A Matter of Honor Read online

  “I also hope that you will enjoy a pleasant stay in our city,” said M. Neffe as the lift took its leisurely pace down.

  “It will have to be very quick,” said Adam. “We must be back at the airport in just over an hour.”

  The lift stopped at the ground floor and M. Neffe accompanied Adam and Heidi to the door. The door was held open for them, but they both stood aside to allow an old man to shuffle past. Although most people would have stared at his nose Adam was more struck by his penetrating blue eyes.

  When the old man eventually reached the woman at the reception desk, he announced, “I have come to see M. Roget.”

  “I’m afraid he’s in Chicago at the moment, sir, but I’ll see if his son is available. What name shall I tell him?”

  “Emmanuel Rosenbaum.” The woman picked up the phone and held another conversation in French. When she had replaced it she asked, “Would you go to the fourth floor, M. Rosenbaum?”

  Once again he had to take the fearsome lift, and once again he only just got out before its great teeth sprang back on him. Another middle-aged woman accompanied him to the waiting room. He politely declined her offer of coffee, thumping his heart with his right hand.

  “M. Roget will be with you shortly,” she assured the old man.

  He did not have to wait long before a smiling M. Roget appeared.

  “How nice to make your acquaintance, M. Rosenbaum, but I’m afraid you have just missed M. Scott.”

  “M. Scott?” the old man uttered in surprise.

  “Yes. He left only a few minutes ago, but we carried out the instructions as per your letter.”

  “My letter?” said M. Rosenbaum.

  “Yes,” said the banker, opening for the second time that morning a file that had remained untouched for over twenty years.

  He handed a letter to the old man.

  Emmanuel Rosenbaum removed a pair of glasses from his inside pocket, unfolded them slowly, and proceeded to read a hand that he recognized. It was a bold hand written in thick black ink.

  Forsthaus Haarhot

  Amsberg 14

  Vosswinnel

  Sachsen

  Germany

  12 September 1945

  Dear M. Roget,

  I have left in your safe keeping a small icon of Saint George and the dragon in my box 718. I am transferring the ownership of that painting to a British army officer, Colonel Gerald Scott, D.S.O., O.B.E., M.C. If Colonel Scott should come to claim the icon at any time please ensure that he receives my key without delay.

  My thanks to you for your help in this matter, and I am only sorry we have never met in person.

  Yours sincerely,

  Emmanuel Rosenbaum

  “And you say that Colonel Scott came to collect the contents of the box earlier today?”

  “No, no, M. Rosenbaum. The colonel died quite recently and left the contents of the box to his son, Adam Scott. M. Neffe and I checked all the documents including the death certificate and the will, and we were left in no doubt that they were both authentic and that everything was in order. He was also in possession of your receipt.” The young banker hesitated. “I do hope we did the right thing, M. Rosenbaum?”

  “You certainly did,” said the old man. “I came only to check that my wishes had been carried out.”

  M. Roget smiled in relief. “I feel I ought also to mention that your account had run into a small deficit.” “How much do I owe you?” asked the old man, fumbling in his breast pocket.

  “Nothing,” said M. Roget. “Nothing at all. M. Scott dealt with it.”

  “I am in debt to M. Scott. Are you able to tell me the amount?”

  “One hundred and twenty francs,” said M. Roget.

  “Then I must repay the sum immediately,” said the old man. “Do you by any chance have an address at which I can contact him?”

  “No, I’m sorry I am unable to help you there,” said M. Roget. “I have no idea where he is staying in Geneva.” A hand touched M. Roget’s elbow, and M. Neffe bent down and whispered in his ear.

  “It appears,” said M. Roget, “that M. Scott was planning to return to England shortly because he had to check in at Geneva airport by five.”

  The old man lifted himself up. “You have been most helpful, M. Roget, and I will not take up any more of your time.”

  “It’s flight BE 171, and your seats are 14A and B,” the man behind the BEA check-in counter told them. “The plane’s on time so you should be boarding at gate number nine in about twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you,” said Adam.

  “Do you have any luggage that needs checking in?”

  “No,” said Adam. “We only spent the day in Geneva.”

  “Then have a good flight, sir,” said the man, handing over their boarding passes. Adam and Heidi started walking toward the escalator that would take them to the departure lounge.

  “I have seven hundred and seventy Swiss francs left,” said Adam, thumbing through some notes, “and while we’re here I must get my mother a box of decent liqueur chocolates. When I was a boy I used to give her a minute box every Christmas. I swore when I grew up if I ever got to Switzerland I would find her the finest box available.” Heidi pointed to a counter that displayed row upon row of ornate boxes. Adam selected a large, gold-wrapped box of Lindt chocolates, which the girl behind the counter gift-wrapped and placed in a carrier bag.

  “Why are you frowning?” asked Adam after collecting his change.

  “She’s just reminded me that I have to be back behind a till tomorrow morning,” said Heidi.

  “Well, at least we’ve got the Coq d’Or to look forward to tonight,” said Adam. He checked his watch. “Not much else we can do now except perhaps pick up some wine at the duty-free.”

  “I’d like to find a copy of Der Spiegel before we go through customs.”

  “Fine,” said Adam. “Why don’t we try the paper shop over in the corner.”

  “A call for Mr. Adam Scott. Will Mr. Adam Scott please return to the BEA desk on the ground floor,” came booming out over the public-address system.

  Adam and Heidi stared at each other. “Must have given us the wrong seat allocation, I suppose,” said Adam, shrugging. “Let’s go back and find out.”

  They returned downstairs and walked over to the man who had handed them their boarding passes. “I think you put a call out for me,” said Adam. “My name is Scott.”

  “Oh, yes,” said the man. “There’s an urgent message for you,” he said, reading from a pad in front of him. “please call M. Roget at Roget et Cie on Geneva 271279.” He ripped off the piece of paper and handed it over. “The phones are over there in the far corner behind the KLM desk, and you’ll need twenty centimes.”

  “Thank you,” said Adam, studying the message, but it gave no clue as to why M. Roget should need to speak to him.

  “I wonder what he can want,” said Heidi. “It’s a bit late to ask for the icon back.”

  “Well, there’s only one way I’m going to find out,” said Adam, passing over the bag to her. “Hang on to that, and I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “I’ll try and pick up my magazine at the same time, if I can find a stand on this floor,” said Heidi as she gripped the brightly colored bag that contained the chocolates.

  “Right,” said Adam. “Meet you back here in a couple of minutes.”

  “Roget et Cie. Est-ce que je puis vous aider?”

  “I am returning Mr. Roget’s call,” said Adam, making no attempt to answer in French.

  “Yes, sir. Whom shall I say is calling?” asked the telephonist, immediately switching to English.

  “Adam Scott.”

  “I’ll find out if he’s available, sir.”

  Adam swung round to see if Heidi had returned to the BEA counter, but as there was no sign of her he assumed she must still be looking for a newspaper. Then he noticed an old man shuffling across the hall. He could have sworn he had seen him somewhere before.

  “