When Max was offered the piece for $55,000, he also hesitated, taking his time before he finally raised his catalogue.
‘Sixty thousand?’ suggested the auctioneer to the assistant on the phone. Max waited nervously as she cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and repeated the figure. Beads of sweat began to appear on Max’s forehead, as he wondered if James Kennington had managed to raise more than $50,000, in which case he would just about clear his expenses on the whole exercise. After what seemed like an eternity, but was, in fact, only twenty seconds, the assistant shook her head. She put the phone down.
When the auctioneer smiled in Max’s direction and said, ‘Sold to the gentleman on my left, for fifty-five thousand dollars,’ Max felt sick, triumphant, dazed and relieved all at the same time.
Max remained in his place, as he waited for the furore to die down. After a dozen more lots had been disposed of, he slipped quietly out of the room, unaware of the suspicious stares from dealers, who wondered who he was. He strolled across the thick green carpet and stopped at the purchasing counter.
‘I wish to leave a deposit on lot twenty-three.’
The clerk looked down at her list. ‘A red king,’ she said, and double-checked the price. ‘Fifty-five thousand dollars,’ she added, and looked up at Max for confirmation.
He nodded as the assistant began to fill in the little boxes on the purchasing document. A few moments later she swivelled the form round for Max to sign.
‘That will be five thousand, five hundred dollars deposit,’ she said, ‘and the full amount must be settled within twenty-eight days.’ Max nodded nonchalantly, as if this was a procedure he was well familiar with. He signed the agreement and then wrote out a cheque for $5,500, aware that it would empty his account. He pushed it across the counter. The assistant handed him back the top copy of the agreement and retained the duplicate. When she checked the signature, she hesitated. It might have been a coincidence: after all, Glover was a common enough name. She didn’t want to insult a customer, but she knew she would have to report the anomaly to their compliance department, before they could consider cashing the cheque.
Max left the auction house and headed north to Park Avenue. He strode confidently into Sotheby Parke Bernet and approached the reception desk. He asked if he could have a word with the Head of the Oriental Department. He was kept waiting for only a few minutes.
On this occasion, Max didn’t waste time with any preliminary questions that would have only been a smokescreen to disguise his true intent. After all, as the sales clerk at Phillips had pointed out, he only had twenty-eight days to complete the transaction.
‘Should the Kennington Chess Set come onto the market, what would you expect it to fetch?’ Max asked.
The expert looked incredulous, although he had already been briefed on the sale of the red king at Phillips, and on the price the piece had fetched. ‘Seven hundred and fifty thousand, possibly as much as a million,’ came back the reply.
‘And if I was able to deliver the Kennington Set, and you were in a position to authenticate it, what amount would Sotheby’s be willing to advance against a future sale?’
‘Four hundred thousand, possibly five, if the family were able to confirm that it was the Kennington Set.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ promised Max, all his immediate and long-term problems solved.
Max checked out of his little hotel on the East Side later that evening, and took a taxi to Kennedy Airport. Once the plane had taken off, he slept soundly for the first time in days.
The 727 touched down at Heathrow just as the sun was rising over the Thames. Having nothing to declare, Max took the Heathrow Express to Paddington, and was back in his flat in time for breakfast. He began to fantasize about what it would be like to dine regularly at his favourite restaurant and always hail a taxi, rather than having to wait for the next bus.
Once he’d finished breakfast, Max put the plates in the sink and settled down in the one comfortable chair. He began to consider his next move, confident that now the red king had found its place on the board, the game must end in checkmate.
At eleven o’clock — a proper hour to phone a peer of the realm — Max put a call through to Kennington Hall. When the butler transferred the call to Lord Kennington, his first words were, ‘Did we get it?’
‘Unfortunately not, my lord,’ replied Max. ‘We were outbid by an unknown party. I carried out your instructions to the letter, and stopped bidding at fifty thousand dollars.’ He paused. ‘The hammer price was fifty-five thousand.’
There was a long silence. ‘Do you think the other bidder could have been my brother?’
‘I’ve no way of knowing,’ replied Max. ‘All I can tell you is that they were bidding by phone, no doubt wishing to ensure their anonymity.’
‘I’ll find out soon enough,’ responded Kennington, before hanging up.
‘You certainly will,’ agreed Max as he began to dial a number in Chelsea.
‘Congratulations,’ said Max the moment he heard the Hon. James’s plummy voice. ‘I’ve purchased the piece, so you’re now in a position to claim your inheritance, under the terms of the will.’
‘Well done, Glover,’ said James Kennington.
‘And the moment you deliver the rest of the set, my lawyers have been instructed to hand over a cheque for four hundred and forty-five thousand dollars,’ said Max.
‘But we agreed on half a million,’ snapped James.
‘Minus the fifty-five thousand I had to pay for the red king.’ Max paused. ‘You’ll find it’s all spelled out in the contract.’
‘But—’ James began to protest.
‘Would you prefer me to call your brother?’ Max asked, as the front door bell rang. ‘Because I’m still in possession of the piece.’ James didn’t immediately reply. ‘Think about it,’ added Max, ‘while I answer the front door.’ Max placed the receiver on the side table, and strolled out into the hall, almost rubbing his hands. He released the chain, undid the Yale lock, and pulled the door open a couple of inches. Two tall men wearing identical trench coats stood in front of him.
‘Max Victor Glover?’ enquired one of them.
‘Who wants to know?’ asked Max.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Armitage of the Fraud Squad, and this is Detective Sergeant Willis.’ They both produced warrant cards, with which Max was only too familiar. ‘May we come in, sir?’
Once the police had taken down Max’s statement, which consisted of little more than, ‘I’ll need to speak to my solicitor,’ the two men departed. They then drove up to Yorkshire for a meeting with Lord Kennington. Having obtained a detailed statement from his lordship, they returned to London to interview his brother James. The police found him just as cooperative.
A week later Max was arrested for fraud. The judge took into account his past blemished record, and did not grant bail.
‘But how did they find out that you’d stolen the red king?’ I asked.
‘They didn’t,’ Max replied as he stubbed out his cigarette.
I put my pen down. ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ I murmured from the upper bunk.
‘And neither did I,’ admitted Max, ‘at least not until they charged me.’ I remained silent, as my pad mate began to roll his next cigarette. ‘When they read out the charge sheet,’ he continued, ‘no one was more surprised than me.
‘ “Max Victor Glover, you are charged with attempting to obtain money by false pretences. Namely that on October seventeenth, two thousand, you bid fifty-five thousand dollars for a red king, lot twenty-three at Phillips auctioneers in New York, while enticing other interested parties to bid against you, without informing them that you were the owner of the piece.” ’