Is there more? Yes, there is Zaharoff: he was already Sir Basil by the time I returned to England; honoured everywhere, trusted nowhere and rich as Croesus.
God, how he deserved to die! - he who all his life had profited by the deaths of others. But somehow I could not kill him though it would, ironically, have been supremely simple. For many times I watched him sit, often alone, at a café in Monte Carlo. But killing was now beyond me. I had seen enough of death. So I decided in the end that a truer justice should be done. Zaharoff's empire must be toppled by the greed that built it. And this I have arranged.
Did he know? Yes, he knew. For years he had me hunted; paid me a pension of fifty thousand pounds a year because he had no alternative. And had me hunted. Not successfully. The money I sent to children, always: principally to those damaged (and always there are plenty) by weapons of war. He would have had me killed, but he never found me. I could have killed him, but I left him to age and the knowledge of his mortality.
We are both gone, now. But in my old age I have drawn comfort from the knowledge that though I failed so many, I shall not fail in the end. Greed will pull down what was built. You - whoever you may be - you began the process by questioning the payment. That was the trigger. I knew that some day, a greedy man would seek to prevent the payment. And so would begin to bring down the Temple. For, once the process was begun, nothing would stop it. What, then, have I done? I have simply provided others with the means of litigation. There are three papers, three pieces of evidence.
1. The document signed by Nicholas Romanov disclaiming not fifty but five hundred million in gold sent to London and to Zaharoff.
2. My own sworn statement that Tsar Nicholas II signed the disclaimer under duress. 3. Several photographs - those taken outside Ekaterinburg on 17th July, 1918. Bronard was as clever at photography as at treachery, for they are all clear and very recognizable. Their authenticity I have also attested in a sworn statement.
As you read this, copies of all these documents are on their way to you, but also to the present head of the House of Romanov, and to the Soviet Government, both of whom will, I feel sure, be keen to acquire the sum which five hundred million has grown into after more than half a century in the hands of a fine and reputable bank.
I remain,
Yours faithfully, H.G. Dikeston.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Zaharoff Defence
Malory sat white-faced, the final packet of Dikeston's story on the desk in front of him. It was all before his time, yet it was no puzzled; he knew enough of the times to make sense of it, and what he was not sure of, could guess. The Tsar had sent the gold: there was very strong evidence for that. Dikeston's narrative was true, too: it squared too closely with history to be anything else. The hundred million in Hillyard, Cleef's vault could only be a part of the Romanov bullion. But where was the rest? Covered by the Arrangement, the ever-mysterious Arrangement? That Arrangement of Sir Basil's with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Bank of England, and known only to the Chancellor, the Governor, and the Senior Partner of Hillyard, Cleef: the Arrangement that there be always one hundred million in the vault.
All the rest went to the Bank of England. As gold prices rose, the Bank took more. It had done so for half a century.
The Arrangement made by Zaharoff and Lloyd George, Malory thought. Made by cunning men: the one with war businesses to feed, the other with a war to be paid for. Five hundred million! Four hundred taken into Lloyd George's - no, into the nation's - coffers to pay for a war. And one hundred to Zaharoff's care. But not for spending, not for conversion, not for transfer; no, something worth more than any of them. Here was the provision of eternal stability. Clever, cunning men . . . Malory sat up suddenly.
Eternal?Apparently not.
All through the day Malory sat; a stooped and elderly version of Rodin's Thinker, he was brooding and almost motionless. Beside him lay the papers which step by step had brought Hillyard, Cleef to the edge of the calamity promised by Zaharoff in that first Senior Partner's note. Malory had no doubt that if it could be shown that enough bullion to make up the justly-famous Hillyard, Cleef hoard had come originally from Imperial Russia, from the private treasure store of Tsar Nicholas II, then serious legal battle would unquestionably be joined. Romanov survivors would lay claim to Romanov gold; the Russian Government would demand the return of Russian gold. Hillyard, Cleef would have to defend against both.
The golden foundation upon which Hillyard, Cleef had been based so proudly for so long, would be ripped away . . .
Not only that; the British Government, having misappropriated four-fifths of the Tsar's gold in 1915, would find itself paying interest compound*. Malory informed the office of the Governor of the Bank of England of a probable and large liability and quite soon the Governor came round in person to 6 Athelsgate to hear the story and left, moaning softly to himself, to calculate compound interest at assorted rates on four hundred million for sixty-odd years.
All this left Malory still plunged in thought and deeply unhappy. Though he had suspected from the very start that Dikeston's threat was anything but a joke, the realization that ruin now faced Hillyard, Cleef was a single and continuing nasty surprise, recurring minute by minute. He was naturally much troubled at the thought of the bank's ruin but he was baffled and angry at the prospect of defeat by a man like Dikeston who had been not only less than clever, but was dead\
But most of all he was unhappy with Zaharoff. The old villain had known the danger and had even paid out a fortune over the years to ward it off; but he appeared to have erected no actual defence. Zaharoff must have guessed, presumably, at Dikeston's hatred, but he who foresaw everything had not foreseen the attack upon the bank itself.
Why not - when he knew the hazards?
Surely, Malory kept muttering to himself, Zaharoff must have taken further measures to protect the gold. He had done so once - by sending Dikeston to Russia. But then nothing more? Ridiculous! Malory suddenly sat up straight and busied himself with a fresh and aromatic Romeo No.3. Yes, ridiculous: Sir Basil would have done something . . .
He lit the Romeo with particular care and searched the wreathing smoke for Zaharoff's likeness, wanting to peer even into the phantom brain. The image was elusive. He sent for the oaken box of Senior Partner's Notes and went through the many envelopes. No luck again. By now, however, Malory was convinced that Sir Basil had done something, must have done something. It had not been in the nature of the man to leave his castles undefended. Somewhere there would have been a drawbridge to raise. Would have been? The virtue of gold was that it was indestructible, more or less, short of a nuclear bomb. So -there would be!
Soon, in the boardroom - he had been hunting through the building for traces of Zaharoff's remaining spoor - he sat looking at the oaken chair, wishing the old man were seated in it. He contemplated the ancient wood fruitlessly for a long time and actually rose to go before noticing in the decorative carving that curious continuous line which keeps turning back upon itself: the pattern known as the Greek Key. Scenting the trail, he went over the chair from top to bottom, and could see nothing. He tapped with a paper-knife for hollowed places; there were none. Any knobs and on cracks in the wood were prised and pressed: hidden compartments were not revealed.