A Family Affair Page 14

  ‘Ah, Sir John – now I must take issue with you. I fear you are adopting a posture – shall I say a stratagem? – not wholly to be approved by a person of unimpaired moral perception like myself. You are seeking to stir up malice and revenge in me, to play upon wounded vanity. Surely this is deplorable.’

  For a moment Appleby said nothing – perhaps because what he would really have liked to do would be to kick this insufferable millionaire from one end to the other of his resplendent mansion. But that, of course, would be deplorable – and a great sensation in the newspapers tomorrow morning. Appleby tried another tack.

  ‘I wonder,’ he asked, ‘whether you happen to know Lord Cockayne?’

  ‘Cockayne? Yes, indeed. A delightful man. As it happens, he is after a seat on one of my boards. On the strength, I seem to recall, of one of his great-grandfathers having been an admiral. No doubt it is an adequate qualification, but unfortunately I have not yet been able to accommodate him. Lord Cockayne is perhaps a little past it, shall we say?’

  ‘He is certainly an elderly man, and the first person I can trace as having been a victim of the series of frauds I am concerned with. Lord Cockayne is, of course, a person of consideration in English society.’

  ‘But of course.’ Mr Praxiteles was courteously acquiescent. ‘Every Englishman loves a lord, does he not?’

  ‘No doubt. But England has a great many lords.’ Appleby paused impressively. ‘And only one monarch.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ There was a fresh degree of attention in Mr Praxiteles’ voice.

  ‘Not that it is exactly a reigning monarch that was in question. Shall we say an August Personage, very close to the Throne?’

  ‘My dear Sir John, I am at a loss to understand what you are talking about. Please enlighten me.’

  ‘I am speaking of the first of these depredations – and, as I said, it was many years ago. There was an imposture, an impersonation. It involved an affront not merely to Lord Cockayne himself, but in the very highest circles. Quite properly, serious umbrage was taken at Court.’

  ‘Dear me!’

  ‘Lord Cockayne was persuaded to silence in the matter. A Special Messenger – I have no doubt he was a lord as well – was sent down to Keynes Court from one of the Royal Households. And the whole thing was hushed up.’

  ‘Very properly, of course.’ Quite suddenly, Mr Praxiteles was almost awed.

  ‘But these things are not forgotten. A just resentment remains. And if the criminal author of this affront were brought quietly and discreetly to book, there would be corresponding gratitude, Mr Praxiteles, to all responsible. I think I may say that Grace and Favour would be shown in the most Exalted Quarter. You will not mistake me.’ Appleby felt that he had not merely managed to cram, so to speak, a great many capital letters into this speech, but that he had virtually clapped the Royal Arms on top of it as well. ‘And now I wonder,’ he proceeded smoothly, ‘how many of the circumstances connected with the disappearance of your picture are still within your recollection?’

  ‘My memory is a very good one. Sir John. It is a faculty which the operations of ship-owning tend to strengthen. And I am, of course, charmed to help you in any way.’

  But Mr Praxiteles, even when thus brought to a better mind, seemed not to have anything very useful to tell. That vanity had a fair share in his composition was clear enough; and vanity had persuaded him to make known to a good many people his proprietorship of an interesting cabinet of erotic paintings. He could by no means name everybody who had been conducted through it since its formation. He had been discreet, of course; not quite everybody appreciates that kind of thing; but there might have been occasions when some man familiarly known to him had dropped in accompanied by another man not known to him at all – and there had been a stroll through his little gallery without his having so much as noted the casual visitor’s name. But he would not forget Sir John Appleby’s, Mr Praxiteles urbanely added. And would Sir John care to make the little inspection now?

