Death of an Elgin Marble (37 page)

Easton began to shake slightly, as if he had the beginnings of a fever. ‘Please, Inspector, I don’t think I should say any more now. I think I’ve said far too much already.’

‘Nonsense, man,’ growled Inspector Kingsley, but his mind was racing as he looked at his prisoner. The man was now rocking slowly from side to side in his chair. If he carried on with more warnings of immediate imprisonment and threats of the rope, Easton might suffer a complete collapse. The Inspector had heard of colleagues in the past who had carried on too long with their interrogations so that the prisoners went to pieces and were unable to give evidence. Easton had given them invaluable information. Better, surely, to keep that intact than to humiliate and terrify him any further.

‘I’ve got other business to attend to,’ Inspector Kingsley said harshly. ‘I’m having you kept inside overnight. Don’t argue or you’ll be back in Pentonville. We’ll be here again tomorrow.’

Dear Lord Powerscourt, (the letter was from John Hudson, European art critic of the
New York Times
)

Please forgive the haste. I am about to set out for an exhibition in Florence. I have, as you requested, been making enquiries about Mr Huntington, the railway king who bought the Turner. I have been in touch with my friend Franklin, who has been talking to the politics and the business departments on the paper. They are entranced and fascinated by this story, the politics and business people. They want to buy you a very expensive dinner the next time you are in New York.

Powerscourt smiled. He had never been to New York. Lady Lucy had been trying to persuade him to go for years.

Myron Guthrie, (the letter continued) the chief politics man, has worked in London for some time. He says the principal thing to remember about Huntington at this time is that he is in the middle of a process that very few British people understand. The phenomenon is particularly American. Ever since the days of John D. Rockefeller and his control of the oil business, captains of industry have tried to buy out or ruin their main competitors. Then they have a monopoly. They can control the prices. They can, in effect, charge whatever they like. For years now these people have been known as robber barons.

Powerscourt thought they were a long way from an oil painting hanging on the walls of Norfolk House on Chiswick Mall.

When politicians opposed to big money feel things may have got out of hand they call for the Congress or a committee or a subcommittee of Congress to investigate the tycoon. These investigations are very thorough, far worse than the Inquisition apparently. Specialists from the Department of Justice go through the books. They check everything. They begin, according to their critics, with a presumption of guilt rather than innocence.

Eighteen months ago, just before the Turner walked off the walls, Henry Huntington of the Huntington Library and his railways and all his affairs were put under investigation. It’s still going on. Nothing, according to my colleagues on the
New York Times
, would have given these investigators greater joy than to find that their victim had been importing or trying to import stolen works of art. It could have finished his whole career. So, they suspect the reason for the delay in bringing the painting across was simply Huntington delaying the transfer in case it damaged his business. They suspect the thieves in London may have got fed up waiting for their money and invented the change of name. For once the painting had a different name, not on any blacklist in the New York Police Department or any of the great galleries, the problem would have gone away.

I hope this is useful,

In haste,

Yours sincerely,

John Hudson

Lady Lucy Powerscourt was having a last supper the evening before the Caryatid might reappear at the British Museum. Johnny Fitzgerald was still on manoeuvres in Warwickshire, but her husband and Inspector Kingsley were present at the feast. The Powerscourt fishmonger on Sloane Street provided some excellent oysters, the Powerscourt butcher on the King’s Road sent some delicious lamb and the Powerscourt cellars contributed a bottle of Batard Montrachet and a couple of Charmes Chambertin.

Powerscourt passed on the details of John Hudson’s letter about events in New York. He was thrilled with the news from Maidstone. ‘Congratulations, Inspector,’ he cried, pouring him a large glass of white wine, ‘you’ve cracked the case wide open! Excellent news!’

‘Well done, Inspector, well done indeed,’ echoed Lady Lucy.

‘We have some more interesting news too,’ said Powerscourt, ‘though not as germane to the case as yours. I heard this afternoon from the British Ambassador in Athens. A Caryatid, a fairly authentic-looking Caryatid in his words, has been put back in her place on the Acropolis by the Archbishop of Athens and a couple of Metropolitans. The Greek military guarded her all night apparently.’

