The Amber Room (28 page)

“My dear Dr. Rokovski, I assure you—”

“Your reputation is one bound with an honor that goes back decades, Alexander. I do not know what the answer is here, but your honor is not in question.”

“Yet the chalice is.”

“According to Karlovich, yes.”

“There must be some mistake.”

“Perhaps. But I can assure you that the chalice you returned was not the chalice in his drawings.”

“They differed only in this secret compartment and the signets?”

“And the contents,” Rokovski added. “If the drawings are indeed of the chalice that he gave to you. If he was correct about your chalice's having those differing emblems.”

“But why would the man go to such trouble?” Alexander ran frantic fingers through his hair. “I admit to being at a complete and utter loss.”

“As am I.” Rokovski hesitated, then said, “Alexander, I hate to ask you this, but did anyone other than yourself have access to the chalice?”

“Only about eight hundred guests at my gala.” He shook his head. “No, forgive me. It was a feeble jest. Security there was impeccable. I had the chalice at my shop, which is most carefully secured and guarded, and then as an extra precaution it was removed to a vault at a leading bank.”

“Well,” Rokovski sighed. “I certainly am not going to make
formal enquiries at this point. Whatever search we make must be done as discreetly as possible.”

“So you do believe that the original chalice is missing?”

“What choice do I have? Why would this man lie to me?”

Alexander settled back into his chair. To that question he had no reply.

Alexander went directly to the Marian Church and found Karlovich awaiting his arrival, the chalice still on his desk. Alexander seated himself and examined the artifact, determined not to allow the curate's all-pervasive energy to force him into a hasty conclusion. After quite some time, he set the chalice back on the desk and declared, “This is absolutely extraordinary handiwork. I am virtually certain that this chalice is genuine gold and silver, and that the work dates back several centuries. Possibly more.”

“Whether that is true or not,” Karlovich replied coldly, “I as a simple curate cannot say. But what I can tell you is that this is
not
my chalice.”

“Who else might know of this secret compartment of which you spoke to Rokovski?”

“I don't know. I would have thought no one in all Poland. No one alive, in any case. The cellar has been closed to the public and to most priests since before the war. Secrecy over our collection was the only insurance we had against its being stolen by either the Nazis or the Russians. In fact, this collection has been kept in virtual secrecy since the Austro-Hungarian invasion two hundred years ago. Even the existence of the crypt itself was a fact known only to a handful of people.”

Alexander sat and listened intently to this dark-bearded, powerful man with the eyes of a zealot. The curate clearly felt he was telling the truth. “What do you intend to do?”

“What can I do? I certainly could not make a formal enquiry without losing my job for allowing the reliquary to travel outside Poland, not to mention perhaps causing an international outrage. And of course we must not scare the
thief into some rash act. Clearly this was done with the intention of not being detected.”

“I assure you that I am a man of honor, and that I shall do whatever it takes to right this situation. What do you wish me to do?”

“Find me my chalice,” Karlovich replied. “But do not worry about your good name, Mr. Kantor. I am most willing to keep this entire matter very quiet. I understand the importance of your reputation, and I would not want to taint it with any hint of impropriety.”

“You are most kind,” Alexander murmured.

“And of course, your success in retrieving the chalice would depend upon secrecy.”

“Rest assured I shall do everything in my power to unravel this mystery. Yet what if the chalice is not recovered?”

Karlovich spread out his arms. “Then perhaps you would consider arranging to have a suitable sum of compensation paid. Such money would of course be devoted to the most noble of church purposes.”

“I understand,” Alexander said quietly, wishing that were so.

“I have no idea when others might discover that the chalice you returned is not in truth the reliquary. I can only hope that my purpose in life has been accomplished by then, and that I have been called to my eternal home.”

Alexander rose in confused defeat. “Please be so kind as to give me a few weeks. I shall come back to you, either in person or through Dr. Rokovski. I know the market in religious antiques quite well, and I shall try to draw out this piece by posing as a buyer. Failing that, I am of course most willing to offer some financial compensation, however meager it may be in comparison to your loss.”

