The Gilded Seal Read Online Free PDF

his eyes narrowing as if he
    was again lining her up in his rifl e’s crosshairs.
    “Because, Lord Hudson, I’m guessing you didn’t ask me
    up here just to show me a painting.”
    “You see?” Green smiled. “I told you she was good.”
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    “Don’t worry about Anthony.” Cole clapped Hudson on
    the back. “You just hit a nerve, that’s all.”
    “Show Agent Browne the catalog,” Green suggested.
    “That’ll explain why.”
    Cole flicked open the catches on his monogrammed Louis
    Vuitton briefcase and extracted a loosely bound color docu-
    ment that he handed to Jennifer.
    “This is the proof of the catalog for our auction of nine-
    teenth and twentieth-century art in Paris in a few months’
    time. A Japanese conglomerate, a longstanding client of ours,
    has asked us to include a number of paintings in the sale.
    One in partic ular, stands out.” He nodded at the document.
    “Lot 185.”
    Jennifer thumbed through the pages until she came to the
    lot mentioned by Cole. There was a short description of the
    item and an estimate of three hundred thousand dollars, but it
    was the picture that immediately grabbed her attention. She
    looked up in surprise.
    “It’s the same painting,” she exclaimed.
    “Exactly,” Hudson growled. “Someone’s trying to rip us
    off. And this time, we’ve bloody well caught them with their
    hand in the till.”
    “This time?”
    “Both Lord Hudson and Mr. Cole believe that this isn’t an
    isolated incident,” Green explained solemnly.
    “And that, Agent Browne,” Cole added, suddenly serious,
    “is why we asked you up here.”
    C H A P T E R T H R E E
    DRUMLANRIG CASTLE, SCOTLAND
    18th April— 12:07 p.m.
    It seemed less a castle than a mausoleum to Tom; a place of
    thin shadows, cloaked with a funereal stillness, where
    muffled footsteps and snatched fragments of hushed conver-
    sations echoed faintly along the cold and empty corridors.
    It was an impression that the furnishings did little to dis-
    pel, for although the cavernous rooms were adorned with a
    rich and varied assortment of tapestries, gilt-framed oil paint-
    ings, marble- topped chests, rococo consoles and miscella-
    neous objets d’art , closer inspection revealed many of them
    to be worn, dusty and neglected.
    “This place reminds me of an Egyptian tomb,” Tom whis-
    pered. “You know, stuffed full of treasure and servants and
    then sealed to the outside world.”
    “It’s a family home,” Dorling reminded him. “The Dukes
    of Buccleuch have lived here for centuries.”
    “I wonder if they’ve ever really lived here or just tended it,
    like a grave?”
    “Why don’t you ask them? That’s the Duke and his son,
    the Earl of Dalkieth,” Dorling hissed as they walked past an
    old man being supported by a younger one. Both men nod-
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    2 7
    ded at them solemnly as they passed by, their faces etched
    with a mournful, almost reproachful look that made Tom feel
    as though he had invaded the privacy of an intimate family
    occasion. “Poor bastards look like somebody died.”
    “That’s probably how it feels,” said Tom sympathetically.
    “Like somebody who has been a member of their family for
    two hundred and fifty years has suddenly dropped down
    dead.”
    “It’s much worse than that,” Dorling corrected him, eye-
    brows raised playfully. “It’s like they’ve died and left eighty
    million quid to the local cat’s home.”
    The hall had been sealed off; a square-shouldered con-
    stable was standing guard. From behind him came the oc-
    casional white flash and mechanical whir of a police
    photographer’s camera. Tom felt his chest tighten as they
    stepped closer, Dorling’s words echoing in his head: “He’s
    left you something.”
    The disturbing thing was that Milo and he had always had a
    very simple agreement to just keep out of each other’s way. So
    something serious must have happened for Milo to break