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The English Assassin :: Silva Daniel
Страница: 87 из 209“What did the Swiss government do with this information?”
“It promised the Allies that it would cooperate in a thorough inquiry. It promised to freeze all German assets that had entered the country during the war and to conduct a nationwide census of all such assets. It implemented neither measure. Douglas Cooper suggested suspending the licenses of any dealer who traded in looted art. The Swiss government refused. Then the Swiss Federation of Art Dealers told its members not to cooperate. In short, the Swiss government did what it always does. It shielded its business and its citizens from the eyes of foreigners.”
“Did dealers like Paul Rosenberg try to reclaim their paintings in court?”
“A few tried, but the deck was stacked against them. The Swiss made it time-consuming and very expensive for a foreigner to try to reclaim property from a Swiss citizen. The Swiss usually took shelter behind a claim of good faith. And remember, most of the art in question was stolen by the Nazis in 1940. By 1945, under the five-year rule of Swiss law, the rightful owners no longer had a valid legal claim. Needless to say, most plaintiffs walked away empty-handed.”
“Do you think any of it’s still there?”
“In my opinion, Gabriel, most of it’s still there. From the little bit you’ve told me, it sounds as though some of those paintings may have been in the hands of Augustus Rolfe.”
“Not anymore.”
Isherwood finished the last of his wine, and his gaze drifted back to the fire. “I think it’s your turn to do the talking, Gabriel. Tell me everything. And no lies this time. I’m too old to be lied to anymore.”
OUTSIDE it was raining again. On the way back to the gallery they sheltered together beneath Isherwood’s umbrella like mourners in a cortege. Gabriel had told Isherwood everything, beginning with the discovery of Rolfe’s body and ending with the explosion at Werner Müller’s gallery in Paris. Isherwood had drunk two more glasses of Médoc, and his haphazard gait showed the effects.
“Shamron,” Isherwood said sotto voce, his voice dripping with scorn. “I should have known that bastard had something to do with this. I thought they’d finally put him out to pasture for good this time.”
“They always find a reason to bring him back.”
“They say she’s quite the diva, Anna Rolfe.”
“She has her moments.”
“If I can give you one piece of advice, my dear boy, assume at all times that she knows more about her father and his collection than she’s telling you.
“It promised the Allies that it would cooperate in a thorough inquiry. It promised to freeze all German assets that had entered the country during the war and to conduct a nationwide census of all such assets. It implemented neither measure. Douglas Cooper suggested suspending the licenses of any dealer who traded in looted art. The Swiss government refused. Then the Swiss Federation of Art Dealers told its members not to cooperate. In short, the Swiss government did what it always does. It shielded its business and its citizens from the eyes of foreigners.”
“Did dealers like Paul Rosenberg try to reclaim their paintings in court?”
“A few tried, but the deck was stacked against them. The Swiss made it time-consuming and very expensive for a foreigner to try to reclaim property from a Swiss citizen. The Swiss usually took shelter behind a claim of good faith. And remember, most of the art in question was stolen by the Nazis in 1940. By 1945, under the five-year rule of Swiss law, the rightful owners no longer had a valid legal claim. Needless to say, most plaintiffs walked away empty-handed.”
“Do you think any of it’s still there?”
“In my opinion, Gabriel, most of it’s still there. From the little bit you’ve told me, it sounds as though some of those paintings may have been in the hands of Augustus Rolfe.”
“Not anymore.”
Isherwood finished the last of his wine, and his gaze drifted back to the fire. “I think it’s your turn to do the talking, Gabriel. Tell me everything. And no lies this time. I’m too old to be lied to anymore.”
OUTSIDE it was raining again. On the way back to the gallery they sheltered together beneath Isherwood’s umbrella like mourners in a cortege. Gabriel had told Isherwood everything, beginning with the discovery of Rolfe’s body and ending with the explosion at Werner Müller’s gallery in Paris. Isherwood had drunk two more glasses of Médoc, and his haphazard gait showed the effects.
“Shamron,” Isherwood said sotto voce, his voice dripping with scorn. “I should have known that bastard had something to do with this. I thought they’d finally put him out to pasture for good this time.”
“They always find a reason to bring him back.”
“They say she’s quite the diva, Anna Rolfe.”
“She has her moments.”
“If I can give you one piece of advice, my dear boy, assume at all times that she knows more about her father and his collection than she’s telling you.