“Not likely,” Norman said. He would have been too loud, but the carpet sucked his voice right out of the air. “A hundred five, that had to hurt.”

The victor had wounds to nurse, but the battle was past.

“One hundred five. Any other bid? Going once, twice.” A pause. “Sold. Lot sixty sold for one hundred five thousand dollars. Next will be lot sixty-one, a Tiffany lamp. Bidding will open at fifteen hundred. Do I see fifteen hundred?”

“What was that?” Norman said. “Fifty was way over the line! A hundred grand? Now that was crazy!”

Ripples of conversation troubled the surface but that was all; the deeps were now still.

“There must be a reason,” Charles murmured. The room was filled with murmuring.

“I’d like to know what reason. Twenty-five thousand for the desk and eighty thousand for the reason.”

“Thirty-two hundred. Any other bid? Going once, twice, sold. Lot sixty-one for three thousand two hundred dollars. Next will be lot sixty-two, a marble table. Bidding will open at three thousand. Do I see three thousand?”

“So we’re back to normal,” Norman said. “Thirty-two hundred’s high, but just a little. I guess when people fly in from up northeast and from the coast, they don’t want to go home empty-handed.”

“It’s a large collection,” Charles said. “It would pull people in from all over.”

“I wish they’d stayed back where they came from. But if it’s even just the dealers he bought stuff from, it could be this many people. The guy bought all over the place. All I wanted to do was buy back the stuff I sold him.”

“Yes. I think you mentioned that.”

“But it’s all going too high. I’m not going to spend more on a lamp than I can sell it for. At least that blond lady is gone.”

She was.

“I do wonder who she was,” Charles said.

“Just as long as she’s not here to bid on anything I want. Not that I’m getting anything anyway. A hundred grand for a desk! It’s crazy.”