  Appleby replied, perhaps a shade austerely, that nothing of the kind was necessary for his investigation, and that as a matter of pleasure it was something he would deny himself for the moment. He took it, on Mr Praxiteles’ word, that pretty well anybody could have known of Mr Praxiteles’ ownership of at least one painting which was fair game for the kind of operation under notice. And by ‘fair game’ was meant an artistic work of high monetary value, the subject of which made it probable that its owner would not make too public a fuss if somebody got monkeying around with it. Just this had happened to the Giulio; it had vanished, with some assurance that only a joke was involved, and that it would be returned again; fairly enough, it had been returned – and only the vigorous and unscrupulous action of the party whom it had actually been designed to defraud (Mr Braunkopf, to wit) was responsible for its not being snugly within its original proprietorship now. Mr Praxiteles – Appleby asked – would agree that this was a succinct statement of the matter? Mr Praxiteles agreed. So the main question, Appleby pursued, was how the picture had been borrowed, and how it had been restored again. He would be glad to hear what Mr Praxiteles had to say about this.

  ‘There is no mystery about how the picture was returned to me. I received through the post a left-luggage ticket issued at Victoria Station. I went along there quietly in a taxi – it is as well to be unobtrusive about these things, is it not? – and collected the parcel which the ticket entitled me to. And my two dear girls – which is how I think of Nanna and Pippa, Sir John – were safe and sound inside it.’

  ‘You made no attempt to engage the interest of the police in the matter?’

  ‘None whatever. And there was assuredly no obligation upon me to do so. It was a mere joke that was being played upon me, was it not? English law is very odd about such things. A man can walk out of a public gallery with an important painting and hold on to it indefinitely – and yet, even if detected, it may be quite a business convicting him of theft. Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Mr Praxiteles, that you state the position quite accurately. In any case, it is not terribly relevant at the moment. I take it that, until Braunkopf turned up and virtually blackmailed you out of the returned picture in exchange for the copy, you had no inkling of his involvement in the affair?’

  ‘None whatever. Of course, I have had dealings with the Da Vinci, as he calls his concern. But he didn’t enter my head in connection with the disappearance of my girls.’

  ‘I can see that there was no reason why he should.’ Appleby paused. He felt a strong distaste for going back on his refusal to inspect Mr Praxiteles’ little cabinet. But perhaps he would be obliged to, after all. ‘About the copy now in your possession,’ he said. ‘Have you had it examined by an expert?’

  ‘My dear Sir John, I am an expert. An able man – for let there be no false modesty between us – gets up these things, does he not? You want to know about the quality of the copy. But there is really little to say. It has been made by a skilled copyist, rather than by a practising artist, I think. But there are many such.’

  ‘Are there many who would accept this particular sort of commission?’

  ‘There was nothing out-of-the-way about the commission, surely?’ Mr Praxiteles seemed surprised. ‘The copyist could not know that the original he was to work from – or she was to work from, since many of these persons are ladies – had been purloined for the purpose.’

  ‘It was a request for a rapidly executed copy of a highly improper painting by an Old Master.’

  ‘A minor Old Master.’ Mr Praxiteles was indulgent.

  ‘No doubt. And you think there would be plenty of copyists to take on such a job, with no questions asked?’

  ‘Dear me, yes. They are poor devils – the people who do such things. They seldom see a week’s dinners securely in front of them, I should say.’

  ‘It is a highly skilled copy? It seems to have taken in Braunkopf.’

  ‘Yes – but only because he had seen
the original, and received an authoritative expertise on it, only a few days before. He probably barely looked at the copy when it was delivered to him as the returned original. There lay the whole cleverness of the exercise, did it not?’

  ‘Certainly it did. But the copy – the painting you now possess – is not to be described as a forgery?’

  ‘Obviously not. You need only turn it face to the wall, and you will see that it can have been painted only the other day. The picture surface itself is another matter. What they call the craquelure of the original had been reproduced. But Braunkopf could scarcely have been taken in even momentarily without that.’

  ‘Now, perhaps, we are getting somewhere.’ Appleby had sat up briskly. ‘For isn’t that outside an ordinary copyist’s technique? Aren’t these effects of shrinkage and movement, such as old pictures show, counterfeited only by electrical or chemical means?’

