SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

13981; 9^

Btiveen
liocrett; or an art dealer

3 1148 001 10

MAY

SEP

ART DEALtR

JAMES HENRY DUVEEN

New York
E. P. DUTTON & CO., INC.

COPYRIGHT, 1<W, BY

E. P. DUTTON & CO., INC
ALL RIGHTS RHSHRVBD
PRINTED IN THE II. S, A.

First Edition

To

THAT BEING WHICH OCCURS
ONLY ONCE IN LIFE

A MOTHER

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR ^30,000 , 9

II. THE PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES . 28

III. THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABAGH VASES . 45

IV. THE FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY . 64
V. THE TITLED KLEPTOMANIAC . * . 77

VI. THE MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE EVER

KNOWN ...... 88

VII. THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT , . 102

VIII. How PIERPONT MORGAN BOUGHT "MIS

TAKES" , . . . .118

IX. How A V.C. EARNED A ROYAL SNUFFBOX 134

X. A LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED AN ART

DEALER . . . . . .146

XL How A "TWENTY MILLION WIDOW" LOST

ME 2 7,000 . * . . .160

XII. THE SECRET OF NAPOLEON II's CASKET . 172

XIII. THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE . * 184

XIV. THE ART DEALER WHO ESCAPED PENAL

SERVITUDE . . , . .196

XV. WHEN "CONNOISSEURS" Go WRONG . . 208

XVI. How I LOST FIVE 2o,<loo VASES . . 224

XVII. THE TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNE VELDT 238

XVIII. DOUBLE CROSSED BY A "FRIEND" . .251

XIX. THE CURSE OF THE " MALEVOLENT GODS" 260

XX. SAVED BY THE CAMORRA . . . 272

ILLUSTRATIONS

FACE PAGE

GOTHIC TAPESTRY: THE CREDO: TOURNAI ... 36

THE HEESWIJK CASTLE SET OF AZURE CHINESE VASES
WITH THREE COVERS . . . . . . 37

A BERNARD PALISSY DISH ...... 68

A SNUFF Box 69

DRESDEN PORCELAIN SLEIGH GROUP .... 92

FRAXJ HERMINA FEIST ...... 93

GOTHIC SUIT OF ARMOUR . . . . . 108

THE FAMOUS GUZMAN CROSS . . . . .109

THE SNUFF Box OF FREDERICK THE GREAT . . 138
CHEVALIER JACOB VAN Esso (THE RIDDER) , . 139

THE Louis XVI WRITING CABINET . . . .166

NAPOLEON II (KING OF ROME) . . . . .167

EXECUTION OF MAXIMILIAN OF AUSTRIA , . .180
THE "FREEMASON" GROUP OF DRESDEN PORCELAIN . 181
THE COUNTESS COSEL, DRESDEN " CRINOLINE*" FIGURE . 198
FIVE CHINESE PORCELAIN "FAMILLE ROSE" VASES . 199
A Louis XV FAN ....... 212

STUART " HIGH-BACK" CHAIR . . . . .213

FAMILLE NOIRE VASE 230

JONKHEER VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT's HOUSE IN THE NoORD

ElNDE AT THE HAGUE . . . . .231

OLD DELFT POTTERY BY ALBERT DE KEYSER . . 246

" CLARET" WORCESTER PLATE 247

THE "MALEVOLENT GODS" ..... 262

WORCESTER DISH 263

vn

SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

CHAPTER I

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000

THE Combes law which, at a stroke, converted all
the ecclesiastical treasures of France into State
property, was one of those upheavals which, like
the War, brought objects into the art markets of
the world which had long been thought quite safe
from any chance of dispersal. Thirty odd years ago
no one dreamed that such wonderful goldsmiths'
work, pictures and other treasures, would ever be
freed from the "dead hand," and the result was
startling. The Loi Combes taught me that even the
Church would "steal" its own property rather than
allow it to fall into the hands of the State despoilers.
Priests, devout citizens, not quite so devout or so
respectable ladies afid a host of hangers-on intrigued
and conspired one against the other, linked only
by the common trait of feverish greed.

As I was motoring with an artist friend on the
Continent I happened to be amongst the first to
be caught up into this maelstrom: I say "motoring,"
for although we were aiming for the Riviera we had
only got one third of the way in ten days ! We could
have walked it faster, but those were the days when

io SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

tyres were only "guaranteed" for about 500 miles
and the motorist spent more time under his car
than in it.

Near Auxerre Sydney Watson, my companion,
sat down on a roadside bank and hitched up his
elegant trousers. He paid no attention at all to a
small crowd of loafers and children who goggled
alternately at him and me.

"My dear Duveen," he exclaimed, "the more I
see of motor cars the more I congratulate myself I
know nothing about them! Especially in this tropical
heat."

Kneeling in the dust with the sweat trickling
down my face, and wrestling with a burst tyre, I
only just avoided losing my temper, 1 must have
looked a Harry Tate figure, clad in I regret to
say a suit of dark purple leather. Before I could
reply a large open car arrived in a cloud of dust,
passed us and stopped.

"Any help?" exclaimed a slim and very sleek-
looking dark-haired man who got out. In those
days you always proffered assistance to motorists in
trouble. As I got to my feet, the stranger said,
"C'est toi, Duveen! But how fortunate: the very
man I could have wished for!"

Removing his goggles, he wrung my hand and
then, whispered: "Your friend he is in business
with you?"

"No," I replied, mopping my face, "He is riot.
What is more, he doesn't talk much French."

It was M, Gaspard, a dealer in a very small way

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 u
whom I had known some time, but not intimately
enough for him to "thou" me so impertinently! He
looked greatly relieved.

"A question of big business, very big," he mut
tered mysteriously. "In. a church on the other side
of Auxerre there is a wonderful ninth century old
reliquary with lovely enamelling. Ah, superb, my
friend! I think it is gold, but it may be silver gilt.
That is of no account, as you know. The priest to
whom it belongs wants to find a rich American buyer,
so that his influential relatives and the State don't
get to hear about it."

I felt a decided twinge of interest. This sort of
thing was occurring everywhere and, as it happened,
a short while earlier a London collector had asked
me to try and get him a really fine mediaeval reliquary.

"What does the fellow want?" I asked.

Gaspard hesitated for a moment: his dark eyes
glanced away from me and instinctively I knew he
was going to fence. But his next words surprised
me, for France was (and is) the paradise of secret-
commission hunters and I imagined he would bargain
with me for the price of his introduction.

"The priest won't mention any sum," he replied.
u And he's sharp, too. He wants me to interest several
people and hopes to get them to bid against each
other."

"Funny way of keeping the deal secret!" I
exclaimed.

"Well, he is an old fool, really, and I'm going to
put one over on him. I had an idea of faking an

12 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

auction with a few of my pals and getting the reliquary
cheap for myself. Norn d'un chien!" His eyes lighted
up and he caught me by the lapel "Duveen! The
idea! Why not let's all go right away? I'll introduce
you as a great English buyer and my friends here"
he waved an arm at the car " can chip in with
a bid or two? The old chap knows none of them.'*

All this seemed very sudden, but then in art-
dealing things do happen like that, and the dealer
who seizes his opportunity often reaps a rich reward.

"And the ladies?" I asked, already half convinced.

"Allow me to introduce you/* he said, leading
me forward. "This is the great Jack Duveen here
is 'Toinette and this is Yvonne, M. Calbert and
M. Rochin, two of my oldest friends."

At once I placed "ladies" who were introduced
by Christian names only, but it wasn't my affair,
When they removed goggles and motor veils I was
surprised to find how young and extraordinarily
good-looking they were! "Snappy" is the modern
and very apt word. Calbert was a deputy and Rochin
a notary. Sydney Watson was also introduced^ the
puncture was mended and a few miles up the road
Gaspard insisted we should join them in a picnic
lunch which only a Frenchwoman could have pro
duced. He outlined the priest's characteristics, went
into raptures over the reliquary and then said, slyly :

"If he is as fond of his wines as he is of the ladies,
we should have an easy job with him. Trust me ?
Duveen, either you or I are going to get that reliquary
at the right price!"

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 13

"Soit!" said L "Fm with you. At any rate we
should have a very pleasant time."

We arranged that, in order to avoid suspicion,
we should stay the night in Auxerre at different
hotels, I was to figure as the very great buyer, but
Watson refused to have anything to do with the
business,

"Antiques don't interest me/' he explained, "and
it is really far too hot for motoring, I'll laze about
in Auxerre while you attend to your affairs,"
^Q It was just as well, because at about eleven o'clock
P0 next day the Cur^ arrived, accompanied by Gaspard.
,A After a ceremonious introduction and a great deal
, of talk I was invited to lunch: it appeared that
i Calbert, Rochin and their "wives" would also be
^ there! Gaspard drove me to the Presbytery which
was almost in sight of the famous little town of
Chablis that gives its name to the prince of white
wines. The Vicarage lay at the foot of a gentle
hillside against which acres of vines, with their
grapes already ripe, formed a soft tapestry of green,
w The Cur^ was on the steps to receive us, and behind
him I caught a glimpse of a forbidding-looking
housekeeper of the peasant type. The rest of the party
^ had already arrived, and we were formally "intro-
H duced," and I was impressed by Gaspard's knowledge
' of psychology when I watched the old man's pleasure
and his witty conversation with the two girls,
"Before we sit down to table," he exclaimed,
ou must do me the honour of trying my own
special aperitif* It is made from a recipe, mes amis,

i 4 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

which has been in our family since the fifteenth cen
tury!" As we sipped the velvety wine., he added
with a twinkle in his eye: "A liqueur for a virgin !"

Judging from the taste that it was fairly harmless,
I drank another glass and presently our host led the
way into a long and deliciously cool dining-room
containing a table laid with one of those rare and
valuable damask cloths on which the design stands
out like silk. The dinner set was in white and gold;
charming early nineteenth century porcelain, and
the cut glass, silver and flowers delighted the eye.
In the whole and in detail, the result spoke well
for the good taste of this interesting old bon*vwant.

As course succeeded course brook trout, a pair
of marvellous capons, salads followed by peaches
from the Vicarage garden the party grew not only
friendly but a trifle hilarious* On the question of
wines, the Cur6 gave us a little lecture.

"Here you will only get white," he cried, u aad
please note that I do not call it Chablis. They sell
'Chablis' now in every restaurant, and so 1 will
not profane this wine with that name. This is what
we used to call Chablis ! A wine for princes and for
commoners with real taste !"

He made a little bow towards his upheld glass and
we sipped with reverence. Personally I do not drink
much although, when I am put to it, 1 can hold my
own with the next man, but this Chablis was like
liquid sunshine. I have rarely tasted its equal
Presently, when the dessert was on the table, the Cur6
signed to the housekeeper to bring coffee and liqueurs*

REMAKING A RELIQ1UARY FOR 30,000 15
Green and gold and ruby red, each guest chose which
he preferred from this rainbow of colours. The Cur
then produced another bottle and turned to me,
laying a hand on my arm.

"Gaspard tells me you like wine in moderation,
but I sincerely hope you will honour me by trying this
liqueur. It is so delicate that you might drink half
a bottle and come to no harm. Allow me, please!"

He poured Into my glass a light, golden wine
which, though I could not "place" it, had un
doubtedly a very fine bouquet, I had absorbed two
or three little glasses of this when M, le Cur6 got to
his feet.

"Alas, that we should have to come now to busi
ness I I will go and fetch the holy relic which is the
object of your journey."

Gaspard winked at me just as he returned holding
a small leather case, worn and time-stained.

" Before I open this," said the Cur6 with empresse*
menty " I must tell you that this reliquary is of the very
greatest importance* It has been kept in the same
iron chest for many centuries and the tradition is
that it belonged to Charlemagne himself." He
paused for a moment. "For family reasons it cannot
be sent to a public auction, as I have already ex
plained to M, Gaspard, but I have invited you here
to-day so that you may bid exactly as if at an auction.
That is much more pleasant and is equally fair."

There was a murmur of approval.

"Uhonneur aux dames!" exclaimed the Cur<, open
ing the leather case. "Will the ladies please examine

1 6 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

the treasure first. After you have all looked at It,

we will commence the bidding."

At that moment he saw that my glass was empty.

"Ah, men cher M, Duveen! What has the pride
of my family done to you? An empty glass: im
possible ! "

" Well, as a matter of fact I find it a shade too

sweet."

"Aha? Very well, then. After the sweet you
must just wash your mouth out with a little of my
marc. There! Swallow it right off: it can't do you
a mite of harm."

That marc was certainly a sharp" enough: it
nearly choked me. I have always understood that
marc is the last pressings of the grapes and is more
or less harmless, but this stuff must have been blended
with something more potent because, within five
minutes, my head began to go round. In turn, the
reliquary came round to me, and in spite of a slight
mistiness in front of my eyes I was quite able to
estimate its value. 'Not very interesting/ I thought,
'but worth buying at 10,000 francs. Certainly not
more than 5^400. Was this the thing Gaspard had
got so excited about?'

While my head steadily became worse, the Gur6
was holding forth on the merits of this reliquary.

"I have thought of a manner of sale which will
be quite fair to everybody," he declaimed. "I suggest
each bidder writes down his bid and encloses it in
an envelope. The highest bidder gets the reliquary,"

This, of course, was auction by tender, and would

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 17

have been fair enough If the bidders had been real.
Gaspard and I knew they were not. What was going
to happen I had not the slightest idea, because
every moment the room seemed to swim round me
more swiftly, so to avoid argument I agreed to this
wild idea. Whilst the Curb's back was turned for
a moment, Gaspard leaned across to me and whis
pered :

"What arc you going to write?' 7

" Seven thousand," I muttered.

I calculated to give the odd 3,000 francs as dou
ceurs to the ''assistants," Gaspard got up and moved
round the table: he seemed to be behaving rather
oddly.

Then came the Cure's voice.

"Faites vos ojjres^ messieurs!"

Just like the roulette tables at Monte Carlo, thought
I. I was given a scrap of paper and carefully wrote
"Sept mille. J. H. Duveen," Calbert, Rochin and
Gaspard were also scribbling their offers, and the
four were sealed in envelopes and handed to the
Cur^, With an important air he opened them one
by one and read:

" ML Calbert five thousand, five hundred pounds. 5 *

Pounds? Was the man crazy?

"M. Rochin five thousand pounds,"

" M. Gaspard six thousand one hundred pounds/'

"M, Duveen ah! mon cheryon have it! M.
Duvcen, seven thousand pounds!"

There was applause and someone was clapping
me on the back, which sent agonising pains through

1 8 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

my head. Yet all the time 1 wanted to laugh: It

was ridiculous,

" Seven thousand francs, not pounds/' I managed
to say, cutting across cries of "What courage!"
"He knows a good thing!"

Quite suddenly a silence fell and again I said,
as loudly as I could, " Seven thousand francs, ML le
Cur<."

Gaspard got up and went over to the old man,
and the rest all seemed to be leaning over and whis
pering together* At last the Cur6 turned to me.

"Gome, my friend, I hope my good wine has not
affected you? Please look at this bit of paper. There
is your own offer: ' Sept milled There can't be
any mistake,"

There was certainly a "" in front of the words,
but I had never put it there. Then, to make my
dawning suspicions certain, Gaspard came up and
said:

"My dear fellow: you yourself told me you were
bidding seven thousand pounds!"

"Yes," bleated Rochin, the notary, "we all bid
in pounds because M. le Cure suggested it*"

Though my head swam, my inner consciousness
was quite clear. I knew that this infernal Gaspard and
the Cur< were "putting over a swift one." They
had either drugged or so mixed my liquor as to put
me out of action and were relying on half a dozen
witnesses to blackmail me into consent of a quite
ridiculous bid.

"I did not write pounds," I heard myself saying*

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 19
"I only wrote seven thousand and, anyway, who in
France would dream of writing in pounds?"

At this moment a wave of nausea overtook me:
everything seemed to go black in front of my eyes.
If only I could get rid of this ghastly turning, swinging
s ensation, I should be all right. Voices came faintly
to me as from a distance.

cc Of course he wrote pounds! He is trying to
swindle you, M. le Cur<!"

Some time later I found myself in the garden;
over that part of the story let me draw a merciful
veil , Later Caspar d himself led me back to the
sitting-room, though all I wanted was somewhere
to lie down and rest. After half an hour the vertigo
left me, and I became more or less normal once again.
They all came into the sitting-room, and the business
recommenced, Caspar d came over and whispered:

"You can't let me down, Duveen. I'm known
here and the scandal will ruin me!"

"I am not going to be swindled," cut in the Cur&,
puffing out his rubicund cheeks like a turkey-cock.
" Everyone here has seen the bid and has examined
the writing. Seven thousand pounds it was, without
any doubt at all"

As a matter of fact, I was pretty awkwardly
situated, because in France they have drastic regu
lations concerning foreigners who owe Frenchmen
money. They can attach your property, your car,
your person, and with these witnesses against me I
should have the devil of a time to prove the affair
a put-up job. Once again Gaspard took rne aside.

20 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Give the old man a cheque/' he whispered.
"You can stop it immediately afterwards/ 5
I snatched at an easy way out of the dilemma.
"Fill it in/' I groaned, u and I'll sign anything,"
Gaspard took my cheque book and gave me the
slip to sign. I began to write when Gaspard said
"You're making a mistake. You are drunk, my boy.
You've written an M instead of an H. This is your
signature." He waved in front of me the slip which
I had already signed. He tore up the cheque,, made
out another, gave it to me, and as I wrote there was
an audible sigh of relief from those present. Still
the Cure was not satisfied.

"After all that has happened I will only deliver
the reliquary when the cheque has been met!" he
announced.

That ended the business for the day, Gaspard
drove me back to my hotel, where I poured out my
woes to Sydney Watson* He waa callous enough to
laugh but, seeing how hard hit I was, offered to
help me in any way he could. He promised to go
over with me to the Presbytery next day and beard
this "antiquarian."

"I can't get to the bottom of it," he said, "It
looks as if Gaspard tried to put one over on his own
with your help and then, when he found you were
half doped, switched round and did a deal with the
Cure instead,"

At the Presbytery we found the old man in the
garden amongst his roses; he did not seem pleased
to see us.

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 21
"I'm afraid I cannot talk business, M'sieur," he
said, "except in the presence of my lawyer."

Watson caught my eye: his French was good enough
to grasp the sense of the Cure's remark. In that
glance I read, "Bluff!"

"Very well, M. le Cure/' I remarked, "I shall be
happy to meet your lawyer after I have referred the
whole matter to the British Ambassador in Paris.
I have no doubt that the French Government will
show great interest in your Church reliquary."

The priest made a gesture of dissent: he was quite
obviously perturbed.

" My avocat says I have a perfectly sound contract.
He made me send a proper receipt to your London
address to put the affair in order."
"What if I stop the cheque?"
"You couldn't! happen to know that no one has
sent a telegram to London since yesterday," he
snapped. "And a friend of mine has already reached
London: he is probably cashing your cheque at this
very moment!"

This showed up the priest in quite a different light
from the benign old gentleman who was supposed
to be quite ignorant of the wicked ways of the busi
ness world !

"Won't you give me an acquittal from the whole
affair?" I pleaded. "Don't you see that I was
well, a bit muddled when I made that bid of seven
thousand francs?"

"Pounds! No, the deal goes through!"
At last I pulled out my ace of trumps. He and

22 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Gaspard and all the rascally lot of them had been
in "cahoots" to swindle me, but the curtain must
now fall!

"No it doesn't/' I murmured. "My written bid
happens to be signed *J. H. Duveen' and the bank
will not honour that. The firm's cheques are always
signed 4 J. M. Duveen & Son.' I'm afraid your friend
will have crossed the Channel for nothing!"

You should have seen that old man's face! It
grew crimson, then purple. He struggled to speak,
His hands pawed the air and at the sight of his utter
defeat I felt a pang of pity. But, after all, the old
devil had tried a bare-faced swindle and had very
nearly got away with ^7,000!

"I suggest a glass of your own special liqueur,"
I said. "Or maybe of your very potent marc/ 99

"I i it i s an outrage " he stammered, but
I cut him short.

"Before I leave I require from you a few words
on a piece of paper, I want a written assurance
that unforeseen circumstances have prevented you
selling this 'too-marvellous' reliquary to me. Failing
that, I shall have recourse to my Ambassador!"

M. le Cur was beaten. He crumpled up* Three
minutes later, in the sitting-room I remembered too
well, he was writing with a shaking hand the words
which acquitted me of further financial liability
regarding the "reliquary of Charlemagne-" Without
a word Watson and I bowed ourselves out of the
room. Three days later I was talking to my firm's
bank manager in London and was asking for a

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 23
description of the man who had presented a wrongly
signed cheque for 7,000.

" Middle height, dark, with sleek, smooth hair and
rather over-dressed/' said the manager* "He was
wearing a large enamelled ring on his right hand.
I had to interview him myself before he would be
convinced. Of course, we didn't cash the cheque.
What was the story behind it, Mr. Duveen?"

Well, here it is. He had described M. Gaspard,
that too-clever dealer, like a Bow Street policeman
with ten years' experience!

This "Chablis" reliquary is probably the most
"miraculous" ever produced by the antique trade,
and its subsequent adventures are interesting as going
to show how a new "history" can be grafted on to
an object which, originally moderately good, gradu
ally emerges as one of the world's artistic wonders,
I came across it not very long afterwards in the
showroom of M, Tigre, one of the most respected
antiquaries of Paris.

"Monsieur Jacques," he said, bringing the reli
quary out of its case, "I want to show you some
thing both rare and beautiful I happen to know
that for many centuries this lay hidden; it formed
part of a great Church treasure. If you think you
can find a client, I will let you have it for 20,000
francs."

Its price had doubled during the interval! Knowing
far more of its history than this charming antiquary
and not wishing to hurt his feelings by disclosing the
episode of M. le Cur< near Auxerre, I explained

24 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

that I thought it hardly beautiful or important
enough to be worth 800, He laughed and laid
an affectionate hand on my shoulder.

"Ah, mon cher! You arc still young at the game.
You have no idea of the possibilities of this wonder
ful piece!"

At the time I was puzzled by his tone, not rea
lising in the least how time would prove him right.
Some months later I was commissioned to obtain
a really good reliquary, but journeys abroad on this
and other business brought no result. It was the
heyday of that golden age in the annals of art dealing,
when American multi-millionaires vied with one
another in placing their cheque books at the dis
posal of their many agents in search of artistic treas
ures, and my client had stipulated that the reliquary
he wanted must be richly enamelled, brilliant in
colouring and, if possible, must be set with precious
stones. That kind of thing could not be picked up too
easily. And then the miracle happened! One after
noon in Paris I happened to be passing the house
of that very famous Monsieur Andre, pirc, the king
of restorers of a previous generation. Suddenly came
a very energetic young man member of a famous
firm of art dealers who hurried off as though the
devil were behind him. That looked interesting to
me, so I entered the studio and saw little Andr
himself. His back was turned towards me,

"How goes it?" I exclaimed, clapping him on
the shoulders, "Doing a good 'deal' with that
young fellow?"

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 25

Andre whipped round, surprise and something
like terror on his face, and at that moment I caught
sight of the "Chablis" reliquary again. Now it was
about five times as big as when I had last seen it,
and moreover it exactly fulfilled the requirements
of my wealthy client. Richly enamelled, important,
studded with precious stones, it looked worthy of
Cellini himself! All this I absorbed in one lightning
glance, but there was more to come. Old Andre
watched my face anxiously: he knew that my trained
eye would always remember this extraordinary piece,
but my mind was moving even more quickly than
his.

"He's a lucky fellow to get hold of a thing like
that!" I murmured. "I never saw anything so
beautiful."

"Ah, om," stammered Andr^, u C*e$t une merveille,
rfest-ce pas ?"

He tried to lift the reliquary off the table on which
it stood, but it came apart in his hands and the top
portion fell to the floor where, luckily, a rug pre
vented much damage. Before he could move, I had
picked it up and began admiring it: lots of the little
finishing touches in the faking were not complete!
The top showed patches where various styles of
patina, (tftat age-old look caused by the passage of
centuries), had been experimentally tried. As some
of this camouflage was even now scarcely dry, and
in the background stood sundry bottles on a table
by the window, it was obvious what had caused a
visit to the shop by so illustrious and busy an art

26 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

dealer. The funny side of the affair struck me and
I burst into a roar of laughter. Poor old Andres
face was a study in apprehension and misery.

"Ah, Monsieur Jacques, you should never have
seen that at all/ 5 he exclaimed. " Please -please do
not recognise it when you see it again. I have been
so careful never to let one client see what I am
supplying to another."

"Oh, but I've known the central portion of this
reliquary for years!" I told him. "Not long ago
it was at Tigre's place, so plenty of other people
must have seen it."

"Qjie voulez-vous?" said the old man, throwing up
his hands with a gesture of despair. "But then my
client is so t&nfraire!"

He was right: that energetic young man I had
seen leaving in such a hurry certainly was over-bold*
I believe Andr< warned him of my visit and dis
covery, because afterwards there was no love lost
between us.

Now we come to the end of that story which com
menced on a dusty roadside near Auxcrre, Years
passed and one day, when looking through the
catalogues of a very famous American collector, now
dead, I saw the "Chablis" reliquary again. The
compiler of the catalogue must have been an honest
man; his doubts as to its authenticity were plain in
the text in which he used such phrases as "It is

believed that " and "It has been stated that"'

I happened to know that Tigrc, the Paris antiquary,
sold the relic for 800 and Andr6 must have charged

REMAKING A RELIQUARY FOR 30,000 27

1,000 f r fo* s share in creating this thing of beauty.
The precious stones accounted for another 1,000:
say a round figure of 3*000. Who made the nice
little profit between 3,0003 and the 30,0005 which the
American collector paid?

I have good reason to believe that not long ago
the son of that collector called the dealer who emerged
in a hurry from Andres shop a thief to his face!
It was he, of course, who pocketed the 27,000,
and it is not surprising that he let this highly action
able remark pass with nothing more than a shrug
of the shoulders, I would almost forgo nay slender
hope of Heaven to be in the other place when the
famous American collector and that " clever" dealer
meet again!

CHAPTER II

THE PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES

THE disastrous effect of the world-war on most of
the reigning dynasties of Europe let loose a flood
of princely heirlooms on the art market, and in 1919
and 1920 every capital was swarming with agents
and dealers who were connected with the open or
secret disposal of priceless artistic treasures. Most of
the stories of the known sales are interesting enough,
but if one half of the secret negotiations were pub
lished they would read more like medieval intrigues
than modern business ventures. I happened to be
intimately connected with one of the latter: it in
volved me in worry, trouble and a considerable
element of personal risk. For ** reasons of State"
no idle cause I dare tell this episode only by
camouflaging a little identities, the locality, and by
not giving too detailed a description of the articles
whose sale caused international alarm and the taking
of certain " State measures/*

In June, 1919, I was motoring with my secretary
in Europe in one of the countries which had been
neutral in the war: let us call it Paldonia. I knew
that there was an enormous amount of art treasures
in the market, and also that at the Hague Cousin
Joe (Lord Duveen) and one of my brothers were

a8

PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 29
reaping a veritable harvest of fine things which were
being secretly exported from Central Europe. In
this up-to-date "rushing" of frontiers, even Rem
brandt took to the air! However, though I felt in
holiday mood at being able once more to motor
across Europe and was thinking more of mileage
than of work, business and adventure caught up with
my speedometer. One evening we arrived at a
charming riverside hostelry and had just sat down
to dinner on a balcony overlooking the water when
the hotelier appeared, washing his hands apologetically,

"There is a lady, sir, who, hearing you were here,
wishes most urgently to speak to you. I explained
you were tired, but she Is very persistent,"

He used the word dame which, over a great part
of the Continent, has rather a more distinguished
meaning than our "lady," I could not be rude, so
with a sigh followed the man to a private sitting-
room where a woman in the deepest mourning was
standing by the window looking at the river. She
was plainly a person of high breeding and character,
but her manner was hesitating.

"I am the Countess C ," she explained, "and
I would not have dreamed of approaching you had
I not been acting for a very exalted personage, I
will tell you, In confidence, it is the Prince of "

"In what way can I help either you or him?"
I asked.

"I have been charged to bring you to His High
ness, who wishes to dispose of some priceless Gothic
tapestries."

3 o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

In describing the tapestries the Colntcss relapsed
into German and, seeing I understood,, continued in
that language. It was obvious she knew what she
was talking about, and the hunter's instinct in me
stirred.

"If they are as you have described, I should be
most interested to see and make an offer for them,"
I replied.

" Of course, Herr Duveen," she concluded, " pro
vided this deal goes through, I shall expect the
customary commission often per cent!"

It was said with such refreshing candour that I
almost laughed. If the real story of the greatest
art deals could be written without fear of libel, you
would find the most startling eagerness for "custo
mary commission" by people famous in Society and
politics the world over. Not one commission either,
but quadruple and quintuple ones to bring in thou
sands of pounds!

"Certainly," I said. "Ten per cent it shall be.
But tell me: how did you know I was in Paldonia
at all?"

The Countess smiled.

"The Prince has his sources of information, He
rang me up personally an hour ago and told me
you would be spending the night in this hotel"

Half an hour later my secretary, the Countess and
I slid away in a big limousine. We were to meet
the Prince at once in a small country house standing
in its own grounds some twenty miles away* He
received me most charmingly in the presence of a

PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 31
Court Chamberlain, explaining that in the interests
of secrecy he preferred a meeting, at a friend's house.
While he talked I examined him in detail: tall, care
worn, with a beard, hair en brosse and a notable air
of kingship. His description of the tapestries did not
betray the connoisseur, but when he showed me some
half dozen photographs I steeled my face to show no
amazement. Instantly I recognised the work of one
of the most famous weavers of Philip the Good of
Burgundy: at a conservative estimate those tapestries
must be worth over i 00,000. The Prince's voice
trickled on as I bent to examine the illustrations.

"In so delicate an affair as this," he was saying,
"you understand that I cannot appear. The matter
must be conducted through intermediaries, but the
price is $150,000* If you will write out a cheque now
I will hand you a receipt, and you can collect the
tapestries at my castle in Burania."

Oh, these Princes and one-time Emperors! They
all wanted good American dollars. They all wanted
immediate payment. And most like this Prince
could no longer enter their own countries, He dare
not set foot in "my castle in Burania," and he really
thought I was going to be fool enough to pay some
^40,000, and then take the risk of being imprisoned
as a thief by his compatriots ! If this was the much-
vaunted diplomacy of which we had heard so
much, no wonder the war was lost by the Central
Powers.

"I'm afraid that is quite impossible, sir," I replied.
"Remember that I am a business man. You can

32 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

scarcely ask me to part with so considerable a sum
without my having received the property."

"Do you doubt my word?" demanded the Prince,
his beard bristling.

"Very far from it, sir/' I replied. "But it may
become a question of * force majeure. In any case, I must
examine the condition of the tapestries to assure
myself of their good preservation. If they are as
illustrated here, that will be just a formality/ 1

I mixed my unpalatable refusal to pay cash so
skilfully with the fact of his lost power that the Prince
turned to the Countess for help. She sighed gently,

"Cannot you suggest anything, Herr Duvecn?"

"Most certainly. If His Royal Highness will
send for the tapestries, I will go anywhere in this
neutral Paldonia to examine them. If they are as
fine as I believe, I will pay cash and take delivery
of them at once."

They looked at one another, then she returned
to the attack. Her ten per cent was in grave clanger,

"Here is a plan which may solve the difficulty,**
she said. "This Castle is situated off the beaten
track in one of the wildest parts of Burania. There
are few sightseers and, so far, the old servants who
look after the place have not been molested by the
new Government. This part of Bumnia ends in a
strip of country lying between Paldonia and another
State, but motorists so long as they don't stay a
night in Buranian territory can cross that strip
without many Customs formalities- Now, Herr
Duveen, why should not you go as a sightseer, pack

PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 33
the tapestries on to your car and be back in Paldonia
before dark?"

I shook my head.

"You are asking me to become a smuggler? To
take risks which become an adventurer more than a
mere business man?"

u But don't you realise that the Prince's movements
are watched day and night," the Countess persisted.
"His friends and his servants are spied upon. If one
of them entered Burania, his every footstep would be
watched. You would be safe!"

After much argument it was arranged that I was
to visit the castle as a tourist and the old game-keeper
who had been left in charge would show me the
tapestries. Having satisfied myself as to their authen
ticity and condition, I was to use the password, "/
like them very much" He would have his orders, and
would that night smuggle them over the border into
Paldonia while I returned as an innocent tourist. It
looked rather a chancy business, but after all it was
well worth the risk to obtain such a priceless treasure.
I was not concerned with the ethics of the sale : the
Prince would argue that the tapestries were his by
inheritance, but the Buranian Government might
retort that all Royal fortunes and heirlooms were
sequestrated and hence the property of the State,
Both were right or wrong, according to actual posses
sion; it was just the old question of "nine points of
the law."

During our conversation, the Court Chamberlain
remained on one side stroking his ridiculously long

34 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

moustache and staring foxily at me, but now the
Prince asked him to drive us back to the hotel.

No sooner were my secretary and I in the car than
he turned to me and said in Italian: "Docs your
friend speak this language?" I knew what was
coming, and said that he did not.

"Excellent," continued the Chamberlain, "You
understand that I am the most trusted friend of the
Prince? It is I, of course, who have initiated this sale,
and through me you will gain a very handsome
profit."

"Well?" I retorted rather sharply.

" What I require from you is just an acknowledge
ment that if a sale is effected I am to receive a
fifteen per cent, commission/'

This was a bit too steep! "I regret that I cannot
pay any commissions unless His Highness knows
of it!"

It was tantamount to a flat refusal, and the man
stared sideways at me so malevolently that I knew I
had made an enemy. But his words were smooth
enough, I had no intention of paying away twenty-
five per cent, in commissions over and above the
$150,000 of purchase price!

Two days were spent in preparations for the
expedition into Buranian territory, and on the after
noon of the third day my secretary and I arrived at
the castle, to find a little group of three men and their
wives who were obviously tourists. That was all to
the good: we should not be suspected- My instruc
tions were just to ask the game-keeper whether he

PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 35

spoke English, which would mean, "I am Mr*
Duveen: what about the tapestries?" Then I was
to linger behind so that he might have a chance later
to speak to me. But this plan went by the board at
once. There was no game-keeper; only a pretty
girl of about twenty.

ct Do you speak English?" I whispered.

She blushed violently and looked alarmed. After
some minutes of puzzled annoyance, I hung behind
the other tourists as arranged, but the girl seemed
bent on hurrying us on. We passed from one room
to another when suddenly she slipped back, put her
finger on her lips and pointed to a door. I nodded,
we let the rest go ahead and entered to find ourselves
in a dimly lit room made ghostly by sheeted furniture.

"It will turn out all right, after all," I muttered
to my secretary.

Footsteps sounded overhead, then returned down
the staircase and presently we heard the tourists
departing. At last the door opened, and there was
the girl smiling and beckoning to us. She led the
way to one of four towers which flanked the vast,
grey pile, and a winding stairway brought us to a top
chamber where a ruddy-faced old man with a white
beard sat in a chair, his leg swathed in bandages and
resting on a foot stool He smiled and addressed me
in German.

" I beg your pardon and your compassion, sir, but
yesterday I slipped on the steps and broke my leg,"

He explained the incident in such detail that at
once I grew suspicious and alarmed. After a long

3 6 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

career in a business where intrigue is the rule rather
than the exception, I have instinctively become
suspicious of unusual circumstances. This accident
seemed to me to bear the hall marks of the fake. The
old man looked hearty enough, and I would have
betted two to one in fivers that in an emergency he
could have done the hundred in thirteen seconds, at
any rate! But every moment I grew more anxious
to have a look at these tapestries, and asked if I
could see them without delay. The girl produced an
enormous iron key and took us into a vast lumber
room piled with boxes and odd bits of furniture. She
pulled aside a torn paper screen and there was one of
those large and heavy iron seventeenth century
money-chests which it would have taken a gang of
stevedores to shift. The lock, as usual, was con
cealed by a wrought iron ornament which could be
slid aside after pushing a particular one of the many
knobs with which the chest was ornamented* After
a little trouble, the key turned and my secretary and
I had all we could do even to lift the lid. Whilst
we held it, the girl pulled out four pieces of heavy
tapestry and I shall never forget the paroxysms of
sneezing which assailed us- The "coffin" must have
contained many pounds of finely chopped tobacco
placed there as a preservative!

So soon as I wiped the tears from my eyes, I spread
out the panels: the photographs had not done them
justice. They were superb ! About five feet in height
by four feet wide, they represented scenes from the
Passion. Unmistakably fifteenth century arid richly

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PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 37
interwoven with gold thread, they were the same
type of tapestry as that famous Pierpont Morgan piece
depicting the Adoration of the Eternal Father which
has been valued at 100,000. To my joy, they were
in an almost unbelievably good state of preservation
and were worth quite four times the $150,000 which
the Prince was asking. With luck, and if I found the
right purchaser in the United States, it meant a
$700,000 deal The glowing beauties of those panels
wiped anxiety clean from my mind. Suspicion van
ished. For ten minutes I gloated over them before
my secretary nudged my arm,

"This rain will make the mountain roads infernally
skiddy," he remarked*

For the first time I noticed that water was cascading
down the window panes, and at that moment there was a
flash and a reverberating peal of thunder. He was right.

" Come on," I said, ** we must get back before dark,
otherwise we shall be held up by the Buranian
Customs, 51

Together we carried the tapestries into the old
game-keeper's room; the moment for my "Open
Sesame" had come.

"/ tike them very much" I told him, whereat his
eyes lit up with a gleam of satisfaction.

Then came a check. He spread his , hands with a
doleful expression.

"But, Hcrr Duveen, what can I do? I cannot
move: the doctor comes again to see me to-night,"

I did not at all believe in this tale of a broken
fibula; in fact I knew it to be a lie.

38 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"I can trust no one on the estate save the little
fraulein here/ 3 he went on, indicating Ms grand
daughter. "She cannot carry the tapestries past the
Customs. Meine Herren, cannot you possibly take
them now, yourselves? There would be no danger!"

I shook my head decisively, but afterwards my
secretary told me that he knew we were facing the
coup of a lifetime. My deliberately calm and unin
terested air, he said, gave me away to anyone who
knew my idiosyncrasies. The little fraulein was
meanwhile folding the panels and showing them to
her grandfather, and that little bit of by-play did for
me. I simply could not resist their beauty,

"All right. Ill take them with me now. Pack
them up and bring them down to the car right away."

Wrapped carefully in a large green tablecloth, the
tapestries were stowed safely, and presently my
secretary and I were sliding and skidding down the
abominable zigzags of the mountain pass. We had
to do at least thirty miles on this tortuous, mud-
smeared surface before we reached the nearest Inn.
We were cold and dis-spirlted when we arrived In
front of a ramshackle building, a rambling eighteenth
century affair which had been important enough In
the old coaching days, but for the last 100 years had
been slowly dropping into decay. However, under
lying the delay and discomfort was the heart- wanning
knowledge of those $700,000 panels in the back of
the car.

We were welcomed with true Buranian hospitality,
and after a good country dinner and a bottle of wine

PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 39
wanned to exactly the right temperature,, I inspected
my bedroom by the glimmer of candle-light. This
was a vast apartment in the centre of which stood one
of those enormous pottery stoves so popular in Central
Europe, A much-faded blue paper hung in strips,
but what attracted me was a great four-poster bed
with faded red curtains. I was tired; how tired I
only realised at that moment. It is true that usually
I sleep badly under those feather-bed contraptions
which abroad so often take the place of linen sheets
and good blankets,, but that night I fell asleep as
soon as my head touched the pillow. 1 must, however,
have had uneasy dreams, because I can remember
struggling as though in a nightmare and suddenly
waking to a pitch-black bedroom. I sat up in bed and
threw the covers back.

"Who's there?"

My voice seemed blanketed by the darkness.

"Who's then?"

There was nothing, save perhaps the faintest
slither of feet. What was happening in this strange
room in the mountains? Bogey-man terrors of my
childhood reached out of memory and gripped me.
I tried to speak again, to call out, but my throat was
too dry. Sweat broke out on my face, prickling and
cold. At last the tension grew unbearable. I reached
towards the bed table to find the matches, and at that
moment a beam of light blinded me. At one side of
the beam I caught sight of the dark muzzle of an
automatic pistol. My wits worked slowly, but I was
just weighing up the chances of a quick snatch at the

4 o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

pistol when the bed creaked and sunk beside me:
another automatic was jammed into my ribs.

"Maulhalten!"

That forceful German phrase,, " Close your trap!"
sent a shiver through me. Life was held very cheaply
indeed in Central Europe immediately after the war;
what was the pressure of one trigger, a bullet through
one man after the extinction of millions? Burania
and other countries were full of half-starving ex-
soldiers to whom a ten-pound note was a small
fortune,

" What do you want?" I muttered in German.

"Maul halten!" Then a voice snapped: "Lie
down!"

At the same time the man with the electric torch
banged me on the head with his pistol butt, and as I
shrank back a wet cloth was thrust over my face and
mouth. It was saturated with chloroform! Despite
frantic struggles, the two men bore me clown. I
tried to cry out, gasped, inhaled the sickly drug,
gasped again and saw a thousand lights before my
eyes. I was slipping down into unconsciousness,
I awoke to find my secretary shaking me by the
shoulder.

" What's happened?''

I leaned over the edge of the bed and was vilely
sick. After a while I recovered.

"The tapestries?"

"Gone!"

It was broad daylight : ten o'clock in the morning.

'Gone? How?" I murmured.

u ^

PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 41

a We put the panels in that corner but they've
disappeared. What has happened?"

Slowly I gathered my wits and, in the intervals of
intense nausea, told my story,

"Look in my pockets/' I told the secretary. "See
if anything else is stolen."

My money,, a valuable tie-pin and other odds and
ends had not been touched.

"Shall I call in the police?" he asked anxiously,

I shook my head. The Buranian police were the
last people I wanted to see. I had been idiot enough
to embark on this foolish transaction in the hope of
profit, and now I must stand the racket. Indeed, I
was very lucky to have got out of the affair with
a whole skin,

"Send the maid up with hot water/ 9 I groaned.
"And tell the hotel keeper we shall be leaving in an
hour. No, I don't want any breakfast!"

I stumbled into my clothes with an aching head and
heavy limbs, and presently our bags were being carried
down to the car by a porter.

"Tell me/' I said to him, "were there any other
guests in the hotel last night?"

He went a trifle pale and avoided my eye.

"No, sir. We have had no guests for three days."

It was useless to argue with the man, I let in the
clutch and we slid away, making for the rendezvous
in Paldonia which had been arranged with the
Countess. The sooner we were out of Burania the
better! Arrived at the meeting place, the Countess
was not there. I was in a fury. Without a moment's

42 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

delay I made for the country house in which 1 had
met the Prince. This affair had got to be sifted to
the bottom! Here we had better luck, but before I
could speak the Countess rushed forward.