CHAPTER 25

The next morning dawned clear and bitterly cold. Jeffrey and Katya joined Alexander in the tiny alcove of the shop for coffee and commiseration, their conversation marked by numerous pauses and deep sighs.

Alexander stood and went for a mope about the shop, murmured from up by the front window, “How on earth did this happen?”

“It's not your fault,” Jeffrey said for the hundredth time already that day.

Alexander chose not to hear him. “Forty years in the antiques trade, and here at the crown of my career I am confronted with accusations against which I have no defense.”

“And when you were doing it for charity,” Jeffrey added. “It wasn't even business.”

Katya reached in her carry bag, brought out a yellow legal pad, and announced, “It seems to me that what we need most right now is clear thinking.”

Alexander's tone was querulous. “How am I to defeat an accusation I cannot make public?”

“It's not just the chalice,” Jeffrey agreed. “If this gets out, all our Polish sources are going to shrivel up like a dried prune.”

“Not if,” Alexander said, returning to the alcove and dropping into his seat. “When.”

“The way to defeat this problem is to solve it,” Katya replied crisply. “We must outline all the possibilities. Everyone is a suspect.”

“This is absurd,” Alexander declared, but could manage no heat.

“We have to trace the line of possession of the chalice,” she insisted. “We must examine every opportunity and motive for theft.”

Jeffrey recalled her finding the Rubens in a crowded basement vault and felt a slight lift to his spirit. “What are you suggesting?”

“First, we have Karlovich,” Katya said. “From the sound of it, he's not a totally stable character.”

Alexander snorted. “You simply cannot go about accusing the curate of Cracow's central cathedral of being a thief.”

“He accused you, didn't he?” Katya scribbled busily. “Then there's the three of us.”

Alexander raised his hand at that. “Let us just say here and now that we trust one another, shall we? I don't care to see my world upset any more than it already is.”

Katya nodded agreement. “So it was in your flat for one night—”

“Where no one entered,” Alexander replied. “Not even the porter. Security in my building is meticulous.”

“Then we have those people with access to the shop,” Katya went on.

“There's the three of us,” Jeffrey mused. “Plus the cleaning lady—no, she was off the week the chalice was here before it was moved to the bank. I remember because I had to vacuum and dust. Then there were our customers.”

Alexander showed the first hint of renewed interest. “Did you ever allow a customer to be alone in the shop?”

“Not for an instant,” Jeffrey replied emphatically. “Not ever.”

“No, nor I. And I must say, I found myself especially vigilant with the chalice here, although I suppose we have several other items that approach it in value.”

“What about when you were traveling back from Cracow?” Jeffrey asked. “Did you set it down?”

“Not in any place, not at any time,” Alexander replied. “I shall not take you through the rather gruesome details, but suffice it to say that I suffered several indignities rather than part with the case for even a moment.”

“We need to see if our security firm has any videotapes
left of those days,” Katya said, scribbling away. “Although they usually erase them once a week, I believe they told me.”

Jeffrey looked at her. “You talked to the security firm?”

She did not raise her eyes from the pad. “This is my job now, Jeffrey. Security is a part of it. Okay. Could someone else have gotten into the shop?”

“In off-hours?” Jeffrey shook his head. “All Mayfair would have heard the alarms.”

“No alarm system is foolproof, of course,” Alexander responded, “but ours is very dependable. If someone did break in, it would have to be a very skilled thief. A professional. And no such professional would swap one valuable for another. And allow me to assure you, the chalice I returned to Cracow is unmistakably precious.”

“He also wouldn't have left the shop's other valuables intact,” Jeffrey agreed. “The same goes for entry into Alexander's flat. Some of his antiques are first-rate.”

“Right.” She continued writing and went on. “Then there was the photographer who shot the pictures for our invitation.”

