Death of an Elgin Marble (35 page)

‘What would that be, pray?’

‘I propose saying to the fellow that cooperation would mean not that the police would leave him alone, but that any cooperation could be helpful to his case in the future. It wouldn’t be anything specific, there would be no guarantees, just the knowledge that to help would be more profitable than retreating behind a barrage of lies and lawyers.’

‘Permission granted.’

Powerscourt smiled. ‘Thank you, Inspector, thank you very much.’

‘What makes you think this plan might work, Francis?’ Lady Lucy was looking worried.

‘Vanity. The man is very vain. That could be his undoing.’

‘Give it a try, my lord, give it a try. Now, if you will forgive me, I must go and organize my men to seize this Caryatid first thing tomorrow. If there are revels tonight, they may all still be asleep at half past seven in the morning.’

The Isles of Greece
docked at Piraeus later that evening. The four monks were in the prow, peering towards the port. Nobody would have expected a welcoming party at that time of night, but there was a force of about twenty more monks, all of them young. They sang the Greek national anthem, rather out of tune and with some words missed out, as they untied the container from the mast and placed it on the back of a cart. The package and the young men set out for the heart of Athens. It was ten minutes short of midnight.

Inspector Kingsley took five men with him on his mission to capture the Caryatid. Dawn was breaking over Amersham. A couple of foxes were making their way home across the fields at the back of the Erechtheion. The birds were staking out their early morning positions in the high trees. The curtain that had shielded the statue during the procession the evening before had been pulled back again to keep the contents of the porch invisible. Sergeant Burke, the Inspector’s right-hand man, gave it a great pull. The porch was empty. The Caryatid had risen.

The policemen rushed to inspect the interior of the temple. They looked round the back. One enterprising constable ran at full speed to the Parthenon to see if she had travelled there in the night. It too was empty. Inspector Kingsley rushed back to the King’s Arms to tell Powerscourt before he set out on his success or victory mission to Dr Tristram Stanhope.

The porter on duty at the Hellenic College was not expecting visitors at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning. His jacket buttons were undone and his tie was in his pocket.

‘Beg pardon, my lord,’ he said to Powerscourt after the introductions were made, ‘perhaps you would like to wait in here. I’ll tell Dr Stanhope you’ve come to see him, my lord.’

Powerscourt found himself in the chair opposite the Headmaster’s desk in the Headmaster’s study. He realized that Lucy must have sat in this very chair a couple of days before. Breakfast was in full swing at the Hellenic College with the noise of crockery and the young voices coming through the walls. Powerscourt suddenly thought of the contrast between the innocence of the young and the crimes of their elders that swirled round the school – theft, murder, fraud. Now he was going to try a form of blackmail. Suddenly he remembered the words of his brother-in-law during a previous case: ‘pressure, Francis, pressure, a much nicer word than blackmail’.

Dr Tristram Stanhope came in and sat down in the Headmaster’s chair. He was wearing a dark blue blazer with brass buttons and a hint at naval connections with a pale yellow cravat under a white silk shirt.

‘Good morning, Powerscourt. Welcome to the Hellenic College. I was not expecting you, I must say. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?’

‘I’ve come about the Caryatid,’ said Powerscourt pleasantly.

‘What of the Caryatid? There are no Caryatids here.’

‘I know there are no Caryatids here now, or not in the Erechtheion anyway. Inspector Kingsley told me about that earlier this morning. The police came to take her away, you see.’

Stanhope looked shocked and rather alarmed at the mention of the police but he stuck to his guns.

‘I don’t understand, Powerscourt. Why this talk of Caryatids?’

‘Because there was one here last night. It could have been the one stolen from the British Museum, or it could have been a copy, or it could even have been a copy of a copy.’ Powerscourt found his brain was reeling at the thought of multiple copies of the statue, forming up in columns in his mind and then dissolving. ‘But there was a Caryatid, of the same size and the same general features as the one stolen from the British Museum where you work, Dr Stanhope.’

‘What nonsense, man. You’re out of your wits. There are no Caryatids here.’