"Ah, poor Herr Duveen," she exclaimed. "I
have heard the whole story. Alas, we have lost every
thing. We were betrayed. The tapestries were
taken from you by agents of the Buranian Govern
ment. The Prince has lost $150,000!"

"Has he, indeed?" I replied grimly. "Well, /
nearly lost my life!"

"Ah, we did not know that violence was used!
One of our friends in the Government told us that
you had been betrayed by a spy and the tapestries
were gone."

As you can imagine, I was in a fairly bad
temper after these experiences, and I was even more
annoyed at the casual way in which the Countess
spoke.

"What about the comedy of the game-keeper's
broken leg?" I shot at her,

She had the grace to look flustered. She did not
know whether I was bluffing or not.

"Yes, I am very sorry," she faltered, "After you
had left for the castle we decided it would be safer
for you to take the tapestries away, and 1 sent secret
instructions to that effect."

"Safer for me?" I echoed. "Madame, your fore
thought leaves me speechless!"

I wanted to know a little more of the inner workings
of this incredibly foolish business, because there would

PRINCE WHO LOST HIS TAPESTRIES 43

have been no point in the Prince arranging an attack
upon me.

" Who exactly knew about my visit to the castle?"
I asked.

"No one except myself, the Prince, and the game
keeper. Oh, and Baron Y . The Chamberlain,

you know."

Instantly the plot solved itself. That infernal
grafter who had been turned down over his demand
for fifteen per cent, commission had betrayed me!
I sincerely hoped that his commission from the other
side took the form of a hearty a kick in the pants!"
But within a few moments my unfailing optimism
impelled me to another idea. I turned to the
Countess.

" Well, that deal is dead. But has not the Prince
some other valuable heirloom for sale? Perhaps we
could strike a bargain after all."

She rose to the bait so eagerly that I knew instinc
tively she had been angling for this very suggestion.

" Of course I know, Herr Duveen, you have suffered
a terrible disappointment, but I have been empowered
to offer you another priceless work of art which you
shall have at your own valuation. Please come with

me."

She took me into another room and pointed to a
Sevres vase. It was a factory imitation of the basest
sort, worth perhaps 5 instead of the 2,000 it would
have fetched if genuine. I looked at the Countess
and smiled gently, She smiled too, but not with
pleasure. Her bluff had been " seen " and she knew it.

44 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"That beautiful vase," I said, too politely, u is
far beyond my purse, I could not dream of depriving
the Prince of so great a treasure!"

More than a year later I learned the real answer
to the riddle of the happenings at the castle.
Indirectly, I discovered that the robbery was no fake

at all Baron Y , the Chamberlain, was hard

pressed for money and had engineered the whole
affair. Alas, for his plans. No sooner had his men
who chloroformed me made away with the panels
than they, in turn, were set upon by Buranian Govern
ment agents, who relieved them of their loot within
half a mile of the hotel and while I was still lying
unconscious! Dark dealings surround practically
every great art treasure in the world, but it is not
often that such foolishly brutal methods are used.
On the other hand, the jealousy and hatred
engendered has frequently carried ruin, and some
times even death, in its train.

CHAPTER III

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABAGH VASES

THIS is a tale of how I fulfilled a boyish vow, regained
my self-respect and eventually had to part with
"hidden treasure" for about a quarter of its real
value. Many years ago my grandfather, Jacob
Hangjas, used to tell me about our great forbear and
collector, Everard Jabach, pronounced Shabah. He
was known throughout Europe as "the Cologne
Maecenas" and Louis XIV had appointed him the
first Director of the French East India Company.
Being a financial genius and intimately connected
with the East, he filled his houses with the finest
porcelains produced in China, and it was on some
of the broken and more or less worthless remains of
these that my grandfather, Jacob Hangjas, expatiated.
"Do you see this king of all the blues?" he said
one afternoon, picking up a badly damaged blue and
white porcelain lid. "There used to be at least
three complete sets of these lovely vases in Jabach' s
collection: one was in our branch of the family,
through one of Jabach' s daughters, one went to the
famous collection of Heeswijk Castle, near Bois-le-
Due, and the third passed to the family in Cologne
who died out during the "French Time" of 1795-
1813."

45

46 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

My grandfather hoped that some part of the third
set would eventually turn up at a sale in the Rhine-
land. These " Azure" vases, as he called them,
became the obsession of my young life. I used to
dream of them just as other boys dream of shooting
or fishing or playing for their school Once, indeed,
when the old man took me on a visit from Haarlem
to Heeswijk Castle to see the porcelains, I was very
scornful.

"They aren't half such a 'king of the blues' as
our old lid is!" I said proudly,

"Wait till your elders speak, Kwajongen (brat)!"
he snapped, but I saw the twinkle in his eyes.

Years passed, I came to England, made my
debut in art circles by selling good china and Delft
round half the towns of the North of England and
generally served a pretty strenuous apprenticeship to
that hardest of all professions. All the time I was
learning, and you can imagine my delight when my
step-father promoted me to sole charge of our new
business in Liverpool, Things went well for a few
weeks and then came a minor catastrophe. I had been
too easy-going with the money entrusted to me; it
was a case of helping a friend in Liverpool who had
known my father very well. He was "up against it"
and, without reference to higher authority, I lent
him a considerable sum which was to be returned
without fail within forty-eight hours. Remember,
as you smile, that I was only twenty! The forty-eight
hours became four weeks and I had to explain the
position to my parents, who did not see eye to eye

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABAGH VASES 47

with me at all. I got a good tongue-thrashing, but
what hurt most was the way my mother looked at me
and said just nothing at all. It was plainly up to me
to make good the money in some way and also to
rehabilitate my prestige. I went to my step-father,
who was good nature itself.

"Look here, a client came in this morning and
asked if we had a really big old oak fireplace for a
house he is building in Cheshire. We haven't, but
I know of one in a house near Malines, in Belgium,
which should be just the thing. Give me a hundred
pounds, I'll go and get it. Maybe it will make up
for the loss. 9 '

He smiled and let me have the money without
another word. That afternoon I left for the Conti
nent, only to find late next day that the fireplace had
just been sold to an American on holiday. Of course,
I ought to have written first. Feeling rather foolish,
I arrived in Brussels determined to look about and
try and pick up something. In fact, I couldn't return
empty handed. Next morning, in the bright sunshine,
things looked rosier. I would go and see M. Cools,
reputed to be the richest dealer in Brussels : a difficult
old man but one who had taken a liking to me when
I had been at school in the neighbourhood. He was
extraordinarily bad-tempered and gruff, while his
silver-haired wife was known for her charm and tact:
they were really a very charming couple. Having no
children they had adopted a very pretty niece and
another young relative who had lately married and
gone for a honeymoon to Cologne. I happened to

48 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

arrive just as the young husband was unpacking a

truck: the yard was half filled with straw and sacking.

u What have you got there?" I asked, after the
first greetings. "And where is old M. Cools?"

"He has just gone out for a bit," said his son-in-law.
" Look what I've brought back from Germany. There
is one. I've picked up a set of five of them*"

He held up in the morning sunlight one of the
greatest masterpieces of Nankin porcelain I Have
ever seen before or since. There were four other pieces
like it: three vases of cylindrical shape and two
shaped like beakers, I have already written of the
great seventeenth century Chinese artist who, inspired
by the sight of an ice-floe covered with prunus blos
soms and in which the sky was reflected, produced
the famous "Hawthorn" ginger jars. Here, in a
flash, I not only recognised the work of that wonderful
artist, but knew I stood in the presence of the "Azure"
vases which had been lost since Jabach's day ! They
literally were azure. In the "Hawthorn" jars the
artist gave us his impression of the effect of throbbing
light on a dark blue ground, Here he had surpassed
himself by creating the same effect of reflected sky
on the most lovely shade of light, translucent blue.
They conveyed the effect of a piece of crystal over
which shallow wavelets lapped under the light of an
Eastern sky in spring. If my description, sounds too
poetic or exaggerated, the vases are in existence to
bear me out* The great Chinese potter had certainly
succeeded in getting marvellous effects on one whole
kiln-full of ginger jars, but in the case of these large

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABACH VASES 49

azure vases he had succeeded only in this instance.
Maybe Jabach's other two sets had received too little
or too much heat, according to their position in the
kiln, but the superiority of this one became very
obvious later when I had the opportunity of examin
ing the Heeswijk set (now at The Lady Lever Art
Gallery, Port Sunlight) and various pieces in the
two-hundred-year-old collection of August the Strong
at Dresden. The upshot was that in this Brussels
yard I was looking at the rarest and most lovely
Nankin vases the world has ever seen.

The rest of the trunks were in the packing room, so
we repaired there to examine the treasure in detail.
Already my heart was in my mouth. "What is he
going to ask?" was running through my head. As
the last trunk was unpacked I noticed that one lid
was only of wood painted to match the rest: a very
poor copy. Apart from this they were perfect and
might have come out of the kiln that very morning.
Examining the vases for the tiniest cracks or flaws, I
schooled my voice as well as I could.

a Ye~e-s. Very pretty, Quite nice. I'm going
back to Liverpool to-morrow and think I have a
client for large decorative vases. How much do you
want for the lot; if it isn't too outrageous I'll buy
them?"

The young husband straightened himself and put
his hands on his hips, legs wide apart. His eyes met
mine in a considering fashion, and I knew instinctively
that he did not realise what he was selling.

"Well," he replied after a long pause which put

50 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

me on a rack of suspense. " Well two thousand

three hundred francs. They're worth It, you know/'

I nearly gave a hoot of triumph. Seventy two
pounds for that lot! I'd have given ten times as
much and then thought it cheap. I glanced away
so that he should not see my expression.

"All right. I'll pay that." I pulled out my wallet
and handed over the notes- "You might as well
give me a receipt right away, will you?"

While he was doing this I picked up one of the
vases, fondling it as if it had been my own baby. I did
not want to let it out of my hands for a moment !
I called to one of the men to fetch a fiacre, and was
giving instructions for re-wrapping the vases in brown
paper when I heard a step behind me, It was old
M. Cools. He came forward and clapped me on the
shoulder.

" Well, youngster, I'm glad to see you again. How
did you leave your " He broke off, staring at the
blue vase in my hands. His eyes never left it for a
moment. Then !

a Ah! Something you've brought us to sell? Let
me look at it,"

The young man came forward with the receipt

"No," I replied. "I've just bought the set from
your nephew,"

The old man's eyes glittered with a terrible wrath.

"From us? A set, did you say?" He whirled on
the young man, " Where did you get it ? " he roared,

The luckless youth pointed dumbly to the opened
trunks, and the old man went over, picked up piece

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JAJBACH VASES 51

after piece and examined them lovingly. Then he
turned and snapped:

"How much did you sell 'em for?"

"Two thousand three hundred francs."

"I won't deliver!" screamed the old man, fairly
dancing with rage. "I tell you I won't! It's robbery
a scandal the boy was mad "

"There is this receipt," I murmured, holding out
the slip of paper.

Breathing heavily, he scrutinised it minutely. He
could find no fault. There is an unwritten law in our
business that a dealer stands by the price he has
asked, even by mistake. I tried conciliation, telling
him that after all it had been a perfectly fair sale. Our
families had done business together for many years
and he could scarcely cause an estrangement over a
legitimate bargain. This diplomatic attitude seemed
to calm him somewhat, but he still strode up and down
the packing room muttering to himself. Of a sudden
he shot a question at his son-in-law.

"What did you pay for them?"

"Six hundred marks," (30.)

"Oh, &>t!" (idiot.) "And you thought you'd made
such a fine deal!"

Thinking it better to get clear of this family storm,
I began to pack up the vases and asked the porter
if my fiacre was waiting. The old man stopped his
abuse like turning off a tap. He came over and
spoke almost pleadingly.

"Please, Jack let me have a look at them for a
few more minutes."

52 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

I could not refuse, especially as he realised he was
beaten. We laid all the pieces out on the floor and
M. Cools sat down beside them on a low stool. He
picked up one after another, turning them over in
his hands slowly to enjoy the play of light on their
surface*

"Ah, that incomparable blue!" he muttered,
" Wonderschoon, niet? Wonderfully lovely, is it not?"

He looked up at me with so pathetic an expression
that I found a lump in my throat. It was like a
father with his , little children.

"To think I have waited fifty years to buy you!"
he soliloquised. Then, changing his mood abruptly:
"And this nit* wit here goes and sells you for nothing
before I even had a chance to see you!" He looked
up at me. "Do you realise I have known of these
in Cologne ever since I was a boy? The owners
wouldn't sell, though they didn't realise they had
the famous Jabach vases. They would have come to
me if they'd been let alone* I knew these pieces
when I saw them long ago in the Jabach house before
it was sold." He was talking more to himself than
to us: it seemed an outlet for his grief. I noticed
that he used the same French pronunciation of
Jabach's name as my grandfather. At last he stood
up and straightened his shoulders,

"I'll have them packed up carefully and sent to
Liverpool for you."

I shook my head.

"No, I want them for a special client who is on the
point of going away; I have to take them with me. 1 '

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABACH VASES 53
Perhaps the old chap guessed what was in my
mind : if I left them here they might not be delivered
after all! He made a little gesture of resignation
and made a sign to the porter to help me. Then,
just as I was leaving, rage took possession of him
again,

"Go," he yelled, as I moved to the door, "Go
to hell and back again, if you like. You come
here, damn you, buy these vases for nothing, and
then insult me on top of it all by mistrusting

me!"

It was only natural that he should feel sore, yet
I had really clone nothing of which to be ashamed.
It was just a case of real knowledge being of value
at the critical moment. At first I decided to send a
telegram to my mother, telling of the coup, then
thought better of it. I left for London, via Antwerp,
for I was sorely tempted to show my great find to
my Uncle Joel Again I changed my mind, because
lately there had been business differences between
him and my step-father. As soon as I got back,
my mother kissed me in a way which showed I was
completely forgiven,

"I've brought you home a little present," I
murmured. "Some pottery I thought you'd
like."

When she saw them she gave a little scream of
ecstasy,

"The Jabach vases! Oh, if only I could ktep them!
How in Heaven did you manage to get hold of
them?"

54 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Of course, they had to be told. We held a council
of war on the spot, and though my step-father wanted
to send them to Christie's, my own view prevailed
that we should first offer them to a local client,
Mrs. Hudson, the wife of the well known soap manu
facturer. It was a thousand pities they had to be
sold at all.

Imagine then, my mortification, when the good
lady examined them and said rather scornfully:
"Take them away! They are really too gaudy!"
Gaudy! I felt so insulted that I nearly forgot my
manners and said something I might have regretted
all my life. There was one other client in Liverpool
who would have liked to buy them, Colonel J. B.
Gaskell, but he wanted a written agreement that he
need not pay for them until his father, aged eighty,
should die. It was a good thing we refused, because
the old gentleman lived another fifteen years! In
the end, there was nothing for it but Christie's. In
the interval we kept those vases hidden in a big
cupboard under the staircase, and every now and
then my mother and I would sneak off to bring them
out and gloat over their beauty. We had endless
discussions as to which piece was the most lovely
because, as is usual with old Nankin porcelain, one
vase or lid differs from the next very slightly in shade
and other details, just as would be the case with any
hand-painted pictures.

The weeks went by and I think all our spirits
sank lower as the sale at Christie's approached It
was a period of depression in the art business, so

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABAGH VASES 55

we dare not risk placing too high a reserve on the
set. If they did not reach the limit, we should have
to pay a pretty heavy commission for nothing.

"They are worth 2,000," I told my mother.
"Put the reserve at 1,000; they surely must fetch
that even in these times."

After a lot of argument, the reserve was put at
.600, because, as my stepfather pointed out, it
minimised our chance of loss and yet did not prevent
us getting 2,000 or more from a keen collector.
The great day late in July arrived. I had been
allowed to go up to London, and when I entered
the famous salerooms almost the first person I saw
was my uncle, Joel Duveen. Apparently the family
tiff had been amicably settled, for he came over and
spoke to us. My step-father nudged my arm as he
did so, and I gathered that it was a hint not to men
tion the Nankin porcelain. It was a smallish sale,
so we soon got to our lot. The auctioneer gave a
brief description of the pieces and asked for the first
bid.

"ioo," came a voice.

It was Joel Duveen.

"Don't go and make a fool of yourself by bidding,"
muttered my stepfather. " Christie's absolutely forbid
an t)wner doing that."

It was such a dispiriting sight that I could have
cried. There were those lovely blue and white gems
and bids were going up in miserable tens! From
muttered comments of the other dealers I gathered
that they placed the vases as just any ordinary

56 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Nankin set worth at most ^300. They called them
selves experts! Joel Duveen was bidding slowly against
the obvious reserve on the clerk's book, and once
again I realised the truth of the famous " Duveen
eye/' that family flair for spotting something rare
and beautiful But such bids were a personal insult
to me: had I not found the set myself, quite unaided?
The voices droned drearily on.

"Five hundred and eighty guineas/' was Joel's
last word* There was no reply. The reserve had
been reached, I could have broken down and blub
bered with rage and grief, But there was more to
come: insult added to injury. Joel Duveen came
over to us with an ill-concealed air of triumph.

"Don't you realise that was the finest quality
Nankin you'll ever see?" he exclaimed in Dutch,
"I'd have gone to ^2,000 for them in a straight
fight with anyone in the room, but this pack of
schlemiels (idiots) didn't think 'em worth ^aoo!"

The word schlemiel has a specially derogatory mean
ing and no Jew will, if he can help it, ever do busi
ness with anyone who deserves this name. Perhaps
Uncle Joel glimpsed in my face something of the
agony of spirit I was undergoing. He stared at me
and then nodded*

"So it wasjwu/ They were yours?"

"Yes, but don't call me a schlemiel! Father will
tell you I valued them at ^2,000 weeks ago. And
look, Uncle. Do you know exactly what you've
bought?"

"A damned fine bargain," he chuckled.

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABAGH VASES 57

"No, much more than th&t The famous, original
and best Jabach set!"

Uncle Joel's eyes opened wide with amazement
as I rushed on to tell him the family history and to
implore him at all costs to keep the vases for himself.
He shook his head.

"No, no, my boy, I can't do that. It breaks
one of the strongest rules of the firm. Once I begin
to compete against my own clients I'm a ruined, man!
I'm much too fond of beautiful things, as it is, and
if once I let myself go I'd never be able to stop,"
He put his hand affectionately on my shoulder.
"And you you're a clever youngster, but a bit of
a fool, too. Why send your finest things to a sale
room? Remember in future that it is just like gamb
ling at Monte Carlo: you have to trust to luck to
find a good purchaser, but a man who understands
his business should never need to have recourse to
a saleroom."

We turned to the stairs and were going down
when he added in my ear: "Don't tell the others, or
there'll be such a row."

"Why?" I asked. "Would they think you could
have bought them cheaper direct from us?"

He gave me a wink and a smile and went down
the street, leaving me a prey to bitter reflections.

Never have I forgotten Uncle Joel's advice about
salerooms, because I paid a terrible price for the
lesson. The memory of that transaction which began
so wonderfully and ended in defeat has remained
with me for years. Every time I thought of those

5 8 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

lovely azure Nankin vases an almost physical pain
shot through me. As a matter of fact, I had not done
with them yet. Many years later Fate was to bring
me in contact with them again, an interesting sequel
to the sale, at Christie's which came many years
later. In the meantime the azure vases disappeared,
as I imagined, to America. One afternoon I was
gossiping with that well-known connoisseur, old
James Orrock, when I happened to mention I was
in the market for some really good Nankin porce
lain. He slapped his thigh and turned awkwardly
in his invalid chair.

"The Jabach vases; the finest I ever bought!"
he exclaimed, "God bless my soul, white on a light
blue ground! Jack, you are the very man to get
them back!"

"Did you buy them?" I shouted in excitement.

" Of course. And sold ? em to Arthur Saunderson,
the Scotch whisky distiller, for 1,800! Saunderson
is hard put to it and you'll probably get 5 em for
2,000. Write to him in Edinburgh to-night."

"Give me a little note of introduction to him
and I'll take to-night's train!" I exclaimed.

I was thrilled at the prospect of once again pos
sessing those wonderful blue and white vases which
I had met for the first time in the packing room
of old M. Cools, in Brussels. On leaving Orrock,
I took a hat from the hall peg and clapped it right
down on my nose. Hullo? Not mine, Whose was
it? Inside was one large initial in gold: U EL" Some
one waiting to see him, I supposed. Retrieving my

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABACH VASES 59

own hat I had lunch and returned to my uncle,
Joel Duveen's place in Bond Street, where "Mr.
Joe" had been enquiring for me. As soon as he saw
me he said:

"You are off on a night journey? "

" Yes," said I, rather surprised. Surely old Orrock
couldn't have told him in the meanwhile? "How
did you know?" What I meant was: "How much
do you know?"

"Never mind," said Joe. "But we want to be in
on the deaL"

"The devil you do! And why?"

"Trying to be clever, are you?" replied my
cousin. " If you play that game you'll lose, all right ! "

For half an hour we talked, and all the time Joe
returned to this question of "our" share in my forth
coming deal. I let nothing at all out, but went
back to Orrock and asked who his U K" visitor
might have been.

"Kopp, of course," he replied. "Haven't you
met him?"

I had indeed, five years earlier, at the time he
sold Trajan's Column, in Rome, to Gardner, of New
York. He had netted thousands over that "deal,"
and bore rne a grudge because I had put a spoke into
another of his little tricks, that time against my uncle.

"What did you tell Kopp?"

"Nothing at all," he said. "Just that you wanted
to get hold of a certain collection of Delft pottery
in Paris. By now he is probably wiring several
dealers to try and put the price up on you!"

6o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

I laughed. Orrock knew Kopp and his ways.
But that Kopp had told my cousin, J. J. Duveen,
all about those azure vases I had not the slightest
doubt, and hence the demand for "our" share on
my deal! The Swiss was like a stoat after a rabbit
when there was money in question. The only thing
to do was to go straight up to Edinburgh and secure
the azure vases while the opposition still thought
about it. Unfortunately I neglected to reserve a
berth in the sleeping car and, on arriving at Euston
that evening, was searching for a seat when a tall,
elderly gentleman wearing a long beard and a vast
overcoat collided with me. In spite of this theatrical
disguise, I recognised Kopp. Reserving a corner
seat, I rushed back and asked for a ticket to Llan-
dudno Junction on the Holyhead Line, That would
put the brute off the scent! Then, going into the
telegraph office, I sent a wire to my chauffeur in
Liverpool to meet the train at Chester station. If
this did not upset the calculations of the wily Swiss
adventurer, I lost my bet!

I saw nothing of Kopp on the journey north,
and at Chester took the precaution of getting off
the train just as it began to move, so that no one
could possibly follow me. The car was waiting and
we began a rush across country by night. Half way
to Liverpool there came a squealing of brakes as
the car stopped dead : in the headlights I saw a man
lying prone right in the middle of the road. Could
it be Kopp again? I had that man on the brain,
It wasn't the Swiss, but a perfectly paralytic drunk

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABACH VASES 61
whom we pushed, still snoring. Into the hedge, and
reported to the next policeman. Presently we reached
Woodside Ferry, and were lucky enough to catch
one of the steamers to Liverpool pierhead. Then
came a race to Warrlngton and, at a ghastly morning
hour, I picked up a slow train to Edinburgh. It was
a never-ending and icy-cold journey which I still
remember as one of the grimmest in my life! On
the Edinburgh platform, after hot coffee and a wash,
I telephoned to Mr. Arthur Saunderson who, kindly
enough, asked me to come along right away, I felt
a little thrill of excitement at having outwitted Cousin
Joe and his infernal friend, Kopp, As I emerged from
the telephone booth who should I see but the Swiss, smirking
complacently I

What What ?" I gasped,

"Pm going to see Mr, Saunderson, an old friend
of mine," he remarked with an odious smile. "Can
I give you a lift?"

There and then we had a show-down, I was
boiling with rage. Having, as I thought, completely
outwitted him, here he was talking of " our" share
again, just like Joe in London,

"Joe gave me a letter here it is," he said, "which
empowers me to buy for him in joint account with
you, If you won't come in on it" he shrugged his
shoulders "I shall bid against you. And I shall
win!"

I was trapped. After a moment's thought I came
to the conclusion that it was no good making a fuss,
and I agreed to the whole deal being "in joint

62 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

account with Duveen Bros." Twenty minutes later
I stood in front of those beautiful azure vases which
had been at once one of the great finds, and one of
the bitterest disappointments, of my youth. They
were even more marvellous than I had remembered.
After some bargaining, I bought them for %,wo
from Mr, Saunderson, and paid a cheque for ^200
on account, "We sent a wire to Duveen Bros, con
firming the transaction, and next afternoon I was
in Bond Street where my cousin congratulated me
on my good fortune. Then he could not resist his
little joke,

"Well, Jack, old chap who is the clever boy
now?"

I stared glumly at him.

" Kopp trailed you all right ! He asked the Euston
booking clerk where you had booked to, and when
you sent off a telegram knew you were trying to
sidetrack him. From two words Orrock let drop he
knew you were aiming for Edinburgh so he went
straight there!"

"All right. You win!"

"Now," said Joe, pulling out a sheet of paper
from a drawer, "let's get down to business." He
wrote for a few moments, "Here is the expense
sheet on joint account: you might just initial it."

"What?" I cried. "200 for Orrock by way of
commission is all right. What's this other 120?"

"Oh!" said Joe. "That is the expense account.
Twenty for Kopp's travelling and 100 for Ms
cleverness!"

THE TRAGEDY OF THE JABACH VASES 63

"And I pay half towards that cleverness?" I
roared,

"You certainly do, Jack!"

Alas, I did. There was nothing else for it* How
ever, four weeks later, I sold those lovely vases to
Sir William Bennett for 4,200, whereat even Joe
was moved to admiration.

"That beats me," he admitted, "I've never been
able to sell a Nankin set for such a price!"

Two years later Sir William sold his collection of
"blue and white" to the late Dickinson, of Wigmore
Street, and eventually the Jabach vases passed into
the possession of Mr. Gaspard Farren, the South
African millionaire, for just on 10,000!

CHAPTER IV

THE FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY

DURING half a century of art deals and treasure
hunting in Europe and America, it has often occurred
to me that the most fascinating stories of old times
could be "told" by the rare and beautiful objects
I have held in my hands. For instance what an
amazing history could be conjured up by most of
the Crown Jewels or by some of the pictures and
tapestries in the Royal palaces,

Now it so happens that once in my life I have
touched the supernatural in this connection, 1 am
sceptical of mediumistic trances and of the various
kinds of phenomena produced by self-styled psychic
" experts/ 5 and in the very few cases in which genuine
phenomena ham appeared I prefer to admit my
ignorance of their cause rather than to invent theories
to explain them. In this case I will relate a plain
tale of facts for which I vouch* The reader can
form his own conclusions.

In 1930 on a hot summer's morning in Florence
I was approached by a curious little dealer-tout
whom I had known for many years, He seemed
to scent me out like a hound, for never did I go to
Florence without his appearing within the hour at
my hotel.

FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY 65

"What have you got to offer me this time?" I
asked him*

He produced something wrapped in cloth, eyeing
me like a cunning and wizened little monkey. The
fellow could neither read nor write, but his shrewd
eye for antiques had brought me many a fine bargain.

"There," he said, "there, signor. It is fine, no?"

He pushed under my nose an undoubtedly genuine
Bernard Palissy dish. I recognised it instantly in
spite of its covering of candle-soot and grime, because
I had seen its counterpart years before in a farm
house in the wilds of North Wales.

"I bought that from a small contadino (farmer)
near Poggio-a-Cajano, the old Medici country palace
near here," he told me. "It stood in his house for
years in a niche behind the family Madonna: then
he lost money, so I got it at last!"

"What do you want for it?"

"Two thousand lire."

"20, eh? All right, here you are. But answer
me this it didn't cost you ten lire?"

From his guilty grin I knew I was right, Two
shillings for the miracle of beauty which I knew
underlay that coating of grime ! When he had gone
I went up to my hotel bedroom and with hot water,
soap aftd a nailbrush began slowly to cleanse the
dish. I knew that there would be a medallion por
trait in the centre of some old-time "lovely," but
I was not prepared to find a picture of the Princess
Bianca Capello herself, famed as the most beautiful
and gifted woman of the sixteenth century! Thanks

66 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

to having been thickly coated with smoke and
grease, the plate was In a perfect state of preser
vation. The marvellous glaze of Palissy had pro
tected it from all grease and the fact of it having
been at the back of a little shrine had saved it from
the untender mercies of the cleaner. This dish, I
reflected, turning it this way and that under the
light to admire its beauty, had come from Poggio-
a-Cajano, the scene of a three-and-a-half centuries
old love-story and tragedy. Perhaps in the long ago
Francesco de Medici and the gifted Bianca first his
mistress and later his wife had eaten from this very
plate !

The possible connection between that drama and
the beautiful thing I held in my hand intrigued me
greatly. I had planned to leave Florence that night
for the cooler North, but at the last moment I was
summoned to the telephone. I heard the voice of
an old friend, a professor who lived at a villa on the
Pass of Abetone, one of the two main passes running
north across the Apennines.

"Put off going until to-morrow," he urged, hearing
my plans. "After all, we haven't seen, anything of
you for two years. Come and dine with us to-night;
my wife won't take a refusal, "

On the spur of the moment I accepted, and some
time later was sitting with my host and hostess on
their verandah which commanded a view of the
loveliest vista in Tuscany. The professor, powerful,
with a white-haired, leonine head, was In the middle
seventies and had the exquisite manners which you

FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY 67
find only in Italians of the very best type. He had,,
too, an inexhaustible fund of anecdotes relating to
the great and interesting personages of the last fifty
years. His wife was one of the most imposing if
somewhat exalted ladies I have ever met. By birth
a Russian Princess, she possessed a fine intellect and
was greatly interested in spiritualism. Now, I rather
hold myself aloof from people who allow their lives
to be governed in this manner, and I had heard
that, accentuated by a very earnest religious senti
ment, she had become somewhat fanatical on the
subject.

As darkness fell myriad* j$T fire-flies began to
sparkle, so that, as we ate our dinner, they formed
an ever-shifting canopy of stars against the thickly-
wooded slopes of the valley. Conversation veered
from one subject to another, and finally we began
to talk of queer experiences. I explained how once
I had received a kind of telepathic message, in that
I dreamed my brother was dying in Africa at the
very moment that he did indeed die. Then I could
have kicked myself for having introduced such a
subject. My hostess looked across with a curious
smile and nodded her head.

"Yes, I knew it, Mr. Duveen. You were born
with a caul."

"I've never been aware of it," said I, rather
uncomfortably.

"That makes no difference. I was also born with
a caul, and in my country we believe firmly that
such children possess great psychic powers."

68 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

The professor caught my eye and made a move
ment which said plainly: u Head her off from this
subject," but having established what she thought
was a spiritual link between us, his wife was not
to be put off.

"I had a nurse from the Caspian Sea supposed
to be descended from a very ancient Perso-Jewish
family, and from my earliest years she guided my
thoughts," she continued. " Quite often I have
dreams which are just telepathic messages from those
dear to me. I have proved it again and again,
Sometimes there is a message from those who have
passed over ten and even twenty years ago. There is
usually some clue or very personal item not known
to many people which establishes the reality of the
message."

"Come, my dear, you must not impose too much
on our guest/' exclaimed the professor.

She took no notice of the interruption.

"Will you believe me when I tell you that when
I hold something in my hands belonging to a person
long dead I have received messages ?"

Her glance was so penetrating that an answer
had to be made.

"I will believe anything you vouch for. 1 "

"I am glad, I think to-night I could do some
thing which would be impossible with an unsympa
thetic audience. Perhaps it is because you arc, in
a way, spiritually allied to me and have been con
nected with such an experience in the past. Usually
I establish communication with the other side by

A BERNARD PALTSSY DISH

With portrait of Isabella Goazaga, of the same set as that with portrait of
Bianca Cappcllo i

[See Chapter l\>\,

A SNUFF Box
With enamel painting by Blaraubergh (Wallace Collection)

FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY 69
appealing to three of my beloved dead: give me
something some object in which you are very
greatly interested, and perhaps through it I shall
get a message."

For a moment or two I felt at a loss. An awkward
situation for which I was not prepared had been
created, but I could scarcely refuse her request
without discourtesy. The professor smiled at my
embarrassment when I racked my brains for some
object that would satisfy her.

"Need it be a personal thing?" I asked.

"No. Anything of your own in which you have
a great interest. The more the interest the greater
the possibility of success."

Excusing myself, I went to the car and returned
with the Palissy cake dish. Unwrapping it carefully,
I laid it on the table.

"You do not mind Madame using this for her
experiment?" I asked the old man. "I bought it
only this morning, but my interest in it is very
great."

He nodded and smiled, but his wife leaned forward
and said with an earnest air:

"Hold it closely in your hands, Mr. Duveen.
Concentrate. Put everything out of your mind
except the existence of this plate, and then think
of one, two and three people whom you loved very
much in this life before they passed over."

I had commenced by feeling rather foolish, but
Madame's eyes sent a queer thrill down my spine.
All of a sudden I realised that this was not just

70 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

mummery, but an experiment conducted with deadly
seriousness which might have far-reaching results.
The valley beneath us was very quiet, and a half-
moon was just rising above the shoulder of a hilL
It cast an eerie light across the verandah. I could
just distinguish faintly the pattern of the Palissy
dish, I sat clutching it in my lap, concentrating on
thoughts of three of my dear loved ones. Then
Madame stretched out her hand.

"Give it to me, please. Now sit beside me and
think only of this plate/*

The scrape of my chair sounded harshly in the
silence. I sat dpwn, scarcely daring to breathe.
What would she make of this piece of pottery of which
I had told her nothing at all? Indeed, it was far too
dark for her to recognise the pattern, or even its rare
make. Quite normally, then, my hostess began to
speak. She was leaning back just as she might have
done at afternoon tea. There was nothing mysterious
in her manner, nothing of the " inspired oracle " or
the dreamy monotone of the medium.

"I see this dish on a Renaissance credenga (dresser)
in a vast room which is furnished in the same style,"
she began. "All kinds of fruit and confections are
arranged in rich golden dishes, and on one dish-
in the middleis the portrait of a woman. Yes:
a young man clad in purple velvet points at this
dish and a servant in livery comes forward and takes
it up. The young man hands a little box to the
servant: it is jewelled* Now the scene is changing.
I see a vast kitchen: the servant is talking to another

FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY 71
man a cook. On the dish there Is now a gaily-
coloured cake. The servant is pointing to something
in a pan. He scatters quickly some powder on the
cake from the jewelled box: there are other figures
now another servant is putting the dish with the
cake back on the credenza in the big room."

I stared through the gloom at this extraordinary
woman who was picturing for me a scene which,
somehow, I knew quite well. / was seeing what she
herself saw! She was reaching back into the mists of
time and producing a detailed picture. Moreover,
I knew just what she was going to say before she
actually said it: I experienced that curious sensation
which can be described only as being "fey." Her
tone was normally conversational as she continued.

" Three people have come into the big room, the
young man in purple a very lovely woman who
moves with indescribable grace and an older man.
It is the woman whose picture is on the dish. She is
talking and smiling, while flagons of wine are brought
in. The cake is cut, the elder man takes a large
slice and the lady also. The man in purple is eating
fruit, and they stand in a group talking. A servant
removes the plates and the wine: he takes away a
small piece of cake which the woman has left. Now
the servant is in what looks like a bedroom. He is
still holding the dish with the fragment of cake and
is looking round the room. There! he is hiding the
cake at the back of a small shrine in which there
is the figure of the Madonna and a small oil light.
He puts the dish there too, and kneels down to pray."

72 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Madame's voice ceased and I had become so
absorbed in the picture she called up that it was
like waking to reality at night in a strange room.
The professor sat motionless in his chair, the moon
light setting an aura of silver round his head, I
scarcely dared to breathe, yet when my hostess began
to speak again I felt a sense of loss. In some manner
I had lost rapport with her; I could no longer divine
what she was going to say.

"I see the servant praying before the shrine,"
she continued. "Now a man, a courtier, I think,
is in the doorway. He comes forward, and, as the
servant turns still on his knees, he plunges a dagger
into his back! Two other servants appear and carry
the body out, its arms and legs dangling. The
courtier is looking for something. It may be the dish.
He does not look behind the Madonna. Now we
are in another bedroom, larger and very magnificent.
The beautiful woman is sitting beside her husband
who is in bed, retching and throwing himself about
in great distress. The lady presses her hand to her
breast as if in agony: she falls from the chair and is
carried away by servants. Here is the young man
in purple again. He disregards the man on the bed:
he pulls back the hangings and is also searching for
something he cannot find. The sufferer suddenly
reaches out to a little table and sends a great crystal
ewer of water crashing to the floor: men come
running and with them many priests. They all
kneel down: it is the Last Sacrament. Now the man
in purple comes over to the bed and smiles evilly,

FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY 73
Slowly he, too, kneels down, but the dying man sits
up and throws his arms out. His mouth opens. He
is shouting something. His face contorts itself
horribly he falls forward "

For what seemed a very long time Madame
stopped speaking. At last she stirred uneasily: her
breath came in gasps. Then she uttered a cry of
terror. I just saved the dish from slipping to the
ground as she covered her face with her hands and
burst into tears.

"Oh, this accursed plate!" she cried. "I see it
lying in fragments the pieces are covered with
blood."

The professor and I supported her and, as lights
were brought to the verandah, he reached for the
decanter of cognac and forced some between her
chattering teeth. She was moaning softly to herself,
and seemed on the verge of collapse. Her husband
took her to her room, but it was at least half an hour
before she had recovered sufficiently to send her
good wishes to me, through the professor, and to
wish me bon voyage on my journey north next day.
The professor was good enough not to blame me for
this distressing incident, and I took my leave with
such excuses as I could muster.

Next day I kept turning over in my mind the
facets of this amazing affair. The lovely woman was,
of course, Bianca Capello, whose portrait was on
this very dish. She married a wastrel and then
became mistress to Francesco de Medici, young heir
to the reigning Grand Duke of Tuscany. When her

74 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

husband was murdered and Francesco's wife died,
he married Bianca, who encouraged art and letters,
and managed to win over most of her husband's
bitterest enemies by her charm. The man in purple
was, of course, the devilish Cardinal Ferdinand de
Medici, Cardinal of San Giorgio, who foully poisoned
both husband and wife, and then had his accomplice
put away with a dagger thrust. But my hostess did
not know the dish to be Palissy ware: she never knew
it came from that fateful Medici country house at
Poggio-a-Cajano: she could have known nothing at
all of its history. Yet she described with historical
accuracy and the vividness of an eye- witness a scene
connected with the dish which had happened more
than three hundred and fifty years earlier!

During the next two years I travelled all over
Europe, and during that time both the professor and
his lady died. Once again, having come to Italy,
I laid a handful of flowers on the graves of my old
friends at San Miniato, Then, on 2nd June, 1932,
I was motoring from Berlin to Essen with three friends
to visit an art-loving friend. In the car were various
interesting odds and ends which I had picked up
from my Berlin flat, and we were running at certainly
something over 70 m.p.h. along that magnificent
stretch of road between Paderborn and Soest when
sudden death stretched out his hand over us. Just
after we had passed West Onnen, a half-drunken
lorry driver swerved his machine out on to the road
from a hedge-hidden track! He was going at a fair
rate and never saw me at all, but his mate did. He

FATAL PLATE OF BERNARD PALISSY 75
gave the man's arm a nudge, and that precipitated
the crisis. If he had "trod on the gas" maybe we
should have got clear, but he hesitated for a fatal
second. It was enough. The road was completely
blocked and there was no chance of skidding into
the field track from which the lorry had come. With
screaming brakes, rocking from side to side, my big
90 h.p. car tore towards a tiny gap between a tree
and a dry ditch bordered by a wall.

With an appalling crash the tree ripped off one
mudguard. Maybe that acted as a brake, because
somehow in miraculous fashion the car slid into the
ditch, scraping the wall with an agonised sound of
tearing metal and the crash of splintering glass.
There we were, half upside down, with windscreen
and every window in fragments. The steering wheel
had gone to bits in my hands and from the back of
the car came low moans. Then a tongue of flame
shot out from underneath the bonnet!

"Get out, for God's sake!" I yelled. "Get the
door open!"

One man at the back was badly gashed on the
face by flying glass, one was unconscious and the
third struggled with the jammed door. Blood seemed
spattered everywhere. Somehow we tumbled out into
the ditch. I did not care much about the car; my
only thoughts were for my companions and the
treasures I had packed into the back.

The unconscious man was laid in the road, while
I clambered in again, pulling and wrenching at
various parcels and boxes. As we got them out,

76 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

something caught my eye. One smallish package
lay on the floor, half open. It contained a mass of
fragments of pottery. It was my broken Palissy disk,
covered in blood! In a split second my mind was back
again on that verandah in the Tuscany dusk; the
professor's wife her tale of Bianca Capello her
vision of the future! It had all come true to the very
letter.

The consequences to niy friends were not as
serious as I had at first imagined: one, whose nose
was broken at football had had it re-broken and this
time it was set straight, and the rest was an affair
of cuts and bruises. It cost ^250 to repair the car,
but I would have paid twice that amount to have
kept my Palissy dish. As I said before, I can give
no rational explanation of what seems a case of both
pre-vision and the calling up of a centuries old drama.
That masterpiece of Bernard Palissy seems to have
been connected from first to last with intrigue,
fatality and sudden death.

CHAPTER V

THE TITLED KLEPTOMANIAC

WITHOUT wishing to disparage Liverpool in any way,
I may at least say that it neither is, nor has been,
a great centre for the art collector. In the past there
were no dealers who stocked really fine things, and
so the wealthy merchant princes of the Mersey City
went to London for their bargains. Thus when I
was put in charge of our newly-opened business there,
I had constantly to face the indignant surprise of
people who came to enquire the price of some beautiful
object in our showroom windows.

"What! Five hundred pounds for that!" Then
they would go off without even saying "No, thank
you!"

However, we did our best to attract the really
great collectors of the North of England and to educate
the taste of others. I never grew tired of talking to
anyone who showed the slightest interest in art, and
it was during those early days of "teaching the blind
to see" that I cultivated the faculty for quick and
instinctive analysis which has helped me so often to
"place" a certain object as genuine.

During this policy of bringing the finest things to
Liverpool, my father arrived one day, and from his

77

78 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

manner I knew he had something very unusual to
show me,

"Look at this/ 5 he exclaimed. "I got it from a
Spanish dealer for less than half its real value. It
really is a gem of workmanship. "

He put into my hands a lovely little Louis XV
gold snuff box, richly ornamented with enamel
paintings of the very highest quality. It was one
of the finest I have ever seen, by that great minia
turist, Blarenberg.

"I picked it up for ^600 and it's worth double.
Put it somewhere to show to advantage."

