The Eighth Commandment Read Online Free Page A

laid before me by Orson Vanwinkle as if it was the pièce de résistance of a cordon bleu chef. If he had popped off a domed cover and shouted, “Voila!,” I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
    There it was, all by its lonesome, the Demaretion centered in its own case.
    No mistaking it: a chunky silver dekadrachm, about the size of an American half-dollar. On the obverse, a trotting quadriga with a standing charioteer. Nike flies above, crowning the horses. Below, a lion springs. On the reverse, four dolphins swim about the profile of Artemis, who wears an olive wreath.
    I am not going to tell you this is the most beautiful of all ancient Greek coins—in my opinion, it is not—but it is lovely enough, with crisp minting (the horses’ legs are especially well done), and, of course, its rarity adds to its allure. That, and the romantic story of how the Demaretion came to exist. But I’ll tell you about that later.
    I looked up from my examination to find Archibald Havistock examining me. Again, that distant smile…
    “Do you like it?” he asked in his deep rumble.
    “It’s splendid!” I burst out. “Up to now I’ve only seen it in photos—but they don’t do it justice.”
    He nodded. “It’s perfection. I bought it thirty years ago, paying more than I could afford at the time. But I had to have it.”
    Thus speaketh the true collector. They’ll sell their mothers to possess something you or I might think a bauble or an incomprehensible daub of paint on canvas. But in this case I agreed with the owner; the Demaretion was a treasure.
    I left shortly after, promising Mr. Havistock he would have an appraisal from Grandby & Sons within a week, including recommended reserve values. (When the final bid is lower than these floor prices, the items are removed from auction.)
    I was conducted down that gloomy corridor to the front door by Orson Vanwinkle, who insisted on shaking my hand in parting, holding it just a wee bit too long in his clammy grasp. I will not say the man was slimy, but I believe he might have laughed at a homeless dog in the rain.
    I went back to my office and set to work. I saw at once that attempting to auction 497 individual coins would be too time-consuming—and counterproductive. A better method would be to divide the coins into lots by period: Archaic, Classical, and Hellenistic, and by country of origin: Gaul, Spain, Sicily, Britain, etc. (Those ancient Greeks got around!)
    After dividing the bulk of the coins into lots which I thought might attract specialized collectors, I withheld fourteen items to be sold individually. Including the Demaretion, of course. I then started estimating reserve and top values of each lot and the fourteen individual coins. It took me four days.
    While I was laboring, Hobart Juliana returned to our lair from Virginia with fascinating tales of life amongst the gentry. We went out to lunch together, and I told him about the Havistock Collection, the biggest appraisal I had ever handled. Hobie was even more excited than I.
    “Dunk, that’s marvelous!” he enthused. “If you can bring it off, it’ll mean mucho dinero for the house and probably a raise for you.”
    “Not a chance,” I said gloomily. “If I can win it, Madam Dodat will take all the credit.”
    “No way!” he said determinedly, shaking his head. “You happen to be sharing an office with the best little rumormonger at Grandby and Sons. You bring in the Havistock Collection, and I’ll make sure everyone in the place, including god, knows that it was due to your talent, intelligence, perseverance, and keen, analytical judgment.”
    I laughed and gripped his hand. It was good to have someone on my side, rooting for me. In other circumstances we might have…Oh, well, why talk about it.
    I went in early and stayed late every night. Then went home, thawed and ate a “gourmet” dinner, and went to bed. I wrestled with the sheets, my brain churning, and finally fell asleep dreaming of drachms