May I see? Argyll said, coming round to the other side of the desk in his impatience and peering at the ledger eagerly.
Gentilly pointed at a scrawled entry half-way down. This is the one you want, I imagine. June 1939. One painting by Jean Floret of a classical scene, delivered to his house. And another, same painter, of a religious scene, delivered to a different address. The Boulevard St-Germain. The unfashionable end.
Good. Must have been another in the same series.
What series?
There were four, he said briskly, displaying his knowledge. All of legal scenes. This other one must be another one of the series.
I see.
Good. Must have been another in the same series.
What series?
There were four, he said briskly, displaying his knowledge. All of legal scenes. This other one must be another one of the series.
I see.
Anyway, thats one little problem cleared up. Now, how can I find out who lived at this other address?
You are keen, arent you? Why does it matter?
It probably doesnt. Just being thorough.
Gentilly shook his head doubtfully. I dont see how it can be done. With a lot of work you could find out who owned the apartment, if thats what it was. But the chances are that it was rented. I dont imagine theres the slightest chance of finding out who lived there.
Oh, he said, disappointed. Thats a nuisance. What about Hartung himself? How would I get hold of people who knew him?
It was a long time ago, and hes not the sort of person people like to remember. People did bad things in the war; but he... Do you know the story?
Bits. I know he hanged himself.
Yes. Good thing too. I believe he was quite popular in the social whirl before the war. Very beautiful wife. But you wont get many people admitting to having been his friend now. Not that there can be many left alive. Its a very long time ago. All forgotten.
Perhaps not.
As you say; perhaps not. But it should be. The wars over. Just history. What people did in the past.
Despite his enhanced confidence in his ability to wheedle information out of fellow art dealers, Argylls subsequent assault on Jean-Luc Besson was not a great success.
After he left Rosier Frères, he calculated carefully, decided that the money would just run a taxi and directed it to Bessons address. Simple and successful so far. He knocked, and Besson opened about forty, with thinning hair pasted over the front of his scalp to spread it as widely as possible, and an unexpectedly open and friendly face.
Argyll introduced himself with a false name and, despite a none-too-convincing excuse for the visit, Besson invited him in. Coffee? Or tea? The English drink tea, dont they?
He even began chattering away as the coffee was made without Argyll having to prompt him. He was taking a few days off, he said, as his visitor shuffled discreetly around the apartment eyeing the paintings. Not bad at all. It was a habit that both he and Flavia had. Flavia did it because she was in the police and had a suspicious mind; he did it because he was an art dealer and couldnt help making running assessments of other peoples possessions. It wasnt polite, really, but it was occasionally useful. He checked quickly through the pictures, eyed up the furniture, examined the grandfather clock and was on to the collection of photographs in art nouveau silver frames before the water was even boiling. Nothing of interest there; just Besson in the company of various anonymous figures. Relations, by the look of them.
You know how it is, Im sure, Besson was saying as he looked up and scuttled back to his seat. You wake up and just decide you cant face it today. All those customers coming in, looking at your pictures, then finding out the price and sucking in their breath in a disapproving fashion like youre a fairground pickpocket. Or even worse, trying to look as though they could easily afford it when you know for sure they cant. The only ones I like are the people who tell you frankly theyd love it if they had the money. But of course, you dont make an income out of them. Do you have a gallery, Mr Byrnes?
I work in one, Argyll lied cautiously.
Really? Where? London?
Thats right. Called Byrnes Galleries.
Are you that Byrnes? Sir Edward Byrnes?
Oh, no, he said, thinking that maybe it would have been better to have chosen a less prominent name. Hes my, ah, uncle. This is a Gervex, isnt it? he said, pointing with sudden interest at a small but beautifully painted portrait of a woman.
Besson nodded. Handsome, dont you think? One of my favourites.
You mainly do nineteenth-century French, then?
Not mainly. Only. Got to specialize these days. Theres nothing worse than a reputation for having broad tastes. People only think you know what youre doing if you narrow your range down.
Oh.
You sound surprised.
I am. Well, more disappointed, in fact.
Whys that?
Because it sort of means Ive wasted my time. And yours. Ive got a painting, you see, that I was told might have passed through your hands at one stage. But as its not nineteenth-century, then perhaps I was told wrong. Its a shame, I dearly want to find out about it.
I do occasionally handle other stuff. What is it?
I dont know. Its a Death of Socrates. Late-eighteenth century.
