Graham Masterton The Pariah

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took the trouble to identify the ships by name, he found that what he had on
his hands was the one and only contemporary painting of the Great Turk; and he
sold it to the Peabody for $55,000.'
I took another close look at the strange dark vessel in the background of the
painting I had just acquired. It didn't look particularly noteworthy, and the
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anonymous artist had painted no name on the prow. It was probably a figment of
the imagination, quickly sketched in to improve the painting's shaky
composition. Still, I would have a shot at identifying it, particularly if Mrs
Donohue said so. It was she who had told me to look for the gryphon's-head
maker's-mark on Rhode Island lanterns.
'If I make a million out of it,' I told her, as she expertly wrapped it up,
Til cut you in for five percent.'
'Fifty percent or nothing, you rascal,' she laughed.
I left the auction-rooms with the painting under my arm. The remaining
pictures I had bought - etchings and aquatints and a small collection of steel
engravings -would be delivered to me later in the week. I only wished I had
been able to afford the Shaw.
Outside, as I crossed the steps in front of Endicott's, the sun was already
eating away at the rooftops of the elegant old Federal mansions on Chestnut
Street, and a low cold wind had got up. Oddly, the same pale-faced secretary I
had seen in Red's Sandwich Shop walked past, in a long black coat and a gray
scarf. She turned and looked at me but she didn't smile.
Down by the curb, I caught sight of lan Herbert, the proprietor of one of
Salem's most distinctive antique shops, talking to one of the directors of
Endicott's. lan Herbert's shop was all soft carpeting and hushed discus-
sion and artistically-positioned spot-lights. He didn't even call it a shop:
it was a 'resource'. But he wasn't snobbish when it came to talking trade, and
he gave me a casual wave as I approached.
'John,' he said, slapping me on the shoulder. 'You must know Dan Yokes, sales
director of Endicott's.'
'How do you do,' said Dan Yokes. 'Seems like you've been making me marginally
richer.' He nodded towards the package under my arm.
'It's nothing special,' I told him. 'Just an old watercolour of the shoreline
where I live. I got it for fifty dollars flat.'
'As long as you're satisfied with it,' smiled Dan Yokes.
'By the way,' said lan, 'you might be interested to know that they're selling
off some of the old maritime collection up at Newburyport museum. Interesting
artefacts; magical, some of them. For instance, did you know that most of the
old Salem ships used to carry a little brass cage on board, with a dish of
oats inside, to trap goblins and demons?'
'I could use a couple of those in my accounts department,' said Dan Yokes.
'I'm going to have to get back to Granitehead,' I told them, and I was about
to walk away when my arm was snatched violently from behind, so hard that I
was spun around, and almost lost my balance. I found myself face-to-face with
a young bearded man in a gray tweed jacket, panting and agitated and
wild-haired from running.
'What the hell goes on?' I snapped at him.
'I'm sorry,' he gasped. 'Really, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Are
you Mr Trenton - Mr John Trenton of Granitehead?'
That's me. Who the hell are you?'
'Please,' the young man said, 'I really didn't mean to upset you. But I didn't
want you to get away.'
'Listen, friend, take a walk,' said Dan Yokes, stepping closer. 'You're lucky
I don't call a cop.'
'Mr Trenton, I have to talk to you privately,' the young man urged me. 'It's
very important.'
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'Are you leaving or do I call a cop?' said Dan Yokes. 'This gentleman is a
personal friend of mine and I'm telling you to get out of here.'
'It's all right, Mr Yokes,' I told him. Til talk to him. I'll let out a
falsetto scream if he tries anything funny.'
lan Herbert laughed, and said, Til see you around, John. Drop into the store
one day.'
'You mean the "resource",' I ribbed him.
The young man in the tweed jacket waited for me impatiently while I said my
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