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of herself.’
    â€˜She did,’ Paula said. She was surprised by the sensation of bitterness. ‘She married and got out.’
    â€˜She was very fortunate. Most of the prominent families lost everything, apart from the unlucky ones in the East, who were taken away by the Russians and never seen again. Many of us committed suicide. I chose to live, Mrs. Stanley. And I have a question to ask you. A very important question.’
    â€˜What is it?’ The pale-grey eyes were glittering at her. It struck Paula suddenly that what made the little man frightening was the unhinged expression which came and went on his face. She found herself gripping the arms of her chair. ‘What question, Mr. Black?’
    â€˜Would you like your father to be alive or dead?’
    â€˜There is no question of what I would like,’ she said. Now she was frightened. He looked completely crazy. ‘My father has been dead for twenty-five years. He was killed in Russia.’
    â€˜A lot of people were said to be killed in Russia.’ He smiled and his look was sly. ‘Or in Berlin during the final Russian advance. But supposing he had escaped, by some miracle – how would you feel, Mrs. Stanley?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Paula said. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t take any of this seriously. I know my father is dead, and that’s all there is to it.’ She raised her wrist and looked at her watch. ‘Mr. Black, I have an appointment in a few minutes …’
    â€˜I understand,’ he said. ‘You want to get rid of me. Very well, Mrs. Stanley. But I promised your father I would give you a message, and I must keep my word. The General’s money and properties were confiscated after the war. He guessed this would happen; he guessed we would be defeated. So he put something away for you, Mrs. Stanley. Something very, very precious. Does the name Poellenberg mean anything to you?’
    â€˜No,’ Paula said. ‘Nothing. I’ve never heard of it.’
    â€˜In the sixteenth century,’ Mr. Black said gently, ‘there was a Count von Poellenberg who married a niece of the Medicis. They were married in Florence, and part of the bride’s dowry was at the wedding feast. Benvenuto Cellini had made it. It was the wonder of the city, Mrs. Stanley. A salt, a marvel made of solid gold and covered with jewels, made by the greatest goldsmith the world has ever seen. A huge ornament, so heavy it took a man to lift it. And it was known afterwards as the Poellenberg Salt. For four hundred years it was one of the treasures of Germany. Then during the war it was given to your father.’
    â€˜Given?’
    â€˜Given,’ Black repeated. He said the word with emphasis. ‘The General accepted is as a gift. He had done the owners a favour and they wanted to show their gratitude. They knew he was a man of taste, a connoisseur. They gave him the Poellenberg Salt. And he bequeaths it to you.’
    â€˜I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe any of this. Either you’re trying to hoax me, Mr. Black, or you should see a doctor.’
    He got out of his chair. He looked at her and there was something cold and authoritative about him, an echo of the past when he had been young.
    â€˜You don’t believe me?’
    â€˜No, I’m afraid I don’t. The whole story is too fantastic. I don’t know why you’ve come here, and I shan’t take it any further if you’ll please leave now. If you bother me again with this sort of thing, Mr. Black, I shall go to the police.’
    The little man stood up. ‘I told the General this might be your reaction.’ His expression was contemptuous. ‘He believed in your love for him; more than he trusted me. He wouldn’t tell me where the Salt was hidden. But he gave me this clue to give you. Paris, 25th June 1944. Tante Ambrosine and her nephew Jacquot. If you want