The Chalon Heads

by Barry Maitland

  ‘The third note has arrived, and it involves your company, Mr Melville. I’d like to record your comments, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Oh, no, certainly.’

  ‘Let’s just establish who you are.’ Brock reached forward, pressed the switch on the recorder and made some introductory remarks. ‘Now, you are the general manager of Cabot’s, is that right?’

  ‘Not quite. I am Cabot’s manager, Early British and Colonies.’

  ‘Are you in charge of the auction that starts tomorrow?’

  ‘Our senior auctioneer, Christopher Conway, will be conducting the auctions, but much of the material will come through my department. The event is spread over three days, Saturday, Monday and Tuesday, with British Commonwealth stamps on Saturday, British only on Monday, and foreign on Tuesday. It is predominantly an auction of rare and classic stamps, so the first two days are essentially my responsibility. Our manager, Foreign, is running the third day.’

  ‘I see. Well, we have a problem that we would like to discuss with you, in confidence, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Melville took out a pair of glasses as Brock showed him the third note, read it quickly and then exploded, ‘But that’s utterly preposterous! Good heavens, Mr Starling, what can I say? I’m devastated!’

  ‘There are a number of things I don’t understand about this, Mr Melville,’ Brock went on. ‘Perhaps you could help us. First, tell us about lot fifteen.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness! Lot fifteen!’ Melville stared at him wide-eyed, then gazed in sympathy at Starling. ‘Lot fifteen, indeed!’

  ‘We’ve found the entry in the auction catalogue you gave us yesterday,’ Brock said. ‘What’s so special about it?’

  ‘You remember we spoke yesterday about the Chalon Head stamps, Chief Inspector? Such as the ones on the ransom notes. Well, this is the very first Chalon Head, from 1851. It is simply unique. Until nine months ago we didn’t even know it existed.’

  ‘And that’s significant?’

  ‘Oh, exceedingly.’

  ‘Could you give us a very brief summary of why that is? For the record?’

  ‘Well, now . . .’ Melville frowned, marshalling his thoughts. ‘The first adhesive postage stamp was issued eleven years before, in 1840. That was the famous British penny black, and it’s hard to imagine now what a radical invention it was, a uniform rate national postal system, prepaid by means of an adhesive token, which was cut off a sheet with scissors—later they added perforations for ease of tearing—and stuck to the letter. Since no other country had such a system, there was no need to put the name of the country on the stamp, which is why British stamps to this day are the only ones without the country’s name on them. But they do have the monarch’s head, and that goes right back to the penny black. The design of that stamp was based on a side-profile portrait of Queen Victoria, which was engraved by William Wyon for a medallion struck when Victoria came to the throne in 1837.

  ‘Now in that same year the artist Alfred Edward Chalon also made a portrait of the young Queen. He sketched her standing in her robes of state on the grand staircase of the House of Lords on the occasion of her first visit there, and from this sketch he painted three versions of a full-length portrait. One went to the Queen herself, another to the King of Prussia, and the third to the King of Portugal.’

  ‘Portugal?’ Brock said, glancing at Starling, who appeared not to hear. ‘That’s interesting. And that portrait was the basis of the Chalon Head stamps?’

  ‘That’s right. Instead of a profile portrait like the Wyon penny black design, it shows, as you know, the Queen’s head and shoulders almost frontally as she turns to view something off to her right. It was never used for a British stamp, but as colonies around the Empire began to bring out their own stamp designs, the Chalon portrait proved to be a favourite with a number of them. In all, eleven colonies produced Chalon stamps, beginning with Canada and Nova Scotia in 1851.

  ‘The Canadian post offices were part of the British system until that year, when they first issued their own stamps—the threepence beaver design, sixpence portrait of Prince Albert, and twelvepence Chalon Head of Queen Victoria. These new stamps were designed by a young Scotsman who had emigrated to Canada a few years before. He went on to become chief engineer to the Dominion government, and responsible for the construction of the Canadian Pacific Railway. And his name was Sandford Fleming.

