“What is Montezuma’s Revenge, sir?”
“You don’t know, Constable? I am surprised. What a sheltered life you must have lived. How would you delicately define it, Sergeant?”
“Begging the constable’s pardon, sir, it’s where you’ve got the runs after eating something too spicy.”
Robinson smiled. “We called it something different at my school, sir.”
“You know, I don’t think we’ll go any further down that road. So then, I wonder what Kilinski has got to do with Montezuma?”
“One other thing, sir. Edward is also a very keen numismatist.”
Bridges looked puzzled. “What’s that when it’s at home?”
“Coin expert, Sergeant. And so, Constable?”
“I mentioned the ingot to him and he said there was a coin shop in Soho whose owner knew more about that sort of thing than anyone.”
“That’s excellent, Constable. I’ll go with you to see this fellow, but you should still have a word with Goodman’s team, Sergeant, to see if they can help. And don’t forget that Grand Duchy company. Let’s get to the bottom of that.”
*
It wasn’t really sunbathing weather at Northolt, but Jan Sieczko and his friends nevertheless awaited their next scramble in three rickety deckchairs, their eyes closed and their faces turned up towards an intermittently sunny sky. As Jan looked up he saw the trail of a small plane, probably a reconnaissance flight, cross in and out of the small patches of blue sky above them. To his right, Kubicki puffed lazily on an ancient Meerschaum pipe he had inherited from someone on his adventurous journey from Poland through Romania and the Middle East and ultimately to London. On close examination it looked as if it was going to fall to pieces at any moment, but somehow it survived. To his left, Kowalski petted a small mongrel puppy in his lap that he and Kubicki had found, apparently homeless, near the base. They had named it Sasha after some friend back in Poland.
Jan stood up suddenly and did some bends and physical jerks. “Come on, you lazy sods. Do some exercise. You might have to run out to the planes at any second. You’ll be as slow as shit, sitting there like that!”
Kubicki continued happily puffing away on his pipe, waving a hand dismissively. Kowalski’s dog, which had been dozing, woke up and snapped squeakily at Jan.
“There now. Look what you’ve done. Disturbed poor Sasha’s sleep. Sit down, Jan, and don’t be an idiot.” Kowalski pulled his hat down over his eyes and made an obscene gesture with his right hand. Jan laughed and settled back in his chair. “I wonder how the policeman is getting on with finding Ziggy.”
Kubicki removed his pipe from his mouth for the first time in an hour. “He’s gone, Jan. Don’t get your hopes up. Something bad has happened to him.”
“Don’t say that, Miro. It’s… I’m sure Merlin will get to the bottom of it. Eh, Jerzy?”
Kowalski grunted then began to whistle the tune to an old Polish ballad.
Kubicki shook his pipe and tapped it on the side of the chair. “Certainly an unlucky room that one – first, Marowitz, then Kilinski. If they reallocate rooms, I’d avoid that one, my friends, if I were you.”
Jan sank back into his chair. “Poor old Marowitz. I still don’t understand how he managed to walk into the propellor like that. It was dark I know, but still.”
“And what a mess to clean up.” Kubicki reached to the ground for his tobacco pouch and refilled his pipebowl.
Jan shuddered. “You knew Marowitz at university, didn’t you, Jerzy?” Another grunt from Kowalski before he threw Kubicki a lighter. His hat remained in position. The dog had gone back to sleep.