Flavia nodded.
“You may think it is simply the silly games of a group of old men, but it is more than this. We have the opportunity of doing good work, and I stopped it. And it ended in disaster.”
“Well, hardly …”
“I see. But I don’t understand …”
“As I’ve been running this place for the past few days, I have had occasion to go through the files. And what I have found shocks me. And concerns me deeply. A moment.”
He got up and walked over to the desk, where he fumbled with a key ring and opened a drawer. “Here,” he said, handing Flavia a thin manila file. “The first letter arrived yesterday morning.”
Flavia opened it and looked at the letter. It was from a firm of stockbrokers in Milan. She frowned as she read. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to her.
“I phoned them, of course, to ask exactly what it meant.”
“So why not tell me?”
“Xavier always had this notion of being modern; using the techniques and opportunities of the real world—he always called it that—to help us in our work. I fear he was terribly naive about it, and convinced himself that making money was easy. So he used these people—without ever mentioning it to anyone—and, as far as I can see, gambled with what money we had. That’s not the phrase these people use. Exploiting investment opportunities, I believe is how they phrased it.”
“And?”
“And like an innocent lamb to the slaughter, he has lost us a fortune. I don’t understand the process at all, but I do understand the result. Instead of having a reasonable sum in assets, we now owe these people a quarter of a million dollars. Xavier has gambled the rest away.”
“Which presumably is why he wanted to get on with selling things.”
“I imagine. And I suspect we will have to do so now, barring a miracle. We will have to pay his debts. Our debts. It came as a great shock.”
“I can believe it. How long has this been going on?”
He shrugged. “More or less from the moment he took over from Charles, I believe. I don’t know. I do very much wish it hadn’t fallen to me to discover this.”
“Why?”
“Because it confirms my worst fears about him. And I find myself deriving too much satisfaction from being correct. I should now institute proceedings against him as our rule provides, but I doubt my motives too much. And because it is partly my fault. Had I not opposed him so much and so unreasonably, he might not have felt obliged to resort to such measures. I led the opposition. Why? Because I think bringing health care and education to the Third World is a bad idea? Not at all; I am a fervent admirer of Father Paul, and that is his whole existence, and why he is pining away here in Rome when he should be back in his own country doing what he does best. No; it was because Father Xavier was in favour. That was all. You see what I mean? My foolishness made a bad situation worse, until it ended in disaster. I thank the Lord that Xavier was not killed, although I grieve for Signor Burckhardt.”
She nodded. “I see. So what do you do now?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Where do you get money from in a hurry? That is not an area where I have a great deal of experience.”
Flavia stood up and smiled faintly. “Nor me.”
He nodded as she got up to go, and rose to open the door for her.
“Good day so far?”
Which just showed how sensitive he could be on occasions.
“Hardly.”
Flavia had arrived at Jonathan’s little cubbyhole, taken a chocolate biscuit from the secret hoard, specially imported from England, he kept behind the reference books and then decided she didn’t feel all that hungry.
“Just asking. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been looking as cheerful as a funeral ever since you got here.”
“Rough day.”
“Go on. Tell me.”
“Later,” she said brusquely, impatient at his cheerful unconcern for once.
“Please yourself. What are you here for, if not to unburden the troubles of the world?”
“Why should I be here for anything?”
“You don’t often turn up for no reason.”
True enough. What was she here for? Reluctantly, she made herself concentrate on the practicalities of the case, and forced its complications into the background.
“You said you might be able to find out something about the icon. Have you?”
“Not yet. It’s been a busy day.”
“Listen, Jonathan. I don’t have time for your busy days. This is important.”
He frowned. “And it’s police business, not mine. I’ve been working since I got here. You never said it was so very urgent.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Look, what is the matter with you? What did you come here for? Did you just want to snap my head off?”
“I said I’m sorry. I know you’re busy, but I need to find out about that picture. I’ve been up since five, this man Burckhardt has been murdered …”
“What?”
“He was shot. There is evidently much more to that picture than we thought. I need to know what. And for obvious reasons it’s becoming pressing.”
Argyll gaped at her in astonishment for a second, then shook himself, got up and walked out of the room. He came back a few moments later with a bearded man in his mid-forties.
“This is Mario di Angelo. He’s the head of the department. Tell him about Burckhardt.”
So she did. Di Angelo’s face registered firstly astonishment, then genuine shock and distress. “And I had dinner with him only a few days ago. Who would have thought?” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Poor man. Poor, poor man. A really nice, companionable fellow. Very learned as well. He’ll be badly missed, you know.”
Flavia nodded. “At this dinner, he didn’t mention being in Rome to buy an icon, did he?”
A shaken head. “No. I assumed that he was here for some such reason, of course. We knew each other as scholars, and never talked about his business.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No. He said he was going to finish off some research and had this wonderful idea. Such as he told me was quite interesting. All about the theological aspects of icons. Their changing role in the liturgy of the early church. The connection between the uses of icons and the uses of statues to local gods before Christianity.”
“Eh?”
“You know, ancient Greek cities had their protecting deity, with Athens and Athena, and so on. Christian Greek cities and towns had their own saint or particular representation of Christ or the Virgin or whoever, which also had a protecting role. Now, was this a mere transference of old patterns of worship and belief on to new forms, or was it more complicated than that? Fascinating subject, really. He published a small note in the Journal of Byzantine Studies a year or so ago. He sent me a copy. I’d be happy to let you have it, if it would help.”
He was beginning to get into second gear here, and Flavia had this feeling that he might go on for a long time unless diverted. Not that she didn’t find it interesting, but …
“Thank you. Jonathan? Could you look through this stuff? Try and find out what Burckhardt was after?”
“Apart from icons?”
She nodded.
Argyll cocked his head and put his hand to his ear.
“Please?” she said.
“My pleasure.”
It was half past four, it had been a long day and it was far from over. Flavia had to see Mrs Verney at six and somehow she felt it wasn’t going to be an easy meeting. At the moment there wasn’t anything urgent to do, and she felt suddenly exhausted again. Once back in her office, she considered doing some paperwork, then the call of the sofa became loud and insistent. She lay down for a few seconds, curled up, and fell fast asleep.