There was a show-case on the ground floor which
held a collection of gold and enamel watches and
snuff boxes, so I re-arranged these, putting the new
purchase in the fore-front so that any clients who came
in could not fail to see it.

The case was fairly often opened for people who
liked to examine these beautiful things, whether
they bought or not. I kept the key of the case and
one day, about a week later, a Mr, Charles Garler
came in to have a look round. He had been a good
client even before we opened a branch in Liverpool,
but heavy gambling in cotton had played havoc with
his fortune, and he had been forced to sell various
treasures from his collection, In fact, rumour had it
at this time that he was perilously near the financial
rocks, though that made no difference to my friend
ship for him,

"Come along and look at one of our new treasures,"
I exclaimed, walking towards the show-case. "I

THE TITLED KLEPTOMANIAC 79

know you are a judge of a fine thing and this ought
to please you. 5 '

I handed him the snuffbox. He was delighted with
it, turning it over admiringly, but shook his head
and sighed.

"I'd give a lot to be able to buy it."

We stood talking for about ten minutes while
various clients were coming and going, and then he
left. I was busy and thought no more of the matter |
but just before the premises closed for the night my
step-father came up with a worried air.

"Where is the Louis XV snuffbox?"

I stared at him.

"In the show-case, of course."

"It is not"

With a sinking heart I ran downstairs and went
to the case. The glass doors were locked. There
were all the rest of the watches and snuff boxes, but
only a vacant space on the shelf where the snuff box
had been. I turned to my step-father and answered
his unspoken question.

"Yes. I showed it to-day to Charles Carler. That
was just after lunch. I put the box back on the
shelf and locked it before he left."

"Sure you did lock it?"

"Well, nearly sure," I replied, feeling terribly
worried. "I may have gone up to the first floor for a
moment or two in fact I think I did, to advise one
of the salesmen. But I do know that I locked the case
up again almost at once."

My step-father shrugged his shoulders.

8o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Better go and ask the assistants before they leave,
Is there any other key? "

Everyone on the premises was closely questioned,
but no light could be thrown on the mysterious loss,
No key other than mine existed, and we tried to check
up on who had been In the ground floor showroom
during the late afternoon. After all, having paid
600 for an article for which you hope to get some
1,200, it is not pleasant to have to suspect either
your staff or your clients of theft. After a little my
step-father voiced the suspicion in all our minds.

"It could only have been Carlcr. You say you
were with him nearly all the time. Yet in one instant
he might have slipped it into his pocket. I think it
Is a matter for police investigation, "

Suspicion certainly pointed to Carler, but I refused
to believe him capable of such an act.

"Hang it all, we've known the man for years. He
has bought lots of expensive things from us before
we opened here: you can't go and accuse him on such
flimsy evidence."

My step-father shook his head obstinately,

"And we can't afford to lose ,1,200 snuff
boxes."

He set out the case so clearly that: I was almost
convinced by his cold logic, but on the other hand
we could not afford the inevitable scandal which
would follow a complaint and official investigation. In
this dilemma, I thought of my mother who, having
heard the facts, took her usual decisive line of
action.

THE TITLED KLEPTOMANIAC 81

"I know the Carler family/' she said. "They are
not the kind to steal. I simply refuse to have any
kind of scandal and I won't allow a complaint to be
made."

My step-father made a grimace and shrugged his
shoulders.

When she spoke in that tone of voice, he knew it
was useless to argue. If it came to matters of import
ance, she was the real head of the firm, because, when
my father died, she had carried on the business for
six whole years and had taught both me and her second
husband nearly all we knew. She did, however,
concede the point that if the snuff box did not turn
up within three days we might go and consult an old
legal friend, the late Mr. Rotch.

During those three days I worried myself sick over
the loss. To a large extent the fault must have
been mine, and for the life of me I could not remember
definitely whether I had locked the show-case before
leaving Carler or afterwards. Moreover, how could
we mention his name to Mr. Rotch, who moved in
the same social circle? It would be tantamount to a
direct accusation. When my step-father and I saw
Mr. Rotch it was at his house and, after a glass of
sherry, we explained the circumstances of the visit.
Rotch smiled and put us at our ease.

"I am not a lawyer now, I'm just a friend/ 5 he
said. "Tell me the details: they won't go any
further."

He agreed that everything seemed to point to
Carler.

82 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"I happen to know that he Is very hard up Indeed
at the moment," he said, "and ^600, let alone ^1,000
or so, would be just what he needs. On the other
hand, young Jack, you can't be sun that no one has
taken an impression of your key and used it."

" No," I exclaimed. "I feel certain you are wrong.
In the first place, Garler would never do such a thing.
In addition, if he had stolen the box what could he
do with it? He could never sell a noticeable thing like
that anywhere in this country without being found out.
At the most he could break it up and thereby lose
nine-tenths of its value. As for the key, it is never
out of my possession for a moment."

Mr. Rotch promised to make discreet enquiries,
and in the meanwhile there was nothing to do but
wait. The snuff box was not insured, and, even had
it been, the enquiry resulting from a claim would
have been most unpleasant. Two days later Rotch
asked us to call again. Apparently Carler was
deeply in the hands of money-lenders and was at his
wits' end for ready cash. He had applied to most of
his relatives for help with very little success and it
seemed there was even some talk of his leaving the
country,

My step-father threw up his hands.

"We are fools, Mr. Rotch. We ought to have
called in the police right away. I shall lay a complaint
this afternoon,"

The lawyer agreed rather regretfully that it did
seem the only course, but at lunch the same day my
mother took a hand in the game again.

THE TITLED KLEPTOMANIAC 83

"You are not going to Dale Street police station/'
she told her husband. "I won't have anything of the
sort. I'm not going to have my business publicised
and ruined like that."

I muttered something about having been against
that all the time, but my step-father exclaimed:

"What about the loss, then? 55

"The loss, the loss!" cried my mother, "Don't
you understand we shall never see that box again?
Not even if we send the thief to prison?" She turned
to me: "We shall have to cut the loss, and you, Jack,
can remember that you allowed it to be stolen right
under your very nose!" She looked at me very
straightly for a moment, and added: "And now we
know who is to blame, I don't want to hear any more
about it. We've lost money before and made it up
again, and we'll take this loss without making our
selves miserable about it!"

The clever darling! In a few words and with
masterly insight she saved the situation. She had
prevented any possibility of scandal and apportioned
the blame so as to spare my step-father's pride and
overcome his obstinacy. Finally, that look in her
eyes told me that what she really meant was "with
out making me miserable about it!"

Nevertheless I felt the whole thing very keenly
indeed. I turned it over in my mind, and next day
went to my mother.

"Don't be annoyed, but I know I'm right. Carler
couldn't steal. Will you meet him: let me introduce
him to you?"

84 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Certainly," she said, smiling. "Make your own

arrangements. "

Next day I telephoned to Carter that I wanted him
particularly to see some new objets d'art recently
arrived from Holland, and extracted a promise that
he would come round that afternoon. 1 told my
mother and waited in impatience for the interview
because I felt I should be able to tell from his manner
if he were guilty. At three o'clock he arrived,

"Afternoon, Jack," he said, shaking my hand
limply. "1 don't feel like looking at pretty
things." Then, beneath his breath, "Too damned
hard-up!"

My mother passed and I introduced Carter. After
a few polite words she left us and then I showed him a
very beautiful Vemis-Martin fan which 1 had pur
posely placed in the very show-case from which the
snuff box had been taken. He admired it listlessly
and himself put it back in the case. He stared for a
moment,

"Hullo! You've sold that French snuffbox then?"

"No that is er it is out on approval/ 9 I
stammered, completely taken aback.

"Business good, I suppose?" he added.

I muttered something in reply. Either this fellow
was completely innocent or a thorough and very
clever scoundrel ! There was an awkward pause and
then Garter said:

"By the way, Jack, be a good fellow and do me a
favour, Gould you lend me fifty quid? You shall
have it back to-morrow morning."

THE TITLED KLEPTOMANIAC 85

This was so unexpected that I just goggled at him.

"I believe they have just taken the cash to the
bank," I stammered. "But wait a minute I'll see
what I can do,"

Towards the back of the premises my mother was
waiting, pretending to be busy on a catalogue. I
told her of Carter's extraordinary request, but she
just smiled.

"He didn't steal the box. Give him the money."

It was an example of her amazing insight into
character. Carler wrung my hand and left hastily,
and sure enough came back next morning.

"Here you are/' he said, handing me five ten-
pound notes, "You did me a bit of good. Jack, and
I'll not forget it. I'm damn grateful to you."

For ten days things went on as usual. I couldn't
get the affair out of my mind, though I did not refer
to it for fear of worrying my mother. It seemed as
though we should never get to the bottom of that
theft when, one morning, I saw a familiar figure
come into the show rooms. It was Mr. Lerritt,
private secretary to Lord Y, a great Lancashire
landlord. I went forward to greet him, and we were
talking about various matters when suddenly he
turned to me and said rather apologetically,

"By the way, about that Louis XV gold snuffbox
which Lady Martha took away on approval: her
Ladyship has decided to keep it. Would you mind
sending in the account?"

At that moment I heard a crash behind me. There
was my mother, the fragments of a porcelain plate

86 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

at her feet, swaying and holding on to a table, I
ran to her and caught her In my arms,

"Oh, I feel so ill," she exclaimed. "Take me
upstairs,, Jack."

When we were alone she smiled wickedly. There
was nothing the matter with her at all!

" Never mind, Jack, that plate was cracked already.
I heard what Lerritt said. Go downstairs and tell
him that we have a good buyer for the snuff box and
that if Lady Martha doesn't want It very particularly,
we'd be only too glad to have it back," Then, just
as I was going: "No, wait a moment. Tell him that
you made a mistake in the price and that we cannot
let her have it without a very considerable loss!"

Ah, she was a wonderful woman! I played my
part in the comedy gravely enough, and I feel sure
that Lerritt was grateful At any rate, he played up
to me splendidly.

"I will explain the facts to her Ladyship," he said,
"and I think she would be glad to oblige you. la
fact I think I can promise it."

Subsequently we discovered that Lady Martha
was a kleptomaniac who was well known to the big
stores of the district. Her large muff had at times
been found stuffed with all kinds of curious things,
from silk stockings to briar pipes and nailbrushes!
Of late years she had never been allowed to go
shopping without a lady-companion who, remaining
in the background, used to watch and eventually
pay the shop-keepers for the stolen articles. It used
to be explained in fact It became quite a clich6

THE TITLED KLEPTOMANIAC 87

that "Lady Martha took these on approval and has
decided to keep them!" In important cases this
duty fell to Mr. Lerritt. She must have come into
the showroom that fateful morning just as Charles
Garler went over to look at some other piece and I
was momentarily engaged, so that she slipped our
Louis XV gem into her handbag and moved away
unnoticed,

" Of course," said my step-father rather grumpily,
when he heard about it, "she ought to have been
made to pay."

"Not at all," replied my mother. "It would have
been very bad policy indeed even to have suggested

it."

As usual, she was right. The business we did after
wards with Lord Y and his guests more than com
pensated for all the anxiety and trouble we went
through. One thing I never did discover, and that
is how Lady Martha managed to give her lady-
companion the slip and make away with the snuff
box right under our noses. From the fact that
Lerritt came in so long after the theft, I gathered that
she must have secreted the box at home and, when it
was discovered, admitted what she had done.

CHAPTER VI

THE MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE EVER KNOWN

I SUPPOSE it Is true that, from one standpoint, there
are collectors who may be said to be suffering from
a species of dementia. It makes no difference whether
they collect Nankin porcelain, Old Masters, postage
stamps or matchbox lids. In some cases, too, they
lose all sense of proportion, and from the angle of
morality obtain their hearts' desire by crook, if not
by hook. They seek beauty and rarity, and therefore
the history of most of the great art treasures of the
world is packed with instances of their rapacity and
greed. There is the case of poor Ludwig of Bavaria
who, in spite of ruinous expenditure and his untimely
death, left collections to his country worth ten times
the money he had paid for them. Whether he was
mad or not has never yet been decided.

One of the craziest collectors I have ever met was
the internationally famous Frau Ermina Feist, nle
Wohlheim, of Berlin. There was a terrible woman!
A kind of female counterpart of Pierpont Morgan, the
elder. Not only was she one of the greatest heiresses
of her time, but her collection of Dresden china was
superb. Kaiser Wilhelm himself cast the eye of envy
upon it, and what Wilhelm wanted he generally

MADDEST COLLECTOR 1 HAVE KNOWN 89

got. Here is a little fragment of unwritten history
concerning their relationship.

In his usual energetic attempts to increase the
wealth of the Berlin museums, the Kaiser was in the
habit of visiting provincial galleries,, churches and
even private collections. A word of admiration and a
tactful hint to the officials was usually enough to
ensure a picture or the clou of some gallery being
transferred to Berlin. In the case of private collec
tions an important personage in the Kaiser's entourage
used to call upon the owner, tell of the All-Highest's
special admiration for some object and then
pointedly explain that the Kaiser would do him
the honour of having tea with him. In return, of
course, the object was to be donated to some Berlin
art museum.

One day Frau Ermina Feist received just such a
visit, and the Imperial ambassador mentioned the
names of several collectors who had been thus
"honoured." Ermina, with her beloved Dresden in
danger, fought like a tigress.

"Do you not feel it an act of graciousness on the
part of the All-Highest?" demanded the visitor, in
slightly scandalised tones.

"Not at all," replied Ermina. "His Majesty has
taken tea with so many collectors that I don't consider
the honour worth my collection!"

Frau Feist as I shall show later was frankness
personified: witness her famous mot to a very well-
known collector in Berlin who was always "adopting"
and assisting promising young men. It was during

go SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

a soiree at her palatial house on the Wannsee when the
connoisseur was standing lost in admiration before
a picture of a boy painted by, I think, Rembrandt.
He seemed rooted to the spot, whereat Frau Ermina
broke rudely in on his reflections.

"Ah, mein lieber freund ! " she exclaimed in a loud
tone of voice. "There is something you can't buy
with money!"

Post-war society in Berlin was more than a trifle
coarse-minded: there was a gale of laughter from
pretty women and uniformed men during which the
abashed connoisseur made an ignominious exit!

Ermina was the only daughter of an immensely
wealthy German coal-owner, and in order to obtain
some special piece I have known her descend to
subterfuges lower than those employed by any dealer.
That is saying "a mouthful!" She was, naturally,
a veritable Godsend to dealers in Europe and America,
and though I had heard much about her curious
ways, until this time I had never actually met the
lady. Imagine my surprise when one day I received
a letter from her.

"Some years ago I bought two very beautiful
Dresden porcelain tables from Messrs. X, of Bond
Street," she wrote, "and I think they were cheap at
1,200. When you are in Berlin I should be happy
to see you, especially if you can offer me any very
fine pieces of Dresden."

That opened my eyes. I had sold those tables to
the London dealers for 500! On the other hand
Frau Feist was far too fond of lawsuits. Also, a

MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE KNOWN 91

little ring of German dealers regarded her as their
own special proper ty, and if anyone tried to " muscle
in" on their ground there was apt to be trouble. I
let the matter slide for a month or two, and then came
a note from a German expert asking whether I could
persuade the late Lord Ripon to sell part of his
wonderful collection of porcelain to Frau Feist. He
and a friend, he explained, had examined the Ripon
collection and found it very fine indeed and quite
genuine. The trouble was that Lord Ripon refused
to sell the best pieces : the collection must be bought
as a whole. Ermina, on the other hand, wanted only
seven of the objects. Could I do anything about it?

No, thought I ; I cannot. If I do I shall be dragged
into this woman's clutches; there will be endless
trouble with her and my German competitors. Again
the Berlin expert wrote saying that the Ripon collec
tion was known to be unique, so there could be no
possible danger of litigation with Frau Feist. He
was so persuasive that I agreed to co-operate with
him: but later we were both to learn a lesson in real
feminine chicanery!

After some months of negotiation I arrived at
the point where the late Lord Ripon consented to
sell the first 40 lots of china in his catalogue, which
included the seven very fine pieces which the lady
wanted to acquire. The price to me was to be
25,000. Further, Lord Ripon agreed to my taking
these seven special pieces to Meran, in the Austrian
Tyrol, where Frau Feist was staying, but he stressed
the fact that if she did buy she would also have to

gs SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

take the rest of the forty. At this moment a great
friend of mine came over from the Hague and,
hearing of the proposed deal, grew most excited.

"You don't know what a mad-woman she is!"
he exclaimed. " If she can't 'do' you,, she will with
draw at the last moment and leave you stranded with
the collection. And if you succeed, X and Y and Z
(noted German dealers) will cause trouble and you'll
have a lawsuit with her. They are absolutely un
scrupulous. For goodness' sake, keep clear of the
whole thing!"

His earnestness so convinced me, and the tales he
told were so unpleasant, that I threw the whole
thing up, writing to the Berlin agent to explain the
reasons. He sent my most uncomplimentary letter on to
Fran Feist ! She, instead of being offended, sent me a
charming reply through the dealer.

"My law-suits in the past were forced on me by
fraudulent dealers," she explained, "but with you
there would be no possibility of that. I know that
Lord Ripon's collection is genuine and very fine. This
being so, I will buy the pieces without any guarantee
at all and I will pay cash on delivery."

That looked fair enough : I could scarcely go wrong
in the face of such a letter! Accordingly, I reviewed
the position. Lord Ripon stipulated that all forty
pieces must be sold, but it would be useless to try
and make Frau Feist buy them. I would get a good
price on the seven, and take over the rest myself to
sell at a later date. I telegraphed the lady at Meran
that she could have her pieces for i i;,ooo and I would

2 5

14

2

o s

,-

I!

Pi ^

o o

fL, .^

Si
11

o

o
o

e

FRAU HERMINA FEIST

The great German collector; she is wearing a priceless Venetian Lace Collar

[See Chapter Tl

MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE KNOWN 93
bring them over at her risk and expense for a cash
sale. She agreed; then came the business of packing
up that lovely china. They were nearly all crinoline
groups, the most valuable type of Dresden, but the
clou of the whole collection was the famous sleigh
group, the only one known, which figured in my cost-
list at 2,500. I determined to sell this to the client
at 3,500: it was worth it.

Each of the seven pieces was put into a small
case and the whole were then packed again into four
large hampers. In spite of that, my assistant and I
personally supervised their removal at every boat
and train change. At Frankfort, before we could
reach the van, the German porters just bundled them
out on to the platform as though they had been
concrete, and I passed the rest of the night in terror
till, at Munich, I assured myself that nothing had
been broken. The wooden bases, the strings with
which they were tied, and the immense pads of cotton
wool had kept them from injury.

Arriving at the hotel in Meran at lunchtime next
day, we discovered that "Madame has not yet
risen." Apparently she never got up before three in
the afternoon, and then went to bed again at four
the next morning ! At three o'clock to the minute an
hotel servant came to me.

" Madame will receive the gentlemen at petit-lever.
Will they be so kind as to bring the boxes upstairs?"

There she was at last, sitting up in bed in a none too
clean, lace-edged kimono. A grey silk shawl covered
her hair, which straggled over her forehead, and

94 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

without the firm restraint of corsets her figure bulged
alarmingly. Not at all the sort of person I should
have imagined as the owner of the finest Dresden china
In the whole of Germany !

"Ah, my dear Herr Duveen! " she exclaimed, clasp
ing my hand with both of her be-ringed ones. "I
have heard so much about you: you have been put to
so much trouble over this business. What energy
you have!' 5

Within a few moments I had unpacked the first
of my seven masterpieces and she was examining it,
bit by bit, with the most scrupulous care. Each had
its separate price, of course, the total being 11,000.

"And this?" she asked, holding up the sleigh
group and staring at it as a religieuse might regard a
statue of the Madonna.

"3,500!"

"Nonsense!"

Just the one abrupt word, nearly shouted at me.
Then began an interminable argument. Were all
London dealers cheats and rogues? I, of course,
was not in that category, but I had been grievously
misled! Three thousand five hundred for this?
She would give me 2,000! It was useless to expect
more. BelieVeft or not, I sat arguing with that woman
from three o'clock in the afternoon till nine at night.
After I had snatched a belated dinner, we recom
menced at ten-thirty and all the time Frau Feist was
belabouring me with words, shouting sarcasms and
belittling Lord Ripon's treasures. I have haggled
with all manner of people in several Continents,

MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE KNOWN 95
but this woman was in a class by herself! Grimly I
fought back, determined not to abate a penny of my
price. She sat there in bed, with the sheets and blan
kets tossed by strenuous gestures, her little, expressive
eyes flickering over me.

At midnight we were still arguing.

By one o'clock we were quarrelling.

At two o'clock she nearly fell out of bed, shaking
her fist at me and calling me a robber.

At three I wiped the sweat from my forehead and
decided to call it a day.

"In spite of my telegrams and letters," I exclaimed,
"where the conditions were clearly set out, you
have gone back on your agreement. I'm going to
bed."

She screamed something as I went out of the door,
but by that time one scream, more or less, meant
nothing. The next afternoon exactly the same busi
ness began again, on the same stage. Right through
the night no dinner at all this time and then, at
two in the morning, capitulation! I have never in
my life had such a fight ; the woman was nothing less
than a demon! Thankfully I wrote out an invoice,
enumerating the items and their prices. Then came
the modifications to which I had agreed.

"Total price, 1 0,500. Payment 1,000 cash,
5,500, in ten days, and 4,000, in six months."
Underneath I wrote "It is understood that the above
articles have been sold without any guarantee what
soever, except that they are the following numbers
of the Marquis of Ripon's collections as shown in

9 6 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

his catalogue." Then followed the numbers, but
when I presented the invoice for signature, Frau
Feist sat up in bed and fairly yelled at me! In
torrential German she explained she would see me
eternally damned before she would sign!

"Pack up everything," I snapped at my assistant.

The woman's shouts were so penetrating and sus
tained that I wonder we weren't all thrown out of the
hotel., However, she was the "star" guest, and paid
accordingly. One by one the hampers were taken
out into the passage, and I caught a glimpse of the
frightened face of a chambermaid.

46 You still refuse to sign?" I asked this terrible old
woman.

"Absolutely!"

I bowed and left her. Before I had reached the
end of the passage my assistant panted after me.

"She wants you."

Amazingly, in that one-minute interval, Frau
Feist had become another woman. Worn out as I
was, she looked as grim and strong as ever.

"Of course I will sign," she smiled, reaching for
the invoice. "I was just trying you out. As a matter
of fact, I have implicit confidence in you, Herr Duveen.
You did quite rightly in sticking, to your point: if
you had given way I should have broken off the deal ! "

Ignoring me entirely, she began to comb her iron-
grey hair, examined herself in a small mirror and then
pressed a bedside bell. When the maid appeared:

"Bring some breakfast, please. And make the
coffee really hot, Elise."

MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE KNOWN 97

By this time it was dawn and my client had become
a charming and thoughtful hostess. As we ate, I
realised that, in spite of her outrageous behaviour,
she was a woman of breeding and good sense. She
possessed a dual personality: in ordinary affairs she
had a heart of gold, but when obsessed by the collect
ing mania became nothing less than a tigress. At
such times all feelings of decency, friendship and
honour even her written promises were sacrificed
to the lust of trickery.

" To-day is Sunday," she smiled, "and so my
cheque for the first 1,000 cannot go through. You
must remain here till Tuesday as my guest, when the
money will have been paid in to your London account
by my Berlin agent. Then you can safely leave the
china with me."

It was an excellent arrangement. I passed a very
pleasant little holiday, and on Tuesday, having had a
telegram from my bank, left Meran with feelings of
satisfaction. After many months of careful negotia
tion, the deal had gone through ! At the station there
were more evidences of Frau Feist's kindness: a
great hamper of out-of-season fruit in my reserved
compartment. After an uneventful trip, I arrived
in London and found a pink envelope on my desk. It
was from the Berlin dealer who had brought me into
the affair in the first place. Casually I tore it open
and was astounded to read:

"Frau Feist highly dissatisfied. She is bringing an
action against you forthwith ."

98 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Had I but known it, this was the commencement of
litigation which continued for twelve years and ended,
after the war, with a verdict in my favour. As my
friend from the Hague had foretold, the museum
"experts" and dealers in Germany who advised
Frau Ermina swore that Lord Ripon's seven Dresden
pieces acknowledged by connoisseurs in Europe and
America to be genuine and beyond dispute were
worthless imitations! It was only another example
of chicanery of the meanest type. Thus, for the sake
of selling seven pieces at 10,500, I had rendered
myself liable to Lord Ripon for 25,000, and in
addition was involved in a lawsuit for selling spurious
antiques! All Ermina's protestations and promises
to order other works of art running into thousands
of pounds proved valueless.

It would take up too much space to go into the
details of this long drawn-out affair and to write of the
trick after trick which was played by the opposition,
but the fact remains that litigation especially in a
foreign country costs a great deal of money. My
very simply worded contract with Frau Feist stood up
against every attack of her often-changed lawyers,
and one of the first things I did was to take over to
Munich the remaining thirty-three pieces of Lord
Ripon's forty, so that she could exercise her option of
seeing and buying them. She was most eager to
examine them and, to encourage me to come over
while the legal battle was at its height, she actually
invited me to stay at the Regina Hotel, in Munich.
Travelling with my Paris manager, we arrived this

MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE KNOWN 99
time with eight enormous baskets containing the china.
I was conducted straight to Frau Ermina's suite.

"Ach, mein lieber DuveenJ" she exclaimed, holding
out her arms as though offering an embrace. "I
am so happy you have come."

"You have the right to examine the china before I
offer it to other clients/ 5 I replied, rather shortly,

"Ah, what energy! How hard you work!"

All the time her eyes were flickering over me; her
words were just the barrage put down before the
offensive commences. "I am so unhappy at what
has occurred," she went on, "but you are too reason
able to fight a case in which all my experts are unani
mous. The pieces are worthless!"

That touched me on a sore point.

"Who are these 'experts' of yours?" I demanded.
"I'll wager there is not one reputable dealer in the
whole crowd who will come out into the open and
declare Lord Ripon's pieces worthless!"

"Will you really bet?"

" Of course ! Ten to one ! "

"Done!" she cried. "In English pounds."

"Who is your * respectable' dealer?"

"Herr Wetter!"

Wetter was one of the principal members of a very
important German art dealing firm: I could not
believe it of him.

"Impossible!" I snorted.

"All right, then, I'll prove it. I'll ring him up
this minute and you can listen-in on the other tele
phone."

ioo SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

After a little delay. Wetter came to the line.

"Ah, mein lieber" cried Ermina, "I hope I did not
fetch you out of your bed. I want to say that I have
seen Duveen and he maintains the things are perfectly
genuine. Are you quite certain they are wrong?"

"Of course," came the reply. "But you haven't
told Duveen I said so ? You swore by the life of your
husband you wouldn't!"

"Wie konnen Sie es wagen so etwas zu denken" she
cried. "How dare you think such a thing!"

I paid up my 10 and went away. I felt I should
stifle if I remained with that woman another moment.
A few months later there was a sequel: I happened to
meet the great German dealer in New York in the
house of one of my relatives, and it was he who
broached the subject of Frau Feist.

"Ah, my dear Duveen," said Wetter, "I'm so
sorry to hear of all the trouble you've been having
with that terrible woman. I told her she was mad:
they were the finest pieces of Dresden porcelain I had

ever seen."

, "Really!" I exclaimed. "How very interesting.
I heard you say well, not quite that, on the telephone
to her."

He stared at me as though at a ghost.

"The night she rang you up in Munich and asked
you to confirm they were 'wrong'!" I insisted. "I
was listening in."

He paled to the lips and could not utter one word.
I smiled gently, turned away and have never spoken
to him since. Oddly enough, "swearing by the life

MADDEST COLLECTOR I HAVE KNOWN 101

of her husband" was one of Ermina's peculiarities.
The last time she did it (promising not to show a
piece of valuable porcelain, a promise which she
broke within two hours) her husband was brought
back dead from a gambling hall.

After the case had gone through two Courts of
Appeal and I had won, I began to feel sorry for
Ermina. German inflation was then at its height
and I had sold in pounds: this meant she had to
pay some quite unpronounceable sum in marks. But
she fooled us after all, that woman. The Treaty of
Versailles stipulated that German nationals owing
money to the Allies were to pay their own Govern
ment in marks, while the German Government had
to pay the creditors in gold. In the end the value
of the marks Ermina paid was less than that of a
usedjbus-ticket!

I now have the sad consolation of knowing that
these seven Ripon pieces of Dresden are ranked as
the finest pieces in the collection of the late Frau
Feist. Let the dead rest: she always meant well
when you were with her, and had a good heart.
But her mind was none of the strongest, and the
vultures who surrounded her were responsible for
many of the crazy things she did.

CHAPTER VII

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT

IN 1905 there was in London a very brilliant and
debonair young man who was an acknowledged
authority on art and, in particular, on old armour.
He was, of course, in close touch with all the big
dealers and buyers in London and the United States,
and it is in this connection that he was drawn into
one of the biggest art "ramps" of the century.
Charming in manner and good-looking, he was an
even greater expert on feminine beauty and vintage
wine. It was commonly said that women could
never say "No" to him. This was then an even
more expensive game than it is to-day. However,
by one shift and another, he managed very well
until he became mixed up in a rather unsavoury
affair which ended in his being heavily blackmailed.
He dared not let the truth leak out. A very suave
gentleman in top hat and morning coat came into
his office unannounced one day.

"Good day, Mr. Melniett," he said. " No please
don't say anything you'd regret. But I've just come
to say I am tired of waiting. If you can't put down
800 on the 1 5th instant I'm afraid well, I shall
have to take other measures,' 5

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT 103

The wretched young man tried to quibble, but it
was useless. The shark had got him, and when the
oily gentleman bowed himself out, Hugh Melmett
sat down to look ruin in the face. Every one of his
various accounts were already overdrawn and there
was no one from whom he could hope to extract
800 in less than a week. Moreover, it was January
the worst period of the year for art deals. Of a
sudden an idea flashed into his mind. Yes, there
was one man who could help. If he would ! Twenty
minutes later he was sitting in the ante-room of one
of the rising dictators of the art world. Let me
camouflage this tall, dark-eyed and well-dressed man
under the name of George. The young man waited
for three quarters of an hour before the magnate
condescended to see him, and when he was admitted
he met the abrupt question.

"Well, what can I do for you? I'm in a
hurry.' 9

Melmett screwed himself up to the point.

"Fact is I'm in the devil of a mess, old man. I
want you to lend me 800."

The great dealer leaned back and gave a little
whistle.

"What? After all the money I've lent you from
time to time? No, Hugh, I won't. You are just a
bucket without a bottom, and the sooner you stop
chucking money about the better."

"For God's sake don't talk like that," gasped the
young man. "I'm right up against it: if you won't
help I'll have to flit to-day."

104 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

The dealer regarded him from under his eyebrows.
The fellow was pretty desperate, then? Desperate
men had their use, especially when they were clever
and had a circle of rich friends. Hugh made one
last effort,

"Look: you have done some pretty big deals
through me in the past, and you know quite well
that when the big Americans come over in May and
June I shall put a lot more in your way. Help me
this once and you'll make hundreds per cent, on
your money within the year!"

"My boy," said the dealer, "I am not going to
lend you any more money, but if you have anything
to sell I'll give you a good price. Then my partners
won't be able to grouse about my financing you.
What have you got?"

"The two Gothic suits of armour?" was the hope-
fill reply.

"You call that 800!"

"They are all I have, and are worth money.
Besides, Bordeaux is coming over from New York
in the spring and he has specially asked me to look
out for old armour for his collection."

"How long have you had them?"

"Less than a fortnight."

"Have you told Bordeaux about them?"

"No, because he never buys by letter, and I
wanted to keep them out of sight till he was in
London. Then I should get a friend to offer them to
him, and, since Bordeaux always asks my advice,
it would be a certain sale."

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT 105

The big dealer cut the end off a cigar with pre
cision. His face gave no inkling of what was in his
mind. Then:

"But I saw them at Halberd's shop, didn't I?"

"Yes: I let you see them because well, you are
one of my best friends."

The dealer nodded slowly. He took up the tele
phone and called a number.

"That you, Halberd? Good. About those two
suits of armour you've got you know the ones I
mean? What would it cost to have them put in
good repair?"

The virtuoso-restorer at the other end of the wire
chuckled.

"Nothing at all, Mr. George. Twenty pounds at
the most. But listen: if you don't mind spending a
little bit of money I would make them worth twenty
thousand pounds!"

The big dealer glanced across at Hugh who was
sitting staring out of the window.

"Uh-huh?" he grunted. "I like the sound of
that. Look, Halberd, call in to-morrow at 3 o'clock
and fcave a chat about it. G'bye."

He pushed a bell, and, as his secretary entered,
said:

"Just make out a cheque to Mr. Hugh Melmett
for 800 and bring it to me at once, please."

What followed is typical of the methods by which
George rose to a position of some eminence in the
world of art dealing. Opportunity existed only to
be seized and twisted so that the last penny could

io6 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

be extracted from the advantage of the moment.
Presently the cheque was brought in. George sat
turning it over in his hands, elbows on the big desk.
He fixed Hugh Melmett with a speculative eye.

"This 800 must be earned" he said softly. "Those
suits of armour must be sold to Bordeaux at a big
price."

Hugh shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

"Of course. Maybe for a thousand or eleven
hundred pounds. I don't think I could conscien
tiously advise him to pay more."

"Conscientious nothing!" snapped the dealer

roughly. "You'll do your stuff as I say or "

He made a motion of tearing the cheque in two.
"Remember, I'm not the kind of fool to go and make
mistakes. Bordeaux will thank me for letting him
buy that armour!"

"What do you think of asking?"

"Not your business, my boy. I must have a chat
with Halberd first. Now, are you going to be foolish,
or take your profit while you can?"

Hugh Melmett was trapped and knew it. Money
he had to have. He gulped once or twice, then
nodded.

'"All right. I accept. But, for Heaven's sake,
George, don't go too far or else we shall both be in
pretty serious trouble."

The art expert laughed and clapped him on the
back.

"Think I don't know my own business after all
these years? Don't be silly, boy! When I do a bit

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT 107
of SchUntering (jargon: selling art fakes) I don't
make mistakes. D'you know what I'd do if anything
went wrong?" He smacked a fist into his open palm
and leaned across the desk. "First of all I'd bluff
Bordeaux by demanding if he believed such scan
dalous stories put about by jealous dealers. I'd follow
that up by asking him how much profit he'd take
on the suits of armour. I'd offer to buy 'em back
at his own price! That stops 'em, my boy. I'd like
to see the man dealer or expert who can lose me
a good customer ! They are all afraid of me because
I'm too smart: I've put more than one 'expert'
where he belongs and now the rest leave me alone/'

He signed the cheque and got to his feet.

"There you are, Hugh. Give me a receipt, and
for God's sake try and keep out of trouble in future.
I don't like working with fools. It is too dangerous! "

Next day at three o'clock Halberd, the restorer,
was shown into George's office. The great man
smiled amiably, indicated a chair and offered a
cigar. Halberd was often the creator of "works of
art" which had fetched high prices. Now he pro
duced a small parcel and took from it a steel gauntlet.

"This," he explained, "is the gauntlet of one of
the suits of armour. I'd like to show you what can
be done to them. Now here is a finger of an old
damascened gauntlet from my little collection and
I have discovered a special way of gilding to look
like inlay. I can make these two suits so exactly
like this finger that I defy anyone to spot the differ
ence. You realise that, if I did this, the suits would

I0 8 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

be worth about 20,000. I showed it to Melmett,

but the fool was afraid."

"So am I," said George. "For the simple reason
you cannot do work like this old stuff. I'd bet quite
a lot you couldn't take me in if you worked on the
gauntlet to make it match this finger."

The restorer leaned back and laughed quietly.

"You'd lose, Mr. George." Taking a second
gauntlet from the parcel he fitted the damascened
finger on to it. "I've deceived you, because I have
already worked on this 'old' finger and the 'old' gauntlet
to which it belongs!"

The dealer was visibly taken aback. He examined
the "old damascene" work with care.

"My God!" he muttered. Then, after an interval.
"Halberd, how much d'you want to make the two
suits like this?"

"Five hundred pounds."

"Done. But on condition that they are ready in
six weeks' time," said this man of Napoleonic
decisions.

After the restorer had gone, the great dealer
leaned back and gazed at the ceiling. Once he
consulted a pocket-book and made a note of a date
in mid-May. On that day, according to his private
information from New York, Mr. Patrick P. Bordeaux
would set sail for JLondon. His show-rooms would
then be crowded by Americans and others ready to
acquire rare and beautiful things. Having created
exactly the right atmosphere he would see to it
that Patrick P. advanced "up the garden path" to

GOTHIC SUIT OF ARMOUR
A North Italian Suit

[SeeChapterfVII

THE FAMOUS GUZMAN CROSS

In the Pierpont Morgan Collection; richly decorated with

Symbolic Emblems of the Passion. The original ebony cross

became rock crystal by the combined magic of a millionaire's

wish and a dealer's "cleverness "

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT 109
the tune of many thousands ! Within the stipulated
period the two suits of armour were delivered, and
George set them up in a special show-case, electrically
lit and lined with red velvet. Scintillating with the
gold of damascened work, they looked to be exact
replicas of armour such as is found rarely even in
the great museums or princely collections of the
world. When all was ready George telephoned
Hugh Melmett, made an appointment at the show
rooms, and took the wise precaution of having the
helmets removed.

"Now, Hugh," he said, standing before the cases,
"you are an expert on armour. What do you think
of these'? The helmets are just being cleaned. Better
than your old 800 suits, eh?"

"Marvellous," murmured the young man in
admiration. "About 1480 and Verona, I should
say."

The great man beamed upon him.

"Look at 'em closely, my boy. Examine ? em."
He opened the doors of the show-case, while Melmett
scrutinised each piece.

"Wonderful," he sighed.

"That is what Bordeaux will say!"

Hugh examined the suits more carefully, then he
suddenly spun round.

"What? Are these mine?"

George nodded complacently.

"But that damascening?" It's not inlaid: only
gilt! What is going to happen if a collector tries it
with acids?"

no SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Rubbish! Who is going to have the impertinence
to try them with acid once they are sold into a
private collection? Remember, they will be guaranteed
by you and me!"

"God! You won't ask me to do that/ 5 gasped
Melmett. "If it came out, I'd be ruined for
life."

"Who is going to spill the story?" demanded the
dealer. "You? Halberd, who has had five hundred
quid? Or me?"

"But the thing is just a swindle!"

The dealer pushed his blood-injected face close
to Hugh. His voice was trembling with passion.

"Swindle? You talk to me like that? You come
whining for 800 and then refuse to pay the bill?
Listen to me, Melmett: if you back out now I'll
ruin you just as surely as I've ruined others who
got in my way. What about my telling Sir Hubert
exactly why you valued his black Chinese vases so
low as 1,500? He will tumble to your game right
away: it will be the end of you!"

There were little drops of perspiration on Melmett's
face and his eyes turned this way and that like
those of an animal seeking escape. This man was
without pity. There was no way out of the trap
now.

"As you like," he mumbled.

"Don't you worry any more," urged the dealer,
satisfied now he had got his way. "Leave the details
to me. Bordeaux is arriving at Liverpool to-morrow
morning and after I have spun him the yarn all

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT in

you will have to do is to put a formal O.K. on the
armour. Incidentally, if I get my price there is
.3,000 in it for you. How's that?"

In spite of this large douceur, Hugh Melmett was
acutely anxious and miserable. He could do nothing,
but had to wait until George put the deal through.
Two days later Patrick P. Bordeaux walked into
the London show-rooms of Mr. George, intent on
adding to his already fine collection.

"You wrote to me about some helmets," he
explained. "I'd like to have a look at them."

George produced the helmets which pleased Bor
deaux and he bought them at the very moderate
price which the wily George always asked for things
which could be got elsewhere.

"Haven't you got something really important for
me?" he asked. "I've written to all the specialists
in Europe but it seems extraordinarily hard to find
really fine armour nowadays."

"Well," replied the dealer, pulling thoughtfully
at his chin, "I've got two wonderful suits here at
the moment. But they aren't for sale: my partner
promised to let Pierpont Morgan see anything we
had in that line. I'll let you see them, if you say
nothing about it: as a connoisseur I know you will
be delighted at their workmanship."

When Patrick P. Bordeaux caught sight of the
show-case in which the suits of armour glittered,
resplendent and shining, he uttered an exclamation
of delight.

The American collector stood entranced. For a

us SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

long time there was silence: the great dealer was
far too clever a psychologist to break It.

" Grand. The finest I have ever seen for sale
anywhere/ 5 said the collector at last.

"Yes. I have never succeeded in getting anything
as good in my whole career."

Bordeaux turned on George and took him by the
arm, purpose in every line of his face.

"Look here, my friend, you must sell these to me.
I'll pay anything you like, but have them I must."

The dealer raised his eyes in pained protest.

" Oh, quite impossible, Mr. Bordeaux. We should
get into serious trouble if Mr. Morgan knew we had
not given him the first refusal."

"To hell with Morgan, 5 ' snapped the collector.
"Has he got first call on anything you get?"
No? Well then, if your other clients' interests only
come in after you have satisfied Morgan, I'll take
my custom elsewhere. It won't do you much good
if this sort of thing becomes known ! "

"Come, you surely can't issue an ultimatum like
that," protested the dealer. "What would you think
if you were in Morgan's place and I sold the pieces
to someone else?"

After a great deal of argument, in which Patrick
P, Bordeaux became more thrustful and eager to
gain possession of this coveted armour, the great
dealer admitted himself vanquished. By astute
trickery and a diabolical knowledge of human
nature he had now got Bordeaux where he wanted
him. He gave a sigh and shrugged his shoulders.

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT 113

"Very well, Mr. Bordeaux. You have convinced
me that you have equal rights with Mr. Morgan.
You shall have the suits for 32,000, but I do beg
of you to try to keep the matter secret. Pierpont
Morgan is an awkward customer to deal with: if
he knew of this affair he would most certainly close
his account with us/'

"32,000, eh?" gasped the American. "That's
a tall figure!"

Then followed a superb piece of salesmanship
possible only to a really great man.

"Please don't think I am trying to put the price
up on you, Mr. Bordeaux. If I had said 50,000
you would know in your heart it was not too much.
They are absolutely unique. I know many great
collectors who would jump at this bargain, but I
also know that if I did not make you buy these suits
you would never forgive me. I know what they mean
to you better than you do yourself. You must take
them!"

The American stood and stared. Then he laughed,
but George knew he had won.

"You have the cool cheek to order me to buy
this armour at 32,000?"

"I do. If you won't, I'll not say another word
and I am sorry to have made myself ridiculous on
your account. Maybe you will remember my words
one day."

The dealer moved towards the door, but Patrick
P. did not follow him. His gaze was riveted on those
two resplendent and shining suits. He spoke again.

ii 4 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Don't misunderstand me, George. I was only
pulling your leg. I've never seen better armour than
this and I take my hat off to you. You are a great
man. I'll take the suits at your own price and write
the cheque out now!"