  ‘And so now we arrive at lot fifteen. Here is our young Sandford Fleming, temporarily separated from his wife, he in Montreal, she in Toronto. It is her birthday. He decides to send her a letter, using a first print from the first plate of his new high-value stamp. We have the letter, dated the fourth of June 1851. But note this . . .’ Melville leaned forward to emphasise his point. ‘The twelvepence black was not released for public use until the fourteenth of June. And, moreover, the stamp that was then released was different from the one Fleming had sent to his wife ten days before. The principal difference was in the corner numbers, which in his version, as you can see in the catalogue picture, were black figures on a white ground, like the corner letters in the British penny black. But in the final version, which came into general circulation on the fourteenth of June, they were reversed to white figures on black ground.’ Melville sat back, eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘So there you have it, the sole example of a stamp which no one knew existed and on a cover addressed by its designer, himself a notable historical figure. The first Chalon Head!’

  There was a moment’s silence as they waited to see if he had finished. Then the document expert, Bert Freedman, rubbed his hand across his bald head and said, ‘Fascinating.’

  ‘Have I misread this bit here in the catalogue, Mr Melville?’ Brock asked. ‘The estimated value. It looks like £450,000.’

  ‘That’s right, though really it’s impossible for us to put an accurate figure on it because it is absolutely unique. Ever since its discovery there has been tremendous interest— from Canadian collectors especially, of course, but also right around the globe. Undoubtedly it will attract keen bidding, possibly a record sum.’

  ‘Do stamps fetch that kind of figure?’

  ‘Oh, indeed, yes. The highest sum paid so far for a philatelic item was for a cover rather like this—’

  ‘A cover being an envelope?’ Brock queried.

  ‘An envelope with the original stamp on it—that’s the term we use. It was for a cover of 1847 bearing both the penny red and the two penny blue stamps issued by the British colony of Mauritius in that year. Neither stamp is unique, but they are both very rare, and this was the only known cover to have both of those stamps on it. It was auctioned in Zurich in 1993, and it fetched almost six million Swiss francs—that’s two and a half million pounds sterling.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Brock said. ‘I see.’

  ‘We don’t expect the twelvepence black cover to reach that figure, but it’s not impossible that it could go over a million.’

  There was silence, then Melville whispered, ‘I really am most sorry, Mr Starling.’

  Starling seemed to rouse himself, as if he’d been contemplating some entirely different matter all this time. He turned to Melville and said quietly, ‘You can’t allow anyone else to buy it, Mr Melville. It would be my wife’s death warrant.’

  Melville looked deeply troubled. ‘I understand, Mr Starling. I do understand that, and yet . . . I’m not sure how we can prevent it . . .’

  ‘What about the seller? Will they deal with me direct before the auction?’

  Melville shook his head. ‘Several people have already tried that, but the owners are determined to test the market at auction. They sense that there is a strong field, and I have to say that they are right.’

  ‘But if I explained to them what was at stake? A woman’s life?’

  Melville looked anguished. ‘We will try that, of course, yes. But you must understand that the cover was found among the effects of a descendant of the original sender, Sir Sandford Fleming, with the instructions
that the estate was to be realised to the fullest possible extent, in order to establish a trust for medical research. From my dealings with the trustees, I believe you will find them to be absolutely resolved to carry out their instructions to the letter. We have already experienced that determination, when we negotiated our terms for the auction, and again when several of our clients asked us, like you, to negotiate a sale before auction.’

  Sammy’s face became immobile once again.

  ‘I do wish I could advise you otherwise, Mr Starling,’ Melville went on.

  Brock said, ‘Maybe you could clear up one or two other difficulties I’m having with all this, Mr Melville. I’m puzzled why anyone would consider this a suitable ransom demand. Surely such a thing would be highly traceable and difficult to turn into cash.’

  ‘Yes . . . that is interesting, isn’t it?’ Cabot’s manager said, bringing his fingers together as if in prayer while he considered this. ‘It’s the same as stealing works of art. There are unscrupulous collectors who so covet particular items that they will buy them, stolen, even though they can never admit they own them, or show them to anyone else.’

