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“And what happened to the necklace?”

“I think it’s very likely that it is resting in my hand,” Paul said, holding up the choker.

“And how did it come to be here?”

“Goering’s house on the Obersalzberg was overrun by American troops, who sacked the place very thoroughly, drinking Goering’s wines and grabbing souvenirs. I think it’s likely that one of the soldiers came across the necklace and put it in his pocket. Certainly, it was never cataloged by the army. After I saw the movie The Woman in Gold, I did some research, and I could find no report anywhere that it ever surfaced. Spoils of war, I guess you’d say.”

“Then who legally owns it?”

“Adele Bloch-Bauer died of natural causes in 1925. Her husband, Ferdinand, was her only heir. He’s dead, and they had no children, and it passed to his brother-in-law, Adler. The last legal transaction regarding the necklace occurred when Adler gave it to his daughter as a wedding gift. It was taken from her by the Gestapo. She died a few years ago, in her nineties, without issue, I believe. Perhaps, in the normal course of events, it would have passed to a descendant of some distant relative. Some of her family were lost in the Holocaust, I believe, so it could be very complicated.”

“What is the significance of the date, 1899, engraved in the necklace?”

“Ferdinand had the necklace made as a wedding gift for his wife, Adele. They were married in 1899.”

The two men sat quietly for a long moment.

“This Fiske, mentioned in the receipt from Blume, is he Carrie Fiske’s father?” Paul asked.

“Grandfather.”

“Bijoux Blume was still operating in Paris in 1946. I think the last member of the family died in the late fifties or early sixties, and the business closed or was sold, perhaps to a competitor.”

“Would, perhaps, whoever bought Blume still have the business records?”

“Certainly records of the Blume designs might exist. A competitor buying the business would recognize the value of keeping the drawings and records of their sales. It’s all provenance, which can be key to establishing value.”

“Would their designs have been photographed, as a matter of course?”

“Perhaps, particularly if the Blumes were very proud of a piece and wanted to be able to establish their connection with it. It seems likely that they would feel that way. It is — no matter who wore it or painted it or stole it — a remarkable piece of work, probably unique.”

“Suppose this proved to be the original. What value would you place on it?”

“Priceless,” Paul replied. “When Mrs. Adler sold The Woman in Gold and the other paintings, Ronald Lauder paid her a hundred and thirty-five million for them, and that was years ago. The necklace might not bring that kind of money, but in some ways, for some people, it might be an even bigger trophy, especially after the movie. There are a lot of billionaires in the world.”

“Paul,” Stone said, “how would you like to spend a few days in Paris, on me?”

Paul smiled. “I think I could stand that, if I can take my wife.”

“You buy her ticket. I’ll put you up in a suite in the Paris Arrington,” Stone said. “Get your people organized for the work in the three houses, then go to Paris as soon as you’re ready. Joan will arrange the hotel and your transportation.”

Paul put the necklace back into its velvet pouch and dropped it into Stone’s hand. “Take good care of it,” he said.

“Oh, I will. And Paul, not a word of this to anyone, not even your wife.”

Paul held a finger to his lips, then left.

35

Paul Eckstein went straight home and found his wife getting out of the shower. He embraced and kissed her, unmindful of her wetness.

“What was that all about?” she asked when she could take a breath. “It’s been a long time since you came home at noon for a quickie.”

“This isn’t about a quickie,” Paul replied, kissing her again. “How would you feel about a week in the best hotel in Paris?”

“Can we afford it?”

“We can, for two reasons. One, I have just been handed the biggest, most lucrative estate job of my life, and two, the job includes investigating a piece of jewelry in Paris.”

“What piece of jewelry?”

“Wait right here.”

“May I put some clothes on?”

“You may, if you’re not interested in a quickie.” He went into his study, to the shelves where he kept a large library of art books, and came back with one on Klimt. She was still naked when he got back to the bathroom. He set the book down on the toilet seat and leafed through it to The Woman in Gold. “That piece,” he said, pointing to the choker.

“No kidding?”

“No kidding, and remember, I didn’t say a word about it. My lips are still sealed.”

“What about your pointing finger?”

“That is not sealed, and it has many talents.” He demonstrated one of them.

“Your finger is very talented indeed,” she breathed in his ear. “Now, are we going to have our quickie in the bathtub, or shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”

They adjourned.

When they parted, breathless and perspiring, Paul said, “The beautiful thing about this assignment is that I know exactly whom to see in Paris, and it will take less than an hour to do that. The rest of the week is ours.”

“I like the sound of that,” she replied. “Who will you have to see?”

“A gentleman of my acquaintance who is the great-grandson of the man who designed the unmentionable piece. He is probably the last man on earth with this information in his brain.”

“And who is he?”

“His name is Randol Cohn-Blume. His great-grandfather was the chief designer of Bijoux Blume, a highly respected Paris jeweler of the first half of the twentieth century. He was also the nephew of the owner. His specialty was the design and crafting of impossibly expensive jewelry for impossibly wealthy clients, and I believe him to be the designer of the unmentionable diamond-and-ruby choker.”

“You couldn’t just phone him?”

“Tell me, would phoning him require an all-expense-paid trip to Paris for you and me?”

“No, it would not.”

“The very reason I am not already phoning him. I am advised that making phone calls from Paris to Paris is possible in this modern day and age.”

“A very sensible conclusion,” she replied. “When do we depart?”

“Let’s see. I have to assemble three teams of catalogers and appraisers and get them to work on three very high-end residences. And after that, we can depart for Paris. Say, three days?”

“Three days it is,” his wife said, getting up.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m ready for another quickie.”

“Nonsense. You haven’t been ready that fast since you were nineteen. I have to start packing.” She got out of bed, found a stepladder, and began hauling pieces of luggage from the top shelves of her dressing room. “Will we be dining out at the best restaurants in Paris every evening?” she called.

“Quite possibly,” he called back.

“Oh, good, then I can take a good dress for every evening.”

He got out of bed and watched his naked wife pulling things from the racks of her dressing room, assessing them and putting them back. Finally she found one acceptable and folded it carefully into her suitcase.