‘Tickets are like gold dust unless you’re a tourist apparently,’ said Reggie Tate. ‘If you’re a tourist, of course, good ones are available on the day. As they were for us. And so cheap. Don’t know why the locals put up with it.’

  ‘Not so cheap if your wages are f … orty roubles a week. That’s average,’ the canon interjected.

  ‘It’s still strange Valya didn’t tell us she was going,’ said Mrs Tate. ‘I mean, if I hadn’t run into her when I was being arrested …’

  ‘You weren’t arrested, Mother,’ her son admonished lightly.

  ‘Good as. We missed the fourth act, after all. Well, taken for questioning then. Anyway, if we hadn’t met Valya in that corridor and spoken to her, when we were with the policeman, I don’t suppose she’d have been involved at all.’

  ‘Yah. Don’t believe she was wild about being tied up with us either,’ said Felicity Wander pointedly. ‘Suppose you casn’t blame her.’

  ‘I thought she helped a lot. During the questioning. Like having your lawyer there,’ Mrs Tate observed warmly.

  Mrs Vauxley gave a loud, disparaging grunt. ‘Well, my lawyer doesn’t work for the KGB,’ she announced stiffly.

  ‘I suppose that’s … fair comment …’ the canon began, but was interrupted by a shout from Gloria.

  ‘Sol! Oh Sol!’ She jumped from her chair and ran across into the hall where her husband was approaching with Colonel Grinyev.

  The colonel left the Blintons to their embraces and continued into the lounge. He looked tired as well as embarrassed as he stood before the group, except many of those present had come to believe that last and characteristic impression was no more than disarming affectation. The eyes flicked quickly from face to face then dropped to examining the carpet at his feet as he spoke. His hands were clasped together before him.

  ‘I’m sorry you have all been inconvenienced this evening. Also perhaps that you have felt it necessary to wait for the reappearance of Mr Blinton before retiring to your rooms.’ He glanced up at the two Blintons as they passed him. ‘As you see, Mr Blinton is quite free, although he acknowledges the crime was committed with his knife.’

  ‘There’s evidence that Mr Frenk died from the stabbing?’ It was Treasure who had interposed the question.

  ‘A verbal report to that effect, yes, Mr Treasure.’ Grinyev directed one of his nervous, quick smiles at the banker. ‘The preliminary post-mortem showed the blade pierced his aorta. A very accurate incision. It induced massive internal bleeding. Also, of course, some external bleeding when the blade was withdrawn. He quickly died from the wound.’

  ‘Not from breaking his neck in the fall?’

  ‘It’s what I’ve been led to believe.’

  Treasure nodded at the answer, while noting that Russian policemen were as careful as British ones to qualify the reliability of hearsay information—and with the same wording. ‘And can you tell us whether there were fingerprints on the knife, Colonel?’

  There was a longish pause before the Russian replied. ‘We have not yet found any fingerprints on the knife. But our examinations are continuing.’

  The last bit of dissembling earned a disconsolate murmur from the group generally, but Treasure seemed satisfied.

  ‘There’ll be a further post-mortem? In addition to this preliminary one?’ This was Wander.

  ‘Perhaps.’ The tone was measurably shorter than the one used to address Treasure. ‘It’s also probable the British authorities will wish to carry out their own medical examination of the body.’

  ‘Here or in London, Colonel?’ asked Treasure.

  ‘Perhaps both.’ The speaker shrugged as Sol Blinton took the seat his wife had occupied earlier while she balanced herself on the arm, and not without difficulty. For some moments the Russian seemed to be wholly absorbed in watching Gloria Blinton cross and re-cross her legs, pulling the tight skirt high above her knees. ‘I understand there is a British doctor at the Embassy in Moscow,’ he continued with his eyes still on Gloria’s legs. ‘He could be sent here. It would be up to your Ambassador to decide.’

  There were some muttered comments in the brief lull that followed. This was the first time active involvement with the British authorities had been volunteered by the Russian.

  ‘You will no longer prevent us from getting in touch with our Ambassador?’ This was Mrs Vauxley in a stern, reverberating voice.