"And I'm truly sorry," replied the art expert.
"I can never resist buying beautiful things: that is
the only pleasure I get out of them because they
are always snapped up by lucky connoisseurs like you."

"Oh, by the way, has Hugh Melmett seen these?"
asked the American, as an afterthought.

"Yes. He asked me to allow him to illustrate them
in his next work, but I refused because they belonged
to a minor foreign royalty. Actually they were
located in a lumber room in a shooting lodge which
had not been used for twenty years and, as the dis
covery was not made known to the State, the armour
was sold privately. They were in an excellent state
of preservation."

When the American left, George telephoned to
Hugh Melmett and made it plain that the deal had
gone through. All Melmett now had to do was
personally to guarantee the genuineness of the
armour. There was no way out of the impasse, and
so presently Patrick P. Bordeaux, the great New
York collector, left England in triumph. He had
captured this enormous prize from under the very
nose of the illustrious Pierpont Morgan, and that
alone doubled the value of his deal!

More than twenty years passed. Hugh Melmett
died at an unexpectedly early age, and in the interval

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT 115
Patrick P. had become rather less enamoured of his
suits of armour. Once or twice sceptical friends and
connoisseurs had cast doubts upon their authenticity,
but in the interval he had become immensely rich
and his collection had expanded accordingly. After
all, what was 32,000 to him? Nor had George
stood still. He was by now one of the richest men
in his business, but he did not like the way his client
now and again referred to those suits of armour,
The more he thought about Bordeaux's attitude, the
less he liked it. It would never do for there to be a
scandal even after this lapse of time. He knew that
Bordeaux had long been trying to find for his picture
gallery an important work by a great Italian master,
and at this moment there was just such a picture
in his show-room. His cunning mind examined the
problem from every angle, and at last he hit on a
plan which should clear him in the event of trouble.
The American was, as usual, coming to London in
the early summer, so George let it be known through
devious channels that the canvas Patrick P. wanted
was waiting purchase. The collector snapped at the
lure.

"Before you see this picture which, incidentally,
is probably the best the artist ever painted/' began
George, when the American arrived, "I want you
to do me a favour. You remember those suits of
armour you got from me twenty years ago? I've
always regretted losing them, and I want to buy
them back. You paid me 32,000. FU give you
40,000 on the nail. How's that?"

u6 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

For a moment Patrick P. was staggered. The
doubts of past years were quelled by a prospective
profit of 8,000. Damn it, the things must be genuine!

"Done!" he said, rather regretfully, because he
had a genuine love of the beautiful. "Now theii,
George, let's have a look at this picture of yours."

He had a look which resulted in his buying it for
no less than 170,000. He surely had been "done,"
because the astute George had added 50,000 to the selling
price! Thus the great dealer made 10,000 more
and had got the armour into the bargain! That it
was comparatively worthless only stimulated his
imagination.

This deal has a remarkably interesting sequel.
There was and still is a not very well known
collector in the United States called Edward L.
Hennage who used to holiday in Europe. When in
London he ventured into the show-rooms owned by
Mr. George just to have a look round : most of the
things were beyond his purse. But the great Mr.
George took to him at once. Quite soon they became
very friendly and one day Hennage noticed two
suits of damascened armour.

"How lovely!" he remarked.

"Well, yes," replied the dealer. "But they have
a curious history. They were sold to me by Hugh
Melmett; he's dead now,, poor devil! I sold them to
Patrick P. Bordeaux for 32,000 as damascened,
but when I found out that the damascened work
was only surface gilding I bought them back for
40,000! They are unique, of course, and quite

THE BLACKMAILING OF AN EXPERT 117

worth the money, but I wanted them back because
I made a mistake about the damascening. In fact
I intend to leave them to a museum."

Hennage thought deeply for a moment. His eye
returned to rest affectionately on the "damascened"
armour.

"When you were in the States, do you remember
coming to my place and admiring a particularly
fine shield by Benvenuto Cellini? It really is a
masterpiece."

"Of course," replied the dealer, recalling exactly
the very clever fake by the restorer, Halberd, which
he had known on the market for at least twenty-five
years. "I do indeed. A wonderful piece!"

" Well now," exclaimed Hennage excitedly. " Can't
we do a deal? I'll give you let's see 20,000 and
the shield if you will let me have this armour."

"You would part with your Cellini?" exclaimed
the dealer, in simulated amazement. "Done, Mr.
Hennage. I have got the best of the bargain!"

Edward L. grinned delightedly to himself. He
had got the best bargain! The deal was clinched
and that great man, George, had made a clear
profit of 30,000 in the "taking back" of his fakes.
He also gained possession of a faked shield which
he destroyed as soon as it arrived. Now those famous
suits of medieval armour rest in an American col
lector's gallery. On his death they are destined to
stand, the admiration of all beholders, in one of the
most famous of Eastern American museums.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW PIERPONT MORGAN BOUGHT " MISTAKES 55

IN a charming old manor house in Surrey there
lives to-day that Nestor of all art experts and con
noisseurs, the internationally known Dr. George
C. Williamson who became one of the firmest friends of
the great John Pierpont Morgan, the elder, during the
latter years of his life. The number of the doctor's works
on Art and many other matters would fill a good-
sized catalogue. Perhaps the most interesting, from the
layman's point of view, is his Stories of an Expert This
contains stories in which, to those conversant with
the inner history of art collecting during the last half
century, solutions are provided to many puzzling secrets.

Dr. Williamson has not stressed his learning and
acumen which decided the fate of many enormous
transactions, but some of these adventures connected
with Morgan's collections are fragments of secret
history known only to a select few of the initiated.

The doctor's first meeting with the multi-millionaire
was due to an interesting little u game" played on
Morgan. Incidentally, this shows him in a new light,
as something more than the pitiless financier who
surpassed the Goulds, Mackays and the Vanderbilts,
and who, at the time of his death, controlled interests
totalling, I believe, some 22,000 millions of dollars!

118

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES" 119
There is, to my mind, no doubt that Morgan
always intended his vast collections to be left to and
preserved by the American nation. At the cost of
millions of pounds his agents had ransacked the
artistic treasure houses of Europe and the East.
When he died in 1913, lovers of art were astounded
to hear that his son, as heir and executor, had
decided to sell several portions of these collections,
many of which were then on loan to the Metro
politan Museum of New York. Only the outbreak
of the world war drowned the chorus of dismay,
but by the terms of the will John Pierpont Morgan,
Junior, was entirely within his rights in breaking
up the finest collections the world has ever seen.
This might justly be compared with that other great
artistic tragedy, the dispersal by the Commonwealth
of the carefully chosen treasures of King Charles I.
The Chinese porcelains, the French decorative works
of art of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries
and the incomparable painted room by Fragonard
were sold for approximately 2,000,000. The tapes
try collection was also sold at that time, the finest
piece being the large fifteenth century panel depic
ting "The Adoration of God the Father," valued
at 100,000. Incidentally, this panel had been the
cause of the famous cause cilebre between the late
Jacques Seligmann, of Paris, and Duveen Brothers.
For several years Morgan had lent this panel,
together with some of his special treasures, to the
Victoria and Albert Museum, because the United
States Treasury would not allow him to import

iao SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

them without paying the 60 per cent duty then levied
on old works of art. The latest dispersal is the sale
of many unique "Old Masters/' and that of the
unmatchable collection of miniatures.

Dr. Williamson, like many other lovers of beauty,
had often longed for an opportunity to examine
Morgan's fine collection of miniatures in his London
house at Princes Gate, and at last, after some long
endeavour, Mr. Douglas, the secretary, wrote to say
that if he would come on a certain morning he could
look over them at his leisure. Morgan would be
away on that day, and it was made clear that Dr.
Williamson was on no account to make any notes
for subsequent publication. At the sight of such
wonderful things the doctor was overwhelmed: here
were delicate masterpieces in endless numbers such
as he had never hoped to see. He became so engrossed
that presently he forgot the existence of the secretary
and Henry, the faithful butler, who remained in the
room. Presently he was staring at the Fauconberg
miniature, framed in diamonds. He stretched out a
hand, then withdrew it. Without looking round he said :

"May I take- this to the window to look at it
more closely?"

"Do what you like," came a gruff bark in his ear.

Williamson spun round. There was the great
emperor of finance himself, the autocrat of the
world's sale rooms. Dr. Williamson had not seen
him before, but there could be no possible mistake
as to his identity. The secretary and Henry, who
certainly were there a moment before, had vanished.

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES"

A grim smile played round the great man's mouth
as he watched the doctor's amazement.

"Know who I am, eh? So you are the man who
never makes a mistake!"

"I-Fve never said that," stammered the con
noisseur.

"You admit to mistakes, then?"

"A good few," said the candid Williamson.
"But I've owned up every time I found myself in
the wrong."

Morgan gave a hoot of laughter.

"Huh! You are the first expert to admit to me
that he is fallible. You're more modest than your
colleague Dr. Bode!"

Again he gave a rough guffaw, while the doctor tried
to explain that the man who says he has never made a
mistake is either lying, or has never achieved anything.

"Quite right," snapped Morgan. "Pve made
many enough in my own affairs." It was clear he
meant that if he had made some, others must have made
many more. His manner changed and the smile disap
peared. "Have you found any mistakes among these? "

Williamson, overawed by the dynamic personality
of the multi-millionaire, tried to evade the point
by speaking of the quality and beauty of the collection.
Morgan saw through him instantly.

" Come on, out with it. What d'you think I let you in
here for? That Fauconberg miniature, for instance?"

"WeU er " stammered the unhappy doctor,

"I'm afraid you have been imposed upon here."

"How?"

122 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"I see that on the back of the gold case Cosway's
name is engraved. It is not by Cosway at all!"

Morgan's eyebrows shot up into his hair.

"You seem pretty sure! Do you set your opinion
against the best European connoisseurs?"

"Yes, Mr. Morgan. You see, I know the real
artist. If you'd care to hear it is rather a long
tale, I'm afraid "

Morgan thrust his visitor into a chair and lit a cigar.

"Go on, man. Tell me."

"A few years ago a certain lady came to me in
London bringing with her this miniature. She
explained that she was a direct descendant of the
Countess of Fauconberg and that a dealer had offered
to buy it at a big price.

"'Now, Dr. Williamson, 5 she said, 'the dealer is
so foolish as to require your written guarantee that
this is by Cosway. It seems so stupid, because we
have had this in our family ever since Cosway painted
it! Would you mind giving me a written assurance:
it is just a formality?'

"Well, Mr. Morgan," continued Williamson, "the
moment I had this miniature in my hand I knew it
was not Cosway's work. I dare not give any such guar
antee, and I explained to her as gently as I could
that she was placing me in a very awkward position.

"'Not Cosway's work?' cried the lady. 'Don't
be silly. Three dealers have seen it, and they are
all agreed. It is only because this man Hogg hopes
to sell it again at a high figure in America that he
wants your assurance!'

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES" 123

"I shook my head.

"'So sure am I that Cosway never touched this,
that I will write down a name on a piece of
paper and seal it in an envelope. Call in an expert,
take the miniature to pieces and you will almost
certainly find that artist's name on the back!'

"At that the lady nearly had hysterics/' said the
doctor. "She pleaded, she wept, she called me every
thing she could think of, and then went away. Next
day she came back and renewed her attack, but I
refused to give any guarantee.

"'The whole world knows this is a Cosway/ she
exclaimed, c and you are just doing this to stop Mr.
Hogg from paying me a good price. I need the money

so badly. In fact, if I don't get it ' She burst

into tears and then rounded on me. * Put your opinion
into writing then. Prove your silly talk! You'll only
make a fool of yourself! '

"Well, Mr. Morgan/' said Williamson, looking at
the quiet, grim-jawed figure in the armchair, "I
wrote one word on a piece of paper, put it in an
envelope, and we had the miniature taken to pieces
by Mr. Payne, a well known specialist in that sort
of work. On the back' was found an inscription in
the artist's handwriting: 'Jane Chesshyre, Countess of
Fauconberg, drawn in 1791, the year of her marriage with
Charles,, Earl of Fauconberg) one of the Lords of the Bed-
Chamber to His Majesty George III. By Mr. Jean, minia
ture painter* There were, moreover, on the extreme
edge of the front of the miniature, the artist's initials
which until then had been hidden by the frame!"

124 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Morgan fixed the doctor with . an intimidating
stare, his cigar at an upthrust angle.

"And the name you -had written?"

"Jean, Mr. Morgan. The lady nearly fainted
when she opened the envelope. I asked her to let
me photograph the artist's signature in order to add
it to my collection, and she agreed. Then, I'm
afraid, her control broke down: she must have been
in very great trouble. She told me that Mr. Hogg
4 believed' it to be a Cosway and that if I would
guarantee it, I should receive 200 from him and
an additional 100 from her share of the proceeds.
In her then state of mind, I don't think she realised
she was trying to bribe me. 5 '

There was a long silence in the room. Dr. Williamson
stood, twisting the Jean in his hand, feeling extraord
inarily uncomfortable. At last Pierpont Morgan spoke.

"I did buy it through Hogg, and I paid a thumping
price. Bring me that photograph of Jean's signature
to-morrow. Now come and have some lunch."

At the table, Morgan showed another side of his
complex personality. He became the attentive host,
and, though he himself ate nothing more than a few
strawberries, saw that his guest was served with the
best of everything. Half way through the meal he
interrupted Williamson by another startling broadside.

"I've been looking for a mind like yours!" he
barked. "I would like you to make catalogues of
my collections so that, if anything happens to the
originals" he hesitated, as though he had a pre
monition of what might occur after his death "if

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES" 125
they should ever be dispersed, students can work as
though they had the originals in front of them."

Williamson was staggered, but Morgan swept out
his arm with a compelling gesture.

"Oh, I know the difficulties, but you can do it!
I looked over your works before you came to-day. No,
don't interrupt me: I want fine colour plates, and if
colour blocks won't do, then the work will have to
be done by hand. Bring together the best artists
you can find, the most suitable man for each type of
illustration. It will be a kind of human photography ! "

Swept away by Morgan's extraordinary personality
and enthusiasm, Williamson felt that nothing was im
possible. He saw clearly how his new friend's ideals
could be realised, but also envisaged the almost fantastic
cost of the project. When he mentioned this, Morgan
produced a cheque book and banged it on the table.

"Money? I don't care about the cost! You will
have to make journeys to Europe, to America and
the East fifty journeys. What does that matter?
I'll see your London account is kept in credit, and
you do the rest. Track up on the history of each
piece: I've been supplied with plenty of 'Histories'
which I know are false, and you must dig down to
the truth. Understand me, Williamson, when I say
that the job will take years. No matter, train your
successors and I'll arrange so they can work on!"

From this day the two men became intimates.
Pierpont Morgan knew that here at last was one
man whom he could trust to the utmost. In his
joy at having found unbiased honesty, the great

126 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

financier revealed that human side to his character
which he hid from most of his friends. At once the
doctor set to work to organize his little army of some
fifty artists. Every detail of the compilation of those
vast catalogues was executed in the most perfect style.
Even the vellum on which the text and illustrations
were produced was brought from the famous works
from which the Vatican was supplied.

The researches, journeying and discoveries which
Dr. Williamson made during the next eight years
would fill half a dozen volumes. His adventures
would make greater stories than any of my own,
but unfortunately, it would be as dangerous to relate
many of them as it would be to let off a rocket in
a dynamite factory! I can, however, make known
the more intimate details of the sale of the famous
Guzman rock-crystal cross which hitherto have been
kept strictly secret for various reasons. The kindly
savant has so often told and retold me the story that
it forms another lively picture in my mind. Some
of the details I knew already from other intimate
sources. The cross is beautifully reproduced in colours
in Dr. Williamson's Book of Morgan Jewels, and is
very well known indeed to collectors, the world over.

Morgan had let it be known, however, that he
particularly wanted to acquire some important and
valuable object in rock crystal, and here let me. say
that when Morgan wanted a thing the art dealers
of Europe and America got very busy indeed.
Strategy, tact, intrigue and methods far worse came
into play to satisfy the commands of this Croesus.

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES" 127

So it was that about ten months later Pierpont
Morgan had news that M. Early, of Paris, had
managed to obtain a magnificent crystal cross. Early,
the hero of the ivory Riesener table episode mentioned
in a previous story, was one of the astutest men in
the art world. He outstripped dealers, fakers and
connoisseurs by sheer imaginative and ruthless ability
and, having had previous dealings with Morgan,
knew he could name his own price for an object
which really appealed to the multi-millionaire. One
day the great man himself strolled into Barly's show
rooms in Paris, grunted "Good morning 95 and began
a slow march round the various cases.

"In my room at the back," murmured the French
man, "I have something really worth looking at.
A rock crystal cross."

Together they went into this tiny private show
room which was covered with green Italian Gothic
velvet worth probably 50 a yard: there in a perfectly
plain glass case on a velvet pillar, stood a marvellous
crystal cross. Morgan looked at it without speaking,
and the dealer knew his man far too well to risk any
eulogies. The cross was well worth looking at: a
magnificent block of crystal in which were set small
sixteenth century gold-enamel reliquaries and all the
emblems of the Passion wrought in fine chased gold.
Moreover, the curtains had been arranged cunningly
so that a shaft of light lay upon the cross which seemed
to glow by some inner fire of its own. At last Morgan
drew up a chair and sat down, still staring at this
lovely object and still not saying one word.

128 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Suddenly the millionaire jerked up his head and
-instantly the dealer interpreted the question.

"3> 00 3 Mr. Morgan. 5 *

His client merely nodded towards the door and
got up, while Early reverently removed the cross
from the case and carried it out himself to Morgan's
car. Just as Barly was bowing and murmuring
farewells, Morgan shot three words at him.

"To-morrow morning, Bristol."

Barly said afterwards this was the only time he
had seen Morgan so excited that he could scarcely
speak. Next day the dealer arrived at the Hotel
Bristol and waited for half an hour while the great
man was disposing of the financial affairs of America
by a few nods and grunts. When he saw Barly,
Morgan snapped:

" Where d'you get it?"

"Ah, Meestaire Morgan," exclaimed the dealer,
throwing up dramatic eyes and arms. "This cross
was in about the year 1550 made for the family of
Guzman, in Spain. There is no other like her any
where. Unique, yes ! Through centuries she stay in that
family until now, at last, my agents get her. For more
than three hundred and fifty year she is treated like a
Holy Relic, guarded always from the common gaze."

Morgan gazed morosely at him and then said:

"How is it that the crystal is so absolutely perfect?"

"Ah, you are clever! You observe always! She
has been kept in a velvet case so that she has remained
in a virgin condition!"

"Well," replied Morgan, terminating the interview

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES" 129
with characteristic abruptness, "you have just missed
my paying date. You'll get your money next year!"

The wonderful crystal cross was accorded a place
of honour amongst the great financier's jewel collec
tion, and, some time later, he asked Dr. Williamson
to include it in the Book of Jewels which was then
being prepared. Williamson held the cross in his
hands, turning it and admiring the beautiful enamel
ling. It was lovely enough, he thought: too lovely!
Years of experience told him never to be deceived
by mere beauty, although this work of art interested
him particularly because he himself was connected
with the Spanish family of Guzman.

"Do you like it?" demanded Morgan, watching
him like a havk.

"Yes. Oh, yes. It is marvellous !"

"Come on: what's the matter with it?"

Williamson hesitated before undeceiving and hurt
ing his friend whom, he knew, was wrapped up in
this fragment of crystal. Then he sighed and shrugged
his shoulders.

"I'm afraid it is a fake! It looks too new and
unblemished. 5 *

"It was always kept in its case," snapped Morgan.
"But I trust you before any other man. Go to Spain
at once and find out all about that crystal."

The doctor took a photograph and a coloured
reproduction with him to Spain and within a very
short time discovered that the cross had been for
centuries in possession of the Guzmans, then it had
disappeared in some mysterious fashion. A Spanish

I 3 o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

general and a man-servant had played a part in this
transference, but in Leon Williamson obtained a vital
clue from a ninety year old lady who had known the
cross as a child.

"I think that this is the same cross/' she said,
"and yet it is different. In this photograph it is
glass: when I knew it the body was of ebony."

Williamson's next problem was to find how the
" glass" had been substituted; he traced the appear
ance of the crucifix through various private collections,
and found that the old lady was right. Originally
the cross had been of ebony! Finally it had gone to
Paris, and there the trail was lost. Still Williamson
persevered in his search and at last decided to tackle
M. Early himself. With what he already knew, he
might force the dealer's hand.

"Yes," Early admitted, when he gauged the
doctor's knowledge, "there was a what shall I say
a reconstruction. Why not, mon cher? Meestaire
Morgan want a crystal and I find him. He is not quite
complete. No!" He smiled broadly, and pressed the
doctor's arm. "But my client must not be disap
pointed, nor must other dealers outwit me. If I had not
sold that rock of crystal someone else would ; the differ
ence is that then fools would have got the money!"

"How was it done?" a^ked Williamson.

"Aha!" said Early with childish pride. "I take
the ebony cross to the good M. Andre, pere. She has
small cavities for relics and some very fine gold enamel
work. Andre know his business! He make a superb
crystal cross, he inset the enamelling so ! Et voild !

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES" 131
The old ebony cross I myself burn to ashes. Of
proof there remains nothing at all, mon ami /" Then,
laying his hand on the doctor's shoulder, he added:
" My dear, dear Doctor, you will not harm me with
Morgan, will you?" He hesitated a moment, began
to say something, but evidently changed his mind.
Just as he was leaving for London, Williamson
received an envelope with 25 bank notes of fr.i,ooo
each in it. No letter ! He handed it back to the bearer 3
saying, "Not for me, a mistake."

Williamson did not feel equal to such "clever
ness": the affair was nothing less than a swindle.
All the way back to London he pondered his course
of action. Ought he to tell Morgan the truth? And
what would happen if he did? Would it not be
kinder to let the financier think he had secured a
genuine and very valuable antique? No sooner had
he come into Morgan's study than a question hit
him like a bullet: "Well? Fake or not?"

The doctor nerved himself for the ordeal.

"I'm afraid it is. A very great pity, but you must
remember that this does not detract from the beauty
of the relic."

He told Morgan the whole story, whereat the
financier nodded and smiled rather grimly.

"Good thing you're an honest man, Williamson.
I've just had a three page telegram from Barly telling
me exactly the same story. The fellow is a damned
scamp, but he is so clever I cannot do without him! "

The doctor wiped the perspiration from his fore
head and blessed the instinct which made him tell

SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER
the truth. Though he had lost nothing by frankness,
the incident made him tremble to think what might
happen if he tried to interfere and give an unbiased
opinion on some of the "treasures" foisted on his
patron by certain art dealers. The grudgingly appre
ciated disclosure of the true history of this crystal cross
had another effect : an important reliquary was included
in Morgan's Book of Jewels which gave the doctor even
more uneasiness as to its authenticity. On that point,
however, I must remain for ever silent. There are
some things too dangerous to talk of or write about!

Before Pierpont Morgan died, six of the catalogues
arranged by Dr. Williamson and his assistants were
finished, and preparations for two more were almost
complete. The first to be completed described and
illustrated the collection of miniatures, now to be
dispersed at Christie's. The last which Morgan saw
was that depicting and describing his watches: he
received it on Christmas Day, 1912, a few months
before his death.

" The most beautiful book I have ever seen ! " he cabled
to Williamson. Morgan knew that this praise would
be some recompense for the work of his devoted
helper. Only a Croesus could have imagined, let
alone produced, such exquisite work where, in the
illustrations, the gold and silver was laid on so
thickly that it could be engraved just as the originals
had been! Now, alas, the sale-room that Destroying
Angel of collections is to see the dispersal of another
of these carefully garnered hoards of treasure. The
miniatures are to be sold at auction, and an un*

HOW PIERPONT BOUGHT "MISTAKES" 133
sympathetic and unimaginative world may speculate
as to whether they will fetch more than a small
fraction of the price Morgan paid.

Pierpont Morgan's painful hesitation when he
spoke to the doctor of the possible dispersal of his
treasures after his death was more than a premonition.
It was a pang of real fear. That this fear was shared
by his own daughters is a matter of common know
ledge, and now only these monumental books are
left to bear witness to Morgan's love of the beautiful.
Only a very few sets of the six completed works wholly
printed on vellum are in existence to-day, and these
are in the possession of one or two great museums,
a crowned head or so and some members of the
Morgan family. John Pierpont Morgan, the elder,
gave one complete set to Dr. Williamson, who also
possesses two further incomplete works, in themselves
more unique and more important than all the others.
When Morgan died, since there was no written con
tract, the executors decided that the work should be
discontinued. That was a pity because, from a clause
in his will which seems to me to indicate his wishes,
I feel sure Morgan would have liked to complete
this wonderful monument to his collections. Indeed,
when at last he began to set his house in order, he
was already a dying man. It is a significant sidelight
on the character of the " merciless" man who has
been called "chief of the trust bosses of America' 5
that one book lay on the table beside his death-bed
in Rome. It was "The most beautiful book I have
ever seen ! " Dr, Williamson's catalogue of his watches !

CHAPTER IX

HOW A V.C. EARNED A ROYAL SNUFF-BOX

IN the past my family has often found it rather
dangerous to take part in art deals and other trans
actions connected with Royalty or with very impor
tant personages in the political world. Though these
operations certainly afford some much more interest
ing sidelights on world affairs than official histories,
very seldom indeed do they bring in a financial profit.
Here is one story which commences, of all places,
in that charming hotel at Bettws-y-coed which over
looks the Waterloo Bridge and the glorious Conway
river. My uncle, the late Sir Joseph Joel Duveen,
had caught a chill on a motoring trip in North Wales
and as a result I was playing the role of male nurse
during his convalescence. I had been reading to
him Conan Doyle's masterpiece: The Exploits of
Brigadier Gerard. Happening to stand at the window
I saw an opulent car arrive, and from it clambered
a figure in a large fur coat and, surprisingly, a fur
cap!

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. " There is Kopp!"

My uncle joined me at the window: there was no

possible mistake. Kopp scanned the fa$ade of the

hotel with his usual Napoleonic glance and waved

his hand nonchalantly to the driver of his noisy

134

HOW V.C. EARNED ROYAL SNUFF-BOX 135

Mercedes. He caught sight of us at the window
and at that moment my uncle took me by the elbow.

"Look, Jack, I can't see anyone. D'you under
stand? I feel much too weak to see visitors; especially
Swiss ones!" *

He smiled at me as I left the room. An artist like
Kopp, who had "sold" Trajan's Column to a wealthy
American and was certainly one of the trickiest
customers in the art trade, had not come to Bettws-y-
coed for the scenery! Half-way down the stairs I
met him mounting with a purposeful air, having
swept aside the hotel staff in a regal manner.

" Ha, my boy ! " he exclaimed. " I have just dropped
in to see your uncle."

"I'm sorry; that is quite impossible. He is just
recovering from a bad attack of bronchitis. But
come along to my room."

Very unwillingly he accompanied me, and at last
came to the point.

"Your uncle must see me," he said. "I've got
something here that will make your whole blasted
family jump!"

That was his pleasant way of being nasty, and of
reminding me of his cleverness over the adventure
of the Azure vases. Opening a small bag, he pro
duced a green-and-gold etui (case) and when he
opened this I did give a jump!

"My God!"

On a puckered white satin lining lay the most
lovely example of the enameller's and goldsmith's
art. It was a large snuff-box made of rose agate.

136 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

On the outside of the lid was an exquisite enamel-on-
gold painting representing a Bacchanalia, the scene
being in grisaille, that monochrome grey which the
artists of the Louis XV period knew so well how
to employ. On the borders of the lid was fruit and
shellwork consisting of large diamonds underlaid
with coloured foil to represent fruit and flowers.
The setting and framing was of solid gold and the
sides of the box had the same treatment in diamonds
and gold. Indeed, from whichever side you looked
at this gem of beauty, it had the appearance of rose-
tinted snow studded with scintillating points of ice.
Further, on the inside of the lid was a rather flatter
ing portrait of Frederick the Great who was pictured
as Jupiter riding on the clouds. I was standing
staring at this lovely thing when Kopp pressed one
of the small diamonds.

"Look what I found!"

A secret spring was released and when he turned
the inside of the lid towards me, there was a masterly
reproduction of "The Rape of Ganymede by the
Eagle." I saw at once that Ganymede's face was a
portrait.

"Now can I see your uncle?" said Kopp trium
phantly.

"Yes," I sighed. "Of course. Come along in."

No sooner had Uncle Joel set eyes on the treasure
than he started out of his chair. "Where did you get
that?" Then, in Dutch: " The Ridder's snuf-box /"

"This belongs to a great Russian Princess," ex
plained Kopp, "who has asked me to get an offer for

HOW V.G. EARNED ROYAL SNUFF-BOX 137
it. She wants money immediately; that is why I
came to you."

"Don't waste time then/' snapped my uncle.
"You know that I never make offers. No, no"
he waved impatiently at the dealer "don't talk
about your c word of honour.' You have already
made up your mind exactly how much you want."

Kopp did not turn a hair at this slight to his
honour.

"I'm not playing any game, Mr. Duveen. I
really have to get an offer and take it personally to the
Princess. She won't have anything put in writing."

For quite half an hour they wrangled. My uncle
refused to make an offer and Kopp demanded one.
Then the latter had an idea.

"Let Jack come over with me to Russia and he
can make your offer in person."

Uncle saw in my eyes that I was willing. He
hesitated a moment and then took an unexpected
decision.

"I won't send my nephew. I know what Russians
are like to deal with. I'll trust you this time, Kopp;
but God help you if you play crooked with me.
I'll give 10,000 for the box, but you must leave
it here,"

The Swiss resolutely refused to do this. We could
move him neither by argument nor persuasion, so
it was finally agreed that he should start for Russia
the same night and send us a telegram as soon as
he had obtained a decision from the Princess. Before
he left, however, we spent an hour or two gloating

138 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

over this snuff-box which, apart from its intrinsic
value, was truly a lovely thing. 1 As soon as Kopp
had gone, I turned to my Uncle.

"Why did you offer him so much? 95

"To make sure he won't sell it to anyone else,"
he replied. "Ten thousand is certainly 3,000 or
4,000 more than anyone else would give. And I'll
tell you something else; I'm breaking one of my
cardinal principles in buying the box for myself,
because it has made family history. I'd never sell
it to any client."

"Because it is so beautiful,, or because it belonged
to the Ridder?" I asked, sensing a story round the
name of which I had heard so many romantic hints.

"Both," was the reply.

That evening he began a tale of van Esso, the
Ridder (Ridder being a Dutch title roughly equivalent
to Chevalier, or that of Knight, in England). It was
a story of the siege of the Citadel of Antwerp in 1832
by the French, when Belgium was struggling for
independence against William I, King of the Nether
lands; and of how van Esso gained his title and this
identical snuff-box, and nearly lost his life twice as
a result.

"I got this authentic history from van Esso himself
at Meppel in Holland," said Joel Duveen. "He
used to tell and re-tell it to me as a boy, so that I
remember every word.

1 It was the last I saw of that incomparable jewel. The only thing which
remains, as a very unsatisfying memory, is a coloured sketch made by the
great London-born artist, Jean Guillaume George Kruger, for a jeweller. To
my intense joy I discovered this many years later in the Berlin Print Cabinet,

THE SNUFF Box OF FREDERICK THE GREAT

Drawing by Malcolm S. Ford after the original sketch of the London Huguenot artist,
Tean-Baptiste Kruger. (Enlarged to show detail)
J Y [See Chapter IX

CHEVALIER JACOB VAN Esso (THE RIDDER)
With the Dutch V.C. won for valour on the field

[See Chapter X

HOW V.C. EARNED ROYAL SNUFF-BOX 139

"Bidder van Esso was also an art dealer, a little
fellow with the spirit of a lion but as kind a father
and husband as you could find. Though he was
only five foot four, when a rough crowd of bullies
belonging to the Knock-out Ring once tried to threaten
him, he smashed the handle off a handcart and set
about them to such purpose that he cleared the
street in about two minutes !"

My uncle paused for a few moments and then said:
"I will tell you the tale in the first person, just as
the Ridder told it to me. 55

" As you know, I was in the siege of the Citadel
of Antwerp in '32 and one night during the march
to the city the Dutch commissariat arrangements
failed rather badly. Our half-company was quartered
that night at a Flemish farm far too small for our
strength, and presently the men ran short of food
and began to steal things. A hulking great Flemish
corporal of our section, whom we called Lillo, did
nothing to restrain them, and pretty soon some of
the lads made themselves a nuisance to the farm-
girls. Soon after dark there were shrieks from the
house and I ran in to find three men battering at
a bedroom door behind which the girls had taken
refuge. They had burst it down when I rushed in,
picked up a chair and made at them: what with
oaths and women screaming, the place was a bedlam.
Suddenly this Corporal Lillo appeared, gave me a
terrible kick in the side which floored me and then
tried to stamp on my face as I lay half-stunned. I

140 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

don't like to think what might have happened if,
at that moment, our young lieutenant had not
arrived. Count van Limburg Stirum was a giant of
a fellow and his fist took Lillo under the jaw with
such force that the man spun right across the room.
The Count helped me up and, as I wiped the blood
from my face, he roared:

"'If I ever find you using violence on the men
again, Corporal, HI half kill you before you are
brought up for Court Martial!' Then to me: 'Well,
little un, how are you feeling?'

"The result of the affair was that he appointed
me his orderly and this was the beginning of a long
and romantic friendship. Very quickly I grew to
admire and love this happy-go-lucky, romantic fellow.
Once in the Citadel there was little to do; the good
people of Holland supplied us with plenty of food,
and though the Belgians held the country between
us and Holland, the River Scheldt was in our hands,
ensuring us good communications. The townsfolk
were against us but we did not worry about them:
they dared not attack us. We were commanded by
General Chasse, who had bombarded the town once,
and after this the Belgians had left us in peace; but all
the time international politicians were trying to make
us surrender. In the end the French forces concen
trated on us. No. less than 90,000 men came against us
and on 3oth November, 1832, they began a bombard
ment with hundreds of guns and short-range mortars.

"Now, just before the siege began, a certain very
lovely but notorious Royal lady, a Princess, had met

HOW V.C. EARNED ROYAL SNUFF-BOX 141
Count van Limburg Stirum during a short leave:
being half-Irish and a devil of a fellow with the women,
he was always falling in and out of love. So when
this pretty woman, wrapped in a cloak, burst into
floods of tears and he was comforting her, I tried to
make myself scarce. Even so I could not help hearing
what was said.

" Come away with me now, my darling," she
was pleading. * We will travel south to Italy and
the sun, to love and happiness! 5

"The Count was kissing her and explaining the
impossibility of deserting his post, and in the end
she went away. Returning to his room, I saw him
turning over in his hands a lovely rose agate snuff
box. Now I knew already a thing or two about
antiques: it made me open my eyes very wide. The
Count thrust it into his pocket, turned to me and
snapped out an order. Then he laughed and stretched
himself: 'These passionate women are a nuisance,
van Esso. It is all right for a time, but when they
begin to commit follies !*

"The siege began soon after and under a hail of
shells we found our bomb-proof shelters were merely
death-traps, though we managed to serve our guns
and defend the walls without too heavy casualties.
The garrison numbered 6,000, but General Chasse
had received strict orders that he was not to attempt
anything which might develop his defence into a
general war between Holland and France. We sat
there and suffered casualties to 'save our honour!'
Often the French gunfire set buildings within the

142 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Citadel alight, so that we fought the fires under a
continuous barrage. Then my lieutenant asked
General Chasse's permission to countermine the
indefensible wall of the Lunette St. Laurent, where
the French engineers were driving a tunnel. His
plan was vetoed, the General explaining that this
would undoubtedly come under the heading of
4 aggressive warfare ! ' Being shot to bits by the French
was not fighting at all: it was sheer useless butchery.
The Count was in a devil of a temper after this rebuff:
he said that if he was not allowed to countermine,
the French would blow the whole place about our
ears. He was right, of course.

"Then came the 6th December, '32, a Santa Klaus
day I shall never forget. The men had ironically
hung up their stockings the evening before: so did
I. When the Count saw it he laughed.

"'What do you expect to get? All right: hang up
one of mine as well and maybe Santa Klaus will
drop the William's Cross into it ! It is about the only
way of getting one, in this shooting-gallery ! ' (The
William's Cross is the equivalent of the Victoria
Cross.)

"In the morning the French sent over a regular
hail of shells and were concentrating on our great
storehouse, which was presently blazing from end
to end, in the afternoon. The flames were threatening
our main arsenal and about a hundred men were
hard at work fire-fighting, when I heard someone
shouting: 'They have killed the Count/' I ran out
through clouds of smoke to see van Limburg Stirum

HOW V.C. EARNED ROYAL SNUFF-BOX 143
lying in the open. Bullets and shells were whistling
round, and Corporal Lillo yelled to me: 'Keep back,
you fool! You'll be blown to bits!' Paying no atten
tion, I rushed out and found the Count moaning in
agony in a pool of blood; his foot had been practically
smashed to pulp. As I tried to lift him he regained
consciousness, stared at me and muttered:

" 'I'm too heavy for you. What are you blubbering
for, you idiot? You'll only have one boot to polish
in future! 3

"I was crying with rage at being unable to drag
him to safety, and in the end threw myself down on
top of him to protect him from the French fire. He
fainted then, and after a long time the big surgeon
came and we got him back under cover. I was present
when the surgeon amputated van Limburg's foot,
but wasn't much use, because I fainted! Some days
later he sent for me.

"'So; you sat on me, little rat!' he exclaimed.
'I've heard all about it and I've recommended you
to the General for the Cross. Now go away and let
me die in peace!'

"The Count very nearly did die, too: it was only
his amazing vitality which pulled him through. At
last the Meester (old Dutch: surgeon) took him off
the danger-list, and again he sent for me.

" 4 I may die yet,' he said, ' and I don't want to
take any chances. Here, van Esso, take that snuff
box out of my kit-bag. It's yours, and worth a lot
of money. If you ever get out of this mess, take it
to Paris or London and it will set you up in business.'

144 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"'But but you know who gave it to you!' I said,
trembling

" 4 Oh, the Princess! She has forgotten me long
ago, for someone on the spot. Anyhow, I dare not
return it for fear of compromising her. You'll have
to take it, van Esso. I don't ever want to see the
damned thing again!*

"He was getting so feverish and excited that I
let him have his way, though years later he told me
he was enraged because General Chasse had not
given me the Cross on his recommendation. I
examined the lovely agate box in detail and saw
at once that it was worth a fortune.

"The siege of the Citadel lasted till the 22nd
December: by then the whole defences were shot to
pieces and the explosion of a French mine under the
Lunette of St. Laurent was the final stroke. General
Chasse surrendered, and we marched out under
arms with colours flying: the whole of that hideous
siege had been useless. The Count, with others
wounded who could not easily be transported, stayed
in Antwerp, and I was marched into France with
the others. I must say that the French treated us
prisoners very well. We were allowed to keep our
belongings, but as a precaution I always carried the
precious snuff-box on my person. Some time after
our arrival in France, news came through that I had
been created Ridder. The Count had kept his word.

"In June, '33, 1 got back to Holland, but remained
under arms till October, '37. On the way home I
called on Count van Limburg Stirum.

HOW V.C. EARNED ROYAL SNUFF-BOX 145

" * Van Esso ! ' he shouted at sight of me. ' Excellent !
Out of the Army at last? And what are you going
to do now?'

"* Antique-dealing, like my people before me/

" 4 Ah-ha? Plenty of capital, I hope?'

"'Not so much. But I know a little about the
business and shall get on pretty well* 3

"'Hum!' said the Count thoughtfully. 'What will
you take for her box?'

"*I don't want the box,' I replied. 'It has always
been yours really, and I've only kept it for you/

"'None of that nonsense now/ he bellowed. 'I
told you I didn't want the dam' thing!'

"'Well, you got me the Cross, which is more than
any snuff-box*'

"As a matter of fact I had kept my Cross in the
box, and from time to time took it from its itui just
to feast my eyes on the sheer beauty of the thing.
I was lucky, indeed, to have two such wonderful
mementoes of my adventures.

"'Well, that is settled, 5 said the Count firmly. 'If
you won't let me buy it, you can sell it to advantage
and set yourself up for a good start in your antique-
dealing.'

"Neither he nor I realised then that this beautiful
rose-tinted box with the romantic history was too
great and dangerous a treasure for any man's comfort.
It is a good thing that we cannot look far ahead into
the future, for it was to bring me into still stranger
and more perilous adventures. 1 '

CHAPTER X

A LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED AN ART DEALER

"As the years passed, the snuff-box of Frederick the
Great, of which I had become the unwilling owner
during the siege of Antwerp, appeared to me as a
mysterious talisman of happiness and prosperity/ 5
said my Uncle Joel (continuing the first-person story
of Ridder van Esso). "I was happy in my married
life and, in spite of early difficulties, had done very
much better than I had expected. During those
difficult periods I was many times tempted to sell
that rose-agate snuff-box, but always I managed to
put off the evil day. And then, almost immediately,
the difficulties disappeared. I imagined that it brought
me good luck, and perhaps because of this, I was in
terror lest I should lose it.

" Count van Limburg Stirum, to whom I had been
orderly, was now married, and had become one of
the trusted friends of the Dutch Royal Family, while
the Princess his one-time lover had blazed a
meteoric way through contemporary history. Her
love-intrigues were scandalous and only too well
known, though the Prince was even worse than she
and by reason of that fact she was pitied. Then,
nearly seventeen years after the siege, quite without
warning, a bolt fell from a clear sky. I was sitting

146

LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED DEALER 147

on the stoep of my house smoking a quiet pipe when
a smart post-chaise drew up with a clatter, and out
jumped the Count. In spite of his wooden leg he
was as active as ever, and came stumping towards
me.

"' Still got that box, van Esso?' he shouted, while
still twenty feet away. c You have? Ha, youVe saved
my lifeT

"In that first moment of my foreboding he clapped
my shoulder like the great bear he was: I felt it for
a week! I knew that somehow here was trouble,
as the Count dragged me inside and gave me the
news.

"'The Princess is in a terrible mess and I must
save her, 5 he said, prodding me with iron-hard fingers
to make his points. 'She has not behaved too nicely
to me and my wife, but now she is demanding my
help. So long as her brother was alive she was
fairly safe, because the Prince was afraid of him,
but now she hasn't a real friend left. Everyone has
turned on her, and her husband is bent on getting
rid of her. Any stick will do to beat a dog, and though
she is only paying him out in his own coin for his
abominable behaviour, he is using her gift to me of
the snuff-box as a pretext. There is a lot more
behind a very intricate story but the Princess must
get the box back. At once ! *

"It seemed to me a funny business, but then I
know nothing of high affairs. I went to my iron
chest, took out the green-and-gold Itui (case) and
opened it.

