“I expect someone really did,” George replied. “And now you should come home.”
I told George I was off to Taiwan as soon as I could get a flight, and this adventure, such as it was, was over. However, I tried to change my booking for Taiwan and couldn’t. I could have managed it for the following day, but that was devoted to a command performance at the auction house, this time to view the videotapes in the presence of three policemen. When I got there, Burton was on his mobile, also trying to book an earlier flight home. At least that was what I thought he was doing. He was speaking Chinese, and he said that was what he was attempting. I saw no reason to doubt him. That would come later.
Unfortunately, our arrival also coincided with a quiet but public dressing-down of the young auction house employee who had proven himself hopelessly inept as a custodian of the merchandise. The young man stood, head bowed, his back to us, and hands behind his back, one hand clasping a delicate wrist. Another man was speaking quietly, but there was no mistaking the tone. At the end of it, the boy let out a howl, took off his Cherished Treasures House jacket, threw it on the ground, and ran out of the place. It seemed pretty clear he’d been sacked.
“I believe everyone is here. We are ready to begin,” the person who looked to be in charge, someone by the name of Chen Maohong, said. His English was very good.
“No, I think we’re still missing one person,” I said.
“Everyone is here,” Chen said in a firm tone. I looked at Xie who very subtly shook his head. “We will now review the videotape.”
The videotape showed someone walk in, hesitate for only a moment, proceed directly to the silver box, grab it, and leave in haste. The cameras also showed the rest of us: David moving very fast, followed by the man in black, and Burton and I standing stock still in amazement for a few seconds before hurtling after them. Dr. Xie had followed at a much slower pace. What the videotape didn’t reveal was the thief’s face, which he kept averted from the cameras, thus proving that he knew exactly where they were.
There was no question that it was the T’ang silver box, and only the silver box, that the thief wanted. Now, it’s possible it was the easiest to grab, in terms of size and the fact that it was just sitting all by itself on a pedestal, but I didn’t think so. I had more than one reason for thinking that, not only the actions of the thief, but also because even though I couldn’t see his face, I had become almost certain it was the young man who had seemed to be ready to bid on the silver box when it was up for auction at Molesworth Cox in New York, the man I’d come to think of as Mr. Knockoff. I mentioned this aloud.
“You remember him, Burton,” I said.
“I don’t believe I do,” he replied.
“He was at the preview the same time you and I were,” I said. “Fake Hugo Boss suit. This time it was fake Armani. And he was definitely planning to bid that night. He was standing off to one side looking bored until Cox announced that the silver box had been withdrawn from the sale. He slapped his paddle against the wall, as good an indication as any that he was as displeased by that development as we were.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I was so focused on the upcoming bidding that I didn’t notice,” Burton said. “I knew you were there, of course, and that there was a bidder on the telephone, but I don’t recall anyone else who looked particularly interested in the box.”
“To have a paddle, which is to say to be able to bid on something as expensive as that, the man must have established some kind of credit with Molesworth and Cox. If you get in touch with them,” I said to Chen, “they would almost certainly have a record, and you know, they might tell you who he was, given this is a criminal investigation.”
“They’re never going to find it,” Burton said as we were about to leave. “For one thing, by the time the people at Molesworth and Cox respond to the enquiry from the police here, it will be long gone. They’ll go on and on about protecting their clients’ identities, and will only give up the name if they are legally required to do so. I am going to have to find a new signature piece for the T’ang gallery. The box will disappear into the black market. What a crashing waste of time! The only happy note I can think of is that it serves the seller right for withdrawing it in New York at the last minute like that. I hope for their sake it was insured.”
I, too, was feeling similarly irked. “It’s all a little odd, isn’t it?” I said. “First it’s withdrawn, then it’s put up for sale halfway around the world, and then it’s stolen. I know it’s special, but still, this is a bit much.”
“A bit much is right. I’ve spent thousands following it around for nothing. Yes, my travel budget at the Cottingham is generous, but who can afford something as useless as this? I’m going home tomorrow, I hope. I’m wait-listed for tomorrow, and have a confirmed booking for Wednesday. I planned to be going home with the silver box, but I guess that’s not going to happen. It will not be my most triumphant return, I must say.”
“Nor mine. I don’t know what is worse, wasting someone else’s money or your own. Now that you mention it though, how were you planning to get the box out of the country?” I said. “China is clamping down on exports, as Mira Tetford has pointed out to me.”
“The auction house assured me that the requisite papers would be provided, because the piece was legally out of the country before it was put up for auction here. Anyway, it’s always possible, isn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question. “Palms can be greased, customs agents either too ignorant to know what they’re looking at, or persuaded to look the other way. But you should know that if you were planning to be the successful bidder. Does that mean you weren’t planning to take it out of the country? Interesting idea,” he said.
Oops, I thought. “That’s a cynical attitude, Burton,” I said.
“Cynical? I call it realistic. I was shopping on the antique street, Liulichang Dajie, a couple of days ago and went into a government-owned shop. At least, it was supposed to be a government-owned shop. It had the plaque outside the door proclaiming it as such. I was offered T’ang ceramics. I should probably say I was offered fake T’ang ceramics. Quite lovely, though. Pretending I didn’t know they were fake, I pointed out that they were way too old for export. They promised me that would not be a problem. Now given that they were fake, obviously it shouldn’t be a problem, but it does call the whole system into some question, does it not?”
“Maybe there was a language problem,” I said. “Maybe they were trying to tell you they were reproductions.”
“I speak Chinese, Lara. Surely you’ve noticed. Not well, perhaps, but well enough. Now, what are your plans?”
“I’m joining my partner Rob in Taiwan for a visit with his daughter,” I said.
“You have a client in Taiwan?” he said. “How would you manage that?”
“You know perfectly well I’m not going to fall for that,” I said. “You’re getting a little irritating on the subject of my client. But you are jumping to conclusions. Really, I am going to visit my sort-of stepdaughter. She is teaching English there, and I miss her a lot.”
“I see,” he said. I could tell he didn’t know whether to believe me or not, which in my opinion said more about him than about me. “Why don’t you join me this evening for a drink at the bar in the hotel?”
“Good idea,” I said, although I wasn’t sure it was. “What time?”
“Six? Maybe we can go out for a bite after.”
It seemed churlish to refuse, but the evening began even more badly than I’d feared. He couldn’t wait even two minutes to start at me again on the subject of my mystery client. “I confess that in New York I thought your client might be Dory Matthews, but I guess that would hardly be the case now. Too bad about Dory. I know you were fond of her.”