As discreetly as possible Argyll watched to see what the reaction to this was. Apart from taking a sip of his coffee, Besson appeared to cope with the surprise quite well. However, there was just a hint of a guarded tone in his voice when he next spoke to indicate that the man was a little cautious.
Oh, yes? he said. Where did it come from?
I dont know. I was doing a trip down to Italy a couple of days ago to see what I could lay my hands on. And I bought this painting off a dealer there. Name of Argyll. Jonathan Argyll, he was called. He seemed keen to get rid of it. Very charming man.
Was there any harm in a bit of publicity? he thought to himself. After all, if you were going to lie, there was no reason not to fib to your own advantage. What was he to do after all? Make himself out to be a monster?
Anyway, he said he was short of cash so he wanted to unload it. Ive taken it off his hands. Now, I think it may be valuable, so I was wondering where it came from. I heard that you...
Besson, however, was not going to be co-operative. No, he said slowly, never heard of it.
He went through the motions of thinking again. Sorry. Cant even think of any of my colleagues who might have had it. Tell you what, though, Ill ask around. How does that sound?
Thats very kind of you, he said. They were both getting into the swing of it now. Each trying to out-lie the other. Argyll was quite enjoying himself and he had a sneaking idea that Besson was as well.
Not at all, Besson said, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen.
Tell me where youre staying in Paris and Ill let you know if I find anything out.
Argyll had thought of that one. The last thing he wanted was to hand over the address of his hotel.
Its OK, he said. Ill be out all day, then Im going back to London. You can ring me at the gallery if you find something.
Byrnes was going to be a little surprised at the sudden expansion of his family circle, but Argyll felt moderately confident he would deal with the situation with his accustomed aplomb.
What are you doing this evening?
Why do you ask?
How about going out? Im going to a wonderful club, in the Rue Mouffetand. Very new, very good. If you like, I could pick you up at your hotel...
Some people are very persistent. Argyll gripped his leg and grimaced. Oh, I couldnt. And slapped his leg.
Besson looked enquiringly.
Broke it a year ago. Its still painful. I have to be careful.
Some people are very persistent. Argyll gripped his leg and grimaced. Oh, I couldnt. And slapped his leg.
Besson looked enquiringly.
Broke it a year ago. Its still painful. I have to be careful.
How dreadful.
Argyll got up, and shook Besson warmly by the hand. Thanks all the same. Now, I must run.
On that leg?
They exchanged a knowing smile, and Argyll left, remembering to limp slightly until he was out of sight.
As she was being ushered into Inspector Janets office in the great, bleak building on the Île de la Cité Flavia realized that, for the first time since shed left Rome, she felt comfortable. It was a bad sign, in her view. She was getting too settled. The station was reassuringly familiar: the desk by the entrance manned by a bored policeman; the notice-boards in the corridor full of schedules and rotas and roughly printed complaints from the union about the latest pay offer; the glossy but peeling paint. It all made her feel alarmingly at home. She was becoming too used to her job. She must watch that.
She was there largely as a matter of courtesy. A question of etiquette, really. If one of Janets underlings was discovered galumphing around Italy without so much as a by-your-leave, Bottando would have been mightily put out. Its not done, that sort of thing. You ask first. Then you go galumphing around.
Above all with Janet; Franco-Italian relations in the matter of art thefts were delightfully harmonious, and had been for years. There was no reason at all to be deceitful, and many reasons not to damage a perfect understanding.
Nor did either Bottando or Flavia want to be deceitful. At least, they didnt want to deceive Janet. The trouble was this sneaking feeling in the back of her mind that Janet might, perhaps, be deceiving them. But she was ushered in, given a warm embrace and a cup of coffee, sat herself down on a comfortable seat just out of range of the mans halitosis and prattled on about holidays and sights and museums.
It was Janet himself who brought up the subject of a certain painting.
Is that why youre here? Taddeo has been on the phone about it a couple of times.
Thats the one. Although the picture itself is not so important anymore. It was given back to the owner yesterday. Im sorry I didnt tell you in advance, but
He waved it aside. No matter. As I say, we werent formally interested anyway. Where did it come from?
A man called Jean Rouxel.
Janet looked impressed. Oho. How very interesting.
You know him?
Oh, yes. Not that theres anything surprising in that. A very distinguished man. One of those people whove wielded influence for what seems like decades. You know he was awarded