The Alwar Dagger

by euhal allen

conclusion

“Because, Malcox,” replied Sir Rupert, “if I were to offer the item to them they would suspect fraud of some sort and I would not have the Institute implicated in such things, even unjustly. That is not a goal of the Institute of Philatelic Science.”

“And just what is the goal of the Institute of Philatelic Science?”

“None of your business. You will make a nice profit and you can be happy with that. The business of the Institute is of no concern to you.”

“Sir Rupert, it is not my business to deal in stolen property. Buying the item from this staffer would certainly be possible only if he stole it from the Institute.”

“Not at all Malcox. Rheams has been elevated to the position of Artifact Inventory Officer and has the legal authority to sell items no longer needed by the Institute. This is an item that we, because we are expanding our collection in a new and quite different direction, no longer need and it is one that the Martio-Jovian people, who are the only ones who could afford it, will be most happy to acquire.”

“You will, of course, allow me to examine the item before I give you my answer?”

“But naturally,” was the reply.

* * *

Quorn Sulti, longtime head of the Martio-Jovian Philatelic Society, looked carefully into Malcox’s eyes, trying to see what was behind them. You say that you bought this from the Institute of Philatelic Science, from Sir Rupert’s gang of philatelic idiots? You bought this and you believe it to be genuine?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Malcox, “my information was the T. Percival Bombast had recently examined it and then left without saying anything to the public. I am sure that, had it been anything but what it is claimed to be, Bombast would have blasted it. If it weren’t genuine, he most certainly would have said so. You, of all people, know his reputation.”

Quorn, wincing, “Yes, I know his reputation too well. Very well, we will examine the specimen and get back to you in a day or two. That is, if you trust us enough to leave it with us.”

“The Martio-Jovian Society is well known for its fairness and honesty in dealing with legitimate others, Mr. Sulti. I am more than happy to have you keep the Dagger for examination.” With that Malcox passed over the case containing the stamp and got up to leave. “I shall call you again, say, in two days.”

“Two days will be fine, Mr. Malcox. We will have a definite answer for you at that time.”

* * *

Sir Rupert Ollney was ecstatic and his lilting voice and jaunty step were signs of that joy. “They fell for it; the Martio-Jovian people fell for it. We shall soon make them the laughingstock of the philatelic galaxy and the Institute of Philatelic Science, my institute, will be pre-eminent in the Philatelic world.”

“Sir,” Rheams asked, “should we not warn Mr. Malcox of the deception since his reputation will also rise or fall with this action? He did take our word for the authenticity of the Dagger, after all.”

“Rheams,” replied Sir Rupert, “in this galaxy you must fend for yourself. Malcox saw a way to make a good profit and took it. If it should work out not too well for him then, at least, he did make a good profit. That is what his kind lives for.”

* * *

It was a gala event with all the right people there. The unveiling of the famous Alwar Dagger was to happen in only minutes when Sir Rupert Ollney and T. Percival Bombast entered the Society’s great show room.

Quorn Sulti, whose duties also included the unpleasant welcoming of people such as Sir Rupert, made his way to the pair and gave a polite bow. “Welcome Sir Rupert. And it is a pleasure to see you again, T. Percival Bombast. I hope you find the event of the day worth your attention.”

Sir Rupert, grinning happily, answered, “Oh, I am quite sure that the “event of the day,” as you so expertly put it, will more than pay for our time and efforts to be here.”

T. Percival Bombast added, “I am quite excitedly looking forward to the unveiling of the Dagger.”

“Then,” said Quorn Sulti, “come this way and we will give you seats among our administrative members. That way you will be able to get the best and longest view of the stamp.”

* * *

Winding their way through the crowd, the three men soon found themselves at the covered display case. There, above the cover, the camera was poised to transfer the image of the stamp onto the large screen above the crowd. Seeing Quorn and the other two at the display case, the crowd, in anticipation of the prestigious event, became silent and attentive.

