A two-inch-wide yellow strip had been painted on the ground just inside the doorway. Danny crossed it and walked into a small square room whose walls were covered from floor to ceiling with shelves, crammed with thick leather-bound books. On each shelf were printed cards, indicating the years 1840 to 1992.
‘Please join me,’ said Danny, as he removed one of the thick leather books from the top shelf and began to leaf through the pages. Munro walked in, but de Coubertin did not follow.
‘I apologize,’ he said, ‘but I am not allowed to cross the yellow line – one of the bank’s many regulations. Perhaps you would be kind enough to inform the guard when you wish to leave, and then do come and join me back in the boardroom.’
Danny and Munro spent the next half hour turning the pages of album after album, and began to understand why Gene Hunsacker had flown all the way from Texas to Geneva.
‘I’m none the wiser,’ said Munro as he looked at an unperforated sheet of forty-eight penny blacks.
‘You will be after you’ve had a look at this one,’ said Danny, passing him the only leather-bound book in the entire collection that was not dated.
Munro turned the pages slowly, to be reacquainted with the neat, calligraphic hand he remembered so well: column after column listing when, where and from whom Sir Alexander had purchased each new acquisition and the price he’d paid. He handed the meticulous record of the collector’s life back to Danny and suggested, ‘You’re going to have to study each entry most carefully before you next bump into Mr Hunsacker.’
Mr and Mrs Moncrieff were shown into the boardroom at 3.00 p.m. Baron de Coubertin was seated at the far end of the table, with three colleagues on each side of him. All seven men rose from their chairs as the Moncrieffs entered the room, and didn’t resume their places until Mrs Moncrieff had sat down.
‘Thank you for allowing us to inspect your late father’s will,’ said de Coubertin, ‘as well as the attached letter.’ Hugo smiled. ‘However, I must inform you that in the considered opinion of one of our experts, the will is invalid.’
‘Are you suggesting that it’s a fake?’ said Hugo, angrily rising from his place.
‘We are not suggesting for a moment, Mr Moncrieff, that you were aware of this. However, we have decided that these documents do not stand up to the scrutiny required by this bank.’ He passed the will and the letter across the table.
‘But . . .’ began Hugo.
‘Are you able to tell us what in particular prompted you to reject my husband’s claim?’ asked Margaret quietly.
‘No, madam, we are not.’
‘Then you can expect to hear from our lawyers later today,’ said Margaret as she gathered up the documents, placed them back in her husband’s briefcase and rose to leave.
All seven members of the board stood as Mr and Mrs Moncrieff were escorted from the room by the chairman’s secretary.
48
WHEN FRASER MUNRO joined Danny in his room the following morning, he found his client sitting cross-legged on the floor in his dressing gown, surrounded by sheets of paper, a laptop and a calculator.
‘I apologize for disturbing you, Sir Nicholas. Shall I come back later?’
‘No, no,’ said Danny as he leapt up, ‘come in.’
‘I trust you slept well?’ said Munro as he looked down at the mass of paperwork littering the floor.
‘I haven’t been to bed,’ admitted Danny. ‘I was up all night checking over the figures again and again.’
‘And are you any the wiser?’ asked Munro.
‘I hope so,’ said Danny, ‘because I have a feeling that Gene Hunsacker didn’t lose any sleep wondering what this lot is worth.’
‘Do you have any idea . . . ?’
‘Well,’ said Danny, ‘the collection consists of twenty-three thousand, one hundred and eleven stamps, purchased over a period of more than seventy years. My grandfather bought his first stamp in 1920 at the age of thirteen, and he continued collecting until 1998, only a few months before he died. In total, he spent £13,729,412.’
‘No wonder Hunsacker thinks it’s the finest collection on earth,’ said Munro.
