Murder on the Celtic by Conrad Allen Read Free Book Online

puzzled, “why did he agree to part with them?”
    â€œHe didn’t,” said Spurrier. “It was his widow who sold them to me. When her husband died she had no need of the library and so she contacted me. It was a happy coincidence.”
    â€œCoincidence?”
    â€œYes. I’d actually sold two of the books at auction in London to this particular collector. His wife had my business card. I was able to buy back the two books — both by Diderot, as it happens — along with several others. That library was a treasure trove.”
    â€œI had no idea there was so much money in old books.”
    â€œThe older, the better,” Spurrier told him, “though they don’t necessarily have to be centuries old. The trick is to spot an author who has great promise early in his career. Then you lay down first editions of his work like fine wine and wait for their value to grow. Look at Charles Dickens, for instance,” he said, warming to his theme. “Anyone with a copy of
The Pickwick Papers
in its original serial form would be able to sell it for vastly more than was paid for it when the magazines first came out. Good authors are excellent investments.”
    â€œSo it seems,” said Lowbury, genuinely interested. “I started out as a stockbroker and I thought I knew the market, but it never occurred to me to put money into books. I always went for a quicker return. But you say that the profit margins are attractive?”
    â€œVery attractive — if you pick the right books.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œYou’ve a perfect example on this very ship,” said Spurrier,looking around. “Somewhere in here is the famous British author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”
    â€œI’ve never heard of him,” admitted Jane.
    â€œYes, you have,” corrected Lowbury. “Sherlock Holmes.”
    â€œOh, did he write those books?”
    â€œAnd lots of others,” said Spurrier. “He has an international reputation. The early Sherlock Holmes stories were published in
The Strand Magazine.
Copies of those editions have already appreciated markedly in value. Sir Arthur’s work is a target for collectors now.”
    â€œYou live and learn,” said Lowbury. “Thank you, Mr. Spurrier. If you have your business card on you, I’d be grateful to have one. It may be that Jane and I can visit your auction room while we’re in London. Not that we’re interested in old French books, mind you,” he added with a smile, “but china is a different matter.”
    â€œWe always have plenty of that,” said Spurrier, taking a card from his waistcoat pocket and handing it over. “In ten days’ time, everything that I bought in New York will be auctioned. It would be rather ironic if you bid for something that had already crossed the Atlantic once.”
    â€œOh, we aim to settle in England in due course.”
    â€œYes,” added Jane. “One of the reasons we’re going is to look for a house where we can live one day. David is used to it, but I find New York so brash and crowded. I come from a small town in Connecticut.”
    â€œJane fell in love with those paintings by Constable,” said her husband fondly. “I keep telling her that it may not actually be like that in Suffolk, but she insisted that we at least take a look.”
    â€œYou won’t be disappointed,” said Spurrier.
    Throughout the meal, conversation between the three of them ebbed and flowed. Frank Spurrier spoke to the people on either side of him — David and Jane Lowbury also chatted with theirimmediate neighbors — but the Englishman always returned to the people directly opposite him. He found Jane quite charming, if a trifle gauche, and thought her husband an interesting character. Having studied the stock market keenly for years, Lowbury had made some lucrative investments on his own account. Instead of selling