Роберт Фиш - The Gold of Troy

“About that dinosaur you wished to discuss—”

“Let’s not waste any time,” Ruth said, rudely interrupting him, and the professor now knew for a certainty that the subject was the Schliemann treasure. He tried to look at her with polite inquiry, as if requesting clarification for her desire not to waste time, or for her unfriendly attitude. “And don’t look at me as if you didn’t know what I was talking about,” she went on, determined not to ease the pressure on the man for a moment. “You have the Schliemann treasure and we know it. Your cousin, Knud Christensen, told us all about it. He found it while diving and you bought it from him — stole it would be more accurate — for a thousand kroner. Well?”

Now that his worst fears had been realized, Professor Nordberg forced himself not to panic. Somehow this woman had located Christensen, God alone knew how, and the stupid oaf had talked. He had not drunk the doctored whiskey! God, why had he bought something expensive? A cheap aquavit would have been gone long since, and the talkative dim-witted farmer with it! Still, it was obvious the two knew nothing of Count Lindgren and the true location of the treasure. The thought brought instant sanity. He looked at Ruth McVeigh with a look of startled incredulity, as if he could not believe his ears.

“I beg your pardon?”

Ruth treated this doubt with the scorn it deserved. “Professor, please do not try to look innocent. You heard me quite well, and you understood exactly what I was saying. You have the Schliemann treasure, and if you don’t want to spend a good part of the rest of your life in prison, you’ll admit it and we can go on from there.”

Nordberg stared at her with a perplexed frown. “How can I admit something that isn’t true?”

“It’s perfectly true and you know it! If you’ll simply admit it, you can stand to gain from it.”

Nordberg sighed in frustration. “My dear Dr. McVeigh, obviously I should like to gain from anything I can, but all this nonsense — if you’ll forgive me — about the Schliemann treasure is quite puzzling. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage—”

“I have you at a far greater disadvantage than you think,” Ruth said flatly. “Let me put it to you in simple words. You have the Schliemann treasure and I mean to have it. I will guarantee you that the Metropolitan Museum will pay you a hundred thousand dollars for it. That’s the equivalent of over half a million Danish kroner. If you accept my offer, I will see that you are paid in cash and that nobody beyond the three of us in this room will ever hear of it. If you refuse, then I’ll have no choice but to go to the authorities and see that you are arrested. Not only for attempted extortion — because that’s all this auction of yours amounts to — but also for failing to report the discovery and possession of a treasure found in Danish waters. Sovereign states frown on that sort of silence. So,” Ruth finished evenly, “not only will you lose the hundred thousand dollars, the half million kroner, but you’ll have a long time in prison in which to remember how foolish you were to refuse.”

Nordberg had been listening to all this with a look of total disbelief on his pudgy face.

“You look like Dr. McVeigh,” he said slowly, almost as if he were speaking to himself, “or at least like the newspaper photographs of her, which is possibly what turned your head. Whoever you are, you’re a sick woman.” He raised his voice slightly, as if now admitting the woman into the conversation. “Madame, I have no idea of what you are speaking. Of course I have heard of the Schliemann treasure and the fact that it is being auctioned off by someone — who in the world has not? But the idea that that person would be me, is absurd. It’s laughable.” He shook his head in amazement that any sane person could entertain such a ludicrous thought, and then obviously decided that he had had enough of this tiresome person. “I think it would be better if you were to leave—”

Ruth looked at him triumphantly. “And how do you explain Knud Christensen and the story he told us?”

“Ah, yes. The story Knud Christensen told you. I never met my cousin Knud Christensen in my life. Our mothers were distant cousins and we know each other by name. That is all. I have no idea what story he told you. I have no idea whether he enjoys making up stories or whether the man is mad. I don’t know him at all. But whatever story he told you, if it involved me in any sense, is false.”

He came to his feet and moved to the front door of the apartment, obviously with the intent of opening it and politely asking his guests to leave, but Ruth remained where she was.

“Knud Christensen said his brother had drowned and he was diving for the body—”

“Madame, I’m sorry his brother drowned, if in fact he did and Christensen did not also invent that story, but I fail to see—”

“He said he was diving for his brother’s body last January, and—”

“He was diving in January?” Nordberg looked amused. “Where? In Capri?”

“Off the Gedser lighthouse—”

Nordberg’s amused look disappeared; he threw up his hands. “Please! This insanity must end! The waters off Gedser lighthouse would kill any man diving in them in January in minutes! I have no idea at all what your purpose was in coming here with this ridiculous story, madame, but I have had more than enough of it! You will please either leave or I shall have to call the police.” He swung the door open and waited.

Ruth stared at him, fuming. The fact that the man’s actions, even his final words, had duplicated Gregor’s predictions almost to the letter, did nothing to lessen her frustration. Gregor dropped his inspection of the inferior copies that decorated the apartment walls and walked over, standing over Ruth and looking down at her.

“I believe the professor is well within his rights, Ruth,” he said quietly. “I tried to tell you before that you had no proof of your charge, but you insisted upon coming here with me. Why don’t you go back to the hotel and wait for me? I won’t be long. I should like to speak to Professor Nordberg a few moments on the subject I came to discuss with him, before you insisted upon using my introduction to the professor to accompany me here and make your — well, rather impolitic accusation—”

Ruth opened her mouth to retort, and then remembered her promise. She held little hope for Gregor’s success, but she had given her word to let him try if she failed. Still, after Gregor had also failed, as she was sure he would, she fully intended to take the matter up with the authorities. She was sure that the Metropolitan could make some deal with the Danish government — especially with the influence of Count Lindgren — that would allow her to return to the Metropolitan with the treasure. The deal undoubtedly would cost more than the hundred thousand dollars that idiot, Nordberg, was refusing by pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about, but the deal undoubtedly would also be far less than the fifteen million dollars the idiot, Nordberg, still thought he could realize from his auction. She came to her feet.

“Don’t do anything foolish, darling,” she said under her breath, and walked through the door Nordberg was holding open without a glance at him. They could hear her footsteps on the stairs and a few moments later the sound of the outer door of the building being slammed, as if in anger.

Nordberg closed the apartment door. It was with an effort that he refrained from wiping his brow in relief at having at least avoided any damaging statements. He turned to Kovpak, keeping his look of bewilderment, thinking that Count Lindgren would have been proud of his acting ability, at how well he had handled the difficult situation.