Merlin was feeling very good this morning. What was it the Prime Minister had said in his youthful memoirs? “There is nothing more exhilarating than to be shot at without result.” In the Arcade, he had avoided a bullet clearly intended for him and although in the Russian shootout no bullets had been aimed at him, several had passed within inches of his head.
“The question is, of course, what the hell was that all about? Well, Colonel Grishin has told me a story. As some of you know, the Colonel has been moving heaven and earth to get the gold from the lorry on behalf of the Russian government. The story, of course, justifies the Russian entitlement to this gold, and we should bear that in mind in judging its veracity. Anyway, according to Grishin, some time ago, in the Spanish Civil War, the Republican side – that’s the bunch that eventually lost, by the way – agreed to send Mr Stalin a large shipment of gold as some sort of security for all the financial and material help the Russians were giving them. Spain had a lot of gold from its years of empire in the Americas and was at the time one of the five leading bullion owners in the world. In any event, when the shipment was sent, a small part – still worth a fortune – was siphoned off somehow on arrival in Odessa. In due course, the Russians became aware of this and worked hard to identify potential culprits. After a while they focused on a Pole, an officer who had served the Russians in Spain, as the main culprit. Somehow he had managed to get the gold through the apparently porous local national borders to accomplices in Poland.” Merlin paused to check he had everyone’s attention. “Now, these accomplices were members of his family, which was, according to Grishin, Count Tarkowski’s family, or more specifically, the Countess’ family. The Polish officer’s name was Alexander or Sasha Stanislawicki.”
“The Stanisawicki ingots.”
“The ingots indeed, Constable Robinson. Stanislawicki is Countess Tarkowski’s maiden name and Sasha was her brother. The gold, when it arrived in Poland, probably Warsaw according to Grishin, was in many forms. Much of it was ancient Aztec or Inca gold jewellery or body decoration. Grishin thinks, and this seems to be a sensible assumption, that the Stanislawickis felt it unsafe to keep the gold in the form in which it arrived. They had the gold melted down and then turned into ingots with the Stanislawicki crest on them. If anyone came looking, they could simply claim that the gold was family gold and had been in the family for generations. The family was well known to be powerful and wealthy, though Grishin says there were hints that their finances might have become strained. Somehow or other, Tarkowski and the family managed to get the gold to London. Grishin only became aware of this latter fact in the past few days. Voronov was a Russian émigré in London whom Grishin knew to be up to no good and had placed under observation. The man was apparently a notorious crook and fraudster, who had lived something of a charmed life. Grishin said he was quite close to Stalin. It’s my understanding that proximity to Stalin often proves deadly, but Voronov somehow managed to keep on good terms. Grishin by chance happened to be following Voronov yesterday, witnessed the hijacking and put two and two together regarding the gold. He has been good enough to give me the embassy’s full background report on Voronov, which is being translated for us now. That, for what it’s worth, is his story.”
Johnson raised a hand. “So, if Voronov and his partner were sponsoring looting expeditions, that would appear to be in character?”
“Yes, it would, Peter. And I have been thinking that the men who scarpered from the scene in Hampstead yesterday might be the looters who shot poor Cole here.”
“Not poor, sir.”
“Sorry, Cole, bad choice of words – brave Cole here, I mean.”