The English Assassin

information?”
    “It promised the Allies that it would cooperate in a thorough inquiry. It promised to freeze all German assets that had entered the country during the war and to conduct a nationwide census of all such assets. It implemented neither measure. Douglas Cooper suggested suspending the licenses of any dealer who traded in looted art. The Swiss government refused. Then the Swiss Federation of Art Dealers told its members not to cooperate. In short, the Swiss government did what it always does. It shielded its business and its citizens from the eyes of foreigners.”
    “Did dealers like Paul Rosenberg try to reclaim their paintings in court?”
    “A few tried, but the deck was stacked against them. The Swiss made it time-consuming and very expensive for a foreigner to try to reclaim property from a Swiss citizen. The Swiss usually took shelter behind a claim of good faith. And remember, most of the art in question was stolen by the Nazis in 1940. By 1945, under the five-year rule of Swiss law, the rightful owners no longer had a valid legal claim. Needless to say, most plaintiffs walked away empty-handed.”
    “Do you think any of it’s still there?”
    “In my opinion, Gabriel, most of it’s still there. From the little bit you’ve told me, it sounds as though some of those paintings may have been in the hands of Augustus Rolfe.”
    “Not anymore.”
    Isherwood finished the last of his wine, and his gaze drifted back to the fire. “I think it’s your turn to do the talking, Gabriel. Tell me everything. And no lies this time. I’m too old to be lied to anymore.”
     
    OUTSIDEit was raining again. On the way back to the gallery they sheltered together beneath Isherwood’s umbrella like mourners in a cortege. Gabriel had told Isherwood everything, beginning with the discovery of Rolfe’s body and ending with the explosion at Werner Müller’s gallery in Paris. Isherwood had drunk two more glasses of Médoc, and his haphazard gait showed the effects.
    “Shamron,” Isherwood said sotto voce, his voice dripping with scorn. “I should have known that bastard had something to do with this. I thought they’d finally put him out to pasture for good this time.”
    “They always find a reason to bring him back.”
    “They say she’s quite the diva, Anna Rolfe.”
    “She has her moments.”
    “If I can give you one piece of advice, my dear boy, assume at all times that she knows more about her father and his collection than she’s telling you. Daughters tend to be very protective of their fathers, even when they think their fathers are complete bastards.”
    “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
    “It may just be an ordinary art theft.”
    “They left a Raphael hanging on the wall of the parlor and blew up the art gallery belonging to the man who oversaw the collection. I don’t think there’s anything ordinary about what happened.”
    “Point taken,” Isherwood said. “In fact, it sounds to me as if the only things you can trust in this whole wretched affair are the paintings themselves.”
    “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Julian, but paintings can’t really talk. Besides, the collection is gone.”

    “The paintings can’t talk, but their provenance can. Clearly, Augustus Rolfe took his collecting very seriously. Even if he acquired the paintings under less than perfect circumstances, he would have insisted on a provenance for each one of them. Provenance, after all, is everything.”
    “And if I can get the provenance?”
    “Then I’ll be able to tell you whether he was a legitimate collector or whether the old bastard was sitting atop a vault filled with looted art.”
     
    GABRIELhad planned to leave him in Duke Street, but Isherwood took him by the elbow and pulled him through the passageway into Mason’s Yard. “Come with me. There’s one more thing I need to show you.”
    As they entered the gallery, Irina recognized the telltale signs of a bottled lunch. She gave Isherwood a stack of telephone messages and went to work on a pot of coffee. Back in his office, Isherwood opened his private safe and withdrew two items, a sketch of a young boy and a photocopy of an old document several pages in length. He held up the sketch for Gabriel to see.
    “Look familiar?”
    “I can’t say it does.”
    “The subject is me. The artist is Pablo Picasso. I carried it out of France with me.”
    “And the document?”
    “I carried that as well. My father gave it to