Danny nodded. ‘Some of the stamps are incredibly rare. There is, for example, a 1901 US one cent “inverted centre”, a Hawaiian two cent blue from 1851, and a Newfoundland 1857 two penny scarlet, which he paid $150,000 for in 1978. But the pride of the collection has to be an 1856 British Guiana one cent black on magenta, which he bought at auction in April 1980 for $800,000. That’s the good news,’ said Danny. ‘The not so good news is that it would take a year, possibly even longer, to have every stamp valued. Hunsacker knows that, of course, but in our favour is that he won’t want to hang around waiting for a year, because among other things I’ve picked up from the odd article my grandfather kept is that Hunsacker has a rival, a Mr Tomoji Watanabe, a commodities dealer from Tokyo. It appears,’ Danny said as he bent down to pick up an old cutting from Time Magazine, ‘to be a matter of opinion which one of their collections was second only to my grandfather’s. That argument would be settled the moment one of them gets his hands on this,’ said Danny, holding up the inventory.
‘That piece of knowledge, may I suggest,’ said Munro, ‘places you in a very strong position.’
‘Possibly,’ said Danny, ‘but when you get into amounts of this size – and on a quick calculation the collection must be worth around fifty million dollars – there are very few people on earth, and I suspect in this case only two, who could even consider joining in the bidding, so I can’t afford to overplay my hand.’
‘I’m lost,’ said Munro.
‘Let’s hope I’m not once the game of poker begins, because I suspect that if the next person to knock on that door isn’t the waiter wanting to set up breakfast, it will be Mr Gene Hunsacker hoping to buy a stamp collection he’s been after for the past fifteen years. So I’d better take a shower and get dressed. I wouldn’t want him to think I’ve been up all night trying to work out how much I ought to be asking for.’
‘Mr Galbraith, please.
‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Hugo Moncrieff.’
‘I’ll put you straight through, sir.’
‘How did you get on in Geneva?’ were Galbraith’s first words.
‘We left empty-handed.’
‘What? How can that be possible? You had every document you needed to validate your claim, including your father’s will.’
‘De Coubertin said the will was a fake, and virtually threw us out of his office.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ said Galbraith, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘I had it examined by the leading authority in the field, and it passed every known test.’
‘Well, de Coubertin clearly doesn’t agree with your leading authority, so I’m phoning to ask what our next move should be.’
‘I’ll call de Coubertin immediately, and advise him to expect service of a writ both in London and Geneva. That will make him think twice about doing business with anyone else until the authenticity of the will has been resolved in the courts.’
‘Perhaps the time has come for us to set in motion the other matter we discussed before I flew to Geneva.’
‘All I’ll need if I’m to do that,’ said Galbraith, ‘is your nephew’s flight number.’
‘You were right,’ said Munro when Danny emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later.
‘About what?’ asked Danny.
‘The next person to knock on that door was the waiter,’ Munro added as Danny took his place at the breakfast table. ‘A bright young man who was happy to give me a great deal of information.’
‘Then he can’t have been Swiss,’ said Danny as he unfolded his napkin.
‘It appears,’ continued Munro, ‘that Mr Hunsacker booked into the hotel two days ago. The management sent a limousine to the airport to pick him up from his private jet. The young man was also able to tell me, in return for ten Swiss francs, that his hotel booking is open-ended
.’
‘A sound investment,’ said Danny.
‘Even more interesting is the fact that the same limousine drove Hunsacker to the Banque de Coubertin yesterday morning, where he had a forty-minute meeting with the chairman.’
‘To view the collection, no doubt,’ suggested Danny.
‘No,’ said Munro. ‘De Coubertin would never allow anyone near that room without your authority. That would break every tenet of the bank’s policy. In any case, it wouldn’t have been necessary.’
‘Why not?’ asked Danny.
‘Surely you remember that when your grandfather put his entire collection on display at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington to celebrate his eightieth birthday, one of the first people to walk through the doors on the opening morning was Mr Gene Hunsacker.’
‘What else did the waiter tell you?’ asked Danny without missing a beat.