  ‘I see you are informed about such matters, Sir John. It is only to be expected in a detective – you do not regard the term as derogatory? – of your eminence. The craquelure does introduce an element of forgery, no doubt. So does the particular varnish used. But there are, I imagine, plenty of people who could do the job.’

  ‘Whoever did it required a canvas to do it on. The canvas might be traceable to a dealer, and a line on the copyist secured that way.’

  ‘I think it improbable.’

  ‘So do I. But one has to deal, you see, in possibilities as well as probabilities. And now, Mr Praxiteles, we come to the more important point. How was the picture stolen – or borrowed, if we are to prefer the term? I can’t believe that you haven’t considered the problem of security for your collection. Just how was it breached?’

  ‘Most agreeably – from the point of view of a little light-hearted fun. And to give just that impression, of course, was valuable to the whole enterprise. You understand me, Sir John? Remove my poor girls in a fashion that would never enter a mere thief’s head – in a fashion wholly bizarre, shall we say – and the presumption that it is a mere practical joke which is afoot becomes hard to resist.’

  ‘Quite so. Let me say, Mr Praxiteles, that you are far from taking me to unfamiliar ground. Please go on.’

  ‘Very well. The persons responsible for the rape of Nanna and Pippa – prepare to be staggered, my dear Sir John – were the President and Council of the Royal Academy.’

  ‘I’m not staggered in the least. But I must confess I’m uncommonly interested.’

  ‘I was in Paris at the time. I spend rather more of my time there than in London. Indeed, as you may see by glancing around you, I keep not much more than a camping place here in England. In Paris I am less skimpily accommodated. I hope I may have the pleasure of receiving you there one day.’

  ‘Thank you. It would be delightful. But please continue.’

  ‘This little pied-à-terre was left in charge of my confidential man. He is a Cretan, by the way, which of course means that he is an incorrigible liar. Upon this occasion, nevertheless, I am convinced that he is speaking the sober – or the wildly inebriated – truth. He could not conceivably have invented the gentlemen from Burlington House. They turned up one morning in a couple of large cars. Their dress was exceedingly formal: silk hats, grey toppers, grey bowlers – all that sort of thing. Except that one of them was dressed like Lord Tennyson in the portraits, it seems: a flowing cloak and an enormous hat. That, no doubt, gave the authentic artistic touch. One of them presented what purported to be a note from me.’

  ‘Authorizing them to make off with the Giulio?’

  ‘It was a little more comprehensive than that. They were, in fact, a selection committee, and they were to take the pick of my collection for an exhibition of importance. The exhibition was to be opened – one of them mentioned casually – by the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

  ‘The note was an effective forgery?’

  ‘It is impossible to say, since my man was careless enough to throw it away afterwards. Or – more probably – he wanted to conceal how easily he had been taken in. Well, the President and his Council chose my delightful girls, removed them from the wall, and went away with them. It was as simple as that.’

  ‘It was tolerably simple, certainly, granted the near-imbecility of your servant. They must have banked on that.’

  ‘No doubt means were taken to explore his degree of credulity. And perhaps I was at fault in employing him. But a fellow who is not too sharp-witted has his convenience at times. You must have experienced that.’

  ‘I can’t say that I have.’ Appleby spoke without much cordiality.

  ‘And yet I must put in a good word for Aleko. He at least remembered that he ought always to ask for a name. He had some dim apprehension of the significance of the office–’

  ‘President of the Royal Academy?’

  ‘Yes. But Aleko felt that he ought to have the gentleman’s actual name as well. So he asked for it, quite firmly, as these fellows were making off with their booty. And the President gave his name without hesitation. It turned out to be Sir Joshua Reynolds. Aleko wrote it down – or wrote down a rough phonetic equivalent of it – as soon as his visitors had departed.’

  ‘Do you think that Aleko had ever heard the name of Joshua Reynolds?’

  ‘It is most improbable.’ Mr Praxiteles made a slight gesture across the room. ‘He has heard of El Greco.’

