Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

Oh yes. Be stumbling over themselves in a rush to talk to him. As usual. “What makes you think the gold is here, in the Township?”

Raising his right eyebrow, Teggay said, “I should think that’s obvious. This was Atlee’s destination. He was due to return to the capital on the eighth. He wouldn’t’ve had time to range very far afield. And your chief told us tonight about the local legends. How it sometimes happens, when a family’s having hard times, that they suddenly find money on their doorstep. Left there during the night. The Gold of Mayani, the stories say.”

Andrew nodded. “It is true, yes, that people in such circumstances have found this money. But currency, not gold.”

Teggay shrugged lightly. “It’s a small matter to convert gold to currency. Any of the Asians in the local shops could do it. And discreetly, too — for a price. No, the gold is somewhere nearby.”

“And whoever has the gold is the person who killed Atlee?”

“Yes, of course,” said Teggay. Dismissively. Atlee’s murder clearly no concern of his.

“One thing, sergeant,” Teggay said. “I want you to understand this. As your chief pointed out, your cooperation is entirely voluntary. But if you choose to work with us, you’ll be paid double your usual wages. And, of course, your help will be greatly appreciated by the ministry.” He smiled. “As I’m sure you know, it doesn’t hurt to have friends in the ministry.”

The carrot, Andrew thought.

“On the other hand,” said Teggay smoothly, “it’s also perfectly true that it doesn’t help to have, shall we say, a lack of friends.”

And the stick.

“They want the gold,” I Andrew said.

“Of course,” Mary said. “The economy today is as bad as it was during The Troubles. We can use the gold.”

“They want the gold,” Andrew said, “for themselves. Not for the state, not for the ministry.”

They were in the kitchen, sipping cardamum-spiced coffee at the small, Formica-topped table. Dawn had arrived: between the curtains the sky had faded to the color of milk. Time, soon, to awaken the children.

Mary looked at him for a moment, finally frowned. “Andrew. Are you sure?”

“Why arrive in secret? Why assign me to this, and not some agent of the ministry? Why have me report, as Teggay insisted, only to Teggay? To maintain a low profile, yes, certainly. So low that if the gold is found, they can slip away with it.”

“Why would the minister come himself?”

“To impress the insignificant sergeant with the significance of his mission.”

“But if you do find the gold, then you’ll know—” she stopped suddenly, her mouth parted.

Andrew smiled at her over his coffee cup. “An insignificant sergeant in a tiny township can be dealt with easily enough.”

“You cannot do this,” she announced, setting down her cup. “You’ll have to tell them you cannot do this. Tell them some lie. Your son is sick. Your wife is hysterical.”

He smiled. “My wife is hysterical.”

“Andrew—”

“Too late,” he told her. “I have already agreed.”

“But why?”

“If I refuse, they can make life very difficult for me.” He sipped at his coffee. “And for you. And for the children.”

“We’ve had difficulties before. Better difficulties with you here, a part of us, than an easy life without you.”

“No one said anything about my not being here.”

“But what happens if you find that gold?”

“No one has found it in thirty years.”

“No one has looked. If you do find it—”

Andrew shrugged. “Some threats, perhaps. Perhaps a bribe.” He smiled again. “New action figures for the children.”

She shook her head. “Talk to the chief. He’ll do something, you know he will.”

“Yes, and then the chief and I will be in the same position.”

“But how do they justify this?”

“Taking the gold? I’m sure that Minister Nu would justify it simply on the basis that he wanted it. Teggay...” He smiled. “Teggay would devise some complicated argument proving that the gold belonged to him by historical necessity.”

“Andrew—”

“Too late, Mary,” he said.

“But what are you going to do?”

“Look for the gold,” he said. He smiled. “And pray I do not find it.”

Assistant Assistant Minister Teggay had generously told Andrew that he was free to select an assistant of his own. Andrew decided not to do so: Kobari was best left out of this. At eight in the morning, when the shops opened, he drove downtown perched in civilian clothes atop his moped. “Be discreet.” Teggay had said. “This isn’t a police inquiry, remember.”

From Muhammad Banir, Dealer in Rare Coins and Antiquities, he learned that twenty-five thousand British sovereigns would weigh almost exactly two hundred kilograms. Light enough to be carried by two men on horseback. (Although not for very long at the flared-nostril, wide-eyed gallop of those horses in the history books.) In wrapped rolls of fifty sovereigns each, the coins would take up approximately the space of four standard shoeboxes.