‘Mr Hunsacker is at this moment having breakfast in his room on the floor above us, presumably waiting for you to knock on his door.’
‘Then he’s going to have a long wait,’ said Danny, ‘because I don’t intend to be the first to blink.’
‘Pity,’ said Munro, ‘I’d been looking forward to the encounter. I once had the privilege of attending a negotiation in which your grandfather was involved. By the end of the meeting, I left feeling battered and bruised – and I was on his side.’ Danny laughed.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Sooner than I thought,’ said Danny.
‘It might be your uncle Hugo brandishing another writ,’ suggested Munro.
‘Or just the waiter coming to take away the breakfast things. Either way, I’ll need a moment to clear up these papers. Can’t have Hunsacker thinking I don’t know what the collection is worth.’ Danny knelt down on the floor and Munro joined him as they began gathering up reams of scattered papers.
There was another knock on the door, this time a little louder. Danny disappeared into the bathroom with all the papers, while Munro went across to open the door.
‘Good morning, Mr Hunsacker, how nice to see you again. We met in Washington,’ he added, offering his hand, but the Texan barged past him, clearly looking for Danny. The bathroom door opened a moment later, and Danny reappeared wearing a hotel dressing gown. He yawned and stretched his arms.
‘What a surprise, Mr Hunsacker,’ he said. ‘To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?’
‘Surprise be damned,’ said Hunsacker. ‘You saw me at breakfast yesterday. I’m pretty hard to miss. And you can cut out the yawning act, I know you’ve already had breakfast,’ he said, glancing at a half-eaten piece of toast.
‘At a cost of ten Swiss francs, no doubt,’ said Danny with a grin. ‘But do tell me what brings you to Geneva,’ he added as he sank back in the only comfortable chair in the room.
‘You know damn well why I’m in Geneva,’ said Hunsacker, lighting his cigar.
‘This is a non-smoking floor,’ Danny reminded him.
‘Crap,’ said Hunsacker, flicking ash on to the carpet. ‘So how much do you want?’
‘For what, Mr Hunsacker?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Nick. How much do you want?’
‘I confess I was discussing that very subject with my legal adviser only moments before you knocked on the door, and he wisely recommended that I should wait a little longer before I commit myself.’
‘Why wait? You don’t have any interest in stamps.’
‘True,’ said Danny, ‘but perhaps there are others who do.’
‘Like who?’
‘Mr Watanabe, for example,’ suggested Danny.
‘You’re bluffing.’
‘That’s what he said about you.’
‘You’ve already been in touch with Watanabe?’
‘Not yet,’ admitted Danny, ‘but I’m expecting him to call any minute.’
‘Name your price.’
‘Sixty-five million dollars,’ said Danny.
‘You’re crazy. That’s double what it’s worth. And you do realize that I’m the only person on earth who can afford to buy the collection. It would only take you one phone call to discover that Watanabe’s not in my league.’
‘Then I shall have to split the collection up,’ said Danny. ‘After all, Mr Blundell assured me that Sotheby’s could guarantee me a large income for the rest of my life, without ever having to flood the market. That would give both you and Mr Watanabe the chance to cherry-pick any particular items you are keen to add to your collection.’
‘While at the same time you paid a ten per cent seller’s premium on everything in the collection,’ Hunsacker said, jabbing his cigar at Danny.
‘And don’t let’s forget your twenty per cent buyer’s premium,’ Danny countered. ‘And let’s face it, Gene, I’m thirty years younger than you, so I’m not the one who’s in a hurry.’
‘I’d be willing to pay fifty million,’ said Hunsacker.
Danny was taken by surprise as he had expected Hunsacker to open the bidding at around forty million, but he didn’t blink. ‘I’d be willing to drop to sixty.’
‘You’d be willing to drop to fifty-five,’ said Hunsacker.
‘Not for a man who flew halfway round the world in his private jet simply to find out who would end up owning the Moncrieff collection.’
