Augustus Wertheim sat thinking in the small reception area he called his own just outside de Souza’s office. He had been named for the great Roman Emperor. His father had been a successful grain merchant in a small town that had at various times in its history been Polish, Lithuanian and Ukrainian. Ignatius Wertheim had a great passion for all things Roman and had passed this passion on to his son. Of course, none of his father’s extensive collection of Roman artefacts and coins had made their way with his son to London, but Augustus Wertheim remembered that collection very well. His father had asked him to catalogue it for him and if he concentrated just a little he could reproduce that catalogue almost photographically in his mind.
Wertheim had made his way to London just before the First World War. His father and the rest of his family had perished in one of the pogroms which every so often flared up in that part of the world. Young Augustus had been returning from market at a neighbouring town where, from a distance, he could see the flames. The Wertheim house was clearly visible on the edge of town and there was no mistaking what was happening. He approached to what he thought was a safe distance and watched from behind a cart. Though small and wiry, he had stood up for himself many times at school and proved himself no coward, but he knew that bravery in this situation was futile. There was nothing he could do. He could still hear the cries of his parents and sisters as the flames licked higher and higher over the house. When it was dark he walked up to the charred skeleton of his home. He retched as he saw what appeared to be the remains of his family. Under the charcoaled floorboards at the back of the house in what had been the main dining room, he found what he was looking for. A box with some money. A very tidy sum. Enough to get him far away – to Berlin maybe or to Paris. Perhaps even as far as London. And, yes, he had got to London and he had made a life. The tidy sum, however, was long gone and now he had to rely on a not overly generous clerk’s salary. The fact was he needed more money and was always looking for ways to make it.
He pushed the button and the coins dropped into the machine of the telephone box behind the Bank of England. A gruff voice growled a greeting down the line.
“He came in on Tuesday.”
“Why haven’t you told me before?”
“I haven’t had a chance.”
The voice at the other end chuckled rather unpleasantly. Wertheim obviously wasn’t going to explain that he’d been having second thoughts about this arrangement. The money in prospect was attractive, but the danger was not. “And so, what did he want?”
“I don’t know everything, but I know that he made a deposit.”
“Of what?”
“I can’t say. De Souza sent me out on an errand. One of the other clerks saw Tarkowski with a cloth bag. He thought it looked quite heavy. De Souza himself took the Count to the safety deposit room and put whatever it was away in one of the deposit boxes for which only he and Tarkowski have the keys.”
“Hmm. This is not much you are telling me, my friend. I shall need more, much more than this if you wish to profit by our association.”
Wertheim heard the pips and put some more pennies in. “But you asked me to tell you of Tarkowski’s dealings with the bank and I am doing so.”
Wertheim could hear voices in the background at the other end of the line.
“I shall put a small amount down on your account, my friend. I would put some more down if somehow you were able to get a key and tell me exactly what de Souza deposited. That would be worth something, I think.”
“But I can’t… I mean… I haven’t got a key.”
“A clever man will find a way, I am sure, my friend. A clever and inventive man like you, eh?”
The phone line clicked to show that the connection had been ended. Wertheim slipped out of the kiosk into Threadneedle Street and began walking back to the Polish Commonwealth Bank. He was thinking hard and didn’t see the small crater ahead of him. As he fell, he cracked his right elbow hard on the pavement.
“Ah, there you are, Wertheim. Are you alright?” De Souza bent and helped his employee to his feet.
Wertheim grimaced with pain. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’ve got to be careful, Wertheim. There are so many pitfalls to watch out for in this unfortunate city!”
*