The English Assassin

notebooks, searching for the keys to his flat. When finally he found them, they were admitted into a small, sparsely furnished apartment. Every flat surface was piled with books, documents, and newspapers. Gabriel smiled. He had come to the right place.
    Jacobi closed the door and hung his saddlebag over the latch. “So you wish to discuss the murder of Augustus Rolfe? As it turns out, I’ve been following that case quite carefully.”
    “I thought you might. I was wondering if we could compare notes.”
    “Are you a historian as well, Mr. Allon?”
    “Actually, I’m an art restorer, but in this matter I’m working for the government of Israel.”
    “Well, this promises to be an interesting evening. Clear the things off that chair and sit down. I’ll see to the coffee.”
     
    PROFESSORJacobi spent several minutes digging through his towering stacks of paper for the file on Augustus Rolfe. It was very slender.
    “Herr Rolfe was a private banker in the truest sense of the word, Mr. Allon. I’m afraid much of what I’m going to tell you is based on conjecture and rumor.”
    “I’ve often found that one can learn a great deal about a man by the rumors that swirl around him.”
    “When one is dealing with a Swiss banker, especially a private banker like Augustus Rolfe, rumor is sometimes the best one can hope for.” The professor slipped on his glasses and opened the file. “There are very small private banks in Zurich, and there are extremely large ones. The giants like Union Bank of Switzerland and Credit Suisse both have private banking divisions, though they handle only very wealthy customers.”
    “How large?”
    “Usually, a minimum deposit of approximately five million dollars. It’s been reported that the intelligence agencies of your country utilized the private banking services of Credit Suisse.” The professor glanced at Gabriel over the open file. “But then, I’m sure you know nothing of that.”
    Gabriel let the question sail by. “From what I know of Augustus Rolfe, he fell into the first category.”
    “That’s right. The Rolfe bank was a small enterprise—Rolfe and a half-dozen employees, if that. If you wanted someone to hide your money or your belongings in Switzerland, Augustus Rolfe was your best friend. He was one of the most discreet and most influential bankers in Zurich. He had very powerful friends. That’s what makes his murder so baffling to me.”
    “What else do you know about him?”
    “He took over control of the family business from his father in the early thirties—not a good time for the banks of Switzerland. There was the worldwide depression, the German panic, a currency crisis in Austria that was sending shock waves through Zurich. Swiss banks were falling like dominoes. Many private banks were forced to merge with larger competitors to survive. Rolfe managed to hang on by his fingernails.”
    Jacobi licked the tip of his finger and turned a page.

    “Then Hitler comes to power in Germany and starts making trouble for the Jews. Jewish money and valuables flow into the private banks of Zurich—including Rolfe’s.”
    “You know this to be fact?”
    “Absolutely. Augustus Rolfe opened more than two hundred numbered accounts for German Jews.”
    Jacobi turned over a few pages of the file.
    “Here’s where the facts end and the rumors begin. In the late thirties, agents of the Gestapo start coming to Zurich. They’re looking for all the Jewish money that’s been spirited out of Germany and deposited in Swiss banks. It’s rumored that Rolfe cooperated with the Gestapo agents in violation of Swiss banking laws and revealed the existence of Jewish-held numbered accounts at his bank.”
    “Why would he do that?”
    “Would you like my theory?”
    “Sure.”
    “Because he knew that the money deposited by a few Jews was nothing compared to the riches that awaited him if he cooperated with Nazi Germany.”
    “Is there evidence to suggest that he did?”
    “Indeed,” Jacobi said, his eyebrows shooting up over the rims of his spectacles. “It’s a fact that Augustus Rolfe made frequent trips to Nazi Germany throughout the war.”
    “Who did he see there?”
    “It’s not known, but his travels raised enough eyebrows that Rolfe came under investigation after the war.”
    “What came of it?”
    “Absolutely nothing. Rolfe melted back into the world of Zurich banking, never to be heard from again—until a week ago, of course, when someone walked