A Crossworder's Holiday Read Online Free Page A

Stagily, Rosco thought. “You know the French painter Corot, do you not?”
    Rosco nodded; Belle, with her eyes still on the crossword, also signaled assent.
    â€œWell, the jest,” Drake continued, “if one might call it that—is that in the artist’s lifetime he executed some four hundred landscape paintings … eight hundred of which are right here in the United States.”
    Rosco stared, perplexed, then said, “Obviously an artist, and not a mathematician.”
    â€œQuite. You see, not all of those evocative oils signed Jean Baptiste Camille Corot are the genuine article. Many thousands, nay, millions of dollars have been frittered away on worthless canvases! Not only by Corot, but many others. As I told your wife earlier, a collector requires implicit faith in the person purveying a work of art.”
    â€œAre you saying your career would be ruined if Hyde-Hare tricked you?” Rosco asked.
    Drake’s answer was a weary: “Forgers are brilliant creatures; they give bronzes a patina of age; marble statuary can be ‘distressed’; worm holes are added to wood … The techniques are myriad, and the criminal mind endlessly inventive. We, who count ourselves experts, must be able to discern the genuine from the sham. If not, well …”
    â€œWhat does Hyde-Hare gain by this yearly ‘auction’?” Rosco asked.
    â€œThe money from the auction goes to a charitable institution—a considerable boon for the fortunate recipient. Other than that, the event is a form of entertainment for a fellow who enjoys amusing himself over the foibles of human behavior. Timothy, well, how can I put this tactfully? You are familiar with the Bard?” Drake didn’t wait for a reply, but instead quoted: “‘As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport.’ Lear …”
    Belle was only partially aware of this exchange. Words in the puzzle had begun to leap out at her: Risk, Espy, Snare . But who was at risk? Who should beware of the snare? She put down the crossword. “I’m afraid I’m momentarily stumped,” she lied. “Do you mind if I take a breather, and finish later this afternoon?”
    Drake’s face reddened. “Of course … If you must … Don’t want you exhausting yourself, my dear.” The words tumbled from him in a staccato rush.
    The three stood, Drake awkwardly attempting to pull back Belle’s chair while she, as eagerly, tried to avoid further contact.
    â€œI’ll drop this at the hotel when I’m done.” She forced another smile. “In a sealed envelope.”
    â€œGood of you. Very good of you, I’m sure. Very good of you both to donate your valuable time … I’ve made a reproduction on the hotel fax machine …” Sir Brandon added a small bow while Belle put the crossword in her purse, slipping it inside her copy of Moby Dick . She and Rosco turned to leave, then Rosco posed another question. “You’re certain none of your companions received a clandestine message last night?”
    â€œNo one was supplied with any article other than that which he or she had ‘purchased.’”
    â€œDid you ask them?”
    â€œI had no need to query anyone, Mr. Polycrates … I’ve spent more than half of my life in auction houses, and have become a keen observer of human quirks and feints. When a competitor seeks to bid against me surreptitiously, I recognize the action immediately.”
    Belle added nothing to this exchange. Risk, Espy, Snare , her brain repeated. “I’ll bring you the finished crossword this afternoon, Sir Brandon,” she said instead.
    â€œH E ’ S guilty of something, I’ll put money on it,” Rosco pronounced as he and Belle—without Brandon Drake’s company—finished a leisurely lunch.
    â€œYou don’t like him because you think he’s