Chapter Two“Really, my Lord, there’s nothing more I can tell you,” Solomon Isaacs said, throwing out his hands in an expressive gesture.
The Marquis, very large and awe-inspiring in the untidy shop, looked at him searchingly.
“You told me,” he said slowly, “that the owner of the Van Dyck wishes to remain anonymous and that I can understand. At the same time you realise that I cannot advise His Royal Highness to buy a painting that has no dependable history behind it.”
He paused to add impressively,
“It might be stolen or even proven to be fake.”
The dealer gave an exclamation that was almost a scream of protest.
“I’ve my reputation to preserve, my Lord, and I can assure you that after years of selling fine paintings to real connoisseurs, I can smell a fake a mile off.”
The Marquis w