‘Heavens above,’ cried Inspector Kingsley, ‘how many of the bloody things are there? Do you have any idea, my lord?’

‘Before we start counting Caryatids,’ said Lady Lucy, ‘could you clear up something more important? There have been two murders in this case, two dead men, two families who have lost loved ones. Do you know why they were killed?’

‘I’ve thought a lot about that, Lucy,’ said her husband, ‘we know how Kostas and Carwyn Jones died, of course. We’re not sure why. But the evidence from the people in Wales suggests they were killed because they tried to blackmail Carver Wilkins. He had paid the two brothers pretty well, from what we know of the Kostas’s bank account, for stealing the Caryatid and replacing it with a fake. And he sent money to Lucas Ringer to pay Carwyn Jones for concocting the story about the statue. But they both had a bad dose of the Oliver Twists – they asked for more. Carver knew that if either of them started talking he’d be in trouble. He couldn’t take the risk. So he sent in the Twins, once to the tube station and once to Wales. God knows what happened to Kostas’s brother. We may never know, but we presume he’s dead too.’

‘How terrible,’ said Lady Lucy.

‘I agree,’ said Inspector Kingsley. ‘It is terrible.’ He didn’t refer to his decision to leave the Metropolitan Police because of another two or three murders. ‘There are other questions we need to clear up. Perhaps you could return to the number of Caryatids, my lord?’

‘Before I answer that,’ said Powerscourt, polishing off the last of the oysters, ‘let me ask you a question. Do you think the Caryatid, or perhaps a Caryatid, will be restored to the British Museum tomorrow morning?’

The Inspector stared into his wine as if the answer lay in a tiny commune in the Cote de Beaune. ‘No, I don’t,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t think it will come back tomorrow. I don’t think the people who took it have any left. The cupboard is bare. All the copies and the original have been accounted for. Or do you think there are enough Caryatids floating around for one of them to get to Great Russell Street? I have, by the way, ordered a very light surveillance of the museum during the night. I very much doubt if the people who bring her back, if they do, will be the same ones who took her in the first place. Better to let her come home, I say. I come back to my question, my lord. How many of the damned things do you think there are?’

Powerscourt paused and stared down at his plate. He picked up a single pea and held it aloft between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

‘One,’ he said, ‘sent to Greece, but fell into the sea on the way. Maybe there was an ancient curse over that harbour in Brindisi.’ He dropped the pea into the palm of his left hand and picked up another one.

‘Two, and this statue in a way is the key to the whole affair, this one is sent to upstate New York in a giant coffin where I think it now resides in the millionaire’s art gallery. Maybe the fellow could be persuaded to return it once he knows the circumstances, or he may claim that he bought it in good faith from friend Easton.’ A second pea was transferred to his left hand. A third took its place.

‘Three, there is now a Caryatid back in Athens, cherished by the Greek Orthodox clergy and the population of Athens. I should say there is a chance of that being the real one, but—’ another pea was transferred, another taken up ‘—I cannot be sure.’

‘Four—’ Powerscourt waved this particular pea around for some time as if some new thought had just struck him ‘—there was a Caryatid at the Hellenic College in Amersham the other evening. Maybe that will be the one to go back to the British Museum tomorrow morning, if it does go back. If not, God help us—’ a fifth pea was pressed into service ‘—there might be five of them. You see, it is virtually impossible to know how many Caryatids there are. There’s one vital fact that has been staring us in the face all the way through this investigation and we haven’t noticed it. I only thought about it for the first time a moment ago.’

‘What’s that?’ said Lady Lucy.

‘Simply this,’ replied her husband. ‘The thieves had made a copy of the statue before the theft. They replaced the real Caryatid with their own version.’

‘So?’ Inspector Kingsley sounded puzzled.

‘So, they could have made three or even four copies before the theft. Don’t you see? They might have only needed to make one more copy after the event, the one over in Wales with the enormous coffin.’

‘God bless my soul,’ said Inspector Kingsley, ‘I see what you mean. Just going back to Amersham for a moment, I hadn’t realized that the one at the Hellenic College could be the one going back to the museum, but of course you’re right. Tell me, my lord, why did you say that the one going to America was the key to the whole affair?’