Quorn then took the microphone offered to him and addressed the audience, “Ladies and gentlemen, in just a short time we will unveil the Alwar Dagger. This is, indeed, a propitious moment for our Society, made even more so with the presence of Sir Rupert Ollney of the Institute for Philatelic Science and T. Percival Bombast, a recently recognized giant in the Philatelic World.”

Sir Rupert, smiling widely, bowed to the camera and, putting his arms behind his back, stepped a little closer to the display case. T. Percival Bombast, in the tradition of his people, merely gave a little wave of recognition of Quorn’s introduction of him.

Then, carefully and excitedly, the two assistants standing at the case, reached out and each grabbed a corner of the cover in readiness to remove it at Quorn’s nod of approval. The nod came and the cover was removed, allowing the camera to see the stamp and put its image on the screen. Sir Rupert’s grin, seeing that image, grew wider and just a little malevolent.

After allowing the crowd to ooh and aah for a sufficient length of time Sir Rupert stepped to the microphone and said, “Lovely issue, Chairman Sulti. Of course, it is a fraud, a counterfeit! A magnificent counterfeit, but a fake, nonetheless.”

Quorn Sulti, face reddening in anger, shouted, “Are you out of your mind, Sir Rupert? This item has been very thoroughly researched and there is no doubt in our minds that this issue is the genuine article.”

“I said that it was a magnificent fraud, Chairman Sulti, and it is. It could fool even the greatest expert. Ah, but look at the details of the stamp; “Look at it man! It is clearly a forgery of the quarter anna issue that was done on the first matrix stone.

“Don’t you see the point of the dagger, how it sweeps back to match the inner width of the handle. My dear, Sir, in the original, the blade width matched the outer width of the handle, and, a sure clincher, the inscription below it is much too small. Believe me or not, I am sure that T. Percival Bombast will back me up.”

T. Percival Bombast, looking at the stamp, said, “No, Sir Rupert, the issue is quite genuine. The stamp you have described is the forgery. You seem quite mixed up.”

Sir Rupert, realizing what was happening, lunged at T. Percival Bombast, his hands seeking a choke hold on the chubby little man. “You told me it was a fake. You caused us to sell it to these people.”

“Well, I suppose, that was the natural outcome of my last visit to your institute. Of course I said it was a fake. If you were the expert you have always claimed to be you would have been sure of the specimen. I wanted to see you defend your acquisition.

“Instead, you just took my word that it was a fake and dismissed the judgment of the very knowledgeable people you have working for you. Had you defended them, and yourself, I would have admitted my purpose and congratulated you on your fine research and knowledge in our field.

“As it was I felt able leave without telling you the truth about the issue. You, Sir Rupert, have proven yourself disloyal and a charlatan and, if I may say so, an idiot. The fees that you have paid me have been sent in your name to a home for wayward males on Elisse, your current home planet. I am quite sure that you will soon receive a most hearty thank you for your generosity.”

Then T. Percival Bombast, after giving Quorn Sulti a short bow, headed for the exit from the show room.

“Wait, T. Percival Bombast, I should be a terrible host if I didn’t at least offer you a drink before you go.” T. Percival Bombast nodded and was soon in the Society’s Administration Lounge with Quorn Sulti.

“Well, T. Percival Bombast, what should I fix for you?”

T. Percival Bombast replied, “A vodka on the rocks would do me fine, Chairman Sulti.”

“Really, that makes it easy. That is what my daughter, Sidris, drinks. Never liked that drink myself, but Sidris always said I do it just right.”

“Then,” replied T. Percival Bombast, “I shall look forward to enjoying it. Your daughter is not here, I understand. Off on a vacation or something, as daughters are liable to do?”

“No, she has been gone for several months now on some investigation for the Society, and I have not heard from her. Though I try not to know too much of what she is doing, since such investigations are often dangerous, I do worry about her.

“Still, it is better if I only want to find out about the danger after she is back and safe. When you have children, you know, you never stop being a parent.”

“Quite so, Chairman Sulti, Quite so.” Then, running his fingers around a seal on his neck, and removing his hat and face, T. Percival Bombast added, “That is why I love you, Daddy.”