“Who is calling?” he asked.
“He says his name is Maeterlinck—that will do—and that he has urgent news from Cerrejón—wherever that is—that has the potential to be a national emergency.”
His face drained of color, and he said, “Cerrejón? Are you certain? Well, what are you doing? Snap to and show him in at once! Then put on a pot of tea and meet us in the study.”
He whirled away. “Cerrejón!” I heard him exclaim softly. “Cerrejón!”
They were sitting by the fireplace, deep in conversation, when I returned with the tea. The man calling himself Maeterlinck glowered at me from underneath his heavy eyebrows, a look that did not escape Warthrop’s notice.
“It is quite all right, Maeterlinck. Will can be trusted.”
“Forgive me, Dr. Warthrop, but the fewer involved the better for all involved.”
“I trust the boy with my very life—he can be trusted in this.”
“Hmm.” Maeterlinck scowled. “Very well, but I do not like it. He hasn’t much manners.”
“What sixteen-year-old does? Come, have some tea. One sugar or two?”
I sat on the divan across from them and did the thing I did best, the tactic I had adopted since coming to live with him, out of self-preservation: blending into the woodwork. In a few moments I don’t think either of them remembered I was there.
“Of course,” the monstrumologist said, “you must understand that your story strikes me as extraordinarily far-fetched, sir. There has not been a sighting in nearly a hundred years.”
“For a good reason,” Maeterlinck countered. “I don’t pretend to be an expert in your field, Dr. Warthrop. I am no philosopher of natural history; I am a businessman. My client referred you to me. He said, ‘Go to Warthrop; he will authenticate the find. There is none better.’ ”
“Very true,” the doctor said, nodding gravely. “There is no one better. And nothing would delight me more than to authenticate it. The only hindrance is that you have failed to produce it!”
Maeterlinck shooed aside the objection with a patrician wave. “It would not be wise to carry it about like a traveling salesman. It is quite close by, quite safe, and quite taken care of, in the manner prescribed by my client in order to preserve its fragile, shall we say, potential. If we can reach an agreement, I can have it to you within the half hour.”
Warthrop’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think, as a businessman, it makes better sense to have the goods on hand that you wish to sell? For even if I agree to a price, you won’t see a penny until I see it.”
“Then I shall ask you, Dr. Warthrop, are we agreed?”
Warthrop frowned. “Agreed?”
“You will take delivery upon our reaching a fair price.”
“I will take delivery when and only when I’m assured you aren’t a scoundrel trying to separate me from my money.”
Maeterlinck threw back his head and laughed heartily. “My client warned me you were tight with a dollar,” he said after catching his breath. Then he grew serious. “You do understand, sir, that there are a dozen men who would gladly fork over their weight in gold for it—well, who would sell their own daughters for it, truth be told. Men who are the furthest thing from a natural philosopher as you can get. I could bring my offer to one of those men . . .”
“Yes, you could,” the monstrumologist said, becoming very still in his chair. He was furious, but his guest had no inkling of it. The more emotional Warthrop became, the less emotion he revealed. “A living specimen would be worth twice the fattest person’s weight in gold and then some. It would also bring upon this continent a scourge more devastating than the plagues of yore sent down to teach the Egyptians a lesson.”
“And surely no one wants that!”
Warthrop rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then said, “For the sake of argument, I will assume that you have it in your possession and this is not some elaborate hoax. What is your price?”
“Not my price, Doctor. My client’s price. As his broker, I will receive a modest commission. Five percent.”
“And that is . . . ?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
Warthrop barked out a laugh. “That is his price?”
“No, Dr. Warthrop. That is my commission.”
Warthrop was better at math than I. He had the answer quickly: “One million dollars?”
Maeterlinck nodded. He actually licked his lips. He smiled, as if he found Warthrop’s stunned expression amusing.
“It’s worth three times that to the men we’ve been talking about,” Maeterlinck pointed out. “Even at two million it would be a bargain, Doctor. One million is a steal.”
Warthrop was nodding. “I agree it has all the characteristics of a theft.”
He rose from his chair. He towered over Maeterlinck, who seemed to shrink before my eyes, dwindling down to a nub of his regal self, like a bit of kindling thrown into a crackling fire.
“Out!” Warthrop roared, his self-control slipping. “Get out, get out, get out and do it now, at once, with all alacrity, you despicable scoundrel, you perfidious, pretentious rascal, before I toss you out on your avaricious ass! Science is not some two-penny whore for your buying and selling, nor are those who practice it patsies and fools—well, not all of them, anyway, or at least not this one. I do not know who sent you—if anyone sent you—but you may tell your client that Warthrop will not take the bait. Not because the asking price is too high—which, by the way, it is—but because he does not bargain with self-important, half-witted swindlers who believe, unwisely, that a student of aberrant biology would be ignorant of aberrance of the human kind!” He turned to me, eyes burning with righteous indignation. “Will Henry, show this . . . this . . . salesman to the door. Good day to you, sir—and good riddance!”
He stormed from the room, into which a distinctly uncomfortable silence descended.
“Actually, I expected a counteroffer,” Maeterlinck confessed quietly. I noticed his hands were shaking.
“It wasn’t the asking price,” I said. The doctor could easily afford it. “It’s an enormous sum to bandy about with no product to justify it.”
“I thought we could negotiate as gentlemen.”