Stalin's Gold (24 page)

De Souza shook his head rapidly, dislodging another small flurry of dandruff, and waved a hand in the air. “There’ll be no need of that, gentlemen. No need. Yes, the Polish government is a client here.”

“And would they have substantial deposits here?”

“Indeed, they do. Fortunately, they prudently transferred substantial funds in advance of the German invasion.”

“Did that include gold bullion and the like?”

“Er… yes. It did.”

Merlin felt a twinge in his shoulder and decided to get up from the uncomfortable chair and stretch his legs. He moved over to the window, which overlooked what looked like a newly created bombsite. A couple of mangy-looking dogs were being chased off the rubble by a warden, while in the road below he could see a captured German pilot being marched in the direction of the Bank of England.

When he turned round, de Souza was sitting up expectantly at his desk like an over-eager dog. “And do many members of the Polish government or legation, or whatever you call it, maintain accounts here?”

“Yes, some do.”

“Does Count Tarkowski keep an account here?”

The banker blinked in momentary surprise. “The Count does have business with the bank, yes.”

Merlin felt the pain easing as he sat back down in the chair. “He has deposits here?”

De Souza squirmed awkwardly in his seat. “He does.”

“Might I enquire what he has with you?”

“Really, Chief Inspector. There must be a limit. I shall be happy to discuss the Count’s deposits here in his presence. I think that is only fair.”

“Does he have bullion here?”

De Souza rose and moved over to a sideboard where he poured himself a glass of water. “Please, Chief Inspector. Can we not call the Count and—”

“Kilinski didn’t just have the photograph of that gold necklace in his possession. He also had some gold – of Polish origin apparently.” He rummaged in his jacket pockets then produced the ingot. “Just like this in fact. Have you seen one of these before?”

“I… I…”

“Did Kilinski show you this, sir? He had a bee in his bonnet, you see. I don’t know exactly what his mission was, but there are various links beginning to come clear to me. He had a photograph of this magnificent amulet, he had an example of this ancient Polish currency, he went to see the Count, a prominent Pole in this country, he came to see you, a prominent banker to the Poles in this country, and then he died violently. Someone didn’t want him to chase down whatever he was seeking and someone stopped him. That’s how it looks to me. Was it you, Mr de Souza?” Merlin stood up again and leaned over the desk, staring fiercely at the now cowering banker.

“Of course not, Chief Inspector, why would I do something like that?”

Merlin’s face resumed its normal equable look and he eased himself back into his chair. “Mr de Souza, I need help. Your wholehearted assistance, not the guarded response I feel I am getting from you. If you have nothing to hide, please help me. I know you have client responsibilities as a banker, but these, I am afraid, have to go by the board when we are investigating murder.”

“Of course, Chief Inspector. Please excuse me a moment.” De Souza rose slowly to his feet and walked over to the sideboard where he poured himself a large, neat whisky. He indicated two other empty glasses, but Merlin shook his head. Seated again at his desk, he took a large mouthful of the drink and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know the exact family background, but somehow the Count appears to be a very rich man. I am not a Pole myself, gentlemen – my own background is Hungarian.”

The bank manager finished his Scotch and poured another glass from the decanter which he had brought to his desk. Having decided to open up, he now relaxed into his task. “No doubt the Count had large estates, but as such wealth is obviously not portable, I assume the Count had substantial other assets. In any event, on his arrival here from Poland in January, I think it was, of this year, he made a large deposit of gold bullion.”

“How much did he deposit?”

“Well, it was around five hundred thousand pounds worth, or two million dollars.”

“And in what form?”

“In the form of these ingots. I have not been given information as to the antiquity or artistic worth of the ingots, but our valuation is simply based on the actual gold content at current prices.”

“And where is this gold?”

“In our vaults below.”

Robinson tapped a pencil on her notebook. “And is that all of the gold the Count has?”

De Souza scratched his chin. “Well, no, there is apparently more, young lady.”

“And where does the Count keep that?”

“I have advised him most strongly against this, but he has most of it in his home. He did have storage in some business premises, but the building was bombed out last week. I understand he has moved most of what was there to his house.”

“And you think that might have substantial worth as well?”

“Certainly, millions of pounds’ worth, I believe. The Count did not wish to have all his eggs in one basket, so to speak.”

“These bombed business premises. Would they, by any chance, operate under the name Grand Duchy and Oriental Trading?”

“Yes, they do, or anyway did.”

Merlin relieved the returning pain in his shoulder by standing up and walking to the window again. “And does the gold you hold earn him any interest?”

De Souza reached down into a drawer beneath him and produced a document. “It does not, Chief Inspector. It appreciates or not, as the case may be.” He fingered the document. “I hope I am not going to get into trouble for telling you, but this document is a loan agreement.”

“Between who?”

“Between the Count and the Polish government in exile. It enables the government to use the gold as collateral for funds that my bank makes available from time to time.”

“Didn’t you say that the government had its own funds?”

“Some, Chief Inspector, but I believe the task of running a government in exile and supporting resistance activities in Poland is an expensive one.”

Merlin resumed his seat. “So the Count is a true patriot?”

“It would appear so, yes.” De Souza opened a small packet. “Turkish cigarettes. One of my vices. Can I interest you?”

Merlin and Robinson declined. De Souza lit up, filling the room with a pungent aroma and smoke which made Robinson’s eyes water.

“Turning to Kilinski.”

