By William Guest, Ben Spier

Step right over here, madam, and take a look at this rare collection of 100 paintings. Yessir, these are real beauts, all of them done in the inimitable styles of Picasso, Matisse, Modigliani and other early modern masters. Well, to be honest, not quite inimitable styles. The paintings are actually by a clever Hungarian counterfeiter, Elmyr de Hory. Considered the world's premier art forger before his death in 1976, De Hory fooled even museums with his master-fleeces. Eventually De Hory was so famous that he began signing his "fakes," and many of them have found their way into the hands of John Connally, 66. Now in partnership with Forrest Fenn, owner of a gallery in Santa Fe, N. Mex., the onetime Governor of Texas and presidential hopeful wants to sell off some of his acquisitions. Price: $12,000 to $15,000 apiece. After all, argues Fenn, "If they're as good as real, then what the hell are we talking about? I mean, what is art?" A question to ponder.

After playing the dying young ballerina Niki in last year's cinema flop Six Weeks, Katherine Healy, 14, might have been hesitant about dancing again in public. Not a bit of it. The New York City native was back on her toes most recently at the celebrated International Ballet Competition in Varna, Bulgaria, where she became only the second U.S.-born gold medalist. The first, in 1974, was Fernando Bujones, 28, who is now an established American Ballet Theater star. Healy has been rumored to be interested in A.B.T. too, but she says it is premature to make any such choice. For the time being she has a considerably more down-to-earth goal: finishing high school.

The best-beloved member of the British royal family is not William, Diana or the Queen, but the Queen Mum. Adored ever since she chose to stay on in London, alongside King George VI, as an example to her countrymen during the brutal Nazi blitz of World War II, the plucky Queen Mother Elizabeth stirred more admiration six weeks ago with a visit to troubled Northern Ireland despite the obvious danger. Last week all the kingdom seemed to be celebrating with her as she turned 83. Much of the day was spent with her royal relatives, but the morning belonged to her enthusiastic admirers. They sent her bouquets of flowers, along with 3,000 cards and presents, and when she appeared at 11 a.m. on the garden balcony of her residence, Clarence House, 2,000 of them, right on cue, broke into a joyous chorus of Happy Birthday.

Publishing can be a dog-eat-dog world. Consider some of last week's news. First Random House snapped Norman Mailer, 60, away from Little, Brown. He wanted a publisher based in Manhattan rather than one in faraway Boston, explained Mailer's agent, who down-played reports that, in addition to New York, Random House threw in a tidy $4 million for the author's next four novels. Meanwhile, Doubleday also had something to bark about. Its newest author is one C. Fred Bush, 11, four-legged companion of George and Barbara Bush. Due in April, C. Fred's Story: A Dog's Life, "edited slightly" by his mistress, will provide (for $11.95) a shin-rubbing view of the vice presidential household. C. Fred will donate all proceeds to charity.

"Impossible!" I exclaimed. "Not so fast, my dear Watson," said Holmes, settling back in his chair. "That our esteemed mentor, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, could be an unscrupulous faker does stretch the bounds of belief. But let us consider the facts. You know, of course, of the 1912 Piltdown man, the 'fossil' that was purported to be the missing link between man and ape and was found to be an outrageous fraud some 40 years later. Now John Hathaway Winslow, an American scholar of apparent repute, has fingered Sir Arthur as the culprit. Writing in Science '83, he avers that our creator lived just eight miles from the Piltdown site and no doubt went there on scientific field trips. As a trained doctor--like yourself, my dear fellow--he had the tools, the skills and probably the bones to forge those fossils. Why? Winslow points out that our friend had a bone to pick, if you will permit a small joke, with scientific authorities, who were skeptical about his enthusiasm for psychic research, ridiculing his spirit mediums and clairvoyants as mere fakes. So, Watson, our American accuser has proffered opportunity and motive. Therefore, it is not impossible, as you so hastily put it. On the other hand, I myself would scarcely take such circumstantial evidence to Inspector Lestrade. The answer, I must conclude, lies with Sir Arthur's bones, and I for one am quite content to let it remain there."

--By William Guest and Ben Spier This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.