‘You know perfectly well you’re wrong about that. You see, I was here last night. Lady Lucy and I saw the unveiling of the statue and your recital of the hymns to Athena. I had some German binoculars. I had a very clear view.’

Tristram Stanhope stared very hard at Powerscourt. Then he looked out of the window as if the cavalry or the charioteer from the previous evening might ride past to save him. Powerscourt carried on.

‘That’s what I came to talk to you about the Caryatid. I want to make a suggestion.’

‘Look here, you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. This is a Hellenic College. It’s devoted to ancient Greece and ancient Athens. We have a replica of the Parthenon not two hundred yards from where we are sitting now, for heaven’s sake. What could be more natural than we should build a life-size copy of the Erechtheion to sit with it, as they sit together on the Acropolis? The Headmaster and the Board of Governors agreed immediately when I suggested it. And what could be more natural than engaging a local sculptor to produce a copy of the Caryatid? I have no idea what your suggestion is, but I make no apologies for my behaviour or that of the College.’

Powerscourt had to admit that Stanhope’s brain worked extremely fast. He seemed to have cooked up this story in a matter of seconds.

‘My suggestion is quite simple, Dr Stanhope. That Caryatid yesterday did not look to me to have been created by some local sculptor here in Amersham. Either it was a copy, or it was the real thing. If it was a copy you must know where the original is. In either case I am suggesting that you return the original to the British Museum within forty-eight hours. By nine o’clock on Tuesday morning, to be precise.’

‘This is ridiculous. You’re mad, Powerscourt, quite mad.’

After years of experience as an investigator Powerscourt was well used to people calling him mad. He now believed that it was a sure sign that he was on the right course.

‘I am not mad, I assure you. There are certain matters where the police are very anxious to talk to you. There are your financial affairs for a start. There are a number of lines of inquiry under way in the case of the missing Caryatid where you will be a suspect, or, quite possibly, taken into custody. You would not expect me to give you details of these inquiries before the authorities are ready to make their move, but time is not on your side.’

‘And what happens if I tell you to go to hell?’

‘Under present circumstances, Dr Stanhope, I think you are much more likely to end up in hell than I am. However, I am empowered by the Inspector in charge to say that cooperation would be helpful to your case in the future. There are a number of factors I think you should consider. The first is that I do not think you would welcome a posse of policemen marching into the British Museum and taking you into custody in the most visible way possible. Nor would you welcome detailed reports of your arrest appearing in the quality newspapers the following day. I do not think you would welcome the Inspector and I going to see Theophilus Ragg in private and telling him the full nature of our suspicions. I do not think he would fire you on the spot, but you might be asked to take leave of absence until the matter was cleared up. We would do the same with the Caryatid Committee. Your position there would have a question mark over it, to say the least.’

‘This is monstrous, Powerscourt. This is blackmail.’

‘It is not blackmail. You could call it pressure, if you like, but you will not find a sympathetic hearing from the Metropolitan Police if you go to them babbling about blackmail. You do not have to decide about this offer right now, Dr Stanhope. You have until Tuesday morning. I shall be at the King’s Arms hotel in the town, if you wish to speak further. Or you can ask any of the policemen who will soon be swarming all over the place to take you to Inspector Kingsley. Talking to him is as good as talking to me.’

Powerscourt rose to go. Stanhope waved him back to his chair.

‘I tell you now, Powerscourt. You are out of your mind. I have no intention of doing as you suggest. You can take that back to your policemen friends. You can all go to hell!’

‘I shall await your decision, Dr Stanhope. You have until Tuesday morning. There is one other matter you should take into consideration. Rumour can often move in a more deadly fashion than the truth. Especially as rumour doesn’t have to be true. I do not move a lot in what is called fashionable society, but I have a number of friends and a great many relations who do. Grand and aspiring hostesses might think twice about inviting a man said to have assisted in theft from one of our great national institutions and, furthermore, to have connections with people who commit murder as others might swat a fly. I wish you a very good morning. I can see myself out, thank you.’

