SOME people take secrecy to the levels of paranoia. The other day, a view day for one of my general sales, I was on my own in the office rather preoccupied with my head in some or other reference book when I got a gentle tap on the shoulder and a garlicy whisper in the ear.

It was from one of my saleroom regulars who told me he wanted to retain some anonymity in the saleroom when bidding on a particular piece of furniture the next day.

Bearing in mind this gentleman had been coming to my saleroom for a number of years I thought he would have known that we don't shout out clients names at an auction but use a number system instead.

To protect his identity, Mr X was keen that no one else should know what he was bidding on as they might bid against him. I didn't really see why as the lot in question was a 1920s bureau - worth about £40 - and to the best of my knowledge the Getty Museum hadn't booked a telephone line to bid against him.

I could, however, see a problem here as I gently explained that it was fairly crucial to the whole system that I knew on which lot he was bidding. Mr X eventually got around to explaining that he would bid with, as he put it "the utmost discretion".

The following day, some 10 lots before the bureau that no one was to know about, Mr X was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had thought better of it. I carried on and just as I was about to sell the bureau I was intrigued to see the door of a massive Victorian wardrobe at the back of the room open up and from inside a hand starting to wave furiously. I stopped dead in my tracks staring at this rather bizarre scene; I was not on my own as everyone else in the saleroom had now turned around and was staring at Mr X's hand rotating like as set of windmill sails in order to get my attention. So much for secrecy.