148 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

" fc My God ! * exclaimed the Count. ' 1 had forgotten
how beautiful it was. 3

"He took the rose-tinted agate box into his hands
and admired the gold setting, the jewels set as fruits
and flowers. Then I pressed the secret spring and
he stared at the hidden portrait of 'The Rape of
Ganymede by the Eagle.'

"'van Esso 3 this is worth a fortune. What will

you * Then he stopped at sight of my expression.

*No, I'm going to pay you 20,000 gulden (just over
1,700) for it! 9

"He always got furious when he could not get
what he wanted straight off. I explained that I
would not dream of accepting money, since I was
still indebted to him for my Cross and my title of
Ridder. He stumped round the room on his wooden
leg, cursing and swearing that he would break my
'verdomde neck' if I stuck to my point. At last he
turned on me furiously.

"'You Godverdommensche Jood! Do you think
I am going to accept a present from you? 5

"As he stood over me I thought he was going to
hit me. Then I also became enraged, jumped up
and thrust the box back into my iron chest, locking
and sitting down upon it.

"'You can never buy that box from me now!
I'll keep it to show my children how a Count shows
his gratitude.'

"van Limburg Stirum stared at me and pulled
his lip in silence. Then he shook his head and held
out his hand.

LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED DEALER 149

"'No, I'm a swine, van Esso. Shake! I shall be
grateful if you can forget what I said. 5

"With all his bearish violence he had the heart
of a child. I could have hugged him.

"'I knew what you meant. Count/ I replied. 'I
make no gift of the box, neither do I sell it. It has
always been yours/

"Just as I was unlocking the iron chest again,
another post-chaise stopped at the gate and a man
ran up the stoep. He and the Count spoke together
for a few moments and then van Limburg Stirum
shouted in a voice of thunder: 'Will they, by God?
I'll see them in hell first, Kings, Princes, or Devils!'

"He walked up and down for some minutes think
ing deeply, and finally turned to me.

"'Look here, van Esso, will you be my comrade
again just for a couple of days?'

"After many years I felt the old, quick surge of
excitement: the blood ran quickly in my veins.
Without the least hesitation I leaped into this
adventure.

"'Can you still drive?' he rapped out,

"'A coach-and-six or a racing shay with the best
cattle you can find!'

" 'John,' said he, whipping round on the new-comer,
'we'll go to the hotel and I'll slip away when it is
dark. We will make a show of ordering everything
for our departure to-morrow morning, but by that
time I'll be well over the frontier!'

"He brought his wooden leg down with a crack,
'van Esso, can you get me a travelling-carriage, with

1 5 o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

a pair of fast horses, without anyone getting wind
of it? 9

"'The easiest thing in the world/ I replied. *I
have a friend who owns a cabriolet and a pair of
black Guelder horses which can gallop a caisson for
twenty miles/

"'Right/ snapped the Count. Til be back at
ten. This gentleman here has news that a very great
personage indeed has got hold of my letters to the
Princess about that snuff-box, and they know I have
come to you to get it. Now listen. Have the cabriolet
ready and we'll drive in turns till we get into Hanover
where I have a good friend at Court. Ill take the
empty 6tui (case) with me, while you keep the box,
because these people won't interfere if they think
I'm returning to the Hague with the box/

"Everything was arranged and by eleven o'clock
that night the Count and I were setting a rattling
pace in the direction of the Bourtanger marshes,
across which I knew a little-used but very fair track
over the frontier. Suddenly, while I was driving,
the Count shouted:

"'Stop, van Essol I can hear horses galloping
behind us! 5

"He must have been mistaken, for I could hear
nothing save the blowing of our team. Later, I myself
thought I caught the same sound and then van Lim-
burg Stirum said it must be loose animals on the moor.
Five miles further on I caught sight of a dark blur
in the road ahead: it was an aged woman tottering
along so that I had to stop to avoid her.

LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED DEALER 151

"'Give me a seat, kind sirs/ she wheezed, cough
ing asthmatically. "Tis a bad night for old bones."

"Though we were in a hurry, the Count insisted
on giving her a lift. I did not like the look of her
at all. She sat squeezed against me on my left.
Suddenly I got a waft of smoky breath; I became
suspicious and moved my elbow a little, at every
chance exploring her cloak. At last I felt something
uncommonly hard. I knew instinctively that it was
a pistol! Thoughts whirled in my head: this was
some kind of a trap. Suddenly I leaned over the side
and seemed to clutch at something.

'" Curse it, I've dropped my whip. Hi, old lady,
just hop out and get it, will you? '

"Out she got, whereupon I put the horses to a
smart gallop and left her yelling in the darkness.

"'What the devil?' roared van Limburg Stirum.

"'Pistol a trap!' I yelled, and at that moment
two shots whistled over our heads from the rear.

"Galloping into the night, the lamps throwing a
wide arc of pale light ahead, the horses checked of
a sudden, reared and then fell in a struggling heap.
Ropes had been stretched across the road. I was
shot forward on top of the horses and when I scrambled
to my feet two men were standing over the Count,
who lay on the ground. Another fellow came at rne
from behind the horses 9 heads. I 'dived' him and Ms
skull got such a crack that he dropped his double-
barrelled pistol. I picked it up and ran towards the
group round van Limburg Stirum. One man, seeing
the pistol, gave a shout and tumbled backwards,

i 5 2 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

and a shot sent his companion running down the
road like a hare. The others followed him.

"'You hurt? 1 I gasped, pulling the Count to his
feet.

'"Of course not/ he roared. C A little tumble like
that!' Then, as he went to the cabriolet: "God
verdomme! Where is that case?'

"Alas, on starting we had returned the precious
snuff-box to its case and now it was gone. It was
never seen again. The Princess was divorced shortly
after this episode: her name had become a byword,
and I doubt whether the snuff-box had much to do
with it. It certainly figured in the web of intrigues
which was spun round her, and van Limburg Stirum
told me afterwards, he believed the ambush laid for
us was connected with people in the entourage of
the Queen Dowager. He asserted that the snuff-box
had been taken to Russia. I would rather have lost
an arm or a leg than that marvellous piece of diamond-
encrusted rose agate!"

As my uncle, Joel Duveen, finished the story in
our hotel in Bettws-y-coed, he leaned forward and
cut a cigar with care. "You see, old van Esso was
right. The box had gone into Russia, and now this
Kopp this too-smart Swiss dealer brings it back
to us for sale. The more I think of it, the less I like
it. Kopp is an incorrigible scamp; if only Fd sat
down and written an open cheque for twelve or
fifteen thousand pounds, I could have forced his
hand and kept the snuff-box here. Now, goodness

LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED DEALER 153
knows what will happen to it. Damn it, I'm a fool.
Jack!"

Uncle Joel was right because, like van Esso after
the carriage episode on the Hanover road, we never
set eyes on that lovely box again. It seemed fated
to enter the lives of our family and then to slip
away again, like mercury through clutching fingers.

The sequel to the story took place in Paris where
one night, years afterwards, when on my way to
a restaurant to dine, I caught sight of a bloated
figure with a slouching gait. Somehow it struck a
chord in my memory: I halted under a lamp-post
and was amazed to find it was Kopp, the one-time
rich dealer and patron of half a hundred pretty
women. His trousers showed frills at the bottom and
a dirty muffler took the place of a collar. Seeing me,
he drew himself up with a semblance of his old pride.

"Oh, hullo, Jack! Didn't expect to see you here.
I suppose er I suppose you couldn't do me a bit
of good, for the sake of old times? I know of some fine
tapestries but can't go after them in this rig."

It was pitiable and yet ludicrous. The "old times,"
when he had tried and often succeeded in cutting
me and other dealers out with what he called "smart
business" but which was much worse than swindling!

"Yes," I replied, "of course I can, Kopp. Here"
pushing some notes into his hand "go and rig
yourself out and come round to my place in the
Rue Royale to-morrow."

He actually managed to do this business and the
deal netted him a few hundred pounds 9 commission.

i 5 4 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Later, I asked Mm out to dinner, because I was very

curious.

"Kopp: tell me what happened after you left
Uncle Joel and me at Bettws-y-coed that afternoon,
with the snuff-box of Frederick the Great. What did
your Russian Princess say to our offer of 10,000?"

Kopp looked away. He seemed genuinely affected
and laid a hand on my arm.

"You've been damned good to me, Jack, and I
don't want you to think I 'did 5 your uncle. You
shall hear the whole story. Actually, I only got as
far as Paris after I left you in North Wales. I meant
just to stay the night en route to St. Petersburg because
wdl, to see a very particular friend of mine."

He spoke haltingly at first, with long intervals
I did not interrupt his train of thought.

"Ah, mon ami, there was a lovely girl! But she
was a devil. Oh, far cleverer than I ! I believe she
was the natural daughter of a very famous heir-
apparent: she certainly had something of his looks.
Chestnut hair and eyes as blue as sunlit water flawed
by the wind. She told me she had been unhappily
married to an insanely jealous young man, and had
left him for that reason. At this time she was also
having an affair with an American millionaire who
had furnished a flat luxuriously for her at a cost
of about $200,000. That night, Jack, I took her to
the Cafe des Anglais to dine and I noticed she was
wearing imitation jewellery in place of her own very
valuable necklaces and rings."

Kopp drank up his glass of champagne, glanced

LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED DEALER 155
at the empty bottle and crooked his finger at a
waiter.

"Yes," he said, as another Heidseck was brought
from the ice-pail, "I was suspicious. Alberta saw rny
look of surprise and explained that she was frightened
to death of burglars. Apparently there had been an
epidemic of big robberies, and many women had
lost their jewels. She did not like to go about flaunting
such wealth. Well, we had a marvellous evening
and lots of champagne. I made my usual mistake with
a beautiful woman." Kopp nodded slowly as though
at painful memories. "Yes, the greatest gaffes In my
life were caused by my anxiety to show off my clever
ness and wealth to a pretty girl! I told her all about
the deal I had in hand, the snuff-box belonging to
an Imperial Grand Duchess of Russia.

"Alberta was tremendously interested in anything
to do with Royalty, and she begged me to let her
have a glimpse of this marvellous tabatiere (tobacco
box). I offered to take her to my hotel, but she said
she was tired: could I not bring it round to her flat?
I agreed because mon ami, I saw a chance of pleasing
her and also of staying the night at her flat ! I was
kept waiting for about ten minutes before Madame
came into the salon, and was surprised to notice a
strong smell of Havana cigars. Ha! thought I, her
American friend must have paid an unexpected visit!
This looks awkward for me. Then furtive steps passed
along the passage-way towards the door, and I at
once concluded that it could not be the American:
perhaps it was some other lover anxious to keep out

156 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

of the limelight! At that moment Alberta returned.
She was looking lovely in a diaphanous, silvery
garment, and apologised for keeping me waiting.

"'Just an old artist friend of mine/ she explained.
'In trouble about money, as usual. Come along to
my boudoir and show me your treasure.' When
she opened the green-and-gold case, she went into
ecstasies: 'Ah, quel bijou! C'est divin^ She fondled
and kissed that box much more than she ever did
me!"

Kopp was by this time a little drunk. His eyes
stared before him without expression and he shook
his head slowly in condemnation of his own folly.

"Ah, more drink, mon Jacques more kisses a
wonderful night! I think it was about three in the
morning when we heard the devil of a row going
on in the vestibule of the flat. Finally the door of
the boudoir flew back with a crash and there was a
villainous-looking fellow holding a revolver!

" c Grand Dieu ! ' shrieked Alberta. c Mon mari ! Help
me, my darling!*

" She threw her arms round my neck as the husband
came into the room, waving his weapon. We were
caught en flagrant delit : it was sufficient cause for
any French husband to shoot at sight! Behind him
I caught a glimpse of another man, so with this
added evidence the law would have been perfectly
satisfied. The fellow with the revolver foamed and
stuttered with rage: his eyes were protruding and
he looked to be about to have an apoplectic fit. When
he could speak coherently, he shouted to his wife:

LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED DEALER 157

"'Out of this, sale vache! Ill settle this pig's
account without you! 5

"She ran out screaming: it was the last I ever
saw of her. The husband turned to me, his mouth
drawn down in a sneer. He had complete control
of the situation.

"'Now, mon beau "Prince"!' he said. c You know
I am within my rights in shooting you like a mad
dog? But I think it will be less troublesome and
messy for you to pay in another way. What do you
think your life is worth? 9

"I stared at the second man, whereat the husband
burst out laughing.

"'No, he is not a commissaire de police: he is
just a devoted friend of mine and a very obliging
witness. My wife the servants no one can deny
that you have spent the night here. Now then:
which way are you going to pay? '

"I knew only too well what he meant. I had
on me some 200: this I gave him and offered to
sign a bill for a further 10,000 francs if he would give
me a week in which to collect the money. He nodded,
thrust the money in his pocket, and, while I was signing
the biU, strolled round the room. Scrutinising my
note, he tucked it away with a laugh.

"'That is a cash transaction; no? What else have
you got?* His eye fell on the rose agate snuff-box
which lay on a small table. c This is yours, hein ?
Ah-ha-a! A very pretty toy, too!*

"He examined it closely, weighed it in his hands
and looked at the diamonds with the eye of an expert.

i 5 8 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"'Very fine, but a bit too showy. I mean, It is
much too easily remembered and recognised. 9

" I knew then what he meant. A pain went through
me like a knife-thrust.

"'Don't take that away don't destroy it, 5 I
pleaded with him. ' I swear by all that's holy, if
you give it back 111 pay you another 10,000 francs
by to-night.'"

Kopp stopped for so long that I thought he had
lost the thread of his tale. There were tears glistening
in his eyes.

"Hila$i mon ami, that accursed thief did something
which I shall never forget till I die. Deliberately,
with fiendish malice, he threw that priceless snuff
box on the hearthstone and ground it to fragments
under his heel. In that moment I leaped forward
to try and rescue it, but he shoved the revolver
menacingly under my nose. Afterwards he picked
out the gold and jewels from the ruins and put them
in his pocket.

" c And now clear out before you get hurt! * he said.
'I don't think your Russian Princess will believe
you when you explain that you were robbed. Any
how, I'm sure she won't like her name being men
tioned to the police.' Then, as I passed through the
door, he gave a parting shot. 'No, and with your
interesting past, mon vieux, I'm sure the police won't
believe you either!'

"I had, of course, fallen into a carefully prepared
trap which, though as old as love itself, is always
being 'pulled' with fresh success. The woman had

LOVE-INTRIGUE THAT RUINED DEALER 159
gathered too much useful information from my
boasting. That, mon Jacques, was the end of Frederick
the Great's snuff-box. It was also the beginning of
my downfall, because the Princess tried to revenge
herself on me. At last, in despair, while I was in
Germany, I committed a great folly. They got ine!"

Kopp's head sunk forward in his hands. There
was another long and painful silence which I had
not the courage to break. Then:

"Your cousin Joe was very good to me, Jacques.
He sent me 800 when I came out of prison. But
it was no use. I had lost heart. I have no longer any
confidence in myself, I hope it won't be long now."

I knew what he meant by "it." This new and
degrading life was too humiliating for a man who had
once possessed wealth and power. Not very long
afterwards poor Kopp died: I do not even know
where he lies buried. So, alas, the peerless snuff-box
of Frederick the Great and the misdeeds of the
cosmopolitan adventurer, are inextricably mingled
in sad memories.

CHAPTER XI

HOW A "TWENTY MILLION WIDOW " LOST ME 27,000

ONE of the most extraordinary women I have ever
known was Arabella Huntington: extraordinary be
cause of her indomitable mind and an outrageous
spirit which compelled her to outvie all competitors.
Long before I met her, Arabella was the unofficial
wife of that financial giant, Collis P. Huntington,
who might be described as America's greatest railway
king. As time went on Collis P. married the woman
who was to give art dealers on both sides of the
"Herring Pond" some very alarming moments indeed.
To go into almost astronomical figures, Collis P.
left his wife close on 100,000,000 dollars: 20,000,000
in English currency, and as one might judge more
than enough for any lone widow. Judging by the
way she "threw her weight about " over art deals,
she quite realised her financial importance!

Before I met her she had lost her house "palace"
is the proper word in the San Francisco earthquake.
At least, after the 'quake there was a fire and the
American Courts rather kindly decided that the
house was destroyed by fire and not by the 'quake:
otherwise she would not have reaped an enormous
claim from the Insurance Company concerned. When
I saw her, she was full of the subject.

160

HOW A WIDOW LOST ME 27,000 161

"Those people/ 5 she fumed, "tried to get out of

paying what they owed. All my priceless treasures

were utterly destroyed they were just irreplaceable,

Mr. Duveen!"

I nearly laughed. Knowing only too well that
most of her 'irreplaceable treasures' had originated
in the faking ateliers of Paris, London and elsewhere,
I thought she had not done too badly over the
business! All the same, an art dealer doesn't laugh
at a client who can write a cheque for 100,000
and scarcely miss the money. But she was clever,
that woman. She was surrounded by a clique of
dealers a most high-minded crowd! who had sold
'priceless' antiques to her and to Collis P. Huntington,
but I feel convinced that owing to their internecine
wars, she knew the real worthlessness of her treasures.
In 1906 she was passing through Europe in that semi-
regal state only possible to American millionairesses,
and in Paris stayed at the Hotel Bristol. This famous
hotel, now no more, was then a humble but exclusive
inn at which all the Crowned Heads of Europe used
to stay when they visited Paris incognito. During
the last decade of the nineteenth century, quite a
few American millionaires began to reserve suites
and sometimes whole floors, so that very soon they
crowded out the Royal and imperial personages who
had made it their temporary home; but what they
paid is not known. Mrs. Huntington was one of these
proud guests of the humble hotel, and her name was
only too well known to Parisian, British and German
dealer-touts, as well as to the needy scions of noble

162 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

houses who "dabbled" In art usually to their
financial advantage.

Perhaps the most notorious of such touts was a
little, corpulent, dark-eyed man owning the resound
ing title of Count Baltazzi. This sinister figure,
hailing from Hungary, was no less than uncle to the
ill-fated Comtesse de Vetcera who had committed
suicide with the Archduke Rudolph, the only son
and heir to the Emperor Francis-Joseph II of Austria.
Baltazzi had left his native country for various urgent
reasons, and found it more dignified and possibly
more lucrative to allow people to suspect that he
had killed the two lovers. Indeed, that was the only
capital he had left after dissipating vast riches before
he went into exile. Baltazzi was a shrewd student
of human nature: what he did not know about
women could have been written on a postage stamp,
and very quickly he established a hold on Arabella
Huntington. Within a few months he became her
social god-father to the best society within his reach.
This meant, of course, that he could present "Her
Majesty, the Dollar Empress' 5 to a carefully chosen
circle of great but penniless names. At the time, that
meant a matter of a few pounds here and there
paid into greedily outstretched palms, but, whatever
Baltazzi received as Gentleman-in- Waiting to
Arabella, he certainly obtained some sizeable
amounts from the swarm of intelligent and generous
art-dealers who scented the possibility of loot.
Baltazzi was, in fact, courted by every dealer and
tout in Europe.

HOW A WIDOW LOST ME 27,000 163

Just at this time Duveen Brothers had built their
palatial Paris branch in the Place Vendome, and
Baltazzi had his eye on big money. To whom could
he go with a big deal better than to the Duveens?
Here, he could pour out Arabella's golden cascade
with the certainty that she would receive value for
money. Here, too, he could be confident of the
honesty of the sellers and most important! of
their generosity. My late Uncle Joel, the first Sir
Joseph Joel Duveen, had just bought the Rudolph
Kann Collection for 1,000,000 and it was probably
the news of this coup which brought Baltazzi and
the widow to the new premises. Mrs. Arabella
Huntington walked round the "salong," a lorgnette
lifted languidly to her eyes, to examine various
priceless objets d'art.

"What have you here fine enough for me?" she
demanded, haughtily.

The Count caught my cousin's eye, and the latter
began in his inimitable way to tell the history of
several valuable pieces. He talked to such good
purpose that when Arabella left she had given orders
amounting to about 300,000! Baltazzi thus earned
a commission which much exceeded the traditional
ten-per-cent and a gratitude which lasted for years
until the Count, by his insatiable "borrowing,,"
"killed the goose which laid the golden eggs." Such
a transaction may appear a little unmoral to those
who do not know the art-dealing world, but the
shrewd Arabella was "wise " to all that.

" Of course, Mr. Duveen," she told me later with

164 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

an admirable air of nonchalance, "I know the Count
gets a fine commission on everything I buy. But
he is worth every penny of it!" Then, when I did
not appear unduly impressed, she added: "You
see, he is such an interesting person. A man who can
kill his Emperor's son to avenge the honour of his
niece, has character!"

The pace Baltazzi set himself was too hot to last,
and very soon he outran Arabella's indulgence, like
wise that of Duveen Brothers. Then, in the hope
of making more commissions, he came to my galleries
in Paris soon after my marriage. For half an hour
he related an involved story of his wrongs not
necessarily the truth, of course, and then said:

"Look, my dear fellow: one of my best friends
is arriving on Saturday from New York. He has
got money to burn and I'll see that he comes to you
before anyone else."

That sounded very nice until he added: "Oh,
and you might just lend me 500 on account of the
commission!" He got just about as many francs and
I saw little of him till he rushed in on the day before
War was declared and tried to 'touch' me for some
thousands of francs. His alarm was pitiable, so I gave
him enough to see him across the frontier. That was
the last time I met this proud but innocent "murderer ! "

My first meeting with Mrs. Huntington had resulted
in a 24,000 deal which was suddenly upset by a
vUe and Machiavellian trick by a certain "expert";
but two years afterwards she came into my Paris
galleries to make a confession.

HOW A WIDOW LOST ME 27,000 165

"I felt so badly about that/' she told me with
superb impertinence. "I found out afterwards that
the expert had quite misled me. You were right
all the time, and I wish I had let the deal go
through/'

I just managed to refrain from replying that two
years previously I had explained the trick in detail,
but that she had laughed at me. I was fool enough
to think, however, that her attitude now denoted
a change of heart, and when she asked whether I
had anything specially fine for her I saw prospects
of a good sale.

"Yes, 55 I said. "I have just bought a very lovely
Louis XVI cabinet: one of the finest I've ever seen.
It is still in Epping Forest in the house of a peer,
but here is a photograph of it."

After scanning it closely through her lorgnettes,
she said: "How much do you want?"

" Twenty-seven thousand pounds."

"Well, if it is as good as it looks, I'll buy. When
can I see it?"

"Just let me put a call through to London and
you shall have the answer in a few minutes," I
replied.

Everything was arranged satisfactorily, and I told
Mrs. Huntington that if she was really in a hurry
I would go over to England at once and bring back
the cabinet on the night-boat.

" Splendid ! " she exclaimed. " Telephone the Bristol
as soon as you get back and I'll come round at once
to look at the piece."

i66 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

By good staff-work the cabinet was awaiting her
inspection in Paris the next night, but there was
no Arabella. A week passed, ten days, a fortnight,
and then enquiry at the "Bristol" elicited the fact
that she had just gone off on a honeymoon with
Henry Huntington, her nephew-in-law, who was even
richer than she. As the lady was about seventy at
the time and the bridegroom was not less than sixty,
the whole affair was somewhat amazing. Months
went by and I was beginning to get desperate when
one morning a woman spoke to me on the telephone.

"I am speaking for Mrs* Huntington," she said,
"who has asked me to say that she would like you
to keep the Louis XVI cabinet for her to see."

"When will she be arriving?" I asked.

"It is difficult to say: in fact she won't be here
again before next year. She is going straight to New
York from the Mediterranean."

This gave me a pretty problem. Was I to keep the
27,000 cabinet on the off-chance of a sale "next
year"? Or, on the other hand, could I afford to
antagonise so rich and influential a client by ignoring
her? I promised that she should have the first
refusal, and presently left for a holiday at Deal. There
I met Bob Partridge, the great dealer. He was
almost in a state of panic.

"Haven't you heard?" he exclaimed. "America
is going to put heavy duties on works of art again on
ist October. I'm taking all my finest things over
next week, and if you're wise, you'll do the same."

I always believe in quick decisions, and so Bob and

THE Louis XVI WRITING CABINET
Madcfcr Marie Antoinette and reserved by Mrs.

NAPOLEON II (KING OF ROME)

With the eldest son of Archduchess Sophia (the later Emperor Francis Joseph of

Austria) and the future Duchess d'Aumate. At this period Napoleon II was

supposed to have had his love affair with the Archduchess Sophia

\SeeChapterXII

HOW A WIDOW LOST ME 27,000 167
I sailed in the Lusitania with a precious cargo which
included my precious cabinet. I calculated that a
fortnight in New York would suffice for my business :
after all, Mrs. Huntington could hardly be anything
but flattered to think I had gone to such trouble in
her interests. Alas: I did not know to what lengths
the pride and obstinacy of that incredibly wealthy
woman could go, nor did I realise that my brief
fourteen days' stay would be lengthened to eight-and-
a-half months!

During the trip I was nearly 'rooked* of 2,500
by cardsharpers a story I have already told and
on arrival, Bob Partridge, in his usual lordly manner,
booked the State Apartments at the Plaza at a cost
of 1500 a week. After weeks of delay, Mrs. Hunting-
ton telephoned me.

"Yes, I had your letter, Mr. Duveen. I'm not so
well after our big tour, but 111 come and see your
cabinet soon."

She gave me her private telephone number, and
that was all I heard of her for the next few weeks.
At last, rather by a miracle, I managed to speak to
her again, and once more she pleaded worry and many
business affairs. Meanwhile months were going by
and I was no nearer my objective of inducing this
proud woman to purchase a cabinet which she had
akeady ear-marked for herself. The Customs tariff-
scare subsided, and I sent over to Paris and London
for many beautiful objects which were sold: that
enabled me to keep my patience with this incredible
woman. At last, about mid-December, strolling into

168 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

the lounge of the Plaza, I walked right into my would-
be client's arms!

"Will you bring me that photograph, Mr.
Partridge?" she exclaimed, as I involuntarily stopped
in front of her.

"Old Bob" Partridge was over six foot: I am more
than half a foot less: she must indeed have been
shortsighted !

"You are mistaken/ 5 I replied. "I'm Jack
Duveen."

"Oh well, IVe just been upstairs to Partridge's
rooms: that's how I made the mistake."

Then she peered at me through her lorgnettes and
realised that many, many months earlier she had
asked me to reserve the Louis XVI cabinet for her.

"I'm so sorry about that," she went on with a
would-be casual air, "but do tell me about Mr.
Partridge's Up-Park collection. What do you think
it is worth?"

I was not to be caught like that. Though she put
me through a regular catechism, I was non-committal.
I explained that, through Lord Tankerville, I knew
a little of the history of the collection and that a host
of lovely things had been lost over a game of cards.
To do Bob a good turn, I told her the history of the
Madame du Barry commode. Her eyes sparkled
with pleasure at the blood-thirsty details, and she
became very thoughtful. Then:

"I don't want the Sevres porcelain: will he sell
the other things without it?"

"I doubt it very much. I offered him a high price

HOW A WIDOW LOST ME 27,000 169
for the commode and he refused. It will have to be
a sale en Hoc. I couldn't even estimate the value of
the collection without going carefully over each
piece."

She swept out of the lounge like an empress,
leaving me to pay for the tea she had ordered.
Incidentally, she had not asked me to join her ! That
evening. I met Bob Partridge.

"You're in luck! " I exclaimed. " Mrs. Huntington
is going to buy your commode, 95

I went on to give him details, whereat he flew into
a fury.

"You've ruined all chance of a sale/' he roared.
"YouVe spoiled my market!"

Knowing Mrs. Huntington, I just laughed. My
judgment of human nature was proved when, a
day or two later, "Old Bob" came up in a shame
faced manner.

"Sorry I swore at you the other night, old chap,"
he admitted generously. "But my temper has been
all to bits lately: no business and all these expenses!
She bought the collection at a hell of a price."

"And the Sevres porcelain, too?"

"No," said Bob, avoiding my eye. "Fact is, she
said she wouldn't give the darned stuff house-room!"

"Well, you are the mug, then," I replied. "Mrs.
H. was so keen to get that commode that, if you had
stood out, she would have taken the lot. And at
your own price, too!"

Oddly, months later I paid Old Bob some 16,000
for that porcelain: some very lovely pieces. But he

170 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

never told nie how much he got for the collection.
These things cannot be hidden for long inside trade
circles, and I have every reason to believe that the
lady wrote a cheque containing at least six figures.
Bob Partridge booked a berth on the next boat and
made tracks for the Italian Riviera: he was wise!

I, alas, was still left with my Marie-Antoinette
cabinet, and the prospect of seeing 27,000 just
outside my reach, was distinctly galling. In the end
I came to loathe the sight of the telephone through
which Mrs. Huntington was always putting me off,
and at last I wrote explaining that I had brought the
piece to New York specially for her and might I
have an immediate decision one way or the other.
This was because, with dismay, I found that the steam-
heating of the hotel was beginning to warp my little
masterpiece of French cabinet-making. I was feeling
desperate, when suddenly she rang me up.

" What do you mean by asserting you brought this
furniture over specially for me?" she cried. "That
is an impertinence! I won't look at it at all, now!' 5

As soon as she lost her breath, I stemmed the spate
of words.

"Come, Mrs. Huntington: you asked me to bring
it from London to Paris and your secretary asked for
the first refusal. Negotiations have now been going
on for over eight months. Do I understand that you
were not so anxious to see it ?"

"Oh, you and your explanations!" she screamed

into the mouthpiece. "Keep your excuses for "

she hesitated; then: " your cook!"

HOW A WIDOW LOST ME 27,000 171

This amazing allusion to an occupation which the
wagging tongues of New York ascribed to her own
early career, left me gasping.

"I don't quite see, Mrs. Huntington, what a per
fectly honest profession has to do with ill manners ! "
I replied.

There was a few moments 5 silence, broken only by
stertorous breathing. At last I heard an icily cold
voice:

"What do you dare to insinuate?"

"I will insinuate/ ' I said, "and even state cate
gorically, that Mrs. Huntington allows herself manners
which even the Empress of Germany cannot afford!"

With this I rang off: that was in 1914, just before
the cataclysm which sent the Kaiser and his Consort
into exile. The Louis XVI cabinet was never sold
to this haughty and ill-mannered millionairess, and
I had spent more than eight months in New York at
very great cost, just so that she could prove her
manners. It was one of those cases in which the
art-dealer has to confess himself beaten and to take
his medicine. My ultimate experience with this ill-
fated piece of furniture was even worse; but that is
another story.

CHAPTER XII

THE SECRET OF NAPOLEON n'S GASKET

ONE of those tantalising mysteries, the solution of
which might well have changed the course of
European history, concerns the time when I was just
growing up with visions of becoming one of the
greatest art-dealers in the world. Owing to insatiable
curiosity and a lust for that knowledge which, in
the art world, means power, I was in the habit of
examining in detail every item of my parents' very
varied stock of objets fart in their Hague shop. In
fact, after a little, I knew the period, make and worth
of every piece, which took on a personality of its own.
One of the most showy of these pieces was a small
jasper casket engraved with classical medallions of
heads and the attributes of war. The corners and
edgings were golden mouldings in the style of the
First Empire, which, even to my youthful eye, looked
rather out of keeping with the bold engravings on
the jasper plaques. I did not know then, as I was to
learn later, that this engraving on the jasper was
early Roman work of the time of Augustus, 27 B.C.
A.D. 14, but that the goldsmith's moulding used to
make the plaques into a casket, was the work of
Thomire, the famous French artist in metal of the
late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

172

SECRET OF NAPOLEON II J S CASKET 173

Thomire's spineless neo-classicism made very poor
showing against the bold and strong art of the early
Roman Empire ! Further, at the four corners of the
casket, snakes' heads had been fashioned out of
baroque pearls and enamelled gold: the whole thing
was very showy its only (and damning) character
istic as a work of art.

"How did we get hold of this?" I asked my mother
one day, when she found me examining it with interest.

She smiled, for she took infinite pains to train me
in artistic ideas of the right type.

"Your grandfather, Jacob-Hangjas> bought it many
years ago from Joseph Volant, the Brussels art dealer.
Then, after your father married me 3 he acquired it
for 400 guilder (35), but had no better luck in
selling it. After your father died it remained in stock,
and later, when I married Joseph Duveen, we had
great trouble in keeping things going. You were too
young to remember, but after the Baring crisis people
had little money to spare for beautiful things.
Presently, we relegated this jasper casket to the
'unsaleable 5 class. Indeed, it has an unlucky history,
because each time we thought we had found a
purchaser, the deal was called off at the last moment. 55

"How was that? 55 I asked.

"Look at the last time, 55 she replied. "That
Prince Demidoff who was staying at the Hotel des
Indes at the Hague: he was just on the point of
giving a very good price indeed. Then, in the nick
of time, we discovered this famous fi Prince-Collector 5
to be an impostor ! The police came in by the front

174 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

door while he slipped out by the back." My mother
smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "We should
never have seen his money if he had laid hands on
the casket! And now probably we shall never sell
it at all. It is unlucky/ 5

Now it happened that every Sunday I was allowed
to potter round the showrooms, and was in the
habit of spending a quiet afternoon each week with
the treasures I was getting to know so well. One
Sunday I was busy with Henri Havard's book on
Delft pottery and was examining the marks on every
bit of Delft I could find, when, of a sudden, I heard
a slight sound behind me. Turning, I saw my young
brother, Joel, in the act of lifting the golden-and-
jasper casket from a tall stand.

" Here what are you doing? " I exclaimed in alarm.

His startled face was turned to mine. In that
instant, helplessly, I watched the casket slip from his
fingers and crash to the floor. As a nine-year-old, he
was strictly forbidden to touch anything in the
showrooms, but before I could even begin to tell him
what was in store for him he ran, screaming, from the
room. I picked up the casket and found that one of
the jasper side panels was broken in two: it was a
terrible tragedy which meant real trouble for young
Joel. Moreover, I was to blame for allowing Mm to
come into the salon at all. Just then an idea occurred
to me. It might just be possible to repair this panel:
at anyrate, the damage would not be so obvious. I
ran upstairs, procured some new patent English glue
and put the bottle to warm in hot water. The

SECRET OF NAPOLEON IPS GASKET 175
fracture itself was fairly clean and the mending was
not going to be a very difficult affair. Then, examining
the metal framing into which I had to refit the frag
ments, I saw something which sent a thrill of excite
ment down my spine.

It was a piece of thin green paper, very little paler
than the jasper itself, folded very flat and tucked
away inside the oblong panel! Here was treasure-
trove indeed! With trembling fingers I opened it to
find a page of tiny, cramped writing in French. The
ink was so faded that for some minutes I could not
decipher the script, the translation of which ran:

"MY BELOVED SON,

I, your unhappy Father, am leaving this world when
you have only just entered it. That demon in human form,
Metternich, the enemy of my Father, saw to it that I
should not live long. My follies have helped him. I fear
he knows the secret of your birth, as he knows everything.
It is to warn you against him that I write this, in the hope
it may reach you at a time when you can think and act
for yourself. Your mother will tell you nothing: she thinks
it shame to have borne a child who is grandchild to and
true heir of the great Napoleon. Remember: you are heir
to the greatest man who ever lived, and some day you
will have to fulfil your destiny. One day France will want
the direct heir of her greatest son to rule over her, and
when that day comes you must claim your illustrious descent.
You are imperially born on both sides.

"I am sending this little jewel-case to your Mother with
a last request to keep it for you till you reach manhood,
and then to give it to you. I fear she will not tell you it
is a gift from me, since she is too afraid of compromising
herself. But I have told two of my greatest friends to inform
you when you reach twenty that this box was mine, and that
it may bring you great power. I dared not tell them more.
I trust that this message will awaken your curiosity sufficiently
for you to take the box to pieces and discover this letter.

176 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"My poor brain is tired. I can only pray that some good
angel will see to it that justice is done you. I cannot.

"Your dying Father,

"NAPOLEON II."

My first thought was: "What a sell!" A bit of
faded writing: nothing about a hidden treasure.
Remember that 1 was still only a youngster, with my
rnind running on adventure. To begin with, I did
not want to draw my parents' attention to the broken
casket and, in addition, I did not think the bit of
paper worth anything. Quickly I slipped the letter
back into the frame, glued the fragments of the broken
panel carefully together. Then, I had another
surprise : the letter showed through the jasper!

In my hurry I had replaced the letter with the
white side against the plaque. I knew, of course, that
real jasper is opaque, so I realised that this could
not be jasper. However, I undid the panel, turned
the letter so that the green part came against the side
and glued the pieces together again. Mr. Alberge,
the great Dutch art dealer 3 had given me a learned
book on precious and semi-precious stones, so it
did not take me many minutes to explain the mystery.
The stone was not jasper, but the jaspis of the
Ancients; which is slightly translucent!

I decided that I would tell my mother about the
accident at some future and more propitious moment;
but the incident lingered in my mind and later a
study of my Histoire Universelle gave me a possible
clue to that striking phrase: " Tou are imperially born
on both sides" I read something about the ill-fated

SECRET OF NAPOLEON IFS CASKET 177
Emperor Maximilian of Mexico who had been shot
by his own subjects in 1867. Born on 6th July, 1832,
he was officially the second son of Archduke Charles
and the Archduchess Sophie of Austria, and his
elder brother was Francis Joseph, who became
Emperor of Austria in 1848. Now Napoleon II
(who was presumably "your dying Father") died on
22nd July, 1832 just sixteen days after that boy
had been born ! Therefore, I argued, the unfortunate
Maximilian of Mexico was indeed the son of Napoleon
II, who was also known as the King of Rome and Duke
of Reichstadt.

Months went by and one day I came in to find my
parents just finishing lunch in company with no less
a person than our old family friend, Joseph Volant.
The sight of him reminded me of that secret letter.

" Pardon, Monsieur, 59 I exclaimed in a lull in the
conversation, "but do you remember that jasper-and-
gold casket which you sold to my grandfather many
years ago? It had pearl snake-heads at each corner. 59

There was a moment 9 s silence as Volant and my
parents stared at each other; then he burst into a laugh.

"Do I remember it? Why, after a lot of trouble
I've succeeded in tracing it and have just bought it
back! Or rather, I have exchanged it, with your
father, for a small collection of old Nankin china."

"I've always been interested in that casket, 95 I
replied eagerly. " Do tell me something of its history! "

"Don't pay any attention to the lad, Volant, 55
said my step-father, frowning at me. " He is becoming

a nuisance, 55

178 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

But old Volant, good fellow that he was, smiled
tolerantly.

" If you want to know," he said, "I bought it years
ago in Vienna from an old manservant of Prince
Metternlch, and after some time sold it to your
grandfather in Haarlem. 55

Here, indeed, was a revelation! What had the
letter said? " That demon Metternich . . . saw to it I
should not live long"

Volant went into great detail of how he had tried
to sell the casket, but I was only listening with half
an ear. Someone must be in the secret, to have
wanted this box so much and so suddenly. I leaned
forward eagerly.

"M. Volant could you would you tell me the
name of your client? It must be someone very
important."

"Here, here!" growled rny step-father, as I caught
my mother's warning glance.

I shrank back, realising I had made a gaffe. Such
a question infringed all rules of etiquette between art
dealers. M. Volant shrugged his shoulders good-
humouredly.

"The gamin is right, though," he said; then
lowered his voice. "It was someone important:
so much so that I don't even know his name. He
was brought to me by one of the gentlemen from the
Austrian Legation and he paid cash-down. The whole
affair was quite sudden and rather mysterious."

Later, when I looked over the very beautiful and
valuable things which Volant had given my step-

SECRET OF NAPOLEON IPS CASKET 179

father in exchange for the jaspis casket, I knew that
the Unknown must have paid a very stiff price for
his purchase.

So greatly intrigued was I by this fragment of
secret political history that I pieced together the
story of Maximilian and his beautiful, but tragic
wife, Charlotte, daughter of Leopold I of Belgium.
It was known, of course, that the Duke of Reichstadt
(under which title the Hapsburgs tried to bury the
identity of Napoleon II), felt something more than
friendship for the Archduchess Sophie. This was
proved by the discovery of a secret stairway which
led directly from the young Duke's rooms into those
of the Archduchess, and their friendship was at its
strongest and was being most talked about some
nine months prior to Maximilian's birth. There
can be no doubt that Prince Metternich, who missed
nothing, knew all about the alleged liaison, and its
probable result.

It so happened that Maximilian's elder brother,
Francis Joseph II, succeeded to the Austrian throne
in 1848 while Maximilian was on a voyage, and he
returned to find a distinctly hostile atmosphere at
Court. No doubt Metternich had disclosed all he
knew to his new master. The brothers, who had been
great friends, became estranged. Maximilian consoled
himself by hard work in reorganising the Imperial
Navy and its base, Trieste, and after his marriage to
Charlotte in 1857 he was appointed Governor-
General of Lombardy. Here, however, he became
too popular, so that he was dismissed and went to

i8o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

live with Ms clever wife in their beautiful villa at
Miramar, on the Adriatic. They were practically
in exile. Even Miramar was too close for Francis
Joseph II, because after the Great War (when the
secret Imperial Austrian archives were examined),
it was found that Francis Joseph had actually been
approached by the Mexican refugees in Paris (through
the son of Metternich) about the possibilities of
Maximilian's acceptance of the Mexican throne.
Francis Josef's Foreign Minister "officially" re
fused, but suggested the acceptable conditions! This
happened some time before Napoleon III knew
anything about the plan, and proved clearly contrary
to official history, that it was not Napoleon III who
conceived this fatal scheme, but Maximilian's elder
brother who despicably planned the departure of the
younger, on this, the most tragic adventure of the
nineteenth century.

The long story of how, after Maximilian and his
wife jumped at the chance of escaping from so hostile
an atmosphere, Francis Joseph succeeded in making
his young brother renounce all claims to the Haps-
burg Empire, is a matter of history. But no sooner
had the young couple entered the capital of then-
Mexican "Empire" in June, 1864, than they found
it stretched only so far as French bayonets could
defend it. The end of the American Civil War meant
Maximilian's downfall, since the United States de
manded the withdrawal of the French army. While
Charlotte, his brave wife, went to Europe to try and
save her husband, and even begged the Pope's

of

i

o$ TJ

5 <

x

05

THE " FREEMASONS" GROUP OF DRESDEN PORCELAIN
(By courtesy of the Dresden Museum)

[See Chapter XIII

SECRET OF NAPOLEON IFS CASKET 181
protection, Maximilian faced the rising storm in
Mexico. Charlotte's disappointments so worked on
her mind that she lost her reason during a dramatic
interview with Pope Pius IX, while Maximilian,
warned by all and sundry, decided to abdicate and
leave for Vera Cruz en route to Europe. On the way
to the port, the Jesuit, Father Fischer, prevailed
cunningly upon him to stay, and even Maximilian's
own mother joined in the efforts of Church and
State to prevent the doomed man's return. They
won: Emperor Maximilian stayed to put himself
at the head of a comic-opera Army and, after a few
months, he was betrayed to President Juarez' troops
at Queretaro. So the Emperor was executed by the
bullets of his own people on igth June, 1867: a tragic
ending to "the beloved son" of Napoleon II.

