A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost Stories
9781465666659
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“I SUPPOSE you get stuff of that kind through your hands pretty often?” said Mr Dillet, as he pointed with his stick to an object which shall be described when the time comes: and when he said it, he lied in his throat, and knew that he lied. Not once in twenty years—perhaps not once in a lifetime—could Mr Chittenden, skilled as he was in ferreting out the forgotten treasures of half-a-dozen counties, expect to handle such a specimen. It was collectors’ palaver, and Mr Chittenden recognised it as such. “Stuff of that kind, Mr Dillet! It’s a museum piece, that is.” “Well, I suppose there are museums that’ll take anything.” “I’ve seen one, not as good as that, years back,” said Mr Chittenden, thoughtfully. “But that’s not likely to come into the market: and I’m told they ’ave some fine ones of the period over the water. No: I’m only telling you the truth, Mr Dillet, when I say that if you was to place an unlimited order with me for the very best that could be got—and you know I ’ave facilities for getting to know of such things, and a reputation to maintain—well, all I can say is, I should lead you straight up to that one and say, ‘I can’t do no better for you than that, Sir.’” “Hear, hear!” said Mr Dillet, applauding ironically with the end of his stick on the floor of the shop. “How much are you sticking the innocent American buyer for it, eh?” “Oh, I shan’t be over hard on the buyer, American or otherwise. You see, it stands this way, Mr Dillet—if I knew just a bit more about the pedigree——” “Or just a bit less,” Mr Dillet put in. “Ha, ha! you will have your joke, Sir. No, but as I was saying, if I knew just a little more than what I do about the piece—though anyone can see for themselves it’s a genuine thing, every last corner of it, and there’s not been one of my men allowed to so much as touch it since it came into the shop—there’d be another figure in the price I’m asking.” “And what’s that: five and twenty?” “Multiply that by three and you’ve got it, Sir. Seventy-five’s my price.” “And fifty’s mine,” said Mr Dillet. The point of agreement was, of course, somewhere between the two, it does not matter exactly where—I think sixty guineas. But half-an-hour later the object was being packed, and within an hour Mr Dillet had called for it in his car and driven away. Mr Chittenden, holding the cheque in his hand, saw him off from the door with smiles, and returned, still smiling, into the parlour where his wife was making the tea. He stopped at the door.