  ‘He might have been none the better off if he had heard of Reynolds. It is a subject upon which a little knowledge appears to be a dangerous thing.’

  ‘I do not quite understand you, Sir John.’

  ‘A mere idle thought. No doubt this absurdity about Reynolds added to your sense of assurance that the whole thing was a mere joke?’

  ‘Certainly it did. As did the little reference to the Archbishop of Canterbury. One has to smile – would you not say, Sir John? – at the thought of his Grace unveiling, as it were, my dear girls.’

  ‘It is certainly not a service they stand in need of. By the way, just what means did these people take to tell you that you would get your picture back?’

  ‘The leader – shall we call him Sir Joshua? – simply left a sealed note for me in Aleko’s hands. It was typewritten, as you may imagine.’

  ‘And it said?’

  ‘What it said, Sir John, I can quote from memory. The Secretary of the Society begs to inform Mr Praxiteles that his picture, Nanna and Pippa, has been borrowed for the purpose of exhibition at the Society’s annual banquet. It will be returned to Mr Praxiteles immediately thereafter.’

  ‘I see. But just what was this Society? It didn’t purport to be the Royal Academy?’

  ‘Ah, no. The joke was being taken a little further. The letterhead was that of the Society for the Suppression of Vice.’

  15

  ‘Daddy not down yet?’ said Bobby Appleby, and surveyed the breakfast table with a critical and expectant eye. ‘Hoobin is annoying Mrs Colpoys by sitting in her kitchen waiting instructions to begin weeding the drive or something. And until the oracle speaks, Hoobin will sit.’

  ‘Then Hoobin must be indulged.’ Judith Appleby poured coffee. ‘I’m certainly not going to disturb your father. He arrived home very late.’

  ‘Well, well! The shocking old roisterer.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s been madly gay. He went up to London again, when he heard he could see the man Praxiteles.’

  ‘The owner of Guilio Romano’s naughty wenches?’

  ‘Yes. He rang up afterwards and said he’d only catch the last train, because he had a number of arrangements to make.’

  ‘You mean he turned mysterious? Would you call that a good sign?’

  ‘I suppose he didn’t want to say too much on the telephone. I rather gathered that he wasn’t coming straight back from town, but was just dashing off somewhere else.’

  ‘Not to Keynes, I hope.’ Bobby helped himself to what had some appearance of being both his own and his father’s bacon and sausages. ‘That’s something I want to be i
n on with him. As a matter of fact, I thought he might drive me over today, and drop me in Oxford on his way home. I oughtn’t to be away from the old place too long. It’s wonderful how they miss me.’ Bobby, although only beginning on his first sausage, took a prospective glance inside the marmalade pot. ‘When I got back to college after my last little excursion, my tutor stopped me in the quad and said how particularly delighted he was to see me in residence again. Nice of him, don’t you think?’ Bobby picked up The Times, assured himself at a glance that its interest for him was nil, and obligingly laid it beside his father’s place at table. ‘Do you think,’ he asked, ‘that the deep Sir John Appleby has a plan?’

  ‘I’m almost sure he has, but I’ve no idea what it is.’

  ‘He’ll have to tell us. This is turning into quite a family affair, wouldn’t you say? We’ll have to swap information as soon as he appears.’

  ‘Here he is.’

  ‘So there we are,’ Bobby said, half an hour later. ‘Mummy and I have pretty well done the job for you, it seems to me. But we’d still better go to Keynes, since Oswyn’s old dad expects you. And then I must get back to Oxford, no doubt. But your real goal is Cambridge.’

  ‘Cambridge, my dear lad? You think it would be useful to pay a visit to Cambridge?’ Appleby helped himself to what remained in the coffee pot. ‘And you can tell me what to do when I get there?’

  ‘Get the local dicks to arrest this shocking Professor Sansbury, I suppose. It’s him, isn’t it? The thing that sticks out a mile. It was Sansbury who authenticated the Giulio for Braunkopf–’

  ‘I’m not altogether clear how that ties up with the notion that he had also done the borrowing of it.’