History is full of "if onlys" and "might have
beens," but there is surely no story more cynical than
that of Francis Joseph II, who, certain that his ill-
fated brother had perished by insurgents' bullets, at
once sent a warship to bombard Vera Cruz unless
the body of Maximilian was handed over! The
Austrian Admiral did recover the shockingly muti
lated corpse, because gunfire was the only language
President Juarez, the Indian, understood. But how
very much easier to send the gunboat before the
execution, rather than after! As a final irony,
Francis Joseph had made the theatrical gesture of
reinstating Maximilian as heir to the Hapsburgs (after
his own son) and just before the tragedy was consum
mated. He did this, so it was given out, to prevent

i8s SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Juarez killing Maximilian. The gunboat was sent

after the execution. Cynicism could scarcely go further.

Maximilian's fate and that pitiful letter signed
"Napoleon II" impressed me very deeply, so that
in after years I often pondered what would have
happened had that letter come into the right hands
at the right time. Years passed. I journeyed to
England and embarked upon various ventures, and
one day I happened to go into Charles Volant's
shop in Brussels. We talked about his father and our
many connections and, casting an eye over his stock,
I experienced a sudden shock. There was the very jaspis
casket which old M. Volant had exchanged with my
step-father! My heart beat fast: I could scarcely
restrain my excitement. The snakes 9 heads ornaments
had disappeared, but I would have known it anywhere
in an instant. Casually I approached the subject.

"Look, Charles what have you got there? I
know that casket! 55

"Of course,' 5 he replied, taking down the velvet-
lined case. "I remember the time my father ex
changed it, with yours, for some Chinese porcelain. I
only bought it a few days ago ; quite cheaply, too. A
man from Vienna offered it to me, and at a fraction
of the price my father sold it for. I couldn't resist
the bargain."

I stood turning it over in my hands. There was
the faint line of the crack I had mended ten years
ago ! How it took me back to young Joel's escapade
and the ensuing discovery!

"How much will you take for it?' 5 I asked.

SECRET OF NAPOLEON ITS GASKET 183

" From you ? * 9 said Charles, pursing his lips . c 4 Well,
I think I paid enough for it 2,000 francs. Ill take
a ten-per-cent profit."

Eighty pounds for the secret I had once thrown
away as worthless! Then I remembered that his
family and ours had been friends for generations.

"No, Charles," I replied, setting the box on a
table in front of us. "I'll pay what it cost you, and
give you half-profits when I sell it. That is, if a
certain thing remains where it was! 55

He was mystified until I explained, then grew
excited, examining the cracked panel carefully.
Going into an inner room, he fetched tools and very
soon we had prized out the two pieces which had
hidden Napoleon IPs secret for so long.

"Now !" he breathed, as we turned the casket

to the light.

Alas: there was no little green letter. I heaved a
sigh of regret. There was just one tiny morsel of
paper sticking to the back of the panel where I had
used glue to mend the cracked jaspis : that was all.
The casket had given up its dangerous secret, and
Napoleon IPs letter to his "beloved son imperially
born" had no doubt been filched by the urgent
gentleman from the Austrian Legation who had
paid so high a price to old Volant ten years previously.
The box had then probably been given away to some
confidential servant of the Hapsburg household, and
so at last it returned to me who had first solved its secret.
Had Maximilian indeed found that letter, the course
of European history might have been vastly different.

CHAPTER XIII

THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE

SINGE time immemorial the art-dealing business has
been a happy hunting-ground for people seeking
"commissions/ 5 legal and otherwise. Indeed, going
back to the fifteen-hundreds, you find the immortal
Titian not only as acknowledged "expert 55 on old
works of art, but a very assiduous collector of douceurs
for his opinions, and other activities of this kind. I
doubt if the business is any worse than it was four
hundred years ago, but it is difficult to judge because
these so-discreet transactions are very rarely com
mitted to paper. Too often their history has died
with their principals: it is in some ways the greatest
pity, for the most sensational and interesting art
causes celebres of our time are doomed to be forgotten
for that very reason. Had the world gained a glimpse
of the true inside story of some of those cases, they
would have lived for ever in history!

One of those episodes, in which the published and
fairly lurid details were as nothing compared to the
real facts, concerned the famous Dickins v. Ellis
trial, perhaps better known as "the Dresden Por
celain case. 55 Curiously enough, one of the chief
actors in this melodrama, Arthur T. Ellis, was a
young art dealer who was easily the least guilty of

THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE 185

the band of sharks who surrounded the kindly old
Mr. Dickins, founder of Dickins & Jones, of Regent
Street. Over a course of years this old and invalid
gentleman had interested himself in art, and event
ually became something of a fanatical collector of
the very costly " Dresden porcelain," made in the
princely works of Meissen during the reign of the
luxury-loving Prince-Elector of Saxony, August the
Strong. Now Mr. Dickins was exceedingly rich and
hence was a greatly coveted client of the London
art dealers of thirty years ago : in fact, they fought by
every underhand means to monopolise his favours.
After many intrigues, a choice little clique managed
to get hold of the twenty-year-old Arthur Ellis, whom
they used as a tool to win the old man's confidence
and his entire patronage. You may find it difficult
to believe, but it is a fact that some of these "sharks"
actually called on old Mr. Dickins in the guise of
doctors, museum experts and artist-painters, in the
hope of influencing him. One resourceful dealer
even obtained an audience, dressed up as an Italian
organ-grinder !

The big man behind Ellis was a Bond Street dealer
whom I will call Donnart: he was having the time
of his life in obtaining from a certain noble collector
his less desirable pieces and then selling them at
top-notch prices through Ellis to Mr. Dickins ! Every
one in the trade who was "in" with Ellis and Donnart
was making money: in fact the art business was
experiencing a minor boom ! Arthur Ellis was young,
extremely distinguished in manner and had exactly

i86 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

the kind of personal charm to impress a kindly old

soul like Dickins. Here is an example of how the

"racket" was worked. One day Donnart telephoned

Ellis, asking him to come round instantly to his

galleries.

"There!" exclaimed the big dealer, rubbing his
hands and pointing to a pair of fine "Sevres vases"
(made during the second half of the nineteenth
century at the Minton works!) "They're the goods,
my boy! Just the very thing for our client, Mr.
Dickins!"

Ellis chewed his lip reflectively. He was very far
from being an expert, and had to rely on Donnart's
word.

"What did you pay for them?" he asked.

"Don't you worry. Question is what's he going
to pay for them?" was the reply.

In the end Donnart sold those vases to Mr. Dickins
for 8,000, after the innocent Ellis had boldly assured
his patron that they were genuine in every respect!
Actually, I believe Donnart had acquired them for
something like 200. These facts were never even
mentioned in the Court case which came later on.

Just about this time it was discovered by those
interested, that old Mr. Dickins was really spending
more money on his hobby than was either prudent or
desirable. They remonstrated with him and with
Arthur Ellis and then, as this had no effect, a doctor
was prevailed upon to give orders that Mr. Dickins
must not see Ellis or any other art dealer. This
was a sad blow for Donnart and Co., but "the trade"

THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE 187
set their wits to work, with some rather surprising
results. One day an elderly gentleman called at
Mr. Dickins 9 house with the request that he might
be allowed to examine the collection. By slow
degrees this art-loving author as he claimed to be
became great friends with the old man, and even
went so far as to offer to prepare an illustrated cata
logue of his Dresden treasures. This author also
gave out that he was a keen collector, and had picked
up some very fine pieces during his travels: he
explained to Mr. Dickins that these were at his
house in the South of France, and that though he did
not care to risk their being packed up and sent over
to London, he would ask friends of his who went to
France to bring back a few items with them. Mr.
Dickins, greatly interested, was subsequently shown
various quite important pieces of Dresden, all of
which seemed Infinitely superior to his own.

"I suppose, my dear fellow," he said to the author
one day, "you wouldn't care to well, to exchange a
few of these for some of my own? Of course, you
understand that I shall be only too happy to pay the
difference in value. 55

This was just what the other had been angling for!
Many exchanges were made, and in each case one of
Mr. Dickins' best pieces was replaced by a worthless
imitation, and a fat cheque found its way into the
"author's" bank-balance. This went on for quite a
long time, until the little goldmine was exhausted
by the death of Mr. Dickins. The bomb burst when
the executors decided to sell the Dresden porcelain

i88 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

collection at Christie's ! Big London dealers who went
to examine it cracked jokes over what were, in the
main, ridiculous fakes; and it was not long before the
executors themselves realised what had happened.
They at once took steps which led to the undoing of
Ellis and, to a less extent, of the much more important
Donnart,

I remember that sale at Christie's very well indeed,
because a large number of the more " valuable 55
fakes were bought in by people who obviously knew
nothing about and could not be interested in art!
They, of course, were tools of Ellis and Donnart.
Ellis himself bought very many pieces, some of which
were genuine : I do not believe he was expert enough
to know the difference, and quite often he undoub
tedly had passed on porcelain at high prices, which
he did think to be genuine. In any case, I do know
he borrowed money right and left for his purchases,
because he already had an inkling that the executors
of Mr. Dickins were beginning to make trouble.
They did, in fact, take legal action, and Donnart
quietly "settled" for various items which he personally
had sold to the old man, whilst at the same time he
repudiated all liability for his deals through Ellis.
It was a kind of sauve qui peut, in which poor Ellis
was an "also-ran." He had lived up to the hilt of
his earnings and now had no margin to play with.
Then Ellis, with whom I had not been on the best
terms for some time, came to me in a pitiable state.
The Dickins executors claimed many thousands of
pounds from him.

THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE 189

a Well," I said, after he had explained the position,
"if it is true that you and Donnart were in joint
account and your deals are shown in your books, you
will have to disclose the fact to the plaintiffs. You've
been all kinds of a fool, but if you want to save your
skin you'll have to pay over whatever the executors
demand. D'you realise that your books will show
something very like criminal conspiracy? Donnart
must help you: he must have been crazy to settle
with the executors without at the same time seeing
that your case was cleared. 5 '

"He won't help me, Duveen," replied Ellis. "He
won't even see me now! The last time he told me to
get out of the country, or go to hell in any way I
chose."

At that moment Bob Partridge, one of the most
famous dealers of that time, was shown in.

"The very man to help you!" I exclaimed, forgett
ing for the moment that Partridge had been ousted
from the Dickins affair by Donnart and Ellis.

Partridge's glance flickered over Ellis. He grunted
and sat down. Then he raised a protesting hand.

"Don't tell me: I know all about it/' he exclaimed
"You're having a rough time, young feller-me-lad !
Your pal Donnart is showing you his c good nature,'
eh?"

"Ellis is in a much worse mess than you realise,"
I cut in. "You'll be sorry enough when you know
all the facts."

" For God's sake, don't let him tell me all the facts ! "
roared Bob. I did not realise till long afterwards,

igo SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

how very right he was! Then his generous nature

showed itself. "All right, Fll do what I can to help."

He agreed to go along, interview Donnart and try-
to make him see reason. In his usual impetuous way,
he rushed out of the door, but within half-an-hour
returned, raging.

"That , white-livered skunk!" he shouted,

striding up and down my office. "I told him he was
an idiot to let Ellis lose this case. I told him a lot of
things. He let me go on quite a while, pretending
to read his paper, and then, d'you know what he
said?" Partridge thrust his face forward, purple
with fury. "He said: 'You're a very good man to
hounds, Bob Partridge, and if I ever take to hunting,
I'll ask your advice. When it comes to my own
business, I don't want interference from you or any
one else, and if Ellis is in trouble he needn't expect
me to get him. out!' 5 '

Partridge leaned against my writing-table and
mopped his face.

"I tell you, I felt like ramming his paper down his
damned throat! After pleading with him me,
pleading, mark you! all the dirty skunk said was:
4 Have you got anything else to say, as I've got a lot
of work to do!'"

It was complete failure but, knowing what I did
of Donnart and his mentality, it was only to be
expected. Having pocketed 80,000 through using
Ellis as a catspaw, he wasn't going to disgorge
a large amount for the man who had squandered
his money and who now faced disgrace and ruin.

THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE 191
When the case came on, before the late Justice
Grantham, Sir Edward Carson and Rufus Isaacs
(the late Marquess of Reading) led for the plaintiffs,
while Ellis had only been able to find the money for
two juniors, one of whom was Mr. Harry (later
Judge) Dobb. There was quite a galaxy of art
"experts/ 5 one of whom was the late Frederick
Litchfield, ex-antique dealer and the author of
various works, while the Continental experts were
headed by the late Professor Brinckmann, of Hamburg.

I sat in Court, listening to the evidence and to
Mr. Litchfield, who analysed pitilessly piece after
piece of porcelain which was passed to him. Probably
I was the only person present who realised that in
several cases what he denounced as fake was perfectly
genuine and valuable porcelain. But his pontifical
air was sufficiently imposing, especially when you
realise that many of these "fakes" had been bought
in by the plaintiffs themselves after the auction, for
lack of buyers. It was Gilbert-and-Sullivan comedy,
though not one person in Court realised it! The
unhappy Ellis, practically penniless, had been unable
to bring any expert witnesses to refute all this high
brow testimony, but the climax came when Mr.
Litchfield began to hold forth on a group of Dresden
porcelain representing August the Strong and Peter
the Great, dressed as Freemasons, dividing the Globe.
This group had been sold by Ellis for 440 to old
Mr. Dickins and was one of the features of the
case.

"This," intoned Litchfield, fixing the Judge with

SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER
a penetrating eye, "is indeed peculiar. I must
explain that every piece of porcelain from the ovens
at Meissen which showed the tiniest flaw was at once
rejected and became the property of the workpeople.
Thus in all some thousands of pieces, most of them
very slightly flawed indeed, were thrown out before
any colour was applied to them. These were sold
to outside buyers who either had them decorated in
cheap German factories or even sold them just as
they were. 5 '

There was not a murmur in the Court: everyone
strained to catch the great expert's words.

" Most of these white pieces have been acquired
by unscrupulous dealers during the last thirty years,"
continued Litchfield, " and they have had them decor
ated so as to increase their outward value a hundred
fold. The very interesting point about this group,
however, is that it has been decorated by an English
artist!" He paused to enjoy the sensation he had
made, and then went on: "The proof that it was
decorated by an Englishman lies in the fact that the
names of the Continents on the Globe are written in
English, whereas the decorator at Meissen or elsewhere
would, of course, have written in German! "

There was a subdued murmur of admiration,
which Litchfield acknowledged as his due; but I
did not know whether to laugh or swear! I was
sitting next to Mr. Julius White, solicitor for Ellis,
who happened to be my own solicitor, too.

"By Jove, Litchfield put his foot into it then!"
I murmured to him.

THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE 193

"How what has he done?" whispered White
excitedly. "For Heaven's sake, tell me we must
catch at any straw!"

"No, I don't want to be mixed up in the case,"
I replied. "If you'll promise not to call me as a
witness well, try and get hold of some of those
Dresden pieces, and with them the Globe group.
Don't be too eager. As you examine them I can
tell in a moment whether I'm right."

Ten minutes later White got hold of the pieces
and as he turned the Freemasons' group over in his
hands, a glance at the Globe showed me I had been
correct. I scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper
and passed it to White, who gave it to his leading
counsel, Mr. Harry Dobb. The tedious examination
of Litchfield went on its weary way: successive
experts agreed with him; but Professor Brinckmann,
from Hamburg, was questioned in great detail. Then,
to my joy, Mr. Dobb began a cross-examination.

"That Freemasons' group you hold in your hands,
Professor do you agree with Mr. Litchfield that
here is a piece of old Dresden porcelain which has
been redecorated within recent years?"

"Most certainly," replied the German.

"You agree that the redecoration was done by
an English artist, because the writing on that Globe
is in English?"

"Undoubtedly!"

"Now then, Professor," continued Dobb suavely,
"just examine that Globe very minutely, please. Is
it not a fact that the writing the names of the

SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Continents on the Globe, ought to be in Latin, not
in German ?"

The old gentleman, visibly taken aback, hesitated.

"Er yes. That is so I forgot !"

"Now will you kindly examine the group again
while I ask you a few more questions."

The Professor, with little beads of perspiration on
his forehead, began to look acutely unhappy.

"You are aware, 95 said Dobb, "that with the
exception of Europe, the names of all the Continents
are spelled just the same in English and Latin?"

"Yes."

"Now just turn that Globe a little, will you?
Please tell the Court exactly how 'Europe' is written."

There was a horrid silence while the old German
peered through his glasses at the group in his hands;
a silence which quickly became painful. At last he
quavered:

"Ach I make a meestake!"

Not only he, but Litchfield and all the other
important "experts" had made the same "meestake."
At a glance I had seen that the Continent was spelled
"Europa."

Brinckmann's admission and the resultant debacle
demoralised even Sir Edward Carson and the brilliant
Rufus Isaacs, but it did not help poor Ellis much.
Justice Grantham had evidently made up his mind
as to the rights and wrongs of the case: maybe he
forgot the witty epigram attributed to Judge Hawkins,
who said: "There are three degrees of liars liars,
damned liars, and expert witnesses!" Ellis, who

THE DRESDEN PORCELAIN CASE 195
had not appeared in Court after the first day, lost
the case, and a judgment of nearly 20,000 was
given against him. I heard that he had fled to
Norway, while Donnart made himself scarce and
removed his business, lock, stock and barrel, to Paris.
Later he became a naturalised Frenchman, and
received the red ribbon of the Legion d'Honneur!
The day after the trial I got the shock of my life,
for only then did I have a real opportunity to examine
the Freemasons' Dresden group in detail. Not only
were aH the experts completely wrong in saying
that it had been redecorated by an English artist,
but were wrong altogether about the decoration
itself! The group had really been decorated immedi
ately after it had been made: the only trouble was
that it had been made during the last few years / I tremble
to think what I should have gone through had I
been subpoenaed. That "440 group" was worth,
at most, 440 pence!

CHAPTER XIV

THE ART DEALER WHO ESCAPED PENAL SERVITUDE

WHEN Arthur T. Ellis lost his 20,000 "Dresden
porcelain case' 5 he vanished from London in a night,
and the whole of the art-dealing trade was wondering
what the executors of the late Mr. Dickins of Regent
Street were going to do about it- Rumour had it
that the executors had obtained a warrant for his
arrest, but just at this moment Ellis' young and
very charming wife came to see me.

u The children and I are practically penniless/'
she told me. "Even my own furniture and the
money Arthur settled on me before we were married
have been taken, and my Trustee, who used to be
Arthur's greatest friend, won't do a thing to help

me."

Sobbingly, she explained that she and her young
children had been evicted from their home: it was
indeed a case of Vae Victis I Naturally I gave what
assistance I could, but some months later the girl
told me that her husband had written from Rotter
dam begging for help: it seemed he was almost
starving. Rather relieved that Ellis could remain so
close to England without police attention, I gave
her about 15, but two days later came the news
that he had been arrested. Apparently Mrs. Ellis

196

DEALER ESCAPES PENAL SERVITUDE 197
had telegraphed the money quite openly and Scotland
Yard acted at once. Then, through some flaw in
the proceedings, it was found that Ellis could not
be extradited from Holland; but he solved the
problem by volunteering to return to London and
face any criminal proceedings which might be taken.
That, of course, was what he ought to have done
in the first instance. He was brought before the
magistrate at Bow Street, was granted bail, and
there now began one of the strangest tragi-comedies
in the history of our business.

The Prosecution found themselves in a quandary,
because in the civil action they had already dis
covered that "expert'' art witnesses are not always
too reliable. Litchfield and Professor Brinckmann,
of Hamburg, both great men, had been proved
very fallible indeed, and so now they brought an
entirely fresh batch of " experts" to prove their case.

Mr. Bodkin found his new " expert" witnesses
entangling him in a mass of evasions. The principal
expert was a man of undoubted importance and
great reputation, but how he did wriggle when asked
to give his opinion on porcelain which had not already
been examined and judged by others ! There was a
truly terrible moment for the Prosecution when he
was asked to give his opinion on two vases produced
in Court by the defence.

"Do you say that these are genuine?" he was
asked by defending counsel.

"Certainly not!" was the reply.

"Ah!" purred counsel. "Are you aware that

i g8 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

those vases have recently been bought in open
auction at Christie's for a large sum, by -a very great
Continental connoisseur, against English specialists in
Dresden porcelain? Do you know that they came
from the Massey-Mainwaring collection?"

The unhappy expert subsided like a pricked balloon,
while the Prosecution tried to assert that this was
all quite irrelevant. Nevertheless, it was clear that
the defence had the right to test the capacity of this
"expert/ 5 and the result was that the gentleman was
discredited. Indeed, it was the last time that he
appeared in an expert capacity before any tribunal!
His faltering explanations on other pieces which he
vaguely, and somewhat foolishly, described as "being
the sort of things most dealers would declare 'right*,' 3
only involved him more deeply than ever. It was
then that Mr. Bodkin realised it would be hopeless
to try and get a verdict from any jury on the question
of "fakes. 55

Other questions were gone into and, after many
appearances at Bow Street, Ellis was finally com
mitted for trial on two separate indictments. The
first of these concerned alleged frauds in cases where
Ellis had stated on invoices that he sold various
articles at a commission of ten per cent, when in
fact he had made enormous profits; the second indict
ment was in respect of fraud by selling to Mr. Picking
spurious articles as genuine. Arthur Ellis had lived
in a princely style whilst the going was good, but
he was already penniless before the end of the civil
case, over which he owed Mr. DicHns 3 executors

THE COUNTESS COSEL, DRESDEN "CRINOLINE" FIGURE
A question about this figure made history in Criminal Law

[See Chapter XIV

8

15u

o

.
> .2

I
^ s*

i ** I

&5 03 lr *_ g

z p7 1

DEALER ESCAPES PENAL SERVITUDE 199
some .20,000. One charitable art-dealer made an
unofficial collection amongst the trade and managed
to accumulate a defence fund of some 600. He
argued that no matter what Ellis had done, he was
entitled to a proper defence. When I saw that
subscription list, it struck me that precious few of
Ellis' former friends had contributed anything; most
of the funds were provided by his past opponents and
enemies !

Julius White was once again solicitor for the
defence. He and Reginald, his barrister son, gave
their services for nothing, while leading counsel
accepted a very modest fee. The Judge was the awe-
inspiring Recorder, Sir Forest Fulton, of Adolf Beck
fame, and the redoubtable Mr. (later Sir) Archibald
Bodkin led for the prosecution. As I sat in the
Central Criminal Court it seemed to me that the
learned Judge decided quite early in the proceedings,
that Ellis was guilty. When, as constantly happened,
Bodkin went rather too far in his cross-examination
and defending counsel leaped to his feet to protest,
the objection was over-ruled. But after a little I
began to see that there was method in his apparent
weakness. Counsel for the defence accepted the
Recorder's rebuffs with a resigned air, and it quickly
became apparent that Ellis had no, possible explana
tion against the first indictment. He was alleged to
have made vast and fraudulent profits at the expense
of Mr. Dickins, and there were his books to prove
the facts, Ellis explained that "knock-out 55 and
" joint-account" profits had had to be paid to dealers,

200 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

in cases where pieces had been bought privately or
at auctions; but the excuse was too flimsy. I saw
through the pretence at once; so did the jury.

Then a dramatic moment in which Mr. Bodkin
made history in the jurisprudence of the Criminal
Courts he asked Ellis a particular question relating
to one of the spurious pieces he was alleged to have
sold Mr. Dickins. This was an item from the second
indictment. Instantly leading counsel for the defence
was on his feet to protest that this question was
inadmissible, but Sir Forest Fulton overruled him
with a wave of the hand. This ruling was to have
effects far beyond Ellis' trial.

On the last day of the trial,, whilst sitting in my
usual seat in Court at the opposite end to the witness-
box, I became aware of an immaculately-clad
gentleman in morning dress who was edging his
way towards me. He sat down and presently made
some casual comment on the case, to which I replied
indifferently: I was much too interested in the
evidence to want to talk to strangers. He was,
however, inclined to be persistent, and of a sudden
it occurred to me that there was some special reason
for his friendliness; he had something important to
communicate. At once I was on my guard. In the
art-dealing-trade you very quickly learn to be sus
picious of unexpected friendliness and intrusion. At
last, after about half-an-hour, he turned to me.

"You are Mr. Jack Duveen, aren't you?"

"Yes, 55 I assented. "I don't remember having
met you before."

DEALER ESCAPES PENAL SERVITUDE 201

"Oh, I've often seen you at Christie's."

Ha! thought I. Here's a fellow who wants an
opinion on something 'on the cheap 9 ! I was to be
proved wrong.

"I'm glad to find you are friendly towards poor
Ellis, too," he went on. "After all, he was only a
catspaw."

"I know all about that/' I said. "And a good
deal more, too. He was only twenty when this
affair started.. It is the big man behind him who
ought to be in the dock!"

At that a startled look came into his eyes: then
he smiled quickly and I felt in my bones that here
was a friend of Mr. Donnart, the dealer of Bond
Street. He wanted something from me, but if he
thought I was going to help Donnart, he was
greatly mistaken! His next words gave me an
opening.

"If you know the inside facts of this case, you
will realise that the wrongs are not all on one side.
Ellis has only himself to thank for being without
friends and money. By blackmailing his frknds, he
alienated them and lost their help."

"I'm sorry to disagree," I retorted. "For an
absolute fact, I know Ellis has been despicably
deserted and left in the lurch by the one man who
is responsible for his predicament."

The stranger straightened himself, but before he
could reply, I added:

"That man was Donnart. You are a friend of
his and want to discuss something with me!"

202 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

That hit him hard. For a moment he was com
pletely nonplussed. Then he decided to make the
best of it.

"You talk straight, Mr. Duveen. Yes, I have got
a message for you. Shall we go out and talk some
where quietly?"

"It is too late to help Ellis now/ 5 I told him,
over coffee in a nearby cafe. "And let me tell you
that Ellis was never a blackmailer. In fact he has
taken his medicine like a man and has made no
attempt to implicate Donnart, as he very easily
might have done. Ellis was pretty hysterical at the
beginning of the case, and Donnart probably mistook
for threats, any wild words he may have said in
appealing for help."

The stranger leaned forward over the table.

"No/* he said slowly. "You want to help Ellis,
Mr. Duveen, and so do I and Donnart. After you've
heard what I have to say and offer I think you'll
agree to my proposal."

"Well?"

"I want a little diary which was kept by Ellis.
It contains information vital to Donnart."

" And dangerous ! "

"Agreed. Its contents are certainly incriminating;
but Ellis swore to Donnart that he destroyed it some
time ago. Donnart does not believe him; as soon
as Donnart gets possession of it, he will look after
Mrs. Ellis and the children in a generous manner
and Ellis himself shall be given a good start when
as soon as he can work again!"

DEALER ESCAPES PENAL SERVITUDE 203

"No," I replied emphatically. "I'm not going to
be mixed up in this affair."

"As you wish. But will you just do one thing:
ask Ellis whether he still has the diary? If he has,
I will find means of arranging the matter without
your help. If he has really destroyed it, Donnart has
promised to look after his family in any case."

"Very well/' I replied, after consideration. "But
tell me, I don't even know your name but why
did Donnart pick on a stranger as intermediary and
why did he choose me to approach Ellis?"

"He chose me because he can trust me and I
don't live in Europe. He picked on you because he
hates the only other man who could approach Ellis."

"Bob Partridge?" I snapped.

The stranger nodded,

"All right," I said. "I'll get you your information
one way or the other, on condition that you give
me your word to provide for Mrs. Ellis and the
children."

The trial ended shortly after, with a verdict of
"Guilty" on the first indictment; but defending
counsel had astutely provided himself with a very
good case for the Court of Criminal Appeal: a Court
set up subsequent to a cruel sentence of ten years 5
penal servitude passed on the innocent Adolf Beck
by the very Judge who presided at the Ellis trial.
Mr. Bodkin applied for the further hearing of the
second indictment to be postponed to the next
Sessions, and the Recorder announced that he would
postpone sentence till after the second case had been

SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER
heard. Ellis, of course, was kept in prison, but I
had a chance to speak a few words to him at the end
of the first case, before he was taken down to the cells.
After commiserating with him, I whispered:

"What have you done with that little diary
Donnart knows about?"

"I burned it the very day he asked me to: I
promised him I would. 5 '

"Your wife's happiness and future may hang on
this, Ellis," I told him. "Is that really true?"

"I swear by all I hold sacred, it is the truth,"
he replied earnestly.

I saw that he was greatly moved, and was content.
Later I got into touch with the mysterious stranger
and gave him the facts.

"That is all settled then, Mr. Duveen. Donnart
will be greatly relieved, and I must thank you very
sincerely for the trouble you have taken/'

"I can rely on you keeping your word?" I
asked.

"Without fail. Everything shall be done as
promised; the future of Mrs. Ellis and her family
is assured."

We parted, but I had not done with the affair.
Three days later the stranger was shown into my
office in Bond Street, and instantly I knew something
was very wrong indeed.

"Mr. Duveen, I feel terribly ashamed of myself,"
he began. "I was greatly tempted to leave Europe
without seeing you, but I couldn't "

"Donnart breaks his word?" I snapped.

DEALER ESCAPES PENAL SERVITUDE 205

"Yes. He says he cannot trust Ellis' word that
he has destroyed that diary."

"And you come and tell me this? That means
that you, too, have lost faith in Donnart: you feel
you've been made use of in a very dirty game ! "

"I'm afraid you are right," he murmured.

Then I lost my temper completely.

" What right had you to give your word, if you
were not sure you could carry it out? You and that
hound Donnart are going to let the family starve,
because I've been such a fool as to prove that he is
safe against criminal proceedings! Now he has got
what he wants we can all go to the devil! Well,
get out of my sight I never want to see or hear
from you again. I won't be made a fool of twice!"

The man turned away and left my office without
another word. A long time has passed since then
and I now know I did this stranger an injustice in
treating him in such cavalier fashion. If he should
read these lines, I hope he will understand that I
am sorry: his fault was not so great as I felt at that
moment.

While Ellis was in Brixton prison, a "dog-fight"
began in the Courts which lasted for months. By
this time the defence-fund was quite exhausted and
in the end Bob Partridge came to me and said that,
though Ellis had put one or two " swift ones" over
on him from time to time, he would like to help the
poor devil now.

"So he did to me. But what are you prepared to
do?" I asked.

206 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Exactly the same as you!" was the retort.

"Done, Bob! 55

That was how he and I decided to provide funds
for the final fight conducted by Julius White and
his son. Young Reginald White fought with amazing
tenacity, so that even Mr. Bodkin himself was baffled
at times. First of all a Bench of three Appeal Judges
heard the case, and White contended that criminal
law disallows any evidence relating to any other
case being put before a jury while the defendant is
standing trial He proved from records that Sir
Forest Fulton, the Recorder, had allowed prose
cuting counsel during the hearing of the first case,
to ask questions relating to the second case, and the
defence's objections were overruled. Three Apeal
Judges eventually referred the matter to a second
and eventually a third Bench of five Judges ! Mr.
Bodkin experienced a very trying time indeed, since
he had not only to contend with Reginald White
but also the Appeal Judges, who put some very
pertinent and awkward questions to him. In fact,
Julius White told me afterwards that this was the
only occasion on which he had seen Archibald
Bodkin get really "rattled!"

In the end the appeal was successful and the
verdict of the Old Bailey jury was quashed. To my
mind there is little doubt that Sir Forest Fulton
allowed himself to be swayed by his personal con
victions; but as to whether it was a miscarriage of
justice or not, it is difficult to decide. At any rate
Arthur Ellis became a free man again on a technical

DEALER ESCAPES PENAL SERVITUDE 207
point of legal procedure. It would certainly have
been deplorable if the catspaw in the whole affair
had been made to pay a heavy penalty, while the
real transgressor remained in the background and
escaped scot-free!

The postponed second indictment, concerning the
sale of spurious antiques to Mr. Dickins, was not
proceeded with, for the very good reason that pre
sumably strong evidence had already been torpedoed
by the ridiculous testimony of the prosecution's
"expert" witnesses. Poor Ellis paid a very heavy
price for his follies, for not only was he ruined finan
cially, but also morally and in the commerical sense.
He never recovered, because the world did in fact
adjudge him guilty according to the evidence pro
duced in Court. One thing is sure: if he had indeed
kept that little diary and produced it in Court, one
big London art-dealer would not have become a
naturalised Frenchman before, at least, serving a
stiff sentence in a British prison for his misdeeds!

CHAPTER XV
WHEN "CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG

IN the buying of works of art of any description the
purchaser, be he connoisseur, amateur, or dealer,
learns a very great deal about the frailties of human
nature. Indeed, one of my greatest annoyances has
always been the frequent manner in which people
change their mind about the prices they have asked
for a piece of porcelain, a picture, or antique furni
ture. This is usually due to a mixture of ignorance
and sheer greed. Time and again I have lost things
after having quoted for and supposedly bought
them at a very fair price, and such incidents left a
bitter taste in my mouth, because too often my
loss came 'through giving advice or approximate
values out of a kindly feeling and a spirit of friendship.
A peculiarly unhappy case of this sort happened
during my first year in Liverpool, when I was asked
by a client to visit a small exhibition in aid of charity,
at the school in West Derby. I was shown round
by a fussy little gentleman named Radford, who
insisted on telling me all about the various pieces.
Now and then he went "all abroad," and very soon
I had to do the "telling"; which resulted in our
becoming quite friendly. I did not see much of

208

WHEN "CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG 209

him in the next few months, but one morning he
came in, bearing a brown-paper parcel

"I want you to have a look at this," he said,
opening it with care. " What do you think it's worth? "

It was a rather fine Louis XV fan, worth about
75. I told him the value and added that there was
precious little demand in Liverpool for old fans of
that type.

"Will you keep it for me and try and sell it to
some Continental dealer who may come over?" he
pleaded.

I agreed. Just by luck, a Dutch dealer did come
over a few weeks later: he told me he was making
a small collection of French and Spanish fans for a
client.

"Here is the very thing!" I exclaimed, glad to
be able to, do a stroke of business for Mr. Radford.
"You can have it for 80."

After some argument the Dutchman said he would
take it at that price, and at once I wrote to Radford.
I was really pleased at having got an additional
5 for him. Next day he came into the shop, looking
quite hot and bothered.

"I had no idea you would sell the fan without
consulting me!" he puffed. "You see, it really
belongs to my mother and I cannot dispose of it
without her consent."

This looked queer to me. Radford was certainly
on the wrong side of sixty, so surely he could make
up his mind one way or another without recourse
to "Mother!"

2io SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Oh well/' I replied, rather piqued. "You asked
me to sell it and I got a better price. However, if
you really want it back I will ask my client to relin
quish it. 5 '

After a great show of gratitude from Radford, I

prevailed upon my Dutch friend to return the fan,

though he shook his head and gave me sage advice.

"This is a trick, my friend," he said. "Watch

that client of yours. I do not trust him."

Having got his fan back, Radford assured me he
would ask his mother's permission to sell and that
within a day or two I should know one way or the
other. Within twenty-four hours I was rung up by
Mr. Kidson, the well-known Liverpool art dealer.

"I say, Duveen, I want to ask you a confidential
question. I have a fellow here who has a Louis XV
fan : he says you offered him 80 for it. Is that right?"
"What do you want to know exactly?" I parried.
"Well, I don't often buy French stuff, but what
would you give me for it? This man wants 100."
The cat was well and truly out-of-the-bag.
"I won't buy at any price!" I shouted.
When my Dutch friend heard the details, he
chuckled.

"Don't worry. That man will come back to you
again."

"I'll show him where he gets off!"
"Don't be silly: this is a matter of business. If
you like, put all the blame on me."

That very afternoon who should turn up but the
grey-haired and gushing Mr. Radford. I'd have

WHEN " CONNOISSEURS " GO WRONG 211
given a lot to take the smile off his face with a good
" piece of my mind!"

"Mr. Duveen," he exclaimed, "I've done my best
for you with my mother, and she is willing to accept
100 for the fan. 55

"I'm sorry," I replied, "but the friend who was
to have bought it has already left for the Continent.
I'll write to him, if you like."

Of course, I never wrote at all: I was too sore
over the whole shabby business. When he next came
in I explained that the Dutchman had completed
his collection and did not want the fan after all.
Later I heard from Kidson, the dealer, that Radford
had asked him to take the fan to London where,
at a sale, it fetched just 50. I'm afraid I was so
uncharitable as to be pleased that the would-be
biter had been bitten!

Another case in which an amateur collector over
reached himself also happened in Liverpool: this
time it was a grizzled and be-spectacled man called
Benson, whose mean and acquisitive nature showed
itself in a thin-lipped, down-drawn mouth. Benson
was well-known for going to a dealer, pretending
to sell him something in order to gauge its value
and then touting it round to other dealers at a higher
figure. There were two or three black marks against
his name and consequently I was none too pleased
when he came to me one day, wearing deep mourning
and an air of pious resignation.

"My dear father died very recently, Mr. Duveen,"
he began, "and I am thinking of going into a smaller

212 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

house. A lot of my furniture will become super
fluous, so I would like you to come round and make
an offer for it."

Remembering past incidents, I put him off with
vague promises, and when he called in again twice
the following week, I was too busy to attend to him.
As luck would have it, my step-father came over
from the Hague a little later and Benson buttonholed
him and "told him the tale," with the result that
I was told severely to attend more closely to business
and not let prejudice interfere with possible profits!
Hence it was not in the best of humours that I
eventually called at Benson's house, where I was
kept waiting for ten minutes in an early- Victorian
drawing-room into which light filtered dimly through
heavy velvet curtains. Had he but known it, his
calculated rudeness put many hundreds of pounds
into my pocket!

No sooner had I sat down than I leaped to my feet
again to examine a very plain Chippendale tripod
which was tucked away in a corner of the room.
At some later date a screen had been fixed to it,
but being wider and longer than the tripod it gave
the whole thing an air of clumsiness. But that screen
one glance told me that the common wooden
mouldings held one of those rare, fifteenth century
Arras tapestries, interwoven with gold thread, which
are almost priceless! it represented the Adoration of
the Magi: as beautiful a bit of work as a connoisseur
could ever hope to see. And now I was in a dilemma,
because if I gave this precious Benson one hint of

o

STUART "HIGH-BACK" CHAIR
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

[See Chapter XV

WHEN " CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG 213
Its real value he would hawk it round to half the
dealers in the country, in his efforts to find "a better
market/' and a wrangle would begin which might
last for months. I did think of buying at any price,
but in the end decided to play a waiting game and
make no offers for anything he wanted to sell Just
then Benson came in, washing his hands with
amiability.

"Now take a good look round, Mr. Duveen, and
just tell me what you'd like to buy. I have so much
more than I shall be able to do with that you can
have a waggonload of stuff!"

"Well, you know I don't deal much in old English
furniture," I replied, "unless, of course, it is some
thing very fine; so I must leave the prices to you."

It made me smile inwardly to see him preening
himself: my supposed confidence in his special
knowledge at once made him ask 10 for a plain
Sheraton card-table which I could have got from
any furniture dealer for about 3! That gives you
a clue to his nature. I bought several quite nice
bits of furniture, and, as I passed the Chippendale
tripod, he stopped me.

"What do you think of that?"

"Ah!" said I, casually. "A nice plain bit of stuff,
but the screen is quite out of keeping." Then, after
just the right hesitation: "I rather like the tripod."

"Well, I'm certain you won't give me as much
as I paid for it," he said with a sigh.

*At least a thousand pounds /' flashed through my
mind. It would be cheap at the price.

214 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"What did you pay?" I asked at last.

"Five pounds."

His shamefaced air and the sudden anti-climax set
me guffawing with laughter, at which he looked
very hurt.

"I wasn't such a fool as to buy it at that price,
Mr. Duveen," he explained. "At one time I was
living in London and got to know a young fellow
called Perlant who dabbled in antiques. One day
he came and told me he had lost very heavily at
cards, but had scraped up the sum all but 25, and
would I lend him that amount if he gave me this
bit of tapestry, as security. I gave him the money
and he subsequently paid me back 20 before going
and drowning himself in the Seine : he was mixed
up with some silver-faking affair and could not face
the consequences. And so I got this tapestry for the
odd fiver, and a bad bargain, too."

The callous way in which he spoke determined
me to be even more than usually cautious. Presently
I saw in a cabinet in the library two square Nankin
vases with "Lange Lijzen" decoration of the Kang-He
reign (1662-1722) and with the very rare "H" mark;
also a pair offamille verte bowls of the same reign,
decorated with the Imperial dragon. All four pieces
were of a lovely quality and quite perfect. I took a
plunge and knew instantly I had blundered.

"How much do you want for these two bowls and
vases?"

Benson stared at them for a moment and shook
his head.

WHEN "CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG 215

"No. You must say what you'll give for them.
I asked you prices on the furniture because I know
more about it than you do; but here I leave it to

you."

"I'll give 60 for the vases and 50 for the bowls."

That was a pretty good offer, but the effect on
Benson was the opposite of what I had expected.

'f Pounds!" he exclaimed, with gleeful surprise.
Then, as I ought to have foreseen, he hedged instantly.
"May I let you know about this in a few days? A
member of my family has first option on them."

Raging inwardly at his trickery, I looked over the
list of things I had bought.

"I make it 174."

"That's correct," he said.

"Is there anything to make it up to the round

200?"

"What about that Chippendale pie-crust table

and the two Sheraton armchairs?"

"Not good enough, Mr. Benson. They are worth
about 22; but if you'll throw in the Chippendale
tripod and screen, I'll come to your figure. I won't
buy the tapestry screen alone," I added, to put him off

the scent.

" All right," he sighed. Then, completely forgetting
his mythical relatives: "Won't you make it another
150 for the four pieces of porcelain? "

I shook my head.

"Very well: I accept your original offer of no.
I'll make out a detailed receipt while you are writing
the cheque."

216 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

I was not going to trust this slippery customer
with that lovely bit of tapestry for even one night;
he was quite capable of going back on his bargain.
Making an excuse that I wanted to show it to a friend,
I took it and the porcelain away with me in a cab.
That drive seemed unending, for I was on fire to
examine my lovely Arras treasure in detail.

At last I got home: I don't remember 1 eating any
supper, but afterwards I took the tapestry out of
that sordid frame and gloated over its unforgettable
beauty. Of the finest possible texture, the very
simple but beautiful colours glowed as freshly as
though they had been dyed a few years ago. The
subject was undoubtedly by the hand of one of the
great Bruges masters: the Virgin seated sideways on
a richly furnished bed and holding up the Child for
the admiration of the kneeling Sages of the Orient.
The dresses were represented in the most gorgeous
embroideries and the ground around was strewn
with many flowers, the so-called mille fleurs. At one
side a small window gave a peep at blue mountains
in the distance. A good rubbing and brushing with
dried breadcrumbs restored the flesh tints in the
Virgin, the Child and his adorers, to very nearly
their original shades.