‘Fifty-five,’ Hunsacker repeated.
‘Sixty,’ insisted Danny.
‘No, fifty-five is my limit. And I’ll wire the full amount to any bank in the world, which means it would be in your account within the next couple of hours.’
‘Why don’t we toss for the last five million?’
‘Because that way you can’t lose. Fifty-five is what I said. You can take it or leave it.’
‘I think I’ll leave it,’ said Danny, rising from his chair. ‘Have a good flight back to Texas, Gene, and do give me a call if there is a particular stamp you’d like to make an offer for before I phone Mr Watanabe.’
‘OK, OK. I’ll toss you for the last five million.’
Danny turned back to his lawyer. ‘Would you be kind enough to act as referee, Mr Munro?’
‘Umpire,’ said Hunsacker.
‘Yes, of course,’ Munro replied. Danny handed him a pound coin, and was surprised to see that Munro’s hand was shaking as he balanced it on the end of his thumb. He tossed it high in the air.
‘Heads,’ called Hunsacker. The coin landed in the thick rug by the fireplace. It was standing upright on its edge.
‘Let’s settle on $57,500,000,’ said Danny.
‘It’s a deal,’ said Hunsacker, who bent down, picked up the coin and put it in his pocket.
‘I think you’ll find that’s mine,’ said Danny, holding out his hand.
Hunsacker handed over the coin and grinned. ‘Now give me the key, Nick, so I can inspect the goods.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ said Danny. ‘After all, you saw the whole collection when it was on display in Washington. However, I will allow you to have my grandfather’s ledger,’ he said, picking up the thick leather book from a side table and handing it to him. ‘As for the key,’ he added with a smile, ‘Mr Munro will deliver it to you the moment the money is lodged in my account. I think you said it would take a couple of hours.’
‘Hunsacker started walking towards the door.
‘And, Gene.’ Hunsacker turned back. ‘Try to make it before the sun sets in Tokyo.’
Desmond Galbraith picked up the private line on his desk.
‘I’m reliably informed by one of the hotel staff,’ said Hugo Moncrieff, ‘that they are both booked on BA flight 737 which leaves here at 8.55 p.m. and touches down at Heathrow at 9.45 p.m.’
‘That’s all I need to know,’ said Galbraith.
‘We’ll be flying back to Edinburgh first thing in the morning.’
‘Which should give de Coubertin more than enough time to reflect on which branch of the Moncrieff family he’d prefer to do business with.’
‘Would you
care for a glass of champagne?’ asked the stewardess.
‘No thank you,’ said Munro, ‘just a scotch and soda.’
‘And for you, sir?’
‘I’ll have a glass of champagne, thank you,’ said Danny. After the stewardess had gone he turned to ask Munro, ‘Why do you think the bank didn’t take my uncle’s claim seriously? After all, he must have shown de Coubertin the new will.’
‘They must have spotted something I missed,’ said Munro.
‘Why don’t you call de Coubertin and ask him what it was?’
‘That man wouldn’t admit he’d ever met your uncle, let alone seen your grandfather’s will. Still, now that you have almost sixty million dollars in the bank, I presume you’ll want me to defend all the writs?’
‘I wonder what Nick would have done,’ mumbled Danny as he fell into a deep sleep.
Munro raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press his client further when he remembered that Sir Nicholas hadn’t been to bed the previous night.
Danny woke with a start when the wheels touched down at Heathrow. He and Munro were among the first to disembark from the aircraft. As they walked down the steps they were surprised to see three policemen standing on the tarmac. Munro noticed that they were not carrying machine guns, so they couldn’t be security. As Danny’s foot touched the bottom step two of the policemen grabbed him, while the third pinned his arms behind his back and handcuffed him.
‘You’re under arrest, Moncrieff,’ said one of them as they marched him off.
‘On what charge?’ demanded Munro, but he didn’t get a response because the police car, siren blaring, was already speeding away.