The Last Judgement

‘Here you are, mademoiselle,’ said the archivist, dragging Flavia from her reading and temporarily confusing her before she realized she was being addressed. The woman handed over a bulky file.

‘Confiscated goods. I hope you read German. We’ll bring you the other document you ordered in a while.’

Flavia’s face fell as she opened the dossier. Bad German handwriting was her idea of a nightmare. Still, she wasn’t there to enjoy herself, so screwing up eyes with concentration, and with the library’s best German dictionary by her side, she did her best.

It wasn’t as bad as she feared. The names of the previous owners were at the top of the sheet, so in most cases she merely had to check them off, and head on for the next document. Even so, it took two hours of hard work, and a depressing experience it was, skimming through dozens of lists of rings, jewels, prints, drawings, statues and paintings.

She found it at half-past one. Hartung, Jules; 18 Avenue Montaigne. List of goods confiscated on 27 June 1943, pursuant to orders given under Operation Razor on the twenty-third of the same month.

A rich haul, judging by the size of the list. Seventy-five paintings, 200 drawings, 37 bronzes, 12 marbles and 5 boxes of jewellery. Not bad for a morning’s work. A nice collection, she thought, if the objects really were what the inventory claimed. Rubens, Teniers, Claude, Watteau, they were all there.

But nothing by this Floret man, even though she checked twice. Nothing matching the title. Damnation, she thought. There goes another theory. And, if, this was something to do with the man’s collection, why concentrate on a minor painting when there were all these goodies to be had?

‘Mademoiselle di Stefano?’

She looked up again. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you come and see the director, please?’

Not again, she thought, eyeing the fastest route to the door as she stood up. If I have to take to my heels again I shall scream.

But the librarian still seemed friendly enough, almost apologetic in fact, and led her across to an office at the far end of the room without the slightest hint that she was preparing a trap. I’m getting paranoid, she thought.

‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ said the director, extending his hand in greeting as he introduced himself as François Thuillier. ‘I hope you’ve been getting what you need.’

‘So far, yes,’ Flavia replied, still a little cautious about all this. In her experience directors of archives did not personally welcome each customer, no matter how bad trade was. ‘I’m still waiting for another file, though.’

‘Ah, that’ll be the one on Hartung, no?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m afraid we have a problem there.’

Oh, I get it, she thought. I knew life was a little too easy this afternoon. Just saving up the little sting in the tail.

‘It’s very embarrassing to have to admit it, of course, but I’m sorry to tell you that we can’t seem to lay our hands on it at the moment.’

‘You’ve lost it?’

‘Ah, yes. That’s right.’

‘That’s a pity.’

‘It’s just not in place. I assume that it wasn’t put back after the last reader—’

‘What last reader? When was this?’

‘I really don’t know,’ he said.

‘And it disappeared?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Is it such a popular file?’

‘No, not at all. I’m dreadfully sorry, but I’m sure it will turn up soon.’

Flavia was not so certain, but she smiled her most plaintive smile, and explained her problem. She was running out of money, had little time...

Thuillier smiled sympathetically. ‘Believe me, in the last hour or so we’ve tried very hard. I think it must have been put back in the wrong place. I’m afraid we have no choice but to wait until it turns up. However, if you like I am able to tell you what I know of this case. I can do that, at least.’

She stared at him. What was going on here? she wondered. Thuillier looked very upset about something, and she had an idea she knew what it was.

‘When were you told not to let me see this file?’ she asked.

He spread his hands hopelessly. ‘I can’t answer that,’ he said. ‘But it’s true that we don’t have it.’

‘I see.’

‘And I shouldn’t have said that,’ he went on. ‘But I don’t like interference. So, I will tell you what I can, if you want to hear.’

‘You know what’s in it?’

‘Not word for word, obviously. But occasionally if someone asks for something I have a quick look. We had an enquiry about six months ago about the Hartung family and I looked through the file. Unfortunately the man in question never contacted us again.’

‘What was his name?’

The director frowned. ‘I don’t know whether I should tell you.’

‘Oh, please do. After all, this man might be able to help me as well. You don’t like interference, remember. Nor do I.’

‘True. Just a moment.’

And he rummaged in his desk for a diary and flicked through the pages. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Here we are. His name was Muller. With an address in Rome. Have you heard of him?’

‘Oh, yes. I know him well,’ Flavia said, her heart beating a little faster at the news. So she wasn’t wasting her time after all.

‘And, as I say, I had a look at the file.’

She waited, and he smiled at her.