They drove back and forth across town, working their way slowly uptown. Half an hour passed before they arrived at the rear door of the gallery, precisely on time. Berman got out of the car, walked a few steps away, and checked up and down the block. He came back to the car and opened the door.
“Looks okay,” he said to Stone.
Stone hustled Sarah across the sidewalk and through the door, which Edgar Bergman was holding open. Berman removed a traffic cone from a reserved space, parked the car, and took up his position at the rear door of the gallery.
“Anything unusual happen today?” Stone asked Bergman.
Bergman shook his head. “No, except we got a lot of acceptances after the Times piece appeared.”
“Did you know them all?”
“Most of them were people to whom invitations had been sent; a few were other dealers. I suppose half a dozen of them were people I didn’t know or had never heard of.”
“We’ll want to pay particular attention to those, as they enter.”
“I’ll speak to the receptionist,” Bergman replied.
They entered the gallery, which was empty of guests, so far. “Everything looks wonderful, Sarah,” Stone said. “Will you excuse me for just a moment? I’d like to talk with Edgar and his receptionist.”
They walked to the desk at the front door, and Stone was introduced to the young woman who sat behind it and to Bergman’s wife.
“Here’s how I plan to work it,” Bergman said. “My wife and I will be near the door, greeting the guests as they enter. If someone comes in whom I don’t know, I’ll simply turn and look at you and nod. Is that all right?”
“That’s very good,” Stone said. “I won’t be far away.”
“This is already nerve-wracking,” Bergman said.
“I’m sure everything will be all right; there are two policemen in the street and my man at the back door.” Stone looked toward the display of paintings, walked over, and examined one he particularly liked. He came back to Bergman. “How much is number thirty-six?” he asked.
Bergman consulted the catalogue. “That’s six thousand dollars; it’s one of the smaller pieces.”
“Please mark it sold,” Stone said, handing a credit card to the receptionist.
“I’d be delighted.”
“Which two did Mr. Bianchi buy?”
“Why, number…” Bergman looked startled. “How did you know that? The transaction was done under the strictest confidence. He would be very upset if he thought I had told anyone.”
“It was just a guess; I had dinner with him last night, and he mentioned Sarah’s work.”
“I see,” Bergman said, looking relieved. “He bought numbers six—over there by the flowers—and number fourteen, the big one in the center of the north wall.”
“He has a keen eye,” Stone said, looking at the paintings.
“Yes, he does, and I hope you’ll hold that transaction in the strictest confidence. He’s been a good customer for a long time, and I have no wish to alienate him.”
“Of course,” Stone replied. He looked up and saw Dino coming through the door in a tuxedo. “Don’t you look dapper?” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dino replied. “I talked to Anderson and Kelly outside. Is anybody on the back door?”
“Bob Berman; he’s driving us.”
“Okay”
Stone explained the procedure for identifying guests the Bergmans didn’t know.
“I guess we’ve got it covered,” Dino said. “You nervous?”