‘Well,’ said Powerscourt, ‘it depends on what or who you think the driving force behind the whole thing was. It depends if you think Byron is more important than Mammon for the participants. And we cannot forget the question of the relationship between the three players, Carver Wilkins, William Tyndale Easton and the good, or bad, Dr Tristram Stanhope.’

‘When you talk about Byron, Francis—’ the memory of the young men reciting
Childe Harold
had stayed with Lady Lucy ‘—do you mean that one motive for stealing the Caryatid might have been to send her back to the Acropolis where she came from? So the one in Athens is probably the real one?’

‘Exactly so,’ said Powerscourt. ‘On that assumption, the principal player would be Stanhope. Carver Wilkins probably thinks the Acropolis is a nightclub in the West End, and Easton, from what we know of him, is unlikely to read Greek poetry in bed last thing at night. But Stanhope would be different.’

‘Do you believe that, Francis?’

‘As a matter of fact, I don’t. I’d be very interested to hear what the Inspector thinks.’

The Inspector laughed. ‘I’ve been too busy thinking about what I need to get out of Easton tomorrow to consider these grand questions, my lord. I have to say I agree with you, though, I don’t believe Stanhope or Stanhope’s beliefs and desires are the key factors. Money is at the root of this case. Once you take on board that our American cousin paid well over a hundred thousand dollars for his statue, the rest is obvious. Stanhope can do what he likes with the others once the dollars have arrived.’

‘So do you think William Tyndale Easton is the most important member of the conspiracy?’

Lady Lucy’s question hung in the air between her husband and the policeman for a moment. Kingsley waved to Powerscourt as if saying, you first.

‘I don’t know if I am right in my version of how this particular Holy Trinity worked. It’s very easy to get these kinds of relationship wrong from the outside. I’ve been thinking for some time about Faust and Mephistopheles, and who is Faust and who is Mephistopheles in this case. I think Easton is Mephistopheles. Remember the time they spent together in the prison, thick as thieves as the Governor so aptly put it. Carver’s knowledge of crime is restricted to protection rackets, burglary, intimidation, beating up your enemies. Easton widens his horizons. Art, Old Master art, fetches very large prices. The possibilities of making enormous sums, far greater than those possible in the poverty and squalor of Deptford, appeal to the gangland boss. Easton whets his appetite. But Easton has a problem. Everybody in the art world knows he has been sent to jail. He is a leper in Old Bond Street. But he finds his Faust in Stanhope. Stanhope is always in need of money with that lifestyle and those clothes. Easton knew Stanhope from his time in the art world before he went to prison. Mephistopheles Easton tells Stanhope that if he suggests the targets, Easton and his friends will provide the means of stealing them and selling them on. Nobody will know that Stanhope was involved at all. For Marlowe’s Faust the attraction of twenty-four years with Mephistopheles as his servant was the wealth this connection would bring. Like the original Dr Faustus, Dr Stanhope did not care at first what happened to him after the twenty-four years. At least Faust had twenty-four years of visions of Helen of Troy and all those other delights. Stanhope looks as though he may be consigned to hell rather sooner.’

‘Before Mephistopheles turns you into Christopher Marlowe, Francis, and an early death, appropriately enough, in Deptford, perhaps you could tell us how it worked, here in twentieth-century London rather than in sixteenth-century Germany?’

‘Sorry, Lucy, I got rather carried away. The Turner was a dry run, a sort of exam. Stanhope proved that he could recommend thefts that would be both easy and profitable. Easton showed he could handle the subsequent selling of the painting. They weren’t to know when they planned it that Huntington would be ensnared in the thickets of a Congressional investigation and the suspicious minds of the men from the Justice Department. That was just bad luck. But Carver Wilkins saw how much money he could make from a simple burglary. Now came the Caryatid. I’m sure Stanhope suggested it. Only he could have guessed how much you might get for a Caryatid from a rich American millionaire. Easton may have got a whisper about Lincoln Mitchell on his trip to New York to discuss the Turner. The main reason for the theft of the Caryatid was the American money. The rest was camouflage, a chance for Stanhope to realize some of his ideals.’