‘My name is Firman, sir.’
He went on as if I had not spoken. ‘So, I have seen you twice. What I intend to do from now on is to talk with you.’ He patted the arm of the empty chair beside him. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
I remained standing. ‘I am sure that you will understand that I am a busy man, Mr Dopff. I simply came to tell you that the receptionist here gave me a strange message, from you he tells me, about two persons of whom I have never heard. It seemed proper and sensible to let you know that the message was either garbled or misdirected. That is all.’
He showed his teeth again. ‘That garbled message brought you pretty quickly, Mr Oberholzer.’
‘The name, I repeat, is Firman.’
‘At the moment it is, yes. But it used to be Oberholzer, and I have no doubt that there have been, and still are, a great many other identities in your repertoire. How annoying it must be for you to realize that this time you can’t just run for it.’
I gave him my little bow. ‘Except to escape the acute boredom of this conversation, Mr Dopff, why on earth should I run anywhere?’
He was unruffled. ‘You ran in Zurich. Here, as you have obviously realized, you must try to bluff your way out. No head-start possible, no suitable cut-outs available and no inconspicuous exits handy. Agreed? So why not sit down and join me in a little whisky? In spite of your impressive outer calm, I am sure that you would find it helpful.’
At that moment I had almost decided that he was some sort of private detective, a retired fraud-squad type. Anyway, it was time to counter-attack.
I sighed and sat down in the chair beside him. ‘Very well, Mr Dopff. You want to talk. May I suggest a subject?’
‘Why not?’ He snapped his fingers for the waiter. ‘We can always change it.’
‘Then, since the subject of identity seems to interest you so much, why don’t we have a look at the one you’re using?’
‘By all means.’
The waiter came then and took the order for more whisky. It was given in what sounded to me like Flemish.
‘For a start,’ I said, ‘I don’t think you’re a Luxembourger.’
‘Absolutely right!’ Beaming smile. He might have been playing a guessing game with a favourite grandchild.
‘And your name is not Dopff.’
‘Right again. My good friend Maurice Dopff, who lives and works in the Grand Duchy, registered for this affair and then found himself unable to attend. He kindly allowed me to come in his stead.’
‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’
‘Of course I don’t. He allowed himself to be used as cover.’ He fished out a visiting card and handed it to me. ‘Permit me to introduce myself formally. The name is Krom.’
I knew at once exactly who he was. In the tax-avoidance game our coverage of legal and financial publications of all sorts and nationalities is as comprehensive as we can make it. The Institute and Symposia between them employed a multilingual, and very expensive, full-time research staff of eight as well as numerous part-timers. With us, good intelligence is as essential for survival as discipline and foresight. Our coverage of specialized technical journals dealing with law enforcement at policy-making levels is extremely thorough. Krom’s allusions to tax avoidance and evasion in the published version of his Berne lecture had been sufficient to ensure its being brought to my attention flagged with a red sticker. Even if he had not initiated our acquaintance by playing games with dead men’s names, I would have known enough about Krom to be wary of him.
My first ploy, then, was to pretend that I knew nothing while working to find out more.
I gave the card a perplexed look. ‘Well, Professor, this is all a bit surprising. As you can imagine, we get lots of peculiar characters at these seminars of ours, all sorts of nosey-parkers, including, I have to say, some of our competitors in the tax haven area. We don’t object. If we can teach them something, well that is what we are here for, to teach. It is though a trifle irksome, I admit, when they make fools of themselves by wearing disguises.’ I contrived a sudden look of anxiety. ‘You really are Professor Krom, I hope? This — ’ I held up the card — ‘is not, by any chance, a disguise within a disguise?’
He had been watching me intently and with a certain air of disbelief. Now he shook his head slowly. ‘No, I am Krom. Why? Were you hoping that I wasn’t?’
‘On the contrary, I was hoping that you were. You see, this is the first time we have had the pleasure of entertaining a Professor of Sociology. This is an occasion. Still — ‘ perplexity again — ‘I’m afraid I don’t yet see the connection between your field and ours. Unless, that is, you are seeking advice on how best a good Dutchman may avoid those onerous Netherlands taxes.’
He suddenly grinned again and clapped his hands softly. ‘An excellent performance,’ he said, ‘really excellent. Just for a moment there you nearly made me forget. Forget Oberholzer and Kramer, I mean. You see, Mr Firman, my field is criminology.’
It was time to show my teeth. I said: ‘You’ll find no able criminals here, Professor Krom.’
He positively giggled. ‘From defence to attack, eh? The pretence of ignorance is abruptly discarded in order to disconcert. Splendid impertinence!’
I went on as if he had not spoken. ‘So I’m afraid your little fishing expedition will have to be written off as a waste of time. Sorry.’
Protesting hands. ‘Oh, but it has got off to a most successful, a most promising, start!’
The drink arrived just then. I was glad of the diversion. The man was proving hard to handle, and I needed time to think. I could have done with more. It was necessary to find out from him what he considered success without actually asking, and I made a complete hash of it.
When the waiter had gone again I said: ‘Then you must be easily satisfied.’
He read me instantly. ‘I can well understand, Mr Firman, that you are curious.’
‘I’m surprised, certainly.’ No point in letting the adversary see your discomfiture even if he must have sensed it. I kept going. ‘You bait your hook with some mysterious substance labelled Oberholzer and Kramer, and catch an empty beer can. If you think that’s good fishing, naturally I’m surprised.’
The teeth flashed triumphantly. ‘You’ve missed a trick, Mr Firman!’
‘I am sure that you intend to tell me which.’
‘Of course I do. You fell into the trap of failing to ask yourself an obvious question.’
I smiled. ‘How do you know what questions I ask myself, Professor?’
‘I know you haven’t asked yourself this one because you haven’t asked me for the answer. Consider. You are told that Oberholzer and Kramer are waiting to see you. Correct?’
‘I am told that two persons of whom I have never heard are waiting to see me.’
An upraised forefinger flicked the quibble aside contemptuously. ‘Yet, in your anxiety to set eyes instantly upon the person who uses these unknown names, you quite overlook the oddity of the channel of communication he has chosen to use.’ He paused before going on. ‘Do you usually in this hotel receive messages about visitors from the receptionist? Doesn’t the concierge’s, the hall-porter’s, department function here?’
I managed, not without difficulty, a careless shrug. ‘It functions, yes, and quite efficiently. I presume you thought that a busy receptionist was less likely to remember your face than the concierge who gives you your room-key and who might also be unsympathetic to practical jokes.’
He gave me a kindly look. ‘Not bad for a spur-of-the moment invention, but it won’t do, will it? Hindsight content far too high. If you had never heard of Oberholzer and Kramer why would the possibility of a practical joke occur to you? No, you failed to ask yourself why I had gone to the receptionist because the questions uppermost in your mind just then were — who is this joker, what does he want and how dangerous is he?’