The Bellini Card

50

It was not until the evening that Alfredo called on Signor Brett.

“The viewing is arranged,” he said.

“Very well,” Palewski replied. “Tomorrow then. Eleven o’clock?”

Alfredo nodded slowly. “Signor Brett, one thing I must explain,” he said, with a wince. “It is very Venetian, I’m sorry about it. The owner would like us to look at the portrait tonight, if possible. If you want some time to dress, it is no problem. I can wait. Afterward, we can take a gondola.”

Palewski sucked his teeth. “To be frank, Alfredo, I’d like to see the painting by daylight. At eight it will be almost dark.”

“Of course, signore, I understand.” Alfredo had his hat in his hand, and he began to turn it by the brim. “I think it will still be a very good opportunity to see the painting tonight. I would say, you can spend more time with it-alone, also, if you would like. It would be no problem. If you prefer for now, signore, I can wait for you downstairs.”

He got to his feet and gave a little bow.

Palewski blinked a couple of times and said, “Is something wrong?”

“No, signore,” Alfredo said emphatically. He spread out his hands. “I shall wait for you outside?”

“Give me five minutes,” Palewski said thoughtfully. When Alfredo had gone he adjusted his stock carefully in the mirror.

Damn, but he was so close!

He’d all but scripted the sultan’s speech. Now he murmured his own modest reply to the reflection in the glass. No credit for discovery… blah blah… painting of venerable ancestor… not from me… proud nation… day of deliverance… blah blah… your house among the greatest, and oldest, of friends… et cetera, et cetera…

Yashim had been right, as usual-tracking down the Bellini was the coup of the year. Abdulmecid would eat from his hand.

He sighed and pulled on his overcoat.