“I remained by the chalice throughout the session,” Alexander replied. “I have also checked the photographs most carefully. All I can say is that the two signets facing the camera were identical. Five are not in view; of them I can say nothing at all.”

Katya made swift notes. “That brings us to the transportation to and from the bank vault. Then you have the display. Then the return of the chalice to the church, and that afternoon until the discovery of the switch.”

“Barclay's Bank is above question,” Alexander replied. “Their reputation is certainly more valuable than the threat of scandal over one item.”

“A king's ransom of valuables is stored in their Charing Cross vaults,” Jeffrey agreed. “Why go to the trouble of switching just one item?”

“I positively concur,” Alexander said. “And as for attracting
the attention of international thieves, how did they come to hit on us so swiftly?” Jeffrey shook his head. “We only had the chalice for how long? Four weeks?”

“We did publicize it widely in magazines and publications,” Katya pointed out. “Not to mention the three thousand invitations to the gala.”

Jeffrey felt a sinking feeling. “What about Greenfield?”

“What are you saying?”

“I think we've got to include him. It was his idea to put the chalice in the bank's vaults.”

“I certainly cannot confront the man directly,” Alexander objected. “And unfortunately the bank won't tell us any details unless I give them ample reason, which would of course raise the threat of scandal. The question is how to speak with him without making this nightmare any more public.”

“But could he have made a switch?” Jeffrey felt an inward cringe. The thought of a friend stealing from them sickened him.

“In the bank?” Alexander pursed his lips. “If there was an accomplice in the bank, perhaps. What might be more likely is in the arrangements regarding the display case.”

“We were so busy with the gala details,” Katya agreed.

“I can't think of any moment from the time the bank security people brought in the three treasures to when they were actually sealed in the cases that they were left alone.” Alexander seemed to dim slightly. “But we were all so busy. It is possible, I suppose.”

“I hate this,” Jeffrey declared. “Greenfield is a friend.”

“He is a somewhat distorted character, but I agree, he is indeed a good man at heart. I cannot imagine—” Alexander shook his head, sighed, “But I suppose we must.”

“And the security people who guarded the display case in the ballroom,” Katya added. “We'll need to speak with them as well.”

Alexander regarded her gravely. “Painful as this exercise
is proving to be, my dear, you have instilled in me a morsel of hope. For that I must thank you.”

“The atmosphere has lightened in here a thousand percent,” Jeffrey agreed.

“It's really nice,” Katya confessed, “feeling a part of all this. Even in the middle of such a bad time, I truly feel fortunate.”

“As do we,” Alexander said gravely.

“Hang on,” Jeffrey said, straightening in his chair. “Did whoever took the chalice know about the secret compartment?”

Alexander nodded. “I quite agree. We must also consider the fact that it was not an antique, nor silver and gold, which lured the thief. This may be the key. The replica of the chalice, or whatever it is that I looked at, is impeccable. To make a forgery like this would take a tremendous amount of preparation.”

“And time,” Katya agreed.

“And effort,” Alexander continued. “I examined the chalice in the curate's office quite carefully, I assure you. If it was a forgery at all, the work was remarkable, the materials first-rate. I would have staked my reputation that I was looking at a product of fifteenth-century craftsmanship.”

“So the thief was possibly after the fragment,” Jeffrey agreed. “But who would have known about it?”

“We also have to ask ourselves who would be willing to go through all this trouble for such a relic,” Katya urged.

“Even Karlovich didn't know about the secret compartment until two days ago,” Alexander protested.

“He
said
,” Katya replied.

“I can't see why he would allow such an item out of the country if he knew about the relic,” Jeffrey said.

“There were too many other items in the collection to choose from,” Alexander agreed.

“Unless he had a reason,” Katya said.

“Let's not allow ourselves to become carried away,” Alexander said. “Karlovich is a bit off-balance, there's no question
about that. But we can't go along blaming him. The fact is, we are responsible. What we have to come to grips with, assuming we all trust one another, is that we let the chalice out of our protection and our control—either when we sent it to the bank vaults or at some other moment along the way.”