Every priest in every pulpit of the Greek Orthodox Church in Athens and the surrounding areas mentioned the procession in their Sunday sermons. At four o’clock that afternoon, the worshippers were told, the Archbishop would lead a mighty multitude of the faithful to the heart of the city. They would be bringing with them an object worthy of veneration from all Athenians and all Greeks in the greater Greek diaspora. The congregations thought that a new relic must have been discovered, a fragment of a long dead saint perhaps, or some remnant of one of the heroes of the War of Independence against the Turks.

In the vanguard were four monks, solemn in their black outfits. Then came a small platoon of military veterans, still wearing their uniforms, still marching in step, their medals pinned to their breasts. Behind them rode half a dozen troopers from the cavalry division of the regiment assigned to ceremonial duties in the capital. Behind the horses was another monk, carrying a huge silver cross in front of the Archbishop himself. To his left was the Metropolitan of Salamis and Megara, to his right the Metropolitan of Piraeus. After the episcopal heavy artillery marched one of the two choirs taking part in the procession.

We knew thee of old,

Oh divinely restored

By the lights of thine eyes

And the light of thy sword

The Greek national anthem was written by a poet from Zakynthos during the fight for freedom. It was to punctuate today’s procession from the first choir at the front to the second choir at the rear. But it was the contents of the float behind the singers that captivated the crowd. Four monks were pulling it. Standing erect in the centre was a Caryatid, flanked by two huge priests in case she fell over. The Church of today, founded some nineteen hundred years ago, was bringing home a statue created four hundred years before the birth of Jesus, a Christian city welcoming a marble maiden from the pagan times. Behind the float was a throng of about fifty priests and monks, waving to the crowds as they went by. Then a body that grew larger with every moment of the procession. People left their houses and whatever they were doing to fall in behind the clergy. Some of those travelling on the buses leapt off and joined the march. The tail of the gathering swelled from fifty to a hundred to two hundred to five hundred. It went on growing all the way to their final destination.

From the graves of our slain

Shall thy valour prevail

As we greet thee again

Hail, Liberty! Hail!

The British Ambassador, the man who had rowed for Cambridge and for his old college, was standing in the shadow of the Parthenon. He could hear the noise but he could not yet see the procession. Down there, mingling with the crowd, was
The Times
correspondent, Marcus Fielding, whose wife was Greek and whose family antennae had reported the call to arms from the city churches that morning. Fielding had arranged to meet the Ambassador. Whatever was going on, whatever the point of the festivities, his wife had assured him, it would be sure to pass or to finish at the Acropolis.

Long time didst thou dwell

With the people that mourn

Awaiting some voice

That would bid thee return

The procession was to take the Caryatid on a journey round some of the most sacred sites of fifth-century
BC
Athens as if they were the Stations of the Cross. They paused at the Ceramicus by the Dipylon Gate just outside the Acropolis where many famous Athenians were buried – the lawgiver Solon, and Pericles the statesman who was responsible for the Parthenon. They moved on to the site of a shrine to Demeter and Kore on the route of the Panathenaica just below the Acropolis. The Archbishop bowed his head in silent prayer. The choirs stopped singing until they moved off. The taxi drivers were now hooting their horns continuously as the Caryatid continued on her journey. People were leaning out of their windows and cheering as she went past. Flowers now littered the feet of the marchers.

Ah, slow broke that day

And no man dared call

For the shadow of tyranny

Lay over all:

The Ambassador was on tiptoe now, peering down at the procession. The Caryatid was not yet visible. They took over ten minutes to pass through the Propylaea, literally the gate building to the Acropolis, and, as the man from
The Times
reminded the Ambassador, the model for the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. In ancient times only Athenian citizens were allowed through this gate; strangers and the unclean were not permitted in Athens’s holy of holies. There was a cheer from the sightseers visiting the Acropolis when the monks and the huge silver cross led the crowd onto the sacred soil. The few Americans present thought about the wine they had drunk at lunchtime and wondered if they had been transported back in time.