“We know it, sir. Anyway, the pilot in question, known as Ziggy Kilinski, has gone missing. We are responding to a request from his squadron to find him. We searched his belongings in his room in Northolt and found your business card. Can you tell us what dealings you had with Mr Kilinski? This is a photograph of him by the way.”
Tarkowski glanced briefly at the proffered photograph then cleared his throat. “Well, gentlemen—”
At that moment the study door opened and a woman entered the room.
“Ah, my dear. Gentlemen, may I introduce my wife, Maria.”
The policemen rose and nodded their heads in acknowledgement. Merlin was struck by the Countess’ understated, simple beauty. He was assuredly acquiring a keener awareness of the charms of Polish women this year.
The Countess smiled a greeting. “Is there anything wrong, dear?”
“No, no, my love. The policemen are simply making some routine enquiries about a fellow Pole. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Ah. Good. I am just going into town to have my hair done. I’ll see you at tea-time?”
“Yes, I’m here all day.” The Count crossed the room, took up his wife’s hand and kissed it. As she withdrew her delicate hand, Merlin thought he detected a slight tremor in the fingers and the Countess’ still-present smile seemed to take on a rather nervous quality. She turned on her heels and departed with a little wave.
“You have a charming wife, Count.”
The Count perched himself back on his chair. “How kind you are, Chief Inspector. Yes, she is très charmante. Like all of us she has been through much, but she tries to keep her spirits up – as do we all, Chief Inspector.”
Merlin coughed politely and tapped the photograph, which now lay on Tarkowski’s desk.
“Of course, gentlemen. Back to business. Yes, I remember meeting a Mr Kilinski in this very study. He requested a meeting. One of my particular areas of responsibility with the Polish government in exile – how I detest the need for those last two words – is finance. Mr or rather Pilot Officer Kilinski was interested in knowing about our finances.”
“By ‘our’ finances, I take it you mean that of the Polish government in exile?”
“Just so, Chief Inspector. He wanted to know about our sources. I was unable to satisfy his curiosity.”
“And who are your sources?”
“I can’t really discuss that with you as it is obviously a matter of government confidentiality. That is the very response I gave to Kilinski.”
Merlin scratched his cheek thoughtfully. Outside they could hear the sound of birdsong and the hum of distant traffic. “I wonder why he wanted to know about your government finances?”
The Count twisted in his chair and winced with pain. “I’ve no idea. Sorry. My back. Forgive me for a moment.” The Count reached into one of his desk drawers and took out a couple of pills, which he took with the remaining dregs of a teacup on the desk. “I wish I could enlighten you. I did reassure him, as I would any Polish citizen, that what we had would be sufficient to keep up the fight until the glorious day when independence would be restored, but I could not go into specifics.”
“We found a photograph of what looks like an ancient necklace. We are having it checked out now. One of my colleagues thinks it might have South American origin. Did Mr Kilinski show you anything like that?”
The Count grimaced again and he stood up and walked to the window, flexing his arms above his head. He looked out of the window. “No. No necklaces. Nothing like that. Now, gentlemen, if that’s all, as you can see, I’m not having one of my best mornings.” The Count turned and shook his head wearily. “My doctor here tells me there is some kind of operation I could have, but I’d then be laid out on my back for six months, which is something I cannot afford.”
“When was your meeting with Kilinski, Count?”
“Perhaps two weeks or so ago. I can’t remember exactly which day. No doubt my secretary would have the details.”
“And was there anything else you remember about Mr Kilinski?”