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“A follower of Canaletto,” declared Fleury.
“A very good one.”
“I thought so, too. I acquired it only last week.”
“From where?”
“A private collection.” The Frenchman treated Anna to a watery smile. “In Switzerland.”
Gabriel leaned closer to the canvas. “How certain are you about the attribution?”
“Why do you ask?”
Because the painting, at just 56 by 78 centimeters, was easily transportable. Especially if it were to be removed from its stretcher. “Do you think Bruno mislaid the condition report for this one, too?”
“I’m afraid the painting is already spoken for.”
“Is there no way Madame Rolfe can make a competitive bid?”
“I’ve already accepted the buyer’s money.”
“Is he a dealer or a collector?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because if he’s a dealer, I’d be interested in taking it off his hands.”
“I can’t reveal his identity. The terms of the sale are entirely private.”
“Not for long,” said Gabriel knowingly.
“What do you mean, monsieur?”
“Let’s just say I get a funny feeling when I look at this painting.” He snapped a photograph of it. “Perhaps you should show us the good pictures now, Monsieur Fleury.”
