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26
At first John Vogel treated the cornet as simply another restoration job. There was no rarity suggested by its design. There was nothing exceptional about its construction that would excite a collector. At the moment it could excite nobody. The valves were corroded and frozen closed; the brass was discolored by an odd sort of accumulated grime; and a foul, fishlike odor emanated from the mud that clogged the interior of its tubes.
Vogel decided the cornet was beneath him; he would turn it over to one of his assistants for the restoration. The exotics, those were the instruments that Vogel loved to bring back to their original newness the ancient Chinese and Roman trumpets, with the long, straight tubes and the ear-piercing tones; the battered old horns of the early jazz greats; the instruments with a piece of history attached-these, Vogel would repair with the patience of a watchmaker, toiling with exacting craftsmanship until the piece gleamed like new and played brilliantly clear tones.
He wrapped the cornet in an old pillowcase and set it against the far wall of his office.
The Executone on his desk uttered a soft bong. "Yes, Mary, what is it?"
"Admiral James Sandecker of the National Underwater and Marine Agency is on the phone." His secretary's voice scratched over the intercom like fingernails over a blackboard. "He says it's urgent."
"Okay, put him on." Vogel lifted the telephone. "John Vogel here."
"Mr. Vogel, this is James Sandecker."
The fact that Sandecker had dialed his own call and didn't bluster behind his title impressed Vogel.
"Yes, Admiral, what can I do for you?"
"Have you received it yet?"
"Have I received what?"
"An old bugle."
"Ah, the cornet," Vogel said. "I found it on my desk this morning with no explanation. I assumed it was a donation to the museum."
"My apologies, Mr. Vogel. I should have forewarned you, but I was tied up."
A straightforward excuse.
"How can I help you, Admiral?"
"I'd be grateful if you could study the thing and tell me what you know about it. Date of manufacture and so on."
"I'm flattered, sir. Why me?"
"As chief curator for the Washington Museum's Hall of Music, you seemed the logical choice. Also, a mutual friend said that the world lost another Harry James when you decided to become a scholar."
My God, Vogel thought, the President. Score another point for Sandecker. He knew the right people.
"That's debatable," Vogel said. "When would you like my report?"
"As soon as it's convenient for you."
Vogel smiled to himself. A polite request deserved extra effort. "The dipping process to remove the corrosion is what takes time. With luck, I should have something for you by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, Mr. Vogel," Sandecker said briskly. "I'm grateful."
"I
s there any information concerning how or where you found the cornet that might help me?"
"I'd rather not say. My people would like your opinions entirely without prompting or direction on our part."
"You want to compare my findings with yours, is that it?"
Sandecker's voice carried sharply through the earpiece. "We want you to confirm our hopes and expectations, Mr. Vogel, nothing more."