“Ah, yes, the flyer. Well, as I said, he came to see me, wishing to open a deposit. We discussed the formalities. Then he produced the necklace or amulet or whatever you call it. Said he’d like to deposit it with us. Asked me if I thought it was valuable.”

“He had the actual amulet?”

“Yes, indeed, a very beautiful item.”

“Why on earth didn’t you tell us in the first place?”

De Souza shrugged. “A banker’s first reaction is to respect customer confidentiality.”

“Hmm. Well, what did you say?”

“Well, of course, I could see it was a beautiful item. Said I’d check out the gold content and get it appraised for him if he wanted. He declined forcefully, saying he could get someone else to do it.”

“Did he say where he got it?”

“Called it a family heirloom. I can’t pretend I wasn’t a little surprised. He seemed to be a very ordinary boy. Jewish, I should have thought. We can always tell our own, you know. A fellow from some poor ghetto in Warsaw or Krakow or Stettin or somewhere like that, I would guess, who had somehow elevated himself into the Polish Air Force. Where would a boy like that get such a beautiful thing? Perhaps he stole it or looted it in the invasion of Poland or maybe even here, in this blisskrieg of the Nazis.” The second whisky appeared to have gone to de Souza’s head and his words were becoming a little slurred.

“And the ingot? Did he show you the ingot?”

The banker picked up the gold bar, which Merlin had left on the desk, and held it up so that it caught the light from the window. “He did. Asked me whether I had seen any others like it.” De Souza set the ingot back down on the desk.

“And did you tell him?”

“I did not. That would have been a definite breach of client confidentiality.”

“And what did Kilinski say?”

“He was rather rude. Said he didn’t believe me. Mentioned Tarkowski and said that he must have plenty of them. Asked if Tarkowski had an account with us. I remained silent.”

“And then?”

“He stood up. Picked up his ingot and his amulet, said that he wasn’t sure about the account and that he’d think about it and then said good day.”

“And that was that?”

“Yes, that was that. Except…”

“Yes?”

“Except he returned to see me again the following week. The Friday before last it was, I think.”

“That would have been what date, sir?”

De Souza consulted his desk diary. “The 6
^th
, Chief Inspector. September the 6
^th
.”

“And?”

“He was here for minutes only just to tell me he had changed his mind about me valuing the amulet.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows at Robinson. “You mean you have it, sir?”

The banker rose and walked a little unsteadily over to a portrait of a smug-looking, Victorian gentleman on the wall to his right. The painting swung back to reveal a small safe. With surprisingly deft fingers he applied the combination, opened the safe door and removed something.

Back at the desk, he carefully laid the object, wrapped in a white cloth, in front of Merlin. “Et voilà.” With a sigh, de Souza pulled back the cloth to reveal the entwined snakes of Montezuma, which glinted in the light from the office window.

Merlin caught his breath. Robinson let out a gasp of admiration.

“Yes, a beautiful item, isn’t it? My contact in Hatton Garden valued it at ten thousand pounds, but to the right collector it might be worth much more.”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d better take this into my custody.”

De Souza looked wistfully at the sparkling necklace. “Very well, Chief Inspector. Although Mr Kilinski is no more, I had better have a receipt for form’s sake.”

Merlin removed a page of paper from his own notebook and scribbled on it.

“Thank you.”

Merlin rewrapped the amulet in its cloth and put it in his pocket. “When Kilinski left after his first visit, did you contact Tarkowski?”

De Souza removed a handkerchief from his top pocket and mopped his forehead. “Excuse me, Chief Inspector, I am not used to alcohol at this time of day.”

“Did you contact the Count?”

“I felt duty bound to let him know, as a major customer of the bank, that someone was going round asking questions about him and furthermore flourishing a gold ingot like those we had in our vaults . I sent him a message via his wife.”

“Did you mention the amulet?”

“No. I saw no need.”

Merlin felt a twinge of cramp and stretched a leg underneath de Souza’s desk. “What was the Count’s response?”

“When I last saw him he expressed his thanks for keeping him informed. That was all.”

A siren began wailing in the distance and Merlin looked over at Robinson. “Any questions, Constable?”

“Yes, sir. Just one thing, Mr de Souza. Or rather two. On the second occasion you saw him, did Mr Kilinski look in good shape? I mean did he look like he was sleeping rough?”

“He was perfectly presentable.”

“And was he in uniform or civvies?”

“He was wearing a dark suit, shirt and tie, on his second visit.”

“But you know he was a pilot?”

“Of course. He was wearing his uniform on his first.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s all I had to ask.”

The two officers rose and headed for the door from behind which the faint sound of scurrying footsteps could be heard.

* * *

Back at the Yard, Merlin listened intently as Bridges explained what he had learned from Lenke and then from Mikhail at the restaurant. When he had finished, he swung a leg onto the desk and looked thoughtfully out of the window.

“Shall I rustle up a drink, sir? Still got the taste of that awful cigarette smoke in my mouth.” Robinson coughed to emphasise her point.

As Robinson disappeared through the door, Merlin rummaged in the bottom drawer of his desk and found the two Fisherman’s Friends lozenges from the packet he’d discovered earlier underneath some old files in his filing cabinet. He didn’t bother offering one to Bridges, who, he knew, detested them and popped them both into his mouth. After sucking hard for a moment, he recounted the details of the de Souza interview to the sergeant.