later, Peregrine Slade was permanently removed from the building.

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