  ‘Yes, but that isn’t exactly the case here,’ Brock said. ‘If such a collector wanted this item they could bid for it. So presumably they would only buy it later at a substantial discount, considering the disadvantages of so doing. But what is the point of that to the kidnapper? If he wants, say, a million pounds from Mr Starling, why not ask for a million pounds, rather than a stamp that can only be sold on at a discount?’

  Melville thought about this, then said, ‘Two suggestions. First, the kidnapper may not intend to sell it on. He himself may be the collector who doesn’t care whether the item is stolen or not, so long as he can possess it.’

  Brock considered that. ‘Yes, all right. That’s a possibility we can follow up with you, Mr Melville. You must have some ideas about such people. The second suggestion?’

  ‘Portability. The one really distinctive thing about valuable stamps is how small and portable they are. More than gold, more than Impressionist paintings, a rare stamp is the most compressed example of portable value. You must have heard the stories of refugees escaping from Germany before the last war with a fortune in rare stamps in their pockets? Your man can put this twelvepence black in his wallet and go anywhere in the world with it, undetected. No metal detector will pick him up, no bank computer will identify him when he sells it.’

  Breakfast arrived, and they fell silent as they ate, each pondering the implications of what Melville had said. Finally Starling wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, cleared his throat and said, ‘Well, there’s no alternative, is there? I’ll just have to buy the Canada Cover on Saturday. What’s your top figure, Mr Melville? One million? One and a quarter?’

  Melville spread his hands. ‘I suppose that’s just conceivable, Mr Starling. I wish I could be more helpful. The catalogue value for a copy of the normal Canada twelvepence black, the fourteenth of June issue, is £45,000, but that doesn’t provide any guide for this unique version, with its direct association with Sandford Fleming.’

  Starling nodded. ‘One and a quarter then. Lets aim for that. I shall need you to value my collection. Will you do that? Give me a price?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Starling looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got a lot to do if I’m going to raise that much by tomorrow. The market’s low at the moment. It’ll be a fire sale. Anyone interested in a nice house on the North Downs? A three-year-old Merc?’ He gave them all a mirthless smile.

  ‘It isn’t our policy to pay ransom demands to kidnappers,’ Brock said heavily. The words sounded hollow as he spoke them.

  ‘No?’ Starling said. ‘Well, you catch the bastards by lunchtime tomorrow, Mr Brock, and there’ll be no need, will there?’

  ‘Is there no alternative, Chief Inspector?’ Melville asked.

  ‘What about . . .’ Starling hesitated.

  ‘A copy?’

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ Bert Freedman jumped in. ‘A copy?’

  ‘Yes!’ The document expert nodded vigorously. ‘I mean, Mr Melville’s point about how a stamp is much more portable than a suitcase of banknotes—much easier to replicate too, I’d have thought.’

  ‘You want to make a forgery, Bert?’ Brock said.

  He gave a sly smile. ‘Just a thought. Mind you, this isn’t my area. We’d need expert advice. But I suppose you’d have that at Cabot’s, Mr Melville?’

  ‘Not really,’ Melville said slowly. ‘We rely on technical specialists to provide authentication for clients. We could certainly recommend someone. For this type of stamp, this period . . .’

  He looked at Starling, who said, ‘Dr Waverley?’

  ‘Yes, Tim Waverley. Mr Starling has used him in the past. Very sound.’

  ‘I’d only consider something like that if Waverley thought it was feasible,’ Starling said.

  ‘Well,’ Brock said reluctantly, ‘perhaps we should get his advice.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Starling rose to his feet, ‘I’ve got work to do.’ He drew himself up to his full five foot six and said to Brock, voice exhausted, ‘Find her for me soon, please, Mr Brock. She must be going through hell.’

  Brock got up and walked with him out of the room.

  Melville watched them go, then murmured, ‘This is really a nightmare, isn’t it? It could turn out very bad for us, too, couldn’t it? If things went wrong, and anything happened to Mrs Starling . . .’

  ‘You’ve got to know Mr Starling quite well, have you?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘I couldn’t really say that. He’s a rather enigmatic person, don’t you agree? I still find it quite difficult to make out what he’s thinking.’

  ‘As if he’s playing poker all the time.’

