“Sticky, sticky,” murmured Nutley, shaking his head.
Still neither the Brazilian nor his solicitor made any sign. The agents were evidently unwilling to show their hands; then a little man began to bid on behalf of an American standing at his elbow: “Thirteen thousand guineas.”
This stirred the agents, and between them all the bidding crackled up to eighteen thousand. Mr. Webb, judging that the American was probably good for twenty or twenty-five, and wishing to entice the Brazilian into competition, said in the same resigned tone, “I am unwilling to withdraw this lot, but I am afraid we cannot afford to waste time in this fashion.”
“Make it twenty, sir,” called out the American, “and let’s get a move on.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Webb, in the midst of a laugh. “I am bid twenty thousand guineas for Lot 16, twenty thousand guineas are bid ... and five hundred on my right ... twenty-one thousand on my left ... thank you again, sir: twenty-two thousand guineas. Twenty-two thousand guineas. Surely no one wishes to see this lot withdrawn? Twenty-two thousand guineas. And five hundred. And two hundred and fifty more. Twenty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty guineas....”
“Twenty-three thousand,” said the solicitor who had come with the Brazilian.
People craned forward now to see and to hear. The Brazilian had been generally pointed out as the most likely buyer, and until he or his man took up the bidding it could be disregarded as preliminary. The small fry of the agents served to run it up into workable figures, after which it would certainly pass beyond them. The duel, it was guessed, would lie between the American and the Brazilian.
“Twenty-four thousand,” called out one of the agents in a sort of dying flourish.
“And five hundred,” said another, not to be outdone.
“Twenty-five thousand,” said the Brazilian’s solicitor.