I did not go to bed till very late that night, and
before I slept determined to catch a train next day
and cross to the Hague, via Harwich, for my twentieth
birthday. At all costs my mother must see that tapes
try before it was sold! Thirty-six hours later, at
seven in the morning, I was in our sun-dappled

WHEN "CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG 217
"garden room" at the Hague, impatiently awaiting
the arrival of my mother and breakfast. When the
birthday congratulations were over, she said:

"What are you doing here so suddenly?"

"Oh, just to have a look at that suite of Empire
furniture you have bought. I believe I have a client
for it"

If she had been a modern, she would have said:
"Oh yeah?" Thank goodness she used a pleasanter
manner of expressing disbelief! But I kept up the
pretence till breakfast was over, and then said quite
casually:

"By the way, IVe brought along a nice little
Chippendale firescreen which would just suit this

room."

When I brought it in neither my mother nor my
step-father said one word: the beauty of its design
and craftsmanship held them spellbound. Only
after a long time did she speak.

" Where did you find it? And what did you pay? "

"Guess!"

"Fifteen thousand gulden?" (1,250)

"Four pounds!" was my triumphant retort. I satis
fied their instant demands for an explanation, and my
mother, knowing the Radford and Benson type by long
experience, agreed that I could have done nothing else.

"Now that it is here/' she added, "I'm going to
enjoy it for a few weeks before it vanishes into the
collection of some wealthy connoisseur."

Three weeks later I sold it to a Parisian dealer
for 45,000 francs, which was then roughly 1,800.

2i8 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

To-day that screen would be worth between 5,000
and 7,000, and I am sure that if only Mr. Benson
could have known what I realised on what he
"wouldn't pay a fiver for/* he would have had an
apoplexy from frustrated envy and greed!

Another adventure caused by the ignorance and
rapacity of an art-dealer and a tout, ended far more
advantageously for me than would have been the
case had they tried to be less smart. It was while
I was staying at the Adelphi Hotel, in Liverpool,
that my old friend, Petty, the dealer, was announced
so early that I was still breakfasting. Petty was in
a state of great excitement.

"I've just got my hands on a set of twelve and two
Stuart chairs," he said. "At least, I haven't actually
got hold of them, because the devil won't tell me
where they are! 5 '

"Twelve and two" is the trade name for twelve
single and two armchairs, and such a set would be
a rarity indeed.

"Who is 'the devil 5 ?" I asked.

" Holy Will ! He came to see me at six this morning,
saying he had just come in by train from the North."

Knowing "Holy Will" to be a hypocritical, psalm-
singing tout of the worst type, I thought it more
probable he had just come from the South and from
not too far away, either!

"He wanted .25 at once and 5 per cent, com
mission if the chairs were sold through me: all that
just for an address! I refused, but he wouldn't
budge even when I asked him to come and see you."

WHEN "CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG 219

I thought that quite probable. "Holy Will 53 had
no liking for me, or I for him. It was only just after
eight o'clock and if I acted at once there was a chance
I might be able to get the requisite information
elsewhere.

"Come on!" I said to Petty, jumping up. " We'll
go and see your c deviP now."

The clock of St. Luke's struck the quarter as we
knocked at the man's door: he appeared unshaven,
unwashed, and unlovely.

"About these Stuart chairs I can do with a set,"
I began, whereat he grinned.

" Will you give me 50 and a ten per cent, com
mission, if I give you the address?"

Having merely doubled his price since seeing
Petty, I told him I could offer a ten per cent, com
mission on sale and nothing more.

"No," he snapped. "I want my fifty quid first."

"Last time you gave me an address I found the
things gone when I arrived," I retorted, "and so
did Garlet and Jenes. You can't work that ramp
again!"

In the end we left him and hurried back to the
Adelphi. I determined to teach the tout a lesson,
and told an assistant to ring up the most likely
people in Liverpool and the neighbouring towns.
By nine o'clock we had gone through the list, but
not one of them had heard of the Stuart chairs.
Then I had a brainwave.

"Here: get on to Mr. Clones, the builder in
Parnford."

220 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Clones was an old friend of mine, and we had
scarcely begun to talk when he said: "Have you had
my letter yet? About a set of Stuart chairs?"

I could have shouted with joy!

"No, I haven't. Are they in Parnford?"

"Yes. Perniss, the dealer, brought them in last
night with a vanload of stuff from Carlett HalL"

"I'll be with you as soon as possible/ 3 I said,
hanging up the receiver.

Within thirty seconds I was driving towards the
cathedral city of Parnford, some fifty miles distant.
I wasted no time with Perniss, but came to the point
at once, and asked his price.

"They are still in my warehouse," he told me.
"I want 500."

I could not help noticing the eager, watching
look, and, unfortunately, I did not demur at this
"round sum." But on the drive to the warehouse,
he began to hedge.

"Oh, I forgot, Mr. Duveen: I've got a man from
London coming to see this set."

The sign-manual of " dirty work ! " The warehouse
was really a large mansion filled with furniture, and
as soon as I saw the chairs I knew I was on to a really
good thing. They were unique not only on account
of fine quality, but also because of their fine state of
preservation. Carved in that profuse yet delicate
style which distinguished the first years of the Res
toration as against the exaggerated simplicity the
"proud humbleness" of the Commonwealth, they
certainly deserved the name of "tall-backs" in their

WHEN " CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG 221

dignity and height. The carving appeared like
bronze work by reason of two and a half centuries of
beeswax and "elbow grease. 55 "The find of a life
time/ 5 was my instinctive thought.

"What will you take for them?" I said.

"Well, I don't know what to do there is this
other man coming."

Biting off a sharp retort, I passed on to look at
some other things, and presently happened upon
two very fine suits of fluted armour in the Maximilian
style.

"What do you think of those?" asked Perniss.
"At least eighty years old! Just the thing for you."

I nearly laughed : he was judging the age from the
ugly Victorian oak pedestals on which they stood,
whereas actually the suits were fifteenth century
work! I decided to buy them at the man's own
valuation and presently, as we were sitting in a tiny
office, he came to the point.

"Well, can we do a deal, Mr. Duveen?"

"Yes. By the way, you haven't told me your
lowest figure on the Stuart chairs- yet. Did you give
your London man a price?"

"No, I didn't write a price."

"Then how can there be any question of option
or refusal?" I exclaimed. "You asked me 500 and
I haven't refused yet: would you have broken your
bond if I had accepted on the spot?"

He looked uncomfortable enough while I totted
up the value of the various items I had bought.

"The whole comes to 835," I said.

222 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"That includes the chairs?"

"Yes. What will you take for cash?' 5

He pondered for a minute or two, scribbling
figures on a pad. Then:

"830, Mr. Duveen. I've already asked you the
lowest prices."

"You certainly are generous/ 5 I replied, sar
castically. "800 and I'll write the cheque now. 55

"No, I won't take less."

I murmured something about his being a hard
nut to crack, wrote a cheque and obtained a detailed
list from him. Then, as we were passing the armour
again, he reverted to the subject.

"Won't you make an offer for the suits, Mr.
Duveen? You can have them cheap for 80."

This was just what I had wanted.

"No, I don't think I can use them, 55 I replied,
with just the right amount of uncertainty.

" WeU then, I'll throw in this steel mask as well."

He lifted a mask out of a mahogany wine-cooler
and, on the instant, I realised that here was some
thing worth three times the 80 he had asked for
the lot! Still I hesitated.

"75 then, 55 he said, thrusting the mask into my
hands.

I held it!

"All right; I like the mask. 55

I ordered a motor-lorry and very soon my pur
chases were in my own possession; a wise precaution
with that type of dealer! In Liverpool next morning
I telephoned a client for whom I had been fitting

WHEN "CONNOISSEURS" GO WRONG 223

out a very beautiful Tudor dining-room, and he came
over right away to have a look at those lovely Stuart
chairs.

"You've got me, Duveen," he exclaimed, at first
sight of them. "How much are you going to c do 5
me for?"

"I paid 500 for them," I replied, "and you are
going to give me 1,300. Actually, they are worth
nearer 2,000."

"You are right," he said, pulling out his cheque
book. "Lend me a pen, will you?"

The suits of armour were not quite all they might
have been, because one or two missing parts had
been replaced about a century earlier, by a good
restorer. If they had been entirely original they would
have been worth at least 10,000, but would Still
fetch about half that sum. I decided to keep them
and send them to my country-house in Wales.

Over the whole affair I paid Mr. Clones, the
Parnford builder, ten per cent, commission; while
Petty got a further five. "Holy Will," however,
claimed nothing at all, and for three or four months
I was quite puzzled over that. He was not the type
to let even a "bad" claim slip through his dirty
fingers. Then one day I heard that he had gone to
Perniss and had claimed and got, ten per cent, for
having sent me to him! Perniss must have got the stuff
for very little indeed, and I have often speculated
as to which of us did best over the deal, according
to our deserts!

CHAPTER XVI

HOW I LOST FIVE ^2O,OOO VASES

FOR many years certain very mysterious happenings
had been puzzling the art-dealing world in London,
and to most of us these remained unsolved puzzles,
until at last Mr. Frederick Alcker, confidential
secretary to a great competitor, threw up his almost
Ministerial salary rather than put up any longer with
the bully who employed him. His employer, the
well-known Mr. George, made the further mistake
of persecuting his secretary through the various agents
at his disposal* With most men this would probably
have led to retaliation and a big libel case, but
George knew his late secretary too well. Frederick
Alcker was above pettiness of that type and ever since
that time has been quite content with a much simpler
mode of life.

"You never know when he won't try some double-
crossing trick," Alcker told me one day when we
happened to meet on holiday in the Isle of Man.
"That was one of the reasons I threw up the most
profitable job I've ever had."

For weeks, while we yachted and fished, Alcker
was my constant companion, and to him I owe an
intimate knowledge of some of the most exciting

224

HOW I LOST FIVE 20,000 VASES 225
intrigues, one of which, incidentally, resulted in a
business duel and my own defeat. It is partly through
this knowledge that I could piece together the great
swindle perpetrated by Mr. George and Hugh
Melmett on a rich American collector, who bought
two "damascened" suits of Gothic armour at an
outrageous price. Alcker completed for me the
details of the following story in which I was one of
the chief victims, making me promise I would disclose
nothing until the death of certain of his former
employers. As the latter died some time ago, I am
absolved from secrecy, though I have changed names
and certain details to avoid giving offence to innocent
people.

Just about this time I had large offices and show
rooms on the first floor of a charming old Georgian
house in Dover Street, Piccadilly, and to the restful
rooms at the back many of my clients used to corne
regularly for tea and a chat in what seemed a pleasant
oasis amidst the clatter of the West End. One after
noon I was sitting gloating over the beauty of one of
a set of four black Chinese vases which I had bought
some time previously and was jealously keeping out
of sight. Just as I was about to lock it away. Lord
Barklington was announced and, as we were great
friends, I left the vase standing on a table where,
bathed in a strong light, its beauties were fully
revealed.

"Hullo, Duveen that looks perfectly marvellous!"
"Not too badly judged!'' I exclaimed with justi
fiable pride. "I have four of them; they are the

226 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

finest and most valuable examples of Chinese vases
I've ever seen."

Lord Barklington seemed to go into a reverie,
frowning and staring abstractedly at the carpet.
Then:

"Jove, I've got it! Sir Gerald Burringham has a
set of five they're a bit smaller, but very like these."

"Would he sell, d'you think?" was my natural
question. "If they are the real thing, I would give
him a stiff price."

" The old man would be glad enough, if they are
worth a lot of money. I happen to know that his
nephew is costing much more than he can afford
just now."

We discussed this exciting prospect from every
angle while one of my young employees brought in
tea and sandwiches. Lord Barklington promised
to speak to Sir Gerald Burringham 5 who was a close
neighbour, at the very first opportunity.

It so happened that the next day Frederick Alcker
and Mr. George were sharing a frugal lunch in their
private office when there came a telephonic message
that there was "a young man on private business
waiting at the back entrance."

"Who is it? "said Alcker.

"He won't give a name, but he has seen Mr.
George before."

"All right. Show him up."

"Well, Burton? What is it?" said George, at
sight of the youth.

HOW I LOST FIVE 20,000 VASES 227

"Can I speak to you alone, sir?"

"Get on with it," replied the great dealer. "You
can speak as freely to Mr. Alcker as to me, and if
I'm not in you can always ask to see him."

"Lord Barklington has been talking about some
black Chinese vases," he broke out hurriedly. "He
was very excited; it must be something important,

sir."

"Good boy!" said George, tossing him a sovereign.
"Describe them carefully. Ah!" He glanced swiftly
at Alcker, who produced a pocket-book and made a
few notes. "Go on! Names and places, please."

The youth had scarcely finished when the dealer
rounded on him.

"You got your patter pretty smart, young feller!
I believe you've invented all this." His voice rose to
a shout, "If you have, by God, I'll make you
pay for it!"

Then, as suddenly, he was all smiles again. He
tossed the lad another sovereign and waved him to
the door.

"There may be a chance to earn that motor-bike
I promised you," he said, as the youth bowed him
self out. "You will receive certain orders and must
carry them out to the letter."

George whipped round on Alcker, grim purpose
in every line of him.

"What is the nearest station to the place the lad
mentioned?"

"Crossways, in Loamshire."

"Who have we got in that neighbourhood we can

228 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

trust? Ah, I have it. Find out through Lord Wester
whether Sir Gerald Burringham is at home be
discreet, and don't allow him to mention our

name."

Within the hour the great dealer discovered that
Sir Gerald had a slight cold and was confined to his
house. As it was a six-and-a-half-hour train journey
to Crossways, sleepers were booked and the next day
Mr. George and Frederick Alcker drove up to Lord
Westerns mansion, where the peer was persuaded to
take them over to see Sir Gerald.

"Mr. George and his friend called on me/ 5 ex
plained Lord Wester to Sir Gerald, "and I thought it
would be a great pleasure for them to look over your
fine old place."

An invitation to stay to lunch followed as a matter
of course, and then the inspection began. The
impatient dealer was taken through room after
room, but there were no black Chinese vases any
where. At last he decided to force a conclusion.

"I'm rather surprised to see you have so little
Oriental china amongst all these charming things,"
he said. u As a rule one finds such a lot of decorative
Chinese porcelain in old family mansions."

"We did have a good deal at one time," replied
Sir Gerald, "but when my father succeeded, my
grandmother took a lot with her to the Dower House
and it never came back. However, I think we have
some Chinese or Japanese vases upstairs: they always
remained in my mother's boudoir. We hardly ever
use that now."

HOW I LOST FIVE 20,000 VASES 229

"Oriental china is my particular hobby/' mur
mured the persistent George. "Would it be possible
for us to see them?' 5

It was obvious that Sir Gerald did not like the idea
of taking this somewhat thinly- veneered "gentleman"
into his late mother's private rooms, but after a
momentary hesitation he said:

"I'll have the shutters pulled back and the sheets
taken off the furniture, so that you can see the vases
presently/ 5

Mr. George, most eager to make a good impression,
flattered his host and restrained his imperative,
parvenu manners to an unwonted extent. At last a
man-servant arrived to say that the rooms were ready
and, on entering the boudoir, the dealer's eyes
glistened with cupidity. A strong light from the
windows fell on the vases, which were placed on the
top of a high bookcase running almost the length of
one wall. There could be no possible mistake as to
the unusual quality and enormous value of the
porcelain.

"How very decorative! 55 exclaimed George, in
well-measured tones of admiration.

"I always thought they looked rather top-heavy
on that bookcase, 55 said Sir Gerald.

The dealer struck while the iron was hot.

" I know someone who would pay quite a good price
to put them on his bookcase. Wouldn't you care
to sell? 55

"IVe never sold anything out of the place/ 5 said
Sir Gerald, rather stiffly. "I would only do so now

230 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

if these vases are worth a really considerable

sum. 59

"How much will you take for them?" replied the
dealer, a shade too eagerly.

"They might not be worth selling," was the calm
reply. "Just now you remarked that they were
merely decorative."

The too-clever George had over-reached himself
and Sir Gerald, a retired diplomat, had taken his
measure. Had the dealer commented openly on the
value and beauty of the porcelain he could have
bought them at a very fair price. But then, "fair
ness" and Mr. George were complete strangers! His
next move made the diplomat even more suspicious.

"Well, I like them and wouldn't mind stretching
the price a bit. Tell me what you will take, and if
I can possibly do so. 111 buy them."

"What will you give?"

"Oh, on principle, we never make offers. We
can't be buyers and sellers at the same time, and as
you are the seller it is only right that you should
name a price."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken," replied Sir Gerald,
a trifle grimly. " It was you who asked me to sell. In
addition, I am completely ignorant as to the value of
the vases, so we need not pursue the subject farther."

This was a quite unexpected reverse for the dealer,
who, however, never admitted himself beaten. His
quick wits sought a solution to the problem.

"You misunderstand me, Sir Gerald," he purred.
"I have every wish to give you full value and, to

FAMILLE NOIRE VASE
(Franks Collection, British Museum)

[See Chapter XV I

JONKHEER VAN OtDENBARNEVELDT'S HOUSE H TOE NOORD ElNDE AT THE HAGUE

Now an antique dealer's shop

HOW I LOST FIVE 20,000 VASES 231
prove it, suggest that you have the porcelain valued
at my expense. I will then give you ten per cent,
above that price."

"Who would be competent and not a dealer?"
demanded Sir Gerald, seduced by this fair proposal.

"Why not consult Messrs. Burnett?" suggested
Lord Wester, who had been an interested spectator
of the duel.

"That seems a good idea, if Mr. George has no
objection."

Lord Wester had done quite an amount of business
for and through the dealer at one time and another,
but even he had no idea how the wily George could
turn the irreproachable reputation of the Burnetts
to his own account.

"I'm not too friendly with the Burnetts," replied
George, "but if you don't mention my name to them
I'm willing to abide by their decision. You will
thus get an entirely unbiased opinion on the vases.
But as a possible client will be returning to America
in a few days, I should be much obliged if you would
write to Messrs. Burnett to-day. It will make all
the difference if I can actually show my client the
vases before he sails."

Sir Gerald agreed to this, and presently Lord
Wester and the dealer, with Frederick Alcker, re-
entered their car and were whirled down the long
drive towards the lodge gates,

"Thanks very much for your lead over the
Burnetts," exclaimed George. "It was just what
I wanted."

232 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Lord Wester did not know quite what that meant,
but he comforted himself in the knowledge that a
handsome "souvenir" would be forthcoming when
the deal had gone through.

While these events were occurring in Loamshire
I was busy arranging a big deal in Paris and had
barely completed it before I received a telegram from
my secretary in London.

"Lord B. telegraphs come immediately. Black vases"

Lord Barklington had evidently got busy and,
excited at the prospect of purchasing a second set
of black Chinese vases, I did not waste a moment.
Telegraphing my secretary to meet me with car and
chauffeur at Charing Cross, I arrived early in the
morning to find that the chauffeur was ill. By road
it was an eight-hour journey to Crossways, two
hundred and eighty miles, so there was no time to
lose. I slipped into the driving-seat and we slid
through the traffic till, at last, on the North Road I
could let my forty-five "horses" have their head. We
did not dawdle, but not far from Buckden a huge
Mercedes "90" shot past with a roar, nearly forcing
me into the ditch.

"Damned inconsiderate hog!" I shouted to my
secretary.

"That was Mr. George's car," he replied. "I
know it well by sight."

It seemed odd to me that George, who was never
fond of motoring, should be rushing North at so
headlong a speed. However, I thought no more of

HOW I LOST FIVE 20,000 VASES 233
it, which was a pity. If only I had had an inkling
of what was in the wind, I could have put a very
thick spoke in that gentleman's wheel! Beyond
Buckden the road forked and we made excellent time
until, in the middle of a lonely stretch of moorland
on a narrow patch of road over a bridge, I felt the
unmistakable sort of "roll" which presages a deflating
tyre. Getting out hastily, we discovered not one but
three tyres studded with new hob-nails! What I
said is best left to the imagination, because in those
days we simply had to lever each tyre off the wheel,
insert a new inner-tube and then do back-breaking
work with the pump. A smart chauffeur could
change a wheel in about twenty minutes, but we
took nearer an hour and a half for the three and
emerged with split finger-nails and frayed tempers.
Before starting up again, I glanced at the petrol gauge.

"Getting a bit low. Just put a couple of cans
into the tank you'll find 'em stowed at the back.
There's a third can holding water, so be careful."

When the petrol had been put in, I tried to start
the engine, but a splutter from the carburettor told
me there was trouble. After swinging the starting-
handle till I saw a thousand sparks, I examined the
flooding carburettor: no doubt about it, my secretary
had been fool enough to put the tin of water into the
tank!

"Of all the darned idiots!" I finished, "and after
warning you, too ! "

"But, Mr. Duveen, here is the water!" he replied,
producing the full can.

234 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Only then did it occur to me that here was dirty
work. Someone had undoubtedly emptied my two
spares: I had been carrying three cans of water!
There was no garage within miles, so we busied our
selves in emptying the petrol-tank and cleaning and
drying the carburettor. Eventually I begged a couple
of gallons from a passing motorist and we arrived
at Lord Barklington's mansion just as the stable
clock was striking ten o'clock. We should have
arrived soon after three-thirty!

"What a pity you were in Paris," exclaimed my
friend. "If only I could have got at you earlier.
The vases have gone ! "

"How?" I asked, with a sinking heart,
" The day after I saw you in Dover Street, George,
the dealer, turned up at Sir Gerald Burringham's
place. He saw the vases, persuaded Sir Gerald to
have them independently valued by Messrs. Burnett
and so he got them, plus ten per cent. I tried
hard to get Burringham to wait till you had seen
them,' 5 Lord Barklington explained, "but he had
definitely promised George and wouldn't go back on
his word."

The whole affair looked very queer, because so
far as I was aware, no one knew anything about
these black vases save Lord Barklington. It was true
that George had a copy of that secret inventory of the
great houses of England, made by one of the Wer-
theimers and one of the Benjamins; but that was
away back in the ? 8o's and at that time the value
of this particular porcelain was not fully appreciated.

HOW I LOST FIVE 20,000 VASES 235
"I was there when George called to collect the
vases/' continued Lord Barklington. "Sir Gerald
was quite put out by the speed with which the deal
went through. George wrote out the cheque there
and then and packed up the porcelain, saying that he
had to go on to Liverpool to catch a client before he
left for the States."

" What sort of figure did he pay?"

Instantly I knew that, if the vases were indeed as
my friend had described in minute detail. Sir Gerald
Burringham had lost at least 15,000! No doubt at
all that it had been George who had raced past me on
the North Road, near Buckden. He had beaten me
to it, but how he had done it I had not the slightest
idea. I was to discover that later.

Two days after this I happened to be passing
George's premises in London and there, sure enough,
were Burringham's five black vases in the window.
I stopped and stared. They were worth all of
20,000 ! At that moment George himself came out
and took me by the arm, smiling in odious fashion.

"Lovely, aren't they? A real scoop, my boy ! " Then,
to an assistant who was waiting at the door. "Yes,
Arthur, you can take them out of the window now!"

That was his mentality: he had had them put there
for my benefit, wanting to crow over a beaten com
petitor.

It was Alcker who afterwards let light into the dark
places of that transaction, because George's secret
informant, who told him all about the vases, was none

236 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

other than young Burton, the employee who had

brought us tea when Lord Barklington came originally

to Dover Street and told me about Sir Gerald.

Burton, too, had been bribed by George to empty

the cans of petrol in my car at the right moment

and substitute water; but it may be that the hobnails

and my three simultaneous punctures at a critical

juncture, was just an unlucky stroke of Fate. Burton

may have got his motor cycle from George, but as it

happened he also got the sack from me a little later,

owing to quite a different matter. What happened

after George had arranged with Sir Gerald to have

the vases valued by Messrs* Burnett can be told in

Alcker's own words.

"We got back from Crossways to London in a
hurry, 57 Alcker said. "George got on the telephone
to Hugh Melmett, knowing that he was Burnetts'
trusted valuer, and asked him to come round early
next day to see him."

"'Hugh, 5 said George, 'your firm will receive a
letter from Sir Gerald Burringham, asking you to
value five black Chinese vases. You will be sent
down there must be no mistake about that and you
will value them at 1,500.'"

"*Oh, but suppose they're worth 1 5,000, Mr.
George? Black Chinese porcelain might easily fetch
that." 5

"George, 55 said Alcker, "flew into a terrible rage.
He cursed Melmett for ingratitude, threatened him
with exposure to Messrs. Burnett and then tried to
bribe him. 55

HOW I LOST FIVE 20,000 VASES 237

"'What am I to get out of the transaction, Mr.
George? 9 asked Melmett at last, thoroughly cowed
and browbeaten.

4 "5-' snapped the dealer. 'And quite enough,
too! 555

That was how Sir Gerald sold his beautiful Chinese
vases, since, of course, he accepted the " independent
estimate" of Messrs. Burnetts' trusted adviser with-
out hesitation. Had I only known what was happen
ing behind the scenes, five minutes on the telephone
might have put another 15,000 in his pocket! That
porcelain was eventually sold by George, the "great 55
dealer, for 18,000!

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT

WHEN the great Honore de Balzac wrote Le Cousin
Ports in 1847, ^ was tailed as a masterpiece,, though
many people thought it an exaggerated picture.
As it happened, some fifty years later it was capped
by a true-life tragedy with which I was intimately
concerned. In order to give you the true perspective
for this story, you must know a little of the van
Oldenbarneveldt family who were famous in Holland
by reason of their great ancestor, John, who steered
the struggling and foundering Ship of State of the
Dutch Provinces to safety through the first forty
years of their struggle against Spain. Then, in 1619,
at the age of seventy-one and after a political and
religious quarrel with the Prince of Orange, old John
van Oldenbarneveldt was beheaded. This " political
murder" led some of John's relatives to conspire
against the Prince's life, and the discovery of their
plotting resulted in the flight of practically the whole
of the numerous family. To escape attention, many
of them assumed different names, and ultimately,
years afterwards, they returned to Holland, when
they added the "Oldenbarneveldt" once more.
One of their descendants was Jonkheer de Raedt

TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT 239
van Oldenbarneveldt, a bachelor who lived in a
beautiful family house at the Hague with his old
sister. Though extremely wealthy, they lived in
quite simple fashion, and when I first met them were
already getting on in years. The Jonkheer was a
very clever and discerning collector of old pictures
and works of art, and had inherited from his forbears
a catholic taste as well as an enormous collection.
Very few people, however, were ever allowed to see
his treasures. The old gentleman often used to come
to our place at the Hague to look over our antiques,
and occasionally to make a purchase. I remember
him as a tall, spare man with white hair and that
impalpable air of distinction which denotes the
erudite and much-travelled man of leisure.

Luckily for me and, as it turned out, for him, the
Jonkheer took a fancy to me, and as a result I was
privileged to see something of his vast collection of
beautiful things, which had been formed by ten
generations of art lovers. They were set out in his
house in the Noord Einde, not far from the Royal
Palace at the Hague. I remember particularly ad
miring a seventeenth century Delft imitation of a
late Ming Chinese plate, the more interesting because
both the Chinese original and its much more valuable
copy stood together at the back of a William III glass
cabinet.

"Very good excellent!" exclaimed the old man,
rubbing his hands. "You have sharp eyes, my boy.
In this dim light many a connoisseur would not have
known the difference!"

240 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

He took down the two plates and allowed me to
handle them. Neither he nor I dreamed at that
moment what an enormous influence this kindly act
was to have on his future.

Years passed and I became a partner in my step
father's business, being in full control of the English
branch. Now and then I paid a buying visit to
Holland,, and one day, being at the Hague, thought
I would look in on old Jonkheer van Oldenbarneveldt.
I rang the bell, which was answered by a man
servant with a lowering countenance and suspicious
air. "No, you cannot see the Jonkheer/' he replied
to my question. "He is ill and sees no one."

"A surly sort of devil!" was my thought, and on
the way home I wondered vaguely why such a charm
ing and courteous old man should retain so unpleasing
a butler.

"Oh, the Jonkheer has been ill for some time, now,"
my mother told me over lunch. "But I hear that
those two servants look after him and his sister in
devoted fashion. Indeed, the old man's relatives
have been rather unkind to him, and it is quite
remarkable how much better his own servants have
behaved!"

I dismissed the matter from my mind, and it was
not until some months had elapsed that I again
called at the house in the Noord Einde to see how my
old friend was faring. The same man-servant opened
the door as on the previous occasion, and at sight of
me his brows drew into a scowl.

"How is the Jonkheer this morning?"

TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT 241

"You are the young man who called some time ago?
Well, I've told you before he can't see anyone."

"You have a very good memory for faces! I
only wanted to enquire after his health/ 5

"Well," snarled the man in a rough manner, "we
have enough work to do without answering the
front-door bell all day long!"

With that he closed the door in my face and I was
left standing on the step ! With considerable annoy
ance I turned away: the fellow had most certainly
exceeded his duty, and his crude manners stamped him
as anything but a "devoted servant." Even my
mother's explanation that old servants often presumed
on their position, and grew irritable with anyone save
their own masters, did not seem to me a feasible one.
Gradually a feeling of uneasiness gripped me, an
intuitive foreboding of evil. My step-father laughed
at my suspicions, but that very afternoon I was to
have them confirmed in rather surprising fashion.
He and I had gone to have a look at some Chinese
porcelain, and as we pottered round one or two
dealers' shops I began to feel we were being followed.
Suddenly I turned to my step-father.

"I think I'll leave you here," I said. "I want to
spend half-an-hour studying some things at the
Maurice House." (The Hague Picture Gallery.)

" Right," he replied. " I'll find my own way home."

On coming out of the Maurice House I saw the
man I had suspected, standing idly on the opposite
corner. He turned away as I walked towards home
and, so soon as I came to a shop-window, I stopped

242 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

and used it as a mirror. Sure enough my man had
halted and now began to follow me along the other
side of the street! A little thrill went up my spine.
Here was adventure, and I was young enough to
welcome it with open arms. But I decided to say
nothing more to my mother, who might be needlessly
alarmed. First of all I wanted real proof that I was
being shadowed: then would come the problem of
finding the reason.

Next morning I did not see my "shadow," but
two days later as I went about my business in the
town, I became aware of a youth walking along
beside his bicycle. Now in Holland everyone uses
a cycle, but somehow I felt certain that I had noticed
this straw-haired lad of about sixteen once before
that morning. Wishing to make certain, I took a
cab to Scheveningen Wood and there, at the entrance,
was my cyclist again! Walking along the woodland
paths I caught glimpses of him now and then through
the trees, for he was compelled to keep to the main
road. He was very careful to remain at a distance,
but his every move made me more certain that I
was being followed for some reason. What that
could be I had no idea. Yet all the time my mind
was running on that silent house in the Noord Einde
where poor old Jonkheer van Oldenbarneveldt lay sick:
that house which was so rich in art treasures and where
the lowering butler turned away innocent enquirers!

By this time, what with turning the problem over
in my mind, and being followed by unknown people,
I began to feel that I was in the midst of some queer

TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT 243
William le Queux intrigue. But, more than anything,
I wanted to find out how far these spies would follow
me. Returning home, I went out again almost at
once and walked to the Central Tram Station.
Boarding a car for Delft, just six miles from the
Hague, I watched carefully for my cyclist. There
he was, sure enough, keeping well to the rear; but
he followed only to the outskirts of the town. Then
he dropped away and disappeared. I had the answer
to one half of the problem: my "shadow" was only
interested in my movements so long as I remained in
the Hague itself! Therefore, whoever the " Master
Spy" might be, he did not care what happened
beyond the bounds of the city. Now I went straight
to an old friend of mine, Teunissen, the Dutch
dealer, and explained the facts to him.

"No, Duveen," said he, having heard my tale,
"I think this Oldenbarneveldt affair is a mare's
nest which originated in a too-fertile imagination.
I'm sorry, but can you really imagine some sinister
crook having you followed all over the place? The
idea is ridiculous!"

"No," I replied slowly, feeling that he was right,
"I suppose not. Yet I'm certain that something is
wrong at that house in the Noord Einde. The old
man used to be so charming, to like me so much.
He would never have turned me away with rudeness."

"Well, you can't go to the police," said my friend.
"You have nothing tangible to go upon: no evi
dence of any kind,"

"Hasn't the Jonkheer got a solicitor?" I asked.

244 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Teunissen shook his head.

"He's a self-reliant, obstinate old cuss. So far as
I know, he hasn't employed a lawyer for years."

"Well, what about your own? Can't we get expert
advice anywhere?"

His own lawyer knew nothing of the Jonkheer:
we seemed up against a dead-end. I was nervously
walking up and down the vast salon while he chewed
the stump of a cigar. Now and then he coughed
raspingly. All of a sudden I turned to him:

"Teunissen, is there any Hague dealer who has
recently been pretty flush? Who has obviously been
making money?"

He sat back, pinching his lips between forefinger
and thumb. For quite a time there was silence.
Then he followed my line of thought,

"Youngster, maybe you've hit on something! I
know most of the dealers in Holland, especially in
the Hague. Between you and me, there are one
or two fellows who have made quite a lot of
money recently. Big money, too. Yes, that's rather
mysterious ! "

He explained that the two men he had in mind
had been in quite a small way of business : maybe
they had cleared 5,000 gulden (400) in a good
year, but were definitely not in the first flight. Then,
mysteriously, they had made journeys to Paris and
London: at any rate, without ostensible reason both
men had begun to live somewhat luxuriously.

"That is funny," concluded Teunissen, "because
when I went into their shops I found nothing of any

TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT 245
importance at all. In fact, I'm hanged if I know
how they do make their money."

"Let's go round to their places now/ 9 I urged.
"No harm in having a look round, and we might
possibly pick up some information. 55

We did so and, as luck would have it, once again
my straw-haired cyclist was at work. Teunissen
and I were just coming out of Kander, the second
dealer's shop, when the lad rode up and stopped
within a few feet of us. I stopped and stared at him,
itching to give him a clip under the ear ! Then, sud
denly, he lost his head. He wheeled his cycle
over the pavement towards the dealer's door, changed
his mind, turned about, upset his machine and then
swung his leg over and wobbled off in the devil of
a hurry. Even Teunissen remarked on his behaviour,
not knowing that this was my faithful "shadow."
When I told him he looked quite serious.

"Odd," he growled, "very odd. If you're right,
Duveen, we'd better go back to my house and talk
this thing over. For some reason Kander is having
you followed."

Though Teunissen was a great friend of the Chief
of Police, it was useless to go to any official with a
story which might be characterised as "sheer cock-
and-bull!" At last he took me by the arm.

"Let's go in and have tea. My wife will be glad
to see you."

Soon I was seated in the Teunissens' Louis XVI

246 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

drawing-room, surrounded by lovely objets d'art.
Madame Teunissen presided over the tea-table, a
gracious and motherly woman who put me at my
ease. She was in the act of handing me a cup of
tea when my eye caught something: my hand slipped
from the saucer and a stream of hot tea ran across
her priceless seventeenth century Smyrna carpet!
Luckily the cup was not broken, but behind my
stammering excuses for such clumsiness a hammer
was beating in my brain. I could scarcely wait
before pointing an urgent finger towards one corner
of the room.

"What is it?" she smiled good-naturedly.

"Teunissen!" I cried. "Those plates where
did you get them? How long have you had
them?"

"Oh, a woman brought them to the door about
a week ago and asked a hundred gulden (8)
for them. Of course, she did not realise their

value."

&

"Did you get her name and address?"
"I believe so. What is the worry, anyway?"
"Are you sure?" I cried, springing to my feet
and going over towards the plates. "Because that
old Chinese plate and its copy in Delft belonged to
the Jonkheer van Oldenbarneveldt: I've seen them
handled them, myself!"

Teunissen swung round in his chair, giving me a
tolerant smile. He must have thought me crazy.
"Well this mare's nest again?"
I swung round on him.

OLD DELFT POTTERY PLATE BY ALBERT DE KEYSER
Copies from a Chinese porcelain plate of the Ming dynasty

[See Chapter XVII

"CLARET" WORCESTER PLATE
(British Museum)

[See Chapter XVIH

TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT 247
"No. But have you ever seen late Ming plates
of that pattern? You have! So have I, But 111
bet you've never seen a Delft replica of them! In
all the years youVe been in the art trade, I'll swear
you haven't."

"No-o-o!" he muttered. u Come to think of it,
I most certainly have not."

"What's the address that woman gave you?" I
barked. "A hundred-to-one it was false!"

After a brief search in one of the innumerable
little courts along the densely-inhabited Uileboomen
(Owls Trees) we found her "address": no one had
ever heard of her. Teunissen whistled gently to
himself as we returned.

"Yes: we must act now," he mutteted. "But I
can't afford to be cited as witness in any notorious
law case. You know what the Dutch Courts are
like when it comes to delays and enquiries : I shouldn't
be my own master for two years!"

In the end and after a long argument, we arranged
that Teunissen should secretly pass word to old
Jonkheer van Oldenbarneveldt's relatives so that,
keeping him out of the affair, the police might be
induced to act. Our plan worked marvellously,
since it appeared that the police themselves had not
been too happy about that strange, silent house in
the Noord Einde. At one time the relatives had even
contemplated a civil action to give them access to
the old man's house so that, at any rate, they could

248 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

estimate the value of the recluse's treasures; but
Teunissen's whisper was sufficient.

Next day a plain-clothes detective rang the bell
of the mysterious house. When the butler opened
the door he was pushed aside and several other men,
who seemed to spring from nowhere, ran past him.
A locked door of an upstairs room had to be forced
and there the old Jonkheer and his sister were dis
covered in a pitiable condition. Ever since the old
collector had had a cold, both he and his sister had
been kept locked for months in one room by the
scoundrelly pair of "devoted servants." The prisoners
were in an indescribably filthy condition, being
covered with vermin. With wild, uncombed hair
and faces stamped with utter despair, these highly-
cultured people had been forced to live the life of
wild animals! The Jonkheer and poor old Freule
(Lady) van Oldenbarneveldt were at once removed
to a nursing-home, but in her case at least, release
came too late. Driven insane by her privations, she
died very shortly afterwards: having virtually been
murdered by her erstwhile servants. The old man
was saved by a narrow margin, but so emaciated
and haggard had he become that I scarcely recog
nised him.

As a result of the butler's confession, the police
arrested a blacksmith and an antique-dealer called
Kander, within a few hours, but, as is usual in such
cases, each swore that the others were mainly to
blame. The man-servant alleged that the dealer

TRAGEDY OF VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT 249

had tempted him to sell portions of the Jonkheer's
collection, but this was disproved by the fact that
he had already sold many items before he met the
man; while the blacksmith swore that it was the
dealer who had hired him to force open the locked
doors of the great salon which housed the most
valuable things. The case against Kander was so
strong that the juge d'instruction ordered him to be
kept under preventive arrest and, while in the cells,
his little son was run over and killed. That broke
his heart, I think, and when he was eventually
released on bail my friend, Teunissen, lent him
sufficient funds to fight his case, since most of the man's
money was locked up in his stock. When the case
came on, it was found that Kander had left the
country; but he and all the other accused were each
sentenced to two years' imprisonment. Kander
appealed against this " absent sentence" and, on the
plea that the only evidence against him was offered
by criminals and that there was no other substantia
tion of the charge, managed to get the verdict
quashed.

The butler, knowing my connection with the art
world and of my friendship with his master, had
arranged with Kander to have me watched on my
brief visits to the Hague.

During the long criminal proceedings, poor van
Oldenbarneveldt had recovered some of his strength,
but he steadfastly refused to return to that house
in the Noord Einde which held such tragic memories.
He lived now in a charming private hotel at the

250 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Hague, awaiting the Court's verdict as to whether
he could recover many of his treasures which had been
found in Kander's shop. It was at this time that I
saw him again, and I shall always remember the
look of suffering which even his welcoming smile
could not hide.

"I can never thank you enough for what you did, 59
he said, taking my hand. "Teunissen has told me
everything: had it not been for your suspicions and
your warning, I should not be here now." Then
he turned in his chair to a table at his side and
removed a cloth, beneath which I glimpsed those
two fateful plates, the Chinese original and its Delft
copy. " You have a very excellent memory, Duveen,"
he continued, holding out the plates to me, "and
I would like you to keep these always as a memento
of having saved my Hfe."

I did not pretend to refuse so very acceptable a
gift: the old man's kindly thought forbade it. The
thrill of that moment is still with me, but it was the
last time I was to see the Jonkheer van Olden-
barneveldt. The decision of the Court of Appeal
robbed him of his treasures and broke him up. He
spent his few remaining years in trying to buy back
the scattered pieces of his own collections, but had
not nearly completed his self-imposed task before
death overtook him.

CHAPTER XVIII

DOUBLE-GROSSED BY A " FRIEND*'

As I have often had occasion to remark, the reminis
cences which most of my friends seem to prefer are
concerned with some of my least profitable deals.
Mayhap it is human-nature to enjoy seeing an
"expert" discomfited, since then the "mighty" do
indeed fall! The following story deals with just
such a case: it also throws a very lurid sidelight on
a maxim only too well known to anyone in the
"trade" Never trust your own brother when it comes
to an art deal !

There was at one time a friend of mine called
Ardin, who was becoming one of the "great ones"
of Bond Street. He had brought off several rather
spectacular coups and was known as a "warm"
man. Ardin was an intimate of one of my cousins
and, by ill chance, he had gone a little outside his
own speciality in buying from my relative two very
fine Chinese porcelain vases of an extremely rare
type. He had also incurred the displeasure and
jealousy of one or two of the more powerful art
dealers in London, and as a result suddenly found
that he, who had a wide reputation for getting big
prices, could not get rid of his vases save at ruinous
loss! The fact was that in a few weeks that lovely

251

252 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

porcelain had been "spoiled" by his enemies, who
by an untraceable word here and there had spread
the idea that they were not exactly "right!" That
kind of malevolent revenge is often to be found,
no matter how august the art circle concerned: the
more powerful the dealer, the more easily can he
damn a picture or a vase by faint and rather hesitating
praise.

Ardin and I gradually became very friendly indeed,
but, because our specialities lay rather far apart, I
never actually did business with him or through him.
One day he asked me round to his rooms and showed
me the vases, of which I had already heard a good
deal. I was absolutely overcome by their beauty.
They were of the Kang-He reign (1662-1722)
decorated in famille verte style and of a glorious
quality. It was known that they had been presented
to Louis XIV by the Emperor Kang-He. It was
also obvious that they must have been handed down
in the French Royal Family as being of great value,
as, during the reign of Louis XV, they had been
further embellished by ormolu bronze ornaments
around the tops and bottoms. This was the work
of that great metal-worker, Gouthire, creator of
some of the finest bronzes during the time of Louis
XV and XVI. His appreciation of the value of these
vases was so great that the artist had not pierced the
porcelain to attach his mounts. Instead, he had left
these loose with leather cushions on the insides, a
precaution which in my experience was quite unique.

