The Vivero Letter. Desmond Bagley
Nigel; you’ve been a great help.’ I put down the phone and looked at Fallon. ‘You’re in the clear.’
He smiled and delicately dabbed his fingertips on a napkin. ‘You’re a very logical man, Mr Wheale.’
I leaned back in my chair. ‘How much would you say the tray is worth?’
‘That’s a hard question to answer,’ he said. ‘Intrinsically not very much – the gold is diluted with silver and copper. Artistically, it’s a very fine piece and the antiquarian value is also high. I daresay that at auction in a good saleroom it would bring about £7,000.’
‘What about the archeological value?’
He laughed. ‘It’s sixteenth-century Spanish; where’s the archeological value in that?’
‘You tell me. All I know is that the people who want to buy it are archeologists.’ I regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Make me an offer.’
‘I’ll give you £7,000,’ he said promptly.
‘I could get that at Sotheby’s,’ I pointed out. ‘Besides, Halstead might give me more or Gatt might’
‘I doubt if Halstead could go that much,’ said Fallon equably. ‘But I’ll play along, Mr Wheale; I’ll give you £10,000.’
I said ironically, ‘So you’re giving me £3,000 for the archeological value it hasn’t got. You’re a very generous man. Would you call yourself a rich man?’
A slight smile touched his lips. ‘I guess I would.’
I stood up and said abruptly, ‘There’s too much mystery involved in this for my liking. You know something about the tray which you’re not telling. I think I’d better have a look at it myself before coming to any firm decision.’
If he was disappointed he hid it well. ‘That would appear to be wise, but I doubt if you will find anything by a mere inspection.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘Mr Wheale, I have made you a most generous offer, yet I would like to go further. May I take an option on the tray? I will give you a thousand pounds now, on condition that you let no one else, particularly Dr Halstead, inspect it. In the event of your deciding to sell me the tray then the thousand pounds is in addition to my original offer. If you decide not to sell it then you may keep the thousand pounds as long as you keep your side of the bargain.’
I drew a deep breath. ‘You’re a real dog in the manger, aren’t you? If you can’t have it, then nobody else must. Nothing doing, Mr Fallon. I refuse to have my hands tied.’ I sat down. ‘I wonder what price you’d go to if I really pushed you.’
An intensity came into his voice. ‘Mr Wheale, this is of the utmost importance to me. Why don’t you state a price?’
‘Importance is relative,’ I said. ‘If the importance is archeological then I couldn’t give a damn. I know a fourteen-year-old girl who thinks the most important people in the world are the Beatles. Not to me they aren’t.’
‘Equating the Beatles with archeology hardly demonstrates a sensible scale of values.’
I shrugged. ‘Why not? They’re both concerned with people. It just shows that your scale of values is different from hers. But I just might state my price, Mr Fallon; and it may not be in money. I’ll think about it and let you know. Can you come back tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I can come back.’ He looked me in the eye. ‘And what about Dr Halstead? What will you do if he approaches you?’
‘I’ll listen to him,’ I said promptly. ‘Just as I’ve listened to you. I’m prepared to listen to anyone who’ll tell me something I don’t know. Not that it’s happened noticeably yet.’
He did not acknowledge the jibe. Instead, he said, ‘I ought to tell you that Dr Halstead is not regarded as being quite honest in some circles. And that is all I am going to say about him. When shall I come tomorrow?’
‘After lunch; would two-thirty suit you?’ He nodded, and I went on, ‘I’ll have to tell the police about you, you know. There’s been a murder and you are one coincidence too many.’ ‘I see your point,’ he said wearily. ‘Perhaps it would be as well if I went to see them – if only to clear up a nonsense. I shall go immediately; where shall I find them?’
I told him where the police station was, and said, ‘Ask for Detective-Inspector Goosan or Superintendent Smith.’
Inexplicably, he began to laugh. ‘Goosan!’ he said with a gasp, ‘My God, but that’s funny!’
I stared at him. I didn’t see what was funny. ‘It’s not an uncommon name in Devon.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, choking off his chuckles. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Mr Wheale.’
I saw him off the premises, then went back to the study and rang Dave Goosan. ‘There’s someone else who wants to buy that tray,’ I said. ‘Another American. Are you interested?’
His voice was sharp. ‘I think we might be very interested.’
‘His name is Fallon and he’s staying at the Cott. He’s on his way to see you right now – he should be knocking on your door within the next ten minutes. If he doesn’t it might be worth your while to go looking for him.’
‘Point taken,’ said Dave.
I said, ‘How long do you intend holding on to the tray?’
‘You can have it now if you like. I’ll have to hold on to Bob’s shotgun, though; this case isn’t finished yet.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll come in and pick up the tray. Can you do me a favour, Dave? Fallon will have to prove to you who and what he is; can you let me know, too? I’d like to know who I’m doing business with.’
‘We’re the police, not Dun and Bradstreet. All right, I’II let you know what I can, providing it doesn’t run against regulations.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and rang off. I sat motionless at the desk for a few minutes, thinking hard, and then got out the papers concerning the reorganization of the farm in preparation to doing battle with Jack Edgecombe. But my mind wasn’t really on it.
II
Late that afternoon I went down to the police station to pick up the tray, and as soon as Dave saw me he growled, ‘A fine suspect you picked.’
‘He’s all right?’
‘He’s as clean as a whistle. He was nowhere near your farm on Friday night. Four people say so – three of whom I know and one who is a personal friend of mine. Still, I don’t blame you for sending him down here – you couldn’t pass a coincidence like that.’ He shook his head. ‘But you picked a right one.’
‘What do you mean?’
He grabbed a sheaf of flimsies from his desk and waved them under my nose. ‘We checked him out – this is the telex report from the Yard. Listen to it and cry: John Nasmith Fallon, born Massachussetts, 1908; well educated – went to Harvard and Göttingen, with post-graduate study in Mexico City. He’s an archeologist with all the letters in the alphabet after his name. In 1936 his father died and left him over 30 million dollars, which fortune he’s more than doubled since, so he hasn’t lost the family talent for making money.’
I laughed shortly. ‘And I asked him if he considered himself a rich man! Is he serious about his archeology?’
‘He’s no dilettante,’ said Dave. ‘The Yard checked with the British Museum. He’s the top man in his field, which is Central America.’ He scrabbled among the papers. ‘He publishes a lot in the scientific journals – the last thing he did was “Some Researches into the Calendar Glyphs of Dzi … Dzibi … ” I’ll have