  Grinyev hesitated, then bowed in the speaker’s direction. ‘You phrase the question in that manner perhaps so that I have to say I have prevented such contact already. This is not the case. You are free to telephone your Embassy. Or anyone else you wish. Here or in Britain.’

  ‘Except there’s nobody working the switchboard here,’ put in Wander.

  ‘Nor, it seems, the one at the British Consulate attached to your Embassy in Moscow. My office has already tried to reach someone there.’

  Mrs Vauxley swallowed on this disarming piece of intelligence. ‘Consulates invariably keep office hours,’ she rallied. ‘We shall of course wish to go to the top. To the Ambassador.’

  ‘Ah. He is, I understand, in London. For consultations.’ Grinyev twitched an apologetic smile as though the Ambassador’s absence was his fault. ‘But tomorrow, in the morning, I am sure it will be possible to reach someone of importance at the Consulate. Or the Embassy.’ He paused. ‘In order not to spoil your visit further, you may wish to nominate one member of the group to handle such communication.’ His gaze, and almost everyone else’s, was turned on Treasure as he made the suggestion. ‘Telephone arrangements will be made by the hotel.’

  ‘And meantime we are free to go as we please? We and our rooms will not be searched again?’

  Grinyev looked from Treasure to the speaker, Mrs Vauxley, and then back again before he replied. ‘I very much regret it was necessary to conduct body searches. It was in your own interests, you understand? You say you think your rooms have also been searched?’

  ‘This evening. While we were at the opera, Miss Harwick has been upstairs since our return, to fetch something. She’s certain someone has rifled through our belongings. Isn’t that so, Amelia?’

  ‘I … I thought so,’ whispered the unfortunate Miss Harwick looking absolutely terrified.

  ‘The maids tidy the rooms when the beds are turned down.’ It was Valya Sinitseva who had spoken. She had come up quietly behind Grinyev and practically unnoticed. ‘Russian maids are very thorough,’ she added, the last word somehow acquiring extra credibility in its deep thow-ru enunciation. ‘Sometimes it may look like they are too thorough when they leave rooms.’

  ‘Which is perhaps why they leave rumours as well,’ the canon confided quietly to Mrs Tate, who grinned and dug him quite hard in the ribs.

  The accent apart, the petite and pretty Intourist guide had made her contributions with an assurance that easily matched Mrs Vauxley’s.

  ‘Valya, what happens to tomorrow’s arrangements?’ asked Candy.

  ‘The coach will take us to the State Hermitage at nine forty-five as planned. Please be in the hall at nine-thirty.’ Valya glanced at Colonel Grinyev then continued: ‘I’m sorry the tea hasn’t come. Now is too late, perhaps. The hotel restaurant staff have to get up very early. If you like to go to bed the concierge on your floor will provide hot water for tea from her samovar. Good night.’

  Both Mrs Vauxley and Sir Jeremy Wander made as though to speak, then decided not to. Everyone got up and started towards the stairs and lifts.

  Grinyev bowed to Molly as she passed then touched Treasure’s arm. ‘If you and I could have a last word? If it wouldn’t be troubling you too much?’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘You’ve concluded Blinton is unconvincing as a murderer?’

  ‘Much less convincing than Mrs Vauxley.’ Grinyev gave Treasure one of his shy smiles. ‘Your good health.’ He lifted his glass in salute. The banker did the same.

  The two were alone in the small and poorly furnished hotel manager’s office, both seated in front of the desk. There were several beer cans on the desk, brought in earlier by one of Grinyev’s assistants.

  ‘You’re right. This is better for us than spirits,’ said the colonel as though the judgment was a serious one to which he had given a good deal of consideration.

  Treasure nodded. ‘Speaking of Mrs Vauxley, she was demanding to see the manager when we got back this evening. He wasn’t here. I suppose there’s no night manager?’ The banker frowned at the dirty curtains and the worn carpet below them. ‘He has a very … a … insignificant office.’

  ‘He’s probably a very insignificant person.’

  ‘You don’t know him?’

  ‘There will be several managers, Mr Treasure. What you might call a committee of managers. Our grand hotels are not run the way yours are. A manager is not someone who walks through the public areas smiling at the clients and receiving their congratulations. There will be no congratulations, and where there are no congratulations in Russia it’s difficult to find a manager. It’s hoped such things will change soon, but it takes time.’ Grinyev swallowed a large draught of beer by way of punctuation.

