pounds,” blurted Briggs. It was more than he could afford, but the compulsion to ensure that the doll did not go into the other’s keep compelled him to make the offer.
“One hundred,” came the stranger’s cold, accented reply as a muttered hush went through the auction hall. It was clear that some of the other bargain hunters and antique collectors had now gotten wind of the possibility that the doll was far more valuable than their previous assessments had ascertained. It was not unusual for two seasoned bidders to compete against one another if they were privy to specialized knowledge regarding the true worth of a given piece.
“One hundred and ten!” rang out a woman’s voice from the front row. Someone new had now entered the bidding arena.
Hope for a good outcome sprung in the auctioneer. He would not be surprised if this developed into a full-blown bidding war, and in which case the doll could well reach something in the region of two hundred pounds. His shock was visible when, the tall, thin man with the raincoat said rather nonchalantly:
“In order to speed up the inevitable, I will purchase the doll for five hundred pounds.”
A great murmuring came from the gathered crowd. This was something none of them had anticipated. It was completely unheard of. Five hundred pounds for an old doll, a tatty notebook containing an untranslated account, and a small silver crucifix!
Briggs’ eyes narrowed. There was something mighty suspicious going on here; something that he felt he had to get to the bottom of. Was it possible that the man who had just made the astonishing bid was a friend or indeed relative of von Shaffer, the old man in whose house the doll had been found? With that thought going through his head, he was only dimly aware of the auctioneer bringing down his gavel to seal the bid.
* * * *
Later that afternoon, Briggs sat behind his desk finishing off some paperwork. There was still quite a lot of cataloguing to do regarding the von Shaffer property. Although most had been auctioned off, albeit at a slight loss, there had been sufficient interest in some of the general paintings and objets d’art to have made it quite worthwhile. Then, of course, there had also been the doll, the sale of which had played strongly on his mind.
There had to be more to it. It did not stand to reason that someone would pay such a price for something, which at face value at least, was rather inferior. After all, it was just a doll. The small diary—if indeed that is what it was—would not fetch much, and the tiny silver crucifix which had on first discovery been found draped over the doll’s head could be worth no more than twenty pounds at current prices. So why had the foreigner been willing to pay whatever sum was required in order to procure the doll?
Determination overcame Briggs. He had to find out more. He had to.
Consulting his small notebook, he found the phone number for the auction hall and made the call. After four rings the phone on the other side was picked up.
“Reids’ auction house. How can I help you?”
“Is that you, Malcolm? It’s Briggs here.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Briggs. A fairly good morning’s work, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, yes. I’m enquiring after one of the lots from the von Shaffer sale—”
“The doll, by chance?” interrupted the other.
“Yes, the doll. I realize that it’s rather an unusual question, but do you by chance have any information on the buyer? Name, address, nationality?”
There was a moment’s pause. Then: “You don’t think there’s anything fishy going on do you?” asked the auctioneer. “The gentleman in question did seem a trifle odd, and I’ve never seen him at any of the auctions here before, although, that said, young Harvey, my assistant, said that he’d seen him looking through the accompanying diary on two occasions. Regardless, he did pay good money, and it was clear that he had his heart set on owning the doll. Heavens knows why, for I found it rather—creepy—if I do say so myself.”
“Creepy?” A cold shiver went through Briggs. For some terrible reason he felt the sudden urge to look over his shoulder to ensure that the doll was not crawling its way across the carpet towards him.
“Well, you know what it’s like. Certain objects can instill a sense of general unease, I suppose. It was something about the doll’s face, I guess. Like some of those old portraits where the eyes seem to follow you around the room no matter where you go. There was also a small cross-shaped burn in the dress, which I don’t suppose you noticed. At first, I thought it might have been a reaction of the silver from the crucifix oxidizing onto the fabric of the dress. Had we been able to analyze this under a microscope, we would have been able to find out for sure. To my eye, believe it or not, it looked more like a burn mark. Anyway, it’s someone else’s now. Although I don’t know why it should have fetched so much.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out. Any information you can provide would be kept in the strictest confidence, of course.”
“Hmm. It is against all regulations and company policy.”
“Please, Malcolm. You help me out with this one, and I’ll see that your company gets a bigger share of the proceeds from our next house clearance.”
There came a resigned sigh from the other side of the phone. “Very well, Mr. Briggs. Bear with me for a minute or two while I get the necessary documentation.”
Briggs removed a pen from a drawer and waited.
After a few minutes break, the phone was picked up again. “Here we are. All right, Mr. Briggs, here are the details you seek. The buyer was a Mr. Lagur Thorko.” He spelled the name out to the other. “A Hungarian collector of antiquities. The address given is number one hundred and nineteen Warwick Close, here in the city. No phone number.”
Briggs jotted down the details. “I appreciate your assistance, Malcolm.”
“Yes, well, let’s not make a habit of prying into private buyers’ details, shall we? Oh, by the way, just on the off chance you’re going out to see him, you might want to swing round to the auction hall first.”
“Why’s that?” asked Briggs.
“Well it would appear that in his haste to get away with his new acquisition, he forgot to take the little silver crucifix with him. If you were to deliver it, it would save me from having to do so.”
* * * *
It was raining heavily and the sky was dark as Briggs turned his car into Warwick Close. The tall houses on either side appeared abandoned, and some of them showed signs of great decrepitude, with missing slates and broken or boarded-up windows featuring predominantly. No lights could be seen in any of the windows, and he had seen no other cars or pedestrians for about the past five minutes, leading him to the belief that this part of the city was shunned for some reason or another. Why anyone who could afford to pay five hundred pounds for a ghastly-looking antique doll would desire to take up residence in such a rundown district was beyond him. It didn’t seem right at all.
He strained his eyes in order to discern the house numbers that were barely visible on his right-hand side. The houses seemed to increase in their level of general dilapidation the further he went. He had lived in the city all of his life, and had fortunately never been aware of this part before. It would come as no surprise to find