" Tom," I said to Ardin at last, " you need not worry

DOUBLE-CROSSED BY A "FRIEND" 253
about these vases. They are some of the finest I
have ever seen* and are absolutely genuine! 55

"Will you sell them for me, then?'* he asked
eagerly. "I'll go fifty-fifty with you on the profits."

Knowing the trickery he had been up against, I
agreed at once. Indeed, I sold them the very next
day for 4,000, which gave each of us the useful
little profit of 600. Ardin was overjoyed at getting
rid of the porcelain which he had feared would have
to be sold at a loss, and at dinner that night we
discussed a holiday near Bettws-y-coed, where I
hoped to do some otter-hunting. He asked if he
might accompany me, and as we talked in the north
bound train next day he happened to refer to his
latest deal.

"Do you know, Duveen," he said, "that I've been
offered a whole dinner-set in 'claret 1 Worcester? It
belongs to a nobleman and has never come on the
market before!"

"That sounds like 10,000 to me," I replied, for
"claret "-coloured Worcester is one of the rarest and
most valuable types of this beautiful ware.

"At the very least," murmured Ardin, "I shall
be able to get it at the right price, too."

"Rather a pity that English porcelain is not much
in my line," I said. "If it were, I should have liked
to come in on a half-share deal with you."

"You're quite welcome to come in, Jack. You
did me a wonderfully good turn over those famille
verte vases and I'd be happy to do you one in
return."

254 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"No, Tom," I smiled. "I don't want to take some
thing for nothing. If the deal had been more In my
line I would have been only too glad, but,
hang it, I can't be of sufficient use to you to claim
half the profits! I have no clients for * claret'
Worcester, but you certainly have."

"Yes, but you are much cleverer than I am at
getting really big prices. If you come in, you'll
probably get nearly twice what I could."

"All right," I agreed. "But only on condition
that I put up the whole of the cash required for
purchase. I think you said 3,500?"

It was arranged that we should thus go into what
is called "joint-account," and after a long week-end
in North Wales, Ardin made arrangements for the
porcelain to be sent from this nobleman's house in
the Midlands to his agent's office in London. There,
in a back room where it was set out on long trestle
tables, we inspected the whole set, which comprised
more than a hundred pieces. The decoration was
purplish-pink or "claret" ground in which were little
white panels, each of which contained a Watteau
pastoral scene. It was the most valuable type of
English porcelain you could wish to find. After
inspection, I took Ardin on one side.

"Tom: this certainly looks all it ought to be, but
I feel a little disappointed about the quality of those
Watteau panels. What do you think of them? After
all, this is your speciality."

"Well, Jack," he replied, "I don't suppose I've
seen much more 'claret' Worcester than you have.

DOUBLE-CROSSED BY A "FRIEND" 255

You know how rare It is. But I've never seen it at
all before with those Watteau figures, so Fm in the
same boat as you!"

I examined the pieces again with great care, but
could see nothing wrong. Ardin had insisted that I
should negotiate with the agent, so we came to grips
forthwith.

"Well, Mr. Jones, I've had a good look at this
porcelain and I'd like to discuss a few points with
you. I gather that the set belongs to an English
nobleman, and as I'm dealing with someone in a
responsible position I won't ask for credentials to
cover me against buying entailed property. But do
you think that your Principal will allow you to
disclose his name if we can come to terms?"

"I'm quite certain His Lordship would never
consent to that," replied Mr. Jones, very firmly.

As that kind of thing was not infrequent, I did
not insist.

"Now as to price: Mr. Ardin tells me you are
asking 3,500. What is your lowest price for a cash-
down sale?"

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Duveen," said the agent,
"but I have no power to bargain or to take anything
less than the stipulated amount. It will have to be
3,500 or we cannot do business."

I never waste time over a deal which is at all
possible.

"Very well, Mr. Jones, I understand your position.
I accept the set at your figure, but I want you to
concede me a favour. Will you ask your client

25 6 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

whether, in case this Worcester is sold to a private
collector, he will allow you to disclose his name
to that gentleman under seal of secrecy. I ask that
because it may make a very great difference in the
selling of the set."

The agent shook his head doubtfully.

"From what I know of His Lordship, I think there
is very little chance of his consent."

"How soon can you get a reply?"

"To-morrow, if he telegraphs; two days if he

writes."

"Good. Then here is my cheque for the ten per
cent deposit 350, and I'll pay the rest when I
take delivery."

He gave me an invoice with a credit-note for 350
on account, and two days later I heard from Tom
Ardin that the nobleman concerned had refused
flatly to allow his name to appear under any circum
stances. We were expected that afternoon at the office
of Mr. Jones to take delivery of the set. The agent
was most apologetic, but I quite understood in what
a difficult position he was placed. Sitting down I
wrote out a cheque for 3,150 and was just on the
point of handing it over when once more my eye
went to the porcelain lying on the trestle tables.
In spite of Ardin's enthusiasm, it still disappointed
me a little.

"Mr. Jones," I exclaimed, still holding the pink
slip, "you have told us that this Worcester is the
property of an English nobleman and it was on that
understanding I paid a deposit. Now, before I pay

DOUBLE-GROSSED BY A "FRIEND" 257

over the rest, would you mind writing out a receipt
and just adding a few words to that effect?"

While a man might count four, the agent
hesitated. More significant, he shot a lightning
glance to where Ardin was standing at one side.

"I can scarcely do that," he murmured.

"Then the deal is off!" I snapped, tearing the
cheque in half.

" Oh, if you are going to take it so tragically, I'll
write whatever you want."

"Too late, Mr. Jones. There is something a little
odd about this transaction, otherwise you would not
have hesitated to put in writing the very arguments
and representations you have made from the start!
What's more, I shall stop payment of the first cheque

for 350-"

When we got outside, Ardin caught my arm.

"My God, you're clever, Jack! You caught him
beautifully. I'm sure there is something fishy about
the business."

"I'm not satisfied about the 'thinness' of those
Watteau panels, Tom. I admit they look all right,
but just as I was giving him the money some instinct
or other made me hesitate."

After this affair Ardin struck a very bad patch
indeed: everything he touched seemed to go wrong,
and time after time he lost large sums of money.
Finally, about two years later, he came to me and
asked my help, which I gave gladly enough. It was
about this time that I happened to be dining with
one of the greatest specialists in English porcelain

258 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

and, over the coffee and brandy, he made some
reference to a deal which reminded me of the
"unknown nobleman."

"By the way, Ted/' I said, "did you ever hear
of a c claret' Worcester dinner-set, with Watteau
scenes, being put on the market?"

"Why?" he asked, shooting a cautious glance at
me.

"Only for my personal satisfaction. Some time
ago I nearly bought one at a fairly stiff price, on the
advice of poor Tom Ardin. He is pretty well on-the-
rocks nowadays."

"What?" snapped my host. "Ardin wanted you
to buy that set? How did it come about?"

"Oh, he offered me a half-share because I had
just done him a good turn over some Kang-He
vases. It was arranged that I should put up the whole
purchase-price."

For quite a long time Ted sat staring in front of
him, saying nothing. I felt that he did not want to
pursue the subject, but was determined to get to
the bottom of the matter.

"Come on, Ted. You must tell me more now.
Otherwise I might think that you were concerned
in the deal!"

He sat up as though I had pricked him.

"No, no, Duveen! I wasn't, but I do know the
history of that set. It is old Worcester, right enough.
But the decoration 'claret* ground and all was done about
three years ago!"

"Go on!" I snapped, as he hesitated.

DOUBLE-CROSSED BY A "FRIEND" 259

"Ardin was in joint-account with Z and they had

the work done together. Very clever it was, too."

When I lifted my liqueur glass my hand trembled
so violently that I spilled a few drops. An echo of
Ardin's words came back to me when we had been
northward-bound in the train and had discussed
the "rose" set: "Toifre welcome to come in with me,
Jack Td be happy to do you a good turn!" And that,
after having put an unexpected 600 in his pocket!
He and Z could only just have had what Ted called
"that work" done in secret! The "unknown noble
man" never existed, and his "agent" in London
must have been an accomplice in the swindle.
Another illusion gone, another "friend" discovered
to be little more than a Judas. I got to my feet.

"I feel stifled, Ted. I'm sorry forgive me I
think I'll be getting home."

My host stretched out his hand.

"Look here, Jack don't say "

"That's all right. No one shall hear a word. I
don't want Ardin to know I've discovered the truth.
You see, I'm helping him out of the hole he's in and
I will see him through with it. Good night!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE CURSE OF THE "MALEVOLENT GODS"

No matter how we, of the twentieth century, may
pretend to scorn superstition, there can be little
doubt that for some inexplicable reason unhappiness,
poverty and even death, do attach themselves to
certain objects. Scores of fully authenticated histories
can be brought to prove this contention, nor do they
always concern mediaeval treasures. It is even stranger
that that brilliant and heroic figure, Edgar Gorer,
was dogged by misfortune through the possession of
what he called "the Malevolent Gods."

Edgar Gorer, a specialist in old Chinese porcelain,
had forced himself into a leading position amongst*
London art dealers by sheer cleverness and courage.
That his courage was not confined to business was
amply proved by his tragic end. Gorer started with
nothing and, within ten years, was certainly worth
(on paper) something like 500,000, but from what
I know of the circumstances, if he had lived, that
fortune might have dwindled to nothing. Ill luck
dogged him ever after he acquired "the Gods," and
it was only the seven years of hard work and negotia
tions undertaken by a devoted friend which saved
a very fair income for his dependants out of the wreck

260

CURSE OF THE "MALEVOLENT GODS" 261
of his fortune. As I have said, Gorer was led too far
by his rashness.

"One of the greatest factors in my success," he
once told me, "has been courage in buying and
selling. I have always admired your late uncle.
Sir Joseph Duveen; I take him as my pattern."

Now it requires a great deal of experience to deal
successfully in the rarer types of Chinese porcelain
of the "Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) and of the three
reigns of the Tsing Dynasty, beginning with the
Kang-He reign (1662-1795). These pieces are so
valuable and so scarce that it is extremely difficult
for the would-be expert to study them sufficiently
to avoid calamitous mistakes. Maybe it was this
; lack of experience which brought him into trouble.
Or was it the alleged evil influence of that pair of
gigantic figures in the style of the early Kang-He
reign?

"What do you think of them?" he asked me one
day, when he had been showing me round his collec
tion. "They are Ming, of course, and of the very
finest type, too."

I did not dare explain to him that, according to
the colouring, they could not possibly be attributed
to so early a period. Indeed, unless I was sorely
mistaken, this "Ming" had come comparatively
recently from the same kiln as that which supplied
a similar figure bought by Bob Partridge at Maple's
for a matter of 18!

"I got them from a man who told me that they

262 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

were called 'The Malevolent Gods/" he continued.
"I don't quite like the name, Duveen, because as
you know, I'm a gambler, and superstitious. You
don't think they'll bring me bad luck, do you?"

I laughed the matter off, thinking that his worst
luck was in having bought the things at all! At
this moment I did not know their history, but he
said the figures were part of the very famous Richard .
Bennett collection which he had purchased for some
200,000. He now proposed to exhibit the whole
collection at his premises in New Bond Street. He
did so and the world of art lovers, including Qiieen
Mary herself, passed in front of cases which certainly
did hold some of the finest Chinese porcelain you
could wish to see. Old Pierpont Morgan, that deity
and terror of the dealers, came to examine the
collection on a day he knew Gorer would be absent.
He had been prejudiced against the young man by
some of the people who surrounded him.

"I like those 'Malevolent Gods,'" he told the
friend who was taking him round. Then, in his
usual autocratic fashion. "Those two or three things
I pointed out tell Gorer I'll take the lot for 32,000."

It meant that, apart from the minor purchases,
he was offering 30,000 for "the Gods." There
was some hitch over the affair and next day the
American multi-millionaire returned to treat in
person with Gorer. The latter proved unexpectedly
obstinate.

"I won't take a penny less than 40,000 for my
figures," he told Morgan.

.-a I

o
c

or

CO

WORCESTER DISH

Which inspired the "Watteau" panels on the faked "Claret" dinner set
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

[See Chapter XVIII

CURSE OF THE " MALEVOLENT GODS" 263
"Well," snapped the great man, "if Chinese
porcelain has gone to such prices, Fm a seller, not
a buyer!"

Gorer admitted to me afterwards that his refusal
of this 30,000 sale was the beginning of the
"malevolent" influence, but Tm not so sure. Had
he sold them to the American, he would certainly
have dug his grave as a specialist in Chinese porcelain !

A forceful newspaper campaign stimulated public
interest in the Bennett Collection, and a sumptuously
illustrated catalogue was prepared in which the
figures were reproduced in colour as being the clou
of the Exhibition. The text accompanying the
illustration included the following:

" These figures are admittedly the greatest examples of
Chinese ceramic art the world has ever seen, and they
have been put by a great connoisseur on the same plane of
merit, in ceramics, as the celebrated Venus de Milo in
statuary."

Well knowing that the "Malevolent Gods" were
nothing of the kind, I could do nothing. I could
only wonder at the courage, or rather, temerity of
Gorer.

As it happened, the first Viscount Leverhulme
(then Sir William H. Lever), had been present at
the exhibition when Queen Mary made her unex
pected visit. The great collector was quickly told
that Her Majesty rather hoped this wonderful collec
tion would be bought in its entirety by some public-

264 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

spirited person, with a view to presenting it to the
nation. Whether or not this inspired Sir William,
the fact remains that shortly afterwards he did buy
the whole exhibit for about 250,000. The curious
part about the deal was the strange contract which
was drawn up between the "Soap King" and Edgar
Gorer. Amongst other points. Sir William was to
pay in monthly instalments of 30,000 till the whole
amount was paid off, but he reserved the right to
call the deal off, return the collection and get a
refund of the money paid should the fact of his having
purchased it become public ! Doubtless he had reasons
of his own for this strict secrecy, but it was a condition
almost impossible of fulfilment.

This vast collection was sent to Port Sunlight
and, of course, almost immediately the " secrecy"
became purely nominal. Several people in Sir
William's entourage referred guardedly to the
"secret," and the late Mr. J. L. Tillotson, who was
nephew to Sir William,, and one of his chief Directors,
told me openly of the whole transaction. He rather
made fun of the elaborate precautions.

"Everyone at Sunlight knows all about it," he
exclaimed.

That was said in the hearing of some of my
employees and, naturally, this tit-bit soon got to the
ears of old Jimmy Orrock, the dealer, who at once
"de-bagged" the cat! To tell Jimmy a secret was
equivalent to advertising it in the 'Agony Column'

CURSE OF THE "MALEVOLENT GODS" 265
of a daily paper. Trouble for Gorer started just
about three months after the sale was completed.
The bomb burst when Sir William demanded the
cancellation of the contract and the return of the
-60,000 or so he had already paid,, because his
secrecy clause had been broken! This looked to me
rather odd, and the claim was so flimsy that I won
dered if Sir William had heard anything about the
unpleasant reputation of his "Malevolent Gods,"
which were the most costly pieces in the collection.
Naturally, the whole London art world was agog
with excitement and interest. I got my next shock
when I happened to meet one of my cousins and
asked him out to lunch.

"Well, Jack, what about the Richard Bennett

collection now : what's going to happen, do you think? "

I murmured something about the gigantic values

which had been put upon the "Ming Gods," whereat

he smiled broadly and waved his hand in deprecation.

"Why?" I asked. "Don't you think they are

worth so much? I thought you said you hadn't

actually seen them."

"Oh, haven't I?" he exclaimed, leaning over the
table towards me. "They were mine before Gorer
bought them!"

"The devil they were! You don't mean to tell
me you thought them as genuine?"

My cousin hesitated a moment and lowered his
voice.

"For God's sake keep this under your hat, Jack,
but they were offered to me by a man who certainly

266 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

ought to have known what he was talking about.
Taking his word, I bought them unseen, but as soon
as they arrived I saw I had blundered pretty badly.
/ sold them at once,, as purely speculative goods., for 200,
and cut my losses!"

Another instance of that " malevolent" influence!
I wondered just what Sir William Lever and the
art "connoisseurs" would say if they could have
overheard our conversation ! My cousin had certainly
been extraordinarily wise to get rid immediately of
such dangerous things. Perhaps, after all. Sir William
had heard something, and hence the impending
action for cancellation of the contract. Shortly after
this, Edgar Gorer himself came to see me. He was
obviously greatly worried, and came to the point
at once.

"Jack, I'm told you are Lever's confidential expert.
Is that so?" He hesitated a moment, and then:
"Are you going to appear as expert witness in
Court?"

"Certainly not," I replied earnestly. "Not if I
can possibly help it."

"But I know for a fact that you are his expert."

"Well, I have a standing agreement with Lever,
and have had for years. But it was agreed between
us that the fact should remain entirely confidential."

Gorer took me by the arm in appealing fashion.

"Look, Jack: I'm fighting for my very life. You
and I have often done big business together. Will
you give me your word that Lever has not consulted
you on the Bennett Collection?"

CURSE OF THE "MALEVOLENT GODS" 267

"Edgar, you know you have no possible right to
ask me that question/ 5 I replied, "even if we have
done big business in the past; but as a friend I'll
tell you that I have not been consulted. What's more,
if I am, I shall refuse to give an opinion."

Gorer wiped little beads of perspiration from his
forehead: he appeared immensely relieved.

"Do you think I shall win?" he asked suddenly.

"Why do you ask me that?"

"You know the facts of the case between Lever
and me."

That was true enough, but I wondered whether
he was angling to find out whether I thought his
"Gods" really were malevolent.

"If you ask my candid opinion, I'll give it you,"
I said. "But tell me first of all; apart from the con
tract itself, have you any real grounds for uneasiness? "

"No-o-o," he replied in a hesitating manner. "1
have nothing to fear beyond the terms of the

contract,"

"Very well then, Edgar, my advice is settle at
once!"

"Why should I, if I'm in the right? Why must
I lose my profits on a fair deal?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"You asked my opinion: you have got it. If you
have the very least doubts, settle even if you have
to do so at the doors of the Court itself."

Of course, he did not take my advice. Or perhaps
he did, but found in Sir William Lever too formidable

268 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

an opponent. At any rate, on the morning the case
opened before Mr. (later Lord) Justice Darling, the
Court was crowded with people, mostly Gorer's
unfriendly competitors. At once there was a sensa
tion when Gorer's Counsel announced that his client
was perfectly willing to take the Richard Bennett
Collection back: the only point at issue was the
question of the sixty-odd thousand pounds Sir
William had already paid on account. It seemed
that Sir William objected to returning any part
of the collection before he had been repaid in full.
Gorer, somewhat naturally, protested that he had
trusted Sir William for 250,000 and surely he,
Gorer, could equally be trusted with 60,000 until
sufficient items of the collection had been sold to
liquidate the debt? This very reasonable attitude
was upheld by Mr. Justice Darling, but Sir William
appealed to a higher Court.

While Sir William still held the Bennett Collection,
rumours reached London that the United States
were going to re-impose heavy duties on old works
of art, and everyone, myself included, regarded this
Customs tariff as 9, practical certainty. Gorer now
had to settle at all costs and, being a man of infinite
resource, arranged with the u Soap King" that he
should be allowed to choose certain articles from
the collection at advantageous prices, and so liquidate
the 60,000. Knowing both Lever and Gorer, there
must have been some pretty shrewd bargaining, but
I think I am right in saying that both men were
pleased at their own astuteness!

CURSE OF THE "MALEVOLENT GODS" 269
So, at last, much of the Richard Bennett collection
including the " Malevolent Gods" went across the
"Herring Pond" in a hurry, and though a good deal
was sold, those sinister figures could find no purchaser
at all. Time after time their sale was frustrated for
some reason or other, always at the very last moment.
Certain it is that they were used as a weapon by
jealous dealers in New York to "kill" some of poor
Gorer's best sales. Later it came to open war between
him and those dealers, and after one trip to England,
Gorer had to go again to New York late in 1914
when sea voyages were beginning to become pretty
risky.

Then, at last, things seemed to be going his way.
Courageous as ever, before leaving London he had
bought three fine Chinese vases from another dealer
for 16,000, a price which certainly showed that
Edgar firmly believed he was on to "a good thing."
One of these vases was a large one, with the
"imperial yellow" ground, and this he sold to one
of America's wealthiest collectors for 40,000 ! cer
tainly a very high price. Just at this stage, some doubt
was thrown on the authenticity of the vase and my
late Uncle Henry was called in to give an opinion.
Alas: with great reluctance, he declared it to be an
imitation! At once a heated controversy arose, but
those unsaleable "Malevolent Gods" of ill-fame were
used as an argument to prove that, after all, Gorer
lacked sound judgment. The rich American returned
the vase, and Gorer came back to England to collect
evidence for a law-suit against Duveen Brothers.

270 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

Now we come to the last stage in this queer
succession of unlucky incidents: the final tragedy.
Edgar Gorer sailed for New York again in the
Lusitania,) as though to prove to the world that his
indomitable pluck did not only apply to the making
of money. On that evil morning of May yth, 1915,
life was granted only to the very few who could be
got away in the lifeboats. Those with life-belts
certainly had some chance of survival in the icy
waves, but those without had practically none. After
the fateful torpedo explosions, when the giant liner
was slowly slipping beneath the surface, Gorer rushed
out of his stateroom wearing a life-belt. A woman,
half-demented with fear, clutched him by the
arm.

"Help save me!" she cried, echoing a hun
dred similar appeals of the victims of submarine
warfare.

Instantly he unfastened his belt, strapped it upon
her and pushed her down the sloping deck towards
the water. Then he turned, remembering that there
had been two belts in his cabin. Once more he
rushed up on deck, only to find a Hungarian girl
sobbing convulsively as she leaned against a stanchion.
Gorer met her eyes, saw the mute appeal. She had
no life-belt. Once more, without a thought for self
he gave her his belt and a chance of life. The
Lusitania was heeling over very quickly now; soon
she would rear on end and slide down into the depths.
As his fingers slipped the straps into place, Gorer
made his last appeal.

CURSE OF THE "MALEVOLENT GODS" 271

"Would you" he said to the trembling girl

"if you come through alive,, would you go and see

rny wife give her my everlasting love and devotion."

So this great-hearted London art dealer was
sucked down in that whirling vortex which carried
so many to their doom, another unsung hero amongst
the millions who lost their lives in the war. Cold
blooded courage such as that, is given to true heroes
alone. The Hungarian girl was saved, and a sorrow
ing widow and her young family in London took
comfort and pride in one of the bravest acts I have
known. Poor Edgar: a bold winner and a brave
loser. I have known many a worse epitaph. The
yellow vase, once sold in America for 40,000 still
remains a worthless possession of the dead man's
estate, for the dealer who sold it to him, afterwards
repudiated all responsibility. What became of those
truly "Malevolent Gods 53 I do not know. Certain
it is that they brought ill-fortune to their possessors
and, as I have said, had Gorer survived I believe
that they would have completed their malignant
spell by practically ruining him.

CHAPTER XX

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA

WHEN I recently heard the clear tones of the Marchese
Imperial!, who broadcast from Rome in English and
Italian an appreciation of the late King George V,
I was instantly reminded of an affair in which I nearly
lost my life some years ago. The adventure came to
me in the way such things often do, in the guise of
a letter from an old friend, Teunissen, so well known
in Dutch art circles.

" Don't you think the time has come for our long-postponed
holiday in Italy" he wrote. "To combine pleasure with, profit,
we can have a look at some fine Famille Rose vases I have located
at Naples* There is also some very wonderful silver which is
Royal property, and will involve a sea voyage /"

He concluded by warning me most solemnly not
to let slip the tiniest hint about the trip, and this,
more than anything, whetted my curiosity. We had
long promised ourselves a quiet holiday, idling here
and there under the Italian sun and so, without
hesitation, I telegraphed Teunissen to meet me next
day at noon on the station at Cologne. Failing that,
we would rendezvous at the " Three Kings" Hotel
at Basle. With a light heart I left London, hidden
in a pall of January fog; but no sooner had we met

272

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA 273

at Cologne and were seated having lunch in the dining-
car that Teunissen gave me a shock.

"I particularly told you not to say a word to
anyone about the vases or this silver/' he said.

"Well, I haven't!" I replied, rather indignantly.

"H'm," he grunted, staring at me. " Something
funny has happened already, That fellow, Baron
Bratel, who used to be Secretary to the Valdonian
Legation at the Hague, came to see me. Apparently
he is now attached to his London Embassy, and
I know for a fact he is very friendly indeed with
George."

That gave me a shock. Mr. George, of Bond
Street, was all too well known to me and others
in the art dealing world as a bad man to cross, quite
unscrupulous and the kind of person who would
stop at little to get his own way.

" Baron Bratel explained that he had been staying
with the Van Lindts at the Hague," continued
Teunissen, "and though he was vague enough, I
knew quite well he was angling for information about
these Chinese vases. I came to the conclusion he
must have heard something, either through you or
their owner, the Marchese Imperial! himself."

"I tell you, I've not uttered one word about
them!"

"Anyway," said Teunissen, "Bratel got precious
little out of me. J I telephoned the Marchese at once,
and found that he has only mentioned the matter
in confidence to his wife, the Marchesa, who inherited
the vases from her father, Prince Ruffo di Calabria.

274 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

She wouldn't say anything. No, Duveen, that Bratel
has made a lot of money out of George in the past:
he wouldn't come all the way to the Hague for
anyone else!"

We discussed the affair in some detail, and at
last Teunissen began to tell me about the silver.

"It belongs to the King of Portugal/ 5 he said,
"and when I was in Lisbon some years ago I was
presented to Don Carlos, who gave me an invitation
to look over the Royal collections. There were lots
of wonderful things, but what impressed me most was
an enormous Louis XV silver dinner-service. You
know, Duveen, how rare that pre-Revolution French
silver is: it took my breath away! The King was
greatly pleased at my excitement, and he actually said :
c I shouldn't like to leave you alone with this for
long, M. Teunissen!' We both laughed at the idea,
and then I said: 'Such a treasure might turn any
honest man into a thief, Your Majesty; but if at any
time you feel that the responsibility of owning it is
too much, I would greatly appreciate the chance of
becoming its next owner!' 'That is a promise,
M. Teunissen,' he replied. I forgot all about it,
Duveen," said Teunissen, leaning over the luncheon-
table, "but recently I received a cryptic message
from the diplomat who introduced me to the King,
hinting at a possible sale and mentioning the second
week in February as a convenient date!"

"But, Teunissen," I exclaimed, "that set would
literally be worth its weight in gold! Maybe as
much as 100,000!"

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA 275

"Much more like half-a-million," said my friend
quite calmly, "The King told me it weighed nearly
half-a-ton."

A rapid calculation told me that he had under
estimated: the figure was nearer 600,000!

"I can't 'lift' a deal like that/' I exclaimed.

"Don't worry. I'll fix the financial part with my
bankers, provided that you will look after the selling."

This was going to be the most important deal
in which I had ever taken part, and what with
talking over details and our mutual interest in the
wonderful Rhine country through which we were
passing, the journey to Basle did not seem too long.
Soon after arriving, we went to bed, but next morning
Teunissen was late for breakfast. To my surprise
he appeared, looking haggard and worn, as though
he had scarcely slept at all.

"We are being followed spied upon," he whis
pered, after the waiter had taken our orders. "Behave
as though you don't suspect anything."

"How?" said I, knowing only too well that the
most curious things do happen when a really big
deal is being put through.

"I was robbed last night."

"Why not inform the manager?"

Teunissen waved an impatient hand.

"Too much explanation and delay. It would
upset our plans. Besides, the fellow got nothing."

"Come on, tell me what happened,"- . I said,
exasperated by his manner.

"About midnight I woke up with a start someone

276 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

had just gone out of my room, and as I always lock
my door in hotels, he must have come from the
balcony." Poor Teunissen wiped the perspiration
from his forehead, and I could see that he was
greatly upset. "My clothes were tumbled all over
the floor, Duveen no money gone he had taken
a small wallet in which I keep private letters. But
there was nothing in that about our present affair,
not even a business letter."

Quite plainly the object of the thief was not
common robbery: he had been seeking certain
information. And to whom could that be more
necessary than the London dealer, Mr. George?
It was quite on the cards that he hoped to forestall
us on the purchase of the Famille Rose vases ; or was
it that magnificent silver which attracted him? I
could not believe it was the latter, since the King
of Portugal had treated the affair with the greatest
secrecy, and Teunissen's letter to me had been very
guarded indeed. In any case, whatever he knew or
suspected, George was not the kind of man to "let
up 55 until he had got what he wanted.

Teunissen was feeling none too well after his
disturbed night, but the ensuing journey through
the poisonous fumes of the St. Gothard Tunnel did
not do him any good. What with the smoke and the
high altitude, it was plain that we should have to
spend the night at Milan. After a lot of argument
we compromised on a few hours' rest: he did not
look as if he could stand a whole night of train-
travel. My forecast was correct, because although

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA 277

we booked "sleepers" through the hotel portier,
when it came to the point of departure my friend
looked positively ghastly under the station lights.
As we entered our brightly-lit "sleeper," Teunissen's
face showed pallid.

"You are just not equal to this night journey,"
I told him. "You cannot afford a breakdown now:
let's get out while there is time."

"Oh, don't bother me: I'm perfectly fit," he
replied.

Acting on the impulse of the moment, I took

hold of my bags and slung them on to the platform

and, in spite of heated protestations, his followed.

"I'll never travel with you again," he snapped.

Even so, he followed me out of the carriage, and

at that moment the train began to move. Teunissen's

mouth had opened to say something else when, of a

sudden, I saw him staring at the face of a man

out- thrust from a carriage next to ours. He clutched

my arm.

"Ha! I never thought of that. Did you see the
rage on that fellow's face, Duveen? I'll bet he was
my spy, the chap in my room last night ! He didn't
expect us to jump out at the last moment."

"Of course," I replied. "He probably found out
our movements through the portier. Well, he'll have
to go on now via Sarzana to Rome: in any case he
cannot pick up our trail for a day or two."

To make the fellow's task doubly difficult, we took
a tram, then a taxi and finally booked at the Hotel

278 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

de la Ville. After a night's rest Teunissen was more
himself, but no sooner had we got to the station
once more than we heard rumours of a terrible
train-disaster. Officials were diplomatically vague,
but a few minutes later from our carriage window
we saw with our own eyes telescoped wreckage,
shattered fragments of wood and iron and two
engines lying on their sides, while gangs of men
with cranes were working at feverish speed. Apparently
the direttismo (express) we had left had very shortly
afterwards run into a stationary " local," while a
few minutes later the fast train from Genoa, running
at speed to make up for lost time, crashed into the
wreckage of the first two trains. It was officially
stated that there were six dead and twenty injured,
but my Italian travelling companions assured me
that practically all the passengers in the first two
trains had been casualties. From the way the great
coaches had been upthrust, turned over and hurled
from the track, I thought it more than probable.

"By God, Duveen you saved our lives yesterday,"
exclaimed Teunissen, staring at the wreckage as we
slowed to a four-mile-an-hour crawl. "Look there
is our sleeping-car like matchwood!' 5

Quite a lot of our journey to Florence was taken
up in speculating as to the fate of our "spy," and I
fervently hoped that he would at least have sustained
some fracture or other injury which would put him
in hospital for the time being ! Teunissen, the kindly,
hoped he had escaped; but I was only too anxious

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA 279

to reach Naples and get our important business
over. Eventually we did arrive on 23rd January
where, in the Hotel de Vesuve, we could overlook
that lovely bay.

We had planned to leave for Lisbon on the 3rd
February, which did not give us too much time for
the delicate negotiations over our Chinese vases.
On the 24th we called at the studio of a famous
sculptor, a most charming fellow, who was conduct
ing the sale for his friend, the Marchese Imperiali,
and at first glance I saw that the porcelain was of
a very fine type indeed. The vases were a set made in
the Yung-Chin reign (i 722-1736), and were decorated
with battle scenes in the colours of Famille Rose.

"The price I am asking for my friend is 50,000
lire," explained the sculptor.

At 2,000 ^ey were dirt-cheap, and I whispered
as much to Teunissen. His reply was illuminating.

"I can't close at once," he muttered. " Haste
would be fatal. Besides, if you give an Italian his
first price, he thinks he is being c had' and will haggle
for more!"

That was true enough, and not only of Italians,
either! I let him tackle the sculptor and, after an
hour's conference, he told me that he had offered
40,000 lire (1,600).

" I will write and tell the Marchese of M. Teunissen's
offer," said the sculptor.

"Write?" I exclaimed. "Why not a telegram?"

"There is no hurry," said Teunissen.

s8o SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"No?" I countered. "And what about our friend
George in London?"

At that a wire was sent off and, with little delay,
we received the one- word reply: "Accept"

"See to it that you make the condition that the
owner must deliver the vases outside Italy" I told
Teunissen, whereat he nodded.

It was a particularly important point, because
the Pacca Law stipulated that old works of art
which are of national interest cannot be exported
without a special permit, and even when this has
been granted by one of the principal Museums
there still remains an Export Duty to be paid which
the Museum can fix at any rate from 20 to 100
per cent ad valorem* For this reason, wise foreign
buyers leave these complicated negotiations to an
Italian! In the present case we thought we had
overcome most of the possible difficulties by leaving
the onus on the seller. How very wrong we were
was to be proved later on ! The first sign of trouble
was a hurried visit by the sculptor to our hotel.

"An English gentleman called to see the vases
this afternoon," he told us. "He had a special
introduction from a Neapolitan Duke and he wanted
to buy. So interested was he, my friends, that when
I refused to show the vases and said they were sold,
he offered me as a present a silver cake-basket by
your great silversmith, Paul Lamerie, and an addi
tional ten per cent on your price, if I would call the
deal off!"

As a matter of fact the sculptor, an Italian

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA 281

gentleman of the finest type, felt greatly insulted ; but
his story threw a new light on the machinations of our
friend, George, in London. If he was descending to
barefaced bribery he must want those vases very
badly indeed! Evidently, as his agent was now an
Englishman, our Basle "spy" must be hors de combat
The sculptor, obviously worried, went into further
explanations, hinting at difficulties of a peculiarly
Italian type.

"I fear that we shall have to give a little some
thing to one of the minor officials at the Museum,"
he said. "It will greatly facilitate the formalities."
I felt it time to intervene.

"Please remember that the Marchese Imperial!
has undertaken to deliver the vases outside Italy.
That was a specific condition of the sale."

"Si, si, signor naturalmente!" he exclaimed with
an inimitably Neapolitan gesture. "But this can
only be done when the Marchese returns to Italy,
since he can then take the vases out of the country
as his own property. If you do not mind waiting
a few months no more than six or eight it shall
all be accomplished as arranged."

Eight months was about thirty-two weeks too long,
but something in the sculptor's manner told me that
nothing would move. him from his point of vantage.
After a few moments' discussion, Teunissen and I
realised that in view of George's efforts to break our
contract, it would be wiser to pay out some small sum
and get the vases out of Italy as soon as possible.
"What amount had you in mind?" we asked.

282 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

"Ah!" replied the sculptor, "una bagatella the
merest trifle a thousand lire."

Personally I did not think 40 so trifling, but we
could scarcely argue with him at this juncture.
Teunissen handed over a thousand-lire note and
now, thought we, that solves the difficulty. Not
a bit of it! During the next six or seven days all
kinds of unexpected " snags" cropped up: indeed,
if you did not have a close acquaintance with Italian
ways you would not have credited such incidents.
There were other officials " higher up" who were
afflicted with "consciences": there were the special
packers who inspected the cases to see that nothing
else dutiable was included and these, when I rather
demurred at a "little" regalo (tip) of 200 lire (8),
mentioned that sinister word Camorra! The way it
was said sent a shiver down your back and your
head over your shoulder to see who might be behind
you. Knowing something of the country, I could
quite imagine this South Italian secret society causing
"an accident" to our precious vases. There was no
help for it: the regalo was handed over, and this form
of gentle blackmail was the beginning of quite a
number of similar payments. The trouble was that
the money was accepted with such gentlemanly airs
and such indifference to filthy lucre that we could
scarcely ask who actually were all the participators
in our bounty!

Meanwhile time was slipping past and it was
already the end of January: within three or four
days we should have to take ship to Lisbon. That

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA 283

Mr. George, of Bond Street, or his agents were not
idle was proved by the fact that, one day when we
went to have a look at Solfatara, the "sleeping
volcano," my boxes and bags were most thoroughly
searched! Whoever it was got nothing for his pains,
but it did show us that until those vases were aboard-
ship with us they might disappear at any moment.
Teunissen was worrying himself ill, and even I felt the
strain of nervous tension; added to which was the fact
that Naples, where centuries of sordid and disgusting
repression have resulted in an inborn hatred and
contempt of the law, was not exactly a pleasant
spot in which to be beset by unknown enemies.
Both Teunissen and I suspected that our letters
were being opened and read, and even he lost his
temper when the hotel porter asked him by what
ship we were leaving, since through "friends" (and
a regalo!) he could obtain special accommodation
for us. As we had not said one word about going
anywhere by sea, the inference was plain. In fact,
so many difficulties cropped up that even our sculptor
friend began to mutter that too-familiar word,
Camorra !

"The gentlemen must have a very wealthy enemy,"
was the way he put it and, knowing his own country
men, he was probably right.

"Look!" I said to Teunissen, "let's come out into
the open. TeU the shippers and the authorities
that we want the vases sent by sea to London. It
will put George and his spies off the scent if we say
that we intend accompanying them to England."

284 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

We did so, but at that moment the whole of Naples
was thrown Into a turmoil by a stevedores' strike.
Not a ship could be discharged or loaded: this was
before Mussolini had managed to clean up the
blackmailing strikes which were one of the great
sources of income to the Camorra. No one could
ever be prosecuted successfully, since the police were
far too "friendly" with the chief offenders. The day
after I had given orders to the forwarding agent
for the shipment of the vases, he came to me and,
with vast shruggings, explained that not a man or
a crane was at work. Then I had a brain-wave.

"But suppose I gave a really handsome regalo to
the sick-funds of the dock- workers? Would that
help?"

A smile split his face: here was a foreigner who
knew how things should be done! He departed in
high humour, and the same afternoon returned with
one of the most repulsive-looking men I have ever
beheld. This "friend," Don Enrico, was short,
powerfully built and with a face pock-marked by
bluish scars. His smile was a leer, and it seemed
to me unlikely that the hotel folk would have let him
come in at all unless he held an important position
in the Camorra. Expectorating freely on the carpet,
he looked round at one or two good copies of bronzes
from Pompeii and Herculaneum which stood in the
Smoking-room.

"I have some beautiful originals like those," he
exclaimed, jerking a thumb. "I get them before the
Government steals them from the poor farmers who

SAVED BY THE CAMORRA 285

unearth them. But I pay yes, I pay handsomely!
Now the signor wishes to give a few hundred lire
to our funds for the advantage of having his valuable
cases loaded, no?' 9

Though I hated to have dealings with such a
man, I agreed that he was right.

"ene! The gentleman will pay 1,000 lire for
getting the cases aboard and another 1,000 for
protection of himself and his friend. That is easy!"

Just another 80 or so by way of regalo f How
I was beginning to loathe that word. It was useless
to say that we did not need protection: the only
thing was to pay and look pleasant. So the
matter was settled and, having bade farewell
to our sculptor, we were suddenly told that plans
had been changed and we must embark at three
o'clock next morning. On a thick night with a drizzle
of rain we embarked silently in a large sailing boat:
it was something of an adventure because the quays
were in the hands of police and soldiery who had
been called out to suppress the riotous stevedores.

"The strike will soon be over," muttered the grim,
pock-marked man who was now our guide. "The
carabinieri mean business."

"What are those?" I asked, pointing forward to
where a big mound of sacking showed in the bows.
"Our cases?"

"Yes, under the sacks," came the muttered reply.

Don Enrico sat on a thwart while two men rowed
us out into the harbour. Then, like shadows, I was
suddenly aware of half a dozen other boats converging

286 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

on us. There came a gust of oaths and shouts
which were answered by our guide and then, in
an instant, we were in the midst of a first-class
melee! Several men leaped from under the sacking
in the bows and I saw oars, iron bars and heavy
cudgels whirling in the air. Men cursed and fell
overboard grappling with one another, while poor
Teunissen and I crouched down and hoped for the
best. Later I discovered we owed our escape to the
foresight of our Canonist who, expecting trouble
from his unruly friends, had two other boats in
reserve, to protect us. These, arriving at a timely
moment, turned the battle in our favour and covered
our retreat to the quays again. Ashore, police and
military were running and shouting, and presently
a couple of searchlights lit up the water, where
men were still struggling in what seemed death-
grapples. Teunissen and I scrambled ashore in
undignified haste and on our heels came our
Camorrist.

"Bern!" he gasped. "They sank two boats, but
we sank four!"

He was as proud as an Admiral after a successful
naval engagement!

"My God, that's the last time I have anything
to do with the Camorra!" moaned poor Teunissen.

"When can our vases be got out?" I asked Don
Enrico, pointing to the harbour where police launches
were rounding up the late combatants.

"Ha-ha!" he roared. "They were on the steamer
before you started!"

SAVED BY THE GAMORRA 287

Back once more in our hotel, the night-porter
handed Teunissen a telegram.

"God Almachtig!" he cried in Dutch. "Read this,
my friend. It makes no sense!"

The message was cryptic, but to me was clear
enough. " Voyage inutile. Ami parti pour Queretaro"
"Your journey useless: friend left for Queretaro."
Teunissen stared at me.

"Left for Queretaro? Where the devil is that?"

"If it means what I think/' I replied slowly,
"it is plain that King Carlos is dead, shot! Don't
you remember? Queretaro was where the rebel
Mexicans shot their own Emperor, Maximilian of
Austria. Your man in Lisbon put it like that to
.get it past the censor."

It was true enough, alas, and incidentally, the
cowardly shooting of Don Carlos and his son put
out of our reach for ever the opportunity of negotiat
ing for that glorious Louis XV silver dinner-set.
On the train northward to Milan next morning
we read a full account of the murders in the paper.
Without further adventure we came to the Hague
and so, at last, to London, after what we had fondly
hoped would be an "idling" holiday in the sunny
South! Only much later did I discover the secret
of George, the dealer's knowledge of our aims. He
had suborned one of my employees, who supplied
him with copies of my private correspondence, and
that single clue Silver which is Royal property and
will involve a sea voyage had been sufficient to set
him on the scent. His Italian-Swiss "spy" had not

288 SECRETS OF AN ART DEALER

been much hurt in the train crash, but he sent an
English agent with excellent credentials to follow
us to Naples. It was he who, having influential
friends, had set the Camorra against us, and, had it
not been for our repulsive but extraordinarily useful
Don Enrico, we should certainly not have got our
vases out of the country.

Though bought at a " rock-bottom" figure which
must have caused Mr. George real anguish, I had
to keep them for five years before disposing of them
at a very big profit; but after that chapter of accidents
I certainly deserved it.

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