  ‘And Blinton proved his innocence when you questioned him in here?’

  ‘Quite the opposite. Blinton is foolish, stubborn and … guilty as hell.’ The KGB man sniffed. ‘But not of murder, I think. He won’t explain where he was this evening. I believe he was with dissidents on the Petrograd side. He admits he was up there. Looking for his grandfather’s birthplace. In the dark. In the snow.’ He sniffed again, demonstrating how sorely his credulity had been taxed.

  ‘Dissidents?’

  ‘He’s Jewish. He’s probably been mixing with the awkward Jewish element. People who want to leave the country for Israel.’

  ‘Why don’t you let them?’

  The Russian shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. We do let a good many, and good riddance. They’re much more trouble than they’re worth. Blinton probably took them money. People do. To bribe officials who are much worse than the Jews. Does that surprise you?’

  ‘Only mystifies. We don’t stop people leaving Britain.’

  ‘Meaning what I said about the officials didn’t surprise you. Or shock you.’

  ‘I was surprised you said it.’

  ‘Naturally I should deny I did. Anyway, it’s a different matter from the murder. Tomorrow I may know what time Blinton took his coat from the cloakroom at the opera. According to him it must have been before the stabbing. Also the doorman may remember seeing him leave the building. Meantime I’m exercising our well known tolerance and letting him go.’

  ‘Go where? He has no passport.’

  ‘That’s right. There are limits to tolerance, even in the USSR. It was his knife that killed Frenk. In England he might still be in custody.’

  ‘I doubt it. Is it routine to search rooms?’

  The Russian paused before answering. ‘The maids tidied the rooms more carefully tonight because we’re looking for something.’ He scowled. ‘I’m looking for something.’

  ‘Must have been an extra shift of special maids. The beds weren’t turned down at all last night.’

  ‘I’m surprised. This is a five star hotel.’ Grinyev gave his gentle smile.

  ‘Can you say what you’ve lost?’

  ‘For your ears only, Mr Treasure, we’ve lost a painting. From one of the museums. It’s why I was here at the hotel earlier this evening. Why I have both cases to deal with now. And why I have an army of assistants helping me.’

  ‘A painting has been stolen, presumably a valuable one, and you think it was taken by a tourist?’

  ‘Not by one. For one, probably.’

  ‘It was stolen recently?’

  Grinyev blinked slowly. ‘Very recently.’

  ‘And naturally an expensive stolen painting must be destined for export. I can see that. And you thought the theft pointed to our group?’

  ‘Art pointed to your group, Mr Treasure, more directly than to most other foreign parties. Certainly more than any others here at the moment. So, on a hunch, I decided the theft might involve you. Not you personally, of course. Not necessarily. Then came the murder. The victim and the owner of the weapon are both members of your Baroque Circle. One is Jewish, the other may have been of Jewish origin.’

  ‘So you figure a bunch of Zionist art thieves have infiltrated my wife’s Baroque Circle, fallen out over the spoils and started doing each other in? Too convenient and decidedly far fetched I’d have thought. And anyway, I don’t believe Frenk was Jewish.’

  Grinyev looked momentarily sad, then his face brightened as he said: ‘There was the other consideration that a great deal of money would be involved. For the painting. You could call it venture capital.’

  Treasure gave a spontaneous chuckle. ‘You mean the kind of capital that comes from merchant banks? Sorry to foul up your theory again, but hot pictures really don’t feature in the Greenwood, Phipps current portfolio.’ He opened another can of lager. ‘The maids didn’t find the painting tonight?’

  ‘Not the painting.’

  When it was clear the colonel, now studying his shoes, didn’t intend expanding on what else the maids might have unearthed, Treasure broke the silence. ‘So what’s your priority?’

  The other looked up sharply. ‘I want the painting back.’

  ‘That’s more important than catching Frenk’s murderer?’

  ‘Of course. But the two are tied up. I’m quite sure of that.’

  ‘There’ll be international repercussions over the murder. Could be a good deal more embarrassing than losing a picture.’

