THE DUKE SCORPA MAKES A DEAL
In the branch office of Shayne & Co., in the Via Condotti, Rome, Mr.
Shayne arose from his desk, rearranged his diamond scarf-pin in his gray
satin Ascot tie, flicked two imaginary particles of dust from his
tight-fitting cutaway coat, whisked his silk handkerchief out of his
breast pocket and in again, so that the lavender border was visible,
cleared his throat, and stood in an attitude of agreeable expectancy.
Directly the door of his private room was discreetly opened, admitting a
square-jawed, beetle-browed man, heavy and ugly--a coarse type, yet not
without distinction. The two men did not shake hands. Mr. Christopher
Shayne bowed blandly, deferentially, yet not servilely, and again he
cleared his throat. The visitor nodded as though there upon an affair of
business that he was anxious to have terminated as speedily as possible.
"Will you be seated?--I think you will find this chair comfortable." Mr.
Shayne indicated a chair with a wave of his hand. "The letter which I
have from your Excellency is a trifle indefinite. But I take it that you
have something of more than ordinary importance to communicate." He
finished his sentence by giving his mustache a thoughtful twirl upward,
first on one side and then on the other.
The Duke Scorpa let his rat-like eyes rest a moment upon the alert face
of Mr. Shayne before he answered: "You said once in my presence that you
had long wanted to acquire a Raphael. I am in a position at present to
offer you one."
"A Raphael!" Shayne showed genuine surprise. "I do not remember one in
your collection."
"It is not in my own collection. Before giving you further details,
however, I must be assured that you are still anxious to purchase, and
also that you will observe strict secrecy with regard to it."
"In answer to the first, such an opportunity is beyond question of
interest to me; in answer to the second, my reputation should be a
guarantee of my discretion. I hope the picture you have in view is not
the Asanai one--for there is much doubt as to its being genuine."
"No, the one I speak of is the Sansevero Madonna."
In spite of himself Mr. Shayne blew a long whistle. "The Sansevero
Madonna with the doves!" he reiterated. "That _is_ a prize! I am
astonished, though----" It was on his tongue to say that he had thought
the Prince Sansevero beyond the suspicion of illegal sale of treasures;
but, checking himself in time, he finished his sentence--"that he should
be willing to part with it. Besides, it is a dangerous thing for him to
sell, on account of its celebrity."
"So I told him." The Duke Scorpa lied perfectly. "But it is better,
after all, to sell one thing that will bring in a good price than to
sell a number of things that bring in little, and yet incur the same
amount of risk in getting them out of the country." Here the duke's
manner became almost confidential. "As I told you, I am of course acting
merely in the interest of my friend the Prince Sansevero. Selling
against the law of my country would be abhorrent to me personally. But
my friend, poor fellow, is hard pressed for money. And, as he argues,
the picture is his, and has been in his family since long before our
government ever made such laws. He considers he has a right--or should
have--to dispose of property that is his own. The government would pay
not more than half what you will give me, I am sure."
"Of course, of course. I have long coveted that Raphael. On the other
hand, as I said, the picture is so very well known and so excellent that
it could hardly be palmed off as a copy. Also the canvas is large, which
will make it very difficult to conceal. It is still at Torre Sansevero,
I suppose?"
"No, it is here in Rome. It is removed from the frame and is at present
in my palace. I suppose the offer that you once told me you would make
still holds good?"
The American looked shrewd. "Did I name a sum? I do not remember. Ah,
yes. But that was for a very rich man who has since bought a Velasquez.
I doubt if he will buy any more."
Scorpa rose as though to leave. "My friend wants five hundred thousand
lire."
Mr. Shayne laughed scornfully. "Preposterous!" he said, and from that
they argued for nearly half an hour; but in the end it was settled that
the picture should change hands, and the price agreed upon was two
hundred and fifty thousand lire.
In the matter of payment the duke was punctilious about protecting his
friend the Prince Sansevero from the consequences of his transgression
of the law. Shayne agreed to make his payments in cash, so that
Sansevero's name should not appear on the checks.
But Christopher Shayne was more than skeptical about the duke's
disinterestedness. "There is a rake-off for this one somewhere," he
thought. He also thought that for once he had been mistaken in his
judgment of character. Sansevero had been, in his opinion, a man who
would sooner starve than defraud the government. So strongly did he
believe this that although he had, as the duke knew, long coveted the
Raphael, he would never have dared to approach Sansevero.
After the duke had gone Shayne went out and personally sent a code cable
announcing his purchase.
"Well," he said to himself, "it's no business of mine. But duke or no
duke, he is a slick one. I don't like him. I can tell, though, whether
it is the Sansevero picture as soon as I lay my eyes on it--but what
gets me is that the prince chose such a go-between. Why didn't he come
to me direct?" He didn't puzzle over that long, however; planning to get
the picture out of Italy occupied his attention. An excellent idea
presented itself: some furniture ordered by his firm should carry it in
a sofa, and his partner should be advised by cipher letter to remove the
picture. J. B. Randolph would buy it, without doubt--no need to tell him
how it came into Shayne & Co.'s hands. They could swear they bought it
in London. Plausible stories of masterpieces discovered in out of the
way corners were easily enough manufactured. So these thoughts all being
to his utmost satisfaction, he went whistling down the street.
The Duke Scorpa at the same time was being driven cheerfully homeward.
That had been a stroke, that idea of pretending he was merely the
intermediary. He had got the picture for a loan of one hundred thousand,
and had one hundred and fifty thousand clear profit. There was nothing
to show his transaction with Sansevero. No money had passed between
them, not even a scrap of paper. He had torn up the prince's I. O. U.,
and that was all the evidence there had been. Christopher Shayne,
besides, was a shrewd man and reliable, and one who never had been
caught in a questionable transaction. To be sure, Scorpa had given
Sansevero his word (but again there was no proof), that he would let
him retrieve the picture at an advanced price that should be merely the
accrued compound interest on the money lent. In case of his being able
to reclaim it, Scorpa would pretend that the picture was burnt or
stolen--time enough to cross bridges when he came to them. But that
chance was beyond all probability. There was no way for Sansevero ever
to secure enough money to get back the picture--unless, indeed, his
younger brother Giovanni should marry the great American heiress who was
on her way to Italy for the winter.
"I hardly think that likely," said the Duke Scorpa to himself, as he
stroked his heavy chin with his fat hand, "for I intend to annex that
little fortune myself."