  Melville gave a little smile. ‘Exactly. But then he suddenly says something, like just now, and you realise he feels everything the way you or I . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t intend that to sound racist. It’s just that he is a rather complex character, I think, quite surprising in a number of ways, and yet it’s hard not to think of him in terms of stereotypes like “inscrutable”.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The thing that I find utterly bewildering about all this, really quite deeply disturbing, is the way it’s being done.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Brock came back into the room. ‘Won’t see a doctor. Says he hasn’t slept since Monday night. Not the best way to see about selling off everything you own. Sorry, I interrupted. You were saying something, Mr Melville?’

  ‘Oh, we were just talking generally. I was saying that I found the way Mr Starling is being threatened quite . . . well, chilling.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The use of the Chalon stamps, in the notes, and then again in the ransom demand itself, the Canada Cover. It’s so very personal, you see, as if the whole thing has been carefully contrived to touch him in the most personal way.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ Kathy said. ‘You mean, because he collects that particular type of stamp?’

  Melville gave a pale smile. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. I know you’re not interested in postage stamps, and it must all seem a little weird to you. But it isn’t just that he collects Chalons, they are his special field. He is the expert, the authority. He wrote the book.’

  ‘The book?’

  ‘Yes: The Chalon Heads: A Chronology. It came out two or three years ago.’

  ‘Mr Melville, I am astonished,’ Brock said slowly. ‘I was surprised to learn that Sammy Starling was a collector of stamps, but to imagine that he’s written a book . . .’ He shook his head. ‘A chronology . . . Since when did he use words like that?’

  Melville nodded. ‘I must say that that was my initial reaction too. And yet it is a very worthy little piece of work. It isn’t by any means an exhaustive study, and it relies heavily on other sources, but it is intelligently presented, with some quite imaginative speculations. There is an excellent analy
sis of the symbolism of the portrait itself, for example, and of the image of the young queen, vulnerable and beautiful.’

  Melville pointed to the illustration of the Canada Cover on the catalogue, with its twelvepence black Chalon stamp. ‘I must say I’d never thought about it before, but you note the naked throat and shoulders, compared for example with the portrait of Prince Albert, which came out at the same time on the Canadian sixpenny stamp, in his formal uniform with heavy collar and epaulettes. A rather intriguing argument is developed concerning the use of this feminine image in projecting the global power of a patriarchal British Empire during the nineteenth century. I showed it to my wife, and she thought it was written by a feminist.’

  Brock stared at him in disbelief ‘Sammy Starling a feminist? I thought I’d heard everything, Mr Melville.’

  Melville smiled, sucked in his cheeks. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t be too disloyal to let on that he had a little help. A rather bright young woman, who worked here with us for a while—not unlike yourself, Sergeant, in style—I mean, you remind me a little of her . . .’ He felt himself beginning to flounder, and hurriedly went on, ‘On my recommendation, Mr Starling employed her for a couple of months as a research assistant for his book. He was in a great hurry to get it done, and she was a very organised person, just what he needed. And I wouldn’t be too surprised if she might not have helped with the writing of it too.’

  ‘That sounds more like our Sammy,’ Brock said. ‘I’ll bet he never wrote a word.’

  ‘Have you any idea why he would have wanted to write such a book?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘Vanity, I suppose. It was self-published, I understand. The publisher’s name—Philatelic Speciality Press, or something like that—was his own invention, I believe.’

  ‘So other collectors would have known of his interest in this type of stamp through his book. Might one of them have kidnapped Mrs Starling as a means of acquiring this unique stamp? Is that feasible?’ Brock asked. ‘I must say I find it pretty implausible.’

  ‘Yes,’ Melville agreed. ‘It’s unthinkable. And yet . . . I have remarked to my colleagues in the past that one or two of our customers would willingly sell their mothers for some item they particularly desire. There are as many types and characters of philatelists as of any other group of human beings, Chief Inspector, and among them are certainly a few obsessive ones. For them, collecting becomes a compulsion, and I have, on occasions, found something almost frightening about their absolute need to acquire some variation or fault of great rarity, or a specimen that will complete a classic set.’