The auction was by special invitation only. Of those invited, most sent representatives. Per instruction, there was to be no online or telephone bidding.
The nondescript townhouse in London’s Mayfair had its own private entrance. Once the guests were assembled in the front drawing room, champagne flutes in hand, Dr Pierce entered through a side door. A covered easel sat on a raised platform at the front of the room. Eager eyes kept glancing towards it. Dr Pierce clapped her hands gathering everyone’s attention.
“Thank you for coming,” she told her assembled guests. “What I have for you is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to add to your private collections.” With a flourish, she threw back the cloth covering the easel. Gasps erupted around the room.
“One can only assume that the provenance is authentic?” a heavily accented voice enquired from the back of the room.
“Of course,” Dr Pierce answered. “I am starting the bidding at twenty million pounds.” A hand at the back of the room immediately shot up.
“Twenty-five million,” a woman to one side, counter-offered.
“Thirty million,” a man immediately called.
There was a collective intake of breath.
“Thirty-two,” the original bidder called.
Dr Pierce gave a satisfied smile.
The doors into the room were thrust open and uniformed and plainclothes police officers poured in. Dr Pierce had no time to react as Detective Inspector Marks joined her on the podium.
“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but this auction is concluded,” he announced.
Outside, from the shadows, Alex Knox watched as Dr Pierce was led, in handcuffs, to a waiting patrol car. Satisfied, he melted into the night and slowly walked away.
The End