Montaro Caine A Novel - By Sidney Poitier Page 0,53

private world in which only the collector inside him could dwell.

Cordiss found herself speculating about the workings of such a mind. The chance to examine the coin had to be fascinating—if not historic—to someone consumed with possessing the sufficiently rare, the distinctively artistic, the aesthetically priceless, or, as in the case of the coin, the outrageously unique. “If this guy’s got an ego, and what man doesn’t, we’ll definitely do a deal,” Victor had told her.

Gabler continued to murmur softly to Voekle in abrupt phrases that apparently were not meant for Cordiss’s cocked ear.

Voekle’s notebook flew open as if on reflex, and the assistant began scribbling. Cordiss listened hard, but most of what Gabler seemed to be saying consisted of technical terms or trade references she didn’t understand. She suspected that he was purposely making his comments obtuse to stump her. She let her eyes roam about the study, startled by the variety of objects elegantly mounted in tall, glass showcases—pre-Colombian clay figures, Egyptian artifacts, African carvings, Native American masks, Chinese pottery, Fabergé eggs, ancient daggers, and other unusual items whose shapes, sizes, and colors offered no clues as to what they might be. God! What a treasure this place is, she thought.

On a shelf, all by itself, in a showcase near the fireplace, sat a human skull glistening in a white beam of light. Cordiss tried to imagine whether the skull had belonged to a woman or a child. A beheaded queen maybe, or a young prince, or perhaps a Biblical figure from the time of Christ. One thing for sure, she thought. To wind up on a shelf in Roland Gabler’s study, whoever it was had to have lived a spectacular life and likely died an unnatural death.

As she continued to survey the scene, Cordiss recognized several pieces from descriptions she had read in articles about Gabler. She searched the shelves in vain for the seventeenth-century Hungarian music box for which, according to an article in American Art Collector, he was reputed to have paid more than ten million dollars. Nor could she find any sign of the legendary rainbow pearl whose existence was strongly hinted at in the book The World of the Private Art Collectors, which she and Victor had recently devoured. Rumor had it that the pearl, the only one of its kind ever found, had been discovered in the South Seas by a native diver who had plunged to a seemingly impossible depth in order to avoid sharks. Although no one knowledgeable in the trade publicly admitted to having seen it, there was general agreement that the pearl did exist in someone’s private collection, and there was very little doubt in anyone’s mind that that someone was Roland Gabler. Of all Cordiss had read about Gabler’s collection, the pearl intrigued her most. And surely, the coin was more extraordinary than a pearl, she thought.

Jerome Voekle chuckled in response to a comment made by Gabler, and Cordiss’s attention swung back to focus on her host.

Gabler lowered the coin to the desk, then released it from the caliper. It bounced harmlessly and quivered to stillness while he removed the loupe from his eye. Then he looked up at Cordiss. Instinctively, she tried to sit taller; she threw her head back and engaged his expressionless stare.

“Is it six years that you have worked for the doctor?” Gabler asked.

“Yes, thereabouts,” she responded.

Without moving his eyes from Cordiss, he extended his left arm toward Voekle. The assistant pulled several pages from the folder on the table and laid them in Gabler’s hand. As Gabler stared unblinkingly at Cordiss, he waved the pages in her face.

“Your background, Miss Krinkle,” he began in a mocking monotone. “Nowhere in it do we find anything that remotely suggests that you are in any way qualified to engage in an undertaking such as the one you have suggested to us. Your proposal is preposterous, young lady, if I may be blunt. You are obviously not the true owner of this … object. Your credentials? May I ask where they are? Or do you think credentials are not necessary for transactions such as the one you propose? Well, let me inform you, they are. Therefore, we find no basis for any discussion along the lines you have suggested.”

For a moment, Cordiss wondered why Gabler was speaking as if an active tape recorder were hidden somewhere in the room. Then, a flash of intuition told her that Gabler was taking a necessary and understandable precaution. “If