  ‘Frenk was killed with Blinton’s knife. A personal feud between two British tourists. If there’s no other solution we can name Blinton as the murderer. Expel him to London under guard. Then it’s a British problem.’ The speaker’s tone was impassive.

  ‘And you’ll never admit you told me that either?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What if Frenk was killed by a Russian?’

  ‘Naturally I am working on that possibility too.’

  ‘That balcony was teeming with young Russians. Mostly young men, but some girls too. I saw them myself. Have you questioned any of them?’

  ‘Of course. All of them. And we shall do so again tomorrow. They are … in safe keeping.’

  ‘I see. But nobody actually saw the crime being committed?’

  ‘No. You said you saw the crush of people. It was also very dark at the back. The criminal saw the same and acted. With everybody looking outward. The other way. It seems he came in fast from behind and withdrew just as quickly, melting into the crowd.’

  ‘It was an expert stab?’

  Grinyev frowned. ‘Or lucky.’

  ‘And opportunist? I mean, how did he know Frenk would be where he was?’

  ‘Unless he took him there, Mr Treasure. Persuaded him to take a look at the promenaders.’

  ‘Which means they knew each other?’

  ‘Most probably.’

  ‘We should assume the murderer is a man?’

  ‘Not at all. You think it was a woman?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But I accept it could have been.’ Treasure studied the liquid in his glass. ‘And the picture comes first? Getting it back, that would be quite a feather in your cap?’

  Grinyev’s response was firm. ‘My motives are loftier than that. Surely you agree it’s a terrible crime against our people and our visitors? To steal a great painting from one of the collections here? So nobody sees it again except some crooked capitalist hoarder? Understand me, how can it be shown again? Our public galleries here are exactly that, Mr Treasure. Public.’

  ‘So are ours.’

  ‘Of course. When I was in London I was often at the National Gallery and the others. My favourite was the National Portrait, I think.’

  ‘You were in London? For how long?’

  ‘First for two years, then for nearly five. I was a Commercial Attaché at the Embassy.’

  ‘Well I never. Shall you ever come back?’

  ‘I doubt it. Persona non grata. I was expelled for alleged spying. With more than a hundred others.’

  ‘Were you a spy?’

  ‘Certainly not. I kept my eyes open.’ Grinyev made a diffident gesture. ‘No hard feelings. I’d like very much to go back. But that’s not important. You disapprove of public paintings being stolen?’

  Treasure hesitated. ‘Are you going to tell me the name of this painting?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry. I can tell you only that it’s old and very small. Eighteen centimetres square. On canvas.’

  ‘Did it come from one of the great private collections which you er … nationalised after the Revolution? The Morozov or the Shchukin collections for instance?’

  ‘It was bought by one of the Tsars as a present for his wife. After her death it was placed in the national collection, long before the Revolution.’ Grinyev was looking sternly querulous. ‘You’d have reservations about the people’s entitlement to any picture legally appropriated by the State in nineteen seventeen?’

  ‘No. But I’d forgive an exiled Morozov or Shchukin for having some. Or, in certain circumstances, for trying to get a few back.’

  The colonel pondered the point briefly before nodding. ‘Well that doesn’t arise, Mr Treasure. Your quaint capitalist moralities are not being challenged. May I take it, then, that you disapprove of the theft of this particular painting?’

  ‘Certainly. And I’ll do whatever I can to help get it back. Though frankly I don’t see …’

  ‘Even if it’s already out of the country?’ the other man interrupted.

  ‘Mm … yes, I think so. And I’m taking it you’ll do your level best to expose whoever killed Frenk?’

  ‘Of course. So it’s a deal, Mr Treasure?’

  Treasure formally shook the other’s outstretched hand. ‘I assume I’m not supposed to tell anyone a picture’s missing?’

  ‘That is so. For the moment.’

  ‘Difficult not to confide in my wife. Could be counter-productive as well. She’s very discreet and I’d swear her to secrecy.’

  Grinyev considered again. ‘Very well. We confide in your wife on that basis.’ He stood up. ‘This office and the telephone here will be available for your use from nine in the morning. That’s seven o’clock London time.’

 

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