Hammond Innes - Solomons Seal

‘Can you describe them for me?’

I did so, and he said, ‘Good. That confirms what I have been told, that these are die proofs of the Solomons Seal. Kindly do not dispose of them until I have had the opportunity to view and put in a bid. I will call at your office in Chelmsford tomorrow afternoon, say, three o’clock. Please have the stamps available then.’ And before I could say anything more, he put the phone down.

I sat there for a moment, thinking back over the conversation, still annoyed by his manner and the inferences he had drawn. But for all I knew the valuation might be too low, particularly for the Trinidad ship stamp. I reached for the phone again and dialled Tubby’s number. Fortunately he was at home, and his voice sounded cheerful as he said, ‘She’s accepted, has she? I’m probably paying over the odds, but-’

‘No, she hasn’t accepted,’ I told him. ‘She’s gone off somewhere, leaving no address, and now there’s somebody else showing an interest.’

‘Who?’

‘A man called Berners. A dealer.’

‘I see.’ His cheerfulness had suddenly evaporated. ‘So you want the collection back?’

‘He’s coming in to see it tomorrow.’ And I told him briefly what the man had said, adding, ‘It appears your profession is not so gentlemanly, after all.’

‘Berners is not exactly typical,’ he growled. There was a pause. ‘You want to pick up the stamps right away, do you?’

‘I think it would be best. I’m not a stamp dealer, and I didn’t like his attitude.’

‘All right.’ I was just about to ring off when he added, ‘I was going to phone you this evening anyway. Something very odd has come to light. Tell you about it when I see you.’

That evening the traffic was particularly heavy, and by the time I reached Woodham Ferrers I was running short of time. Tubby’s cottage overlooked the Crouch, and when I finally got there, I found he had some half-dozen pages from the collection laid out on his desk and there was a pile of books with markers in them stacked to one side. ‘You in a hurry?’ he asked as he poured me a whisky. ‘I could knock up an omelette later, or we could go down to the pub for a bite if you doubt my cooking.’

‘Is this going to take long?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got a client coming to see me at seven. I mustn’t keep him waiting.’

He sighed. ‘No, it won’t take long, Roy. Come over to the desk here and see what I’ve dug up about this collection.’ He switched on an Anglepoise lamp. ‘Newfoundland and Western Australia. That’s what was puzzling you, wasn’t it? I spotted it at once, of course, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure. I’m not sure yet, not really. How the hell did he manage to get hold of the dies? Or did he choose the designs and employ an engraver to copy them?’ He reached for the page that showed proofs of the frame and centre of the stamp separately. The seal first. Now that, unless I can’t tell a copy from the original, is the seal from the American Bank Note Company’s printing of the Newfoundland 1865 five cent brown.’ He picked up the Gibbons catalogue from the top of the pile on his desk, opening it at a marker. ‘There’s the picture of it, under the Codfish two cent stamp. Seal-on-Icefloe. Now compare that with the die proof. Same shape, same background, same blank area of white representing the icefloe. Agreed?’

‘Looks the same.’ But I hadn’t called on him for a lecture on stamp design. ‘Who is this man Berners?’ I asked.

‘I’ll come to him in a moment,’ he said impatiently. ‘Just concentrate on this now.’ He selected another page from the collection. ‘Here is an example of the stamp itself — a five cent blue, the edges rouletted, not perforated. It was issued in 1876, and like the two previous issues, it was printed in New York by the American Bank Note Company. Nice condition, too, except that it’s stuck down tight and the original gum lost. Worth, I suppose, a tenner or so, but if it had been the five cent brown of 1865, it would have been worth a lot more.’ He looked up at me, smiling. ‘Like angling, isn’t it, the big fish always just out of reach.’

He turned to the end of the catalogue. ‘Now take a look at the frame. This is less obvious, but I’m pretty certain it’s the Perkins Bacon design for the first Western Australian stamp, the black one penny of 1854.’ He held the catalogue under the light so that I could see. ‘Almost square, but slightly rectangular, with a sort of four-leaf-clover-shaped cross in each corner. The words “Western Australia” on the two sides, “Postage” at the top and “One Penny” at the bottom.’ He placed the page with the die proof alongside the illustration so that I could compare it. ‘The die proof omits the words, of course. Presumably they were to be included, together with the value, in the roller die from which they would prepare the final plate before going to press.’

‘Any idea what the words would have been?’ I asked.

‘No, I haven’t been able to find that out. Not yet.’ He put the page back on the desk and closed the catalogue. ‘You might ask Arnold Berners that. He was the dealer who purchased the cover I mentioned in my letter, so he will know.’

‘Why didn’t you contact him then?’

He gave a little shrug, smiling at me. ‘I’m a collector as well as a dealer. No point in alerting the opposition when you’ve made up your mind you want a thing.’

‘That’s not very ethical when you’ve been asked for a valuation.’ I didn’t tell him I was behaving just as badly, trying to raise his offer without telling him.

‘Perhaps not, but my offer was fair, even generous. I doubt he’ll offer more. Anyway, he operates from Switzerland. Presumably he came over for last week’s Harmer’s auction and stayed on to see some of his clients,’ And he added on a note of envy, ‘The little bastard has managed to get his hands on some of the Arab oil money.’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘No, none of us do. Operating out of Switzerland with clients like that, he can outbid us any time he wants. But mostly he buys privately. Two months ago he acquired a unique collection of Japanese Malayan Occupation stamps for a figure that is believed to have been in the region of eighteen thousand pounds. That’s a hell of a price, but then he’s like a professional burglar — he never grabs anything unless he knows he has a market.’ He was gazing down at the pages of the collection left out on his desk. ‘I can’t match him if he’s got a wealthy client interested in this. Did he say he had a client interested?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded, and there was a trace of wistfulness in his voice as he said, ‘Probably the same one he sold the cover to. I wonder what he charged the poor devil for that? A lot more than the two hundred and twenty pounds he paid for it at auction, I’ll bet.’ And he added, ‘It carried the only example of this very odd stamp in existence. What do you suppose happened to the others? Went down with the ship, eh?’ He shook his head. ‘And I don’t even know what the finished label looks like. There was no illustration of it in the auction catalogue. Josh dug it out for me. It just said: Cover with unrecorded ship label in deep blue with Port Moresby cancellation dated 17 July, 1911, also Australia 1909-11 Postage Due 2d. cancelled at Cooktown. Some stains, otherwise fine, unusual. The estimated value was fifty pounds plus.’

‘Berners referred to it as the Solomons Seal,’ I said.

‘Did he now?’ He leaned forward and picked up the page containing the proof of the entire stamp. ‘So that’s one more piece of the jigsaw fallen into place. Presumably Holland’s ships operated out of the Solomon Islands. Anything else he told you?’