“And who is he?”
A bead of perspiration made its way down Mikhail’s forehead. “A rich Russian. Lives here in London. Kilinski had lunch with him and another man. They had quite a heated discussion, but then Voronov and his friend left in a hurry, leaving Kilinski to pay the bill. That’s one reason I remember it well, as Voronov is very free with his money. He usually pays for everything and leaves big tips. That time Kilinski got stuck with the bill and he could only just scrape the money together.”
“And when would this lunch have taken place?”
“Last week of August, I think. Voronov has us hold a permanent table here at lunchtime, so it won’t be in the book, but I’m sure it was last week August. A Wednesday or Thursday, perhaps. Voronov, yes, a dangerous man. You watch out!”
*
“So, Mr de Souza, the late Pilot Officer Kilinski arranged an appointment with you in order to set up an account at the bank?”
“Yes, Chief Inspector. He had heard that a large number of Polish people held accounts here and wished to avail himself of that service.”
“And when would that have been exactly?”
De Souza consulted the fat red diary on his desk. “That would have been the afternoon of Wednesday, August 28th.”
“Did he have much money to deposit?”
De Souza shook his head and a few flakes of dandruff fell onto his shoulder. “We didn’t really get that far.”
“Hmm.” Merlin glanced at Robinson. “Can you show Mr de Souza our little cutting, Constable?”
Robinson produced the photograph of the Aztec amulet and laid it on de Souza’s desk.
De Souza picked it up and studied it. “A beautiful piece.”
“Have you seen this amulet, sir?”
“No, why no. I haven’t seen this photograph. No.”
“Mr Kilinski didn’t show it to you?”
“No.”
“Do you know what it is?”
De Souza took a magnifying glass out of one of his desk drawers and looked again at the photograph. “It is clearly an item of value and antiquity. South American, perhaps?” Laying the glass down, he leaned his elbows on the desk, steepled his hands in front of him and smiled.
“On a more general note, sir, do you have any dealings with the Polish government in exile? Do they have an account here?”
“I am not really at liberty to discuss our account holders, Chief Inspector. Perhaps—”
“I am conducting a murder enquiry, sir. Mr Kilinski was the victim of a murder and I need to pursue every avenue. If you choose not to be forthcoming, I could return here later with a warrant to go over your books. If—”
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.”