Wyczinski leaned back in his chair and smoothed his tie. “I believe that the line has continued. On infrequent occasions I read Polish newspapers and I do recall reading about people of that name in the years before the war. I think there was a Count Stanislawicki I read about in the business pages, but in what context I cannot recall. I presume he is part of that same noble family. Of course, with the German invasion, who knows what has happened to the man and the rest of his family.”
Merlin rose to his feet. “Well, you have been most wonderfully helpful, sir. Is it possible for us to borrow that book for a short while?”
“Of course. Would you like me to wrap it up for you?”
“Please.” Wyczinski bound the book in some cloth and passed it to Merlin who turned for the door.
“Don’t forget this.” Wyczinski handed Merlin the gold bar.
“Of course, thank you. One last question. What is something like this worth?”
“I’d probably buy it from you for ￡2002 or so and there would probably be a collector who’d give me ￡250 or perhaps ￡300. Give or take, its gold content is probably worth that.”
*
Evans’ feelings of discomfort had grown more acute. He was standing outside a rather grubby lock-up in Shepherd’s Bush. He had been the first to arrive, but then had been joined by two rough and ready fellows who’d grunted a greeting to him. Now one of them was unlocking the double-padlock on the door, while the other was blowing a particularly foul-smelling tobacco smoke in his face. “Where’s your mate then?”
“Mate?”
“You know. The ginger geezer. Funny accent. Smooth bugger.”
“Oh, Mr Trubetskoi. Well, I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”
Jake swore. “This bloody padlock needs a good oiling. I can’t…”
“Let me do it. Here. See, easy as clockwork.”
“Thanks, Billy.”
As they were beckoning Evans through the doors, a car pulled up and Trubetskoi emerged from the rear. “Alright, Maksim, you wait around the corner on the main street. I’ll be half an hour, maybe longer. If anyone noses around, just drive off for a while. Mr Evans? You made it. Very good. Ah, I see the other gentlemen are here also. Is everything unpacked and on display? Very well, shall we proceed to business?”
Billy switched a light on to reveal a small treasure trove of paintings, antique furniture and other valuables.
“So, Mr Evans. You see here the goods that my partners and I have in storage. Some beautiful stuff, is it not?”
Evans nodded. “Is this really the best place in which to keep these items? Surely you could warehouse them more appropriately in town.”
Trubetskoi raised a bushy red eyebrow – surely he doesn’t dye those, Evans thought. “In town, you say, Mr Evans. With Goering’s bombardment going on, you think one of those nice, big warehouses by the river would be appropriate?”
“Why, of course not, but surely you could get somewhere just out of London that’s better than this?”
“Well, Mr Evans. Once you have assisted us in our valuation of these items, all of which have been purchased in the past eighteen months…” Billy and Jake sniggered. “As I say, once we have valued them properly, we may remove them to safer ground.”
Evans scratched his head. “But, surely, if you purchased these items in auction or however, you must have a reasonable idea as to their value?” A ripple of irritation moved over Trubetskoi’s face. He had a black cane with a silver top in his right hand and he raised it in the air and pointed it at Evans.
“Your friend in Cambridge recommended you to us as an expert in art, Mr Evans, not as an expert in asking questions. For whatever reasons, which are frankly none of your business, we wish to have your views on these items. For this advice, you will be paid well. I understand that money is of some importance to you as you have none. Now, may we proceed?”