Lindgren tried to comprehend the startling fact, if it was a fact, that Arne Nordberg — Nordberg, of all people! — should be in possession of the Schliemann treasure. It just did not seem possible. In fact, the more he thought about it the less possible it seemed. Still, the diadem was there. He supposed the professor’s story might be true; stranger things had happened in the world. But not many. He frowned at Nordberg.
“I see. And may I ask just why you’re telling me all this?”
This was the part that Nordberg had rehearsed in his mind when he first planned to present the case to the count. He had been sure it would be one of the first questions. But it really wasn’t so hard. All he had to do was tell the truth.
“Well, sir,” he said earnestly, “the fact is, I’m like the man who stole the treasure from the museum. He had it, but he didn’t know what to do with it. That’s the position I’m in. I’ve got it, but I don’t know what to do with it. It cost me all the money I had in the world—”
“And how much was that?”
“I know it won’t sound like very much to you, sir, but it cleaned out my bank account—” Nordberg hesitated as if ashamed to be mentioning such a minute sum to a man as rich as Lindgren. The count waited. “It was fifty thousand kroner, sir. But I thought it was worth it.”
“I’m sure,” Count Lindgren said dryly. Fifty thousand kroner for the Schliemann collection? The cost of a new Volvo for one of the greatest collections the world has ever seen? “And at the risk of being impolite and repeating myself, may I ask again, just why are you telling me this? Do you wish to resell it? I’d have to verify its authenticity—”
“No, no!” Nordberg said hastily, moving to the edge of his chair, wishing to correct this misunderstanding at once. “I had nothing like that in mind! I thought—” He hesitated. Lindgren waited. “I thought,” Nordberg said at last, in a subdued tone of voice, not looking at the count but staring at the thick rug instead, “that we could be sort of... of partners, sir. That you might be able to figure out how both of us could make some money from it...” There! It was out, it was said!
Lindgren contemplated the man before him with outer calm, but inwardly his mind was racing. So the man wasn’t as big a fool as he appeared. Nordberg was, however, still a lout, there was no doubt of that, but he was an educated lout, after a fashion, and he would scarcely have been foolish enough to pay whatever he paid — the count was positive it would not have been fifty thousand kroner or anywhere near it, but that was unimportant — for a hoax. Nor would he have been so foolish as to attempt to bring a hoax to Count Lindgren. It would have been far too dangerous to attempt anything like that with a trustee of the university where he worked. It would mean his job, if not worse. The count fully intended to verify the authenticity of the collection, but he was beginning to really believe that the miserable person facing him actually, through some weird accident of fate, had come into possession of the Schliemann treasure. The story of the Russian defector probably was the truth. It was the only way Lindgren could imagine Nordberg getting hold of it. Certainly not through his own weakling efforts.
And if Nordberg actually had the treasure, there was indeed a fortune to be made. Enough, in fact, to enable the count to return to the style of living he had unfortunately been forced to abandon for the time being. It was rather a good thing the man had not wanted to sell it; he might have been foolish enough to have given him something for it. Now, if it really existed, he was sure that somehow he could realize its value without sharing a bit of it. If, always if, it were real...
He became aware that Nordberg was speaking and looked up. “I’m sorry. I was thinking. You were saying—?”
Nordberg smiled nervously. “I was wondering what you were thinking, sir.”
Count Lindgren smiled genially. “If the collection is genuine,” he said, “and that, of course, I shall have to verify, then I think I might be interested.” He laughed. “Oh, not for the money, of course, but for the sport of it. I think it might be rather a lark, you know? Interesting, in a way.”
Nordberg was thrilled. He could feel the wave of emotion travel the length of his body, prickling him. He had been so right to contact Count Lindgren! So absolutely right! Not, of course, that the presence of the count automatically meant a solution to the problem, but he knew he felt better for just not being alone with the problem any longer.
“Do you have any idea, sir, of... of just how we... you... we might—?”
Lindgren waved the question away airily. “I’m sure there are many means of disposing of a collection that desirable,” he said absently, and smiled, the same intimate friendly smile that had greeted Nordberg when he first arrived, admitting the professor into the warm fraternity of the rich and privileged. The count swiveled his chair to face a cabinet and brought forth a bottle of rare brandy. He poured two glasses and held one out to the professor. Nordberg could hardly believe it; he was drinking cognac with Count Axel Lindgren! He tapped his glass against the one being held out by the count, raised it to correspond to Lindgren’s gesture of a toast, and sipped. My Lord, it was good! To think that with money one could drink this ambrosia of the Gods every day of the week! He finished his drink but refused a refill. It would not do to look greedy in front of his new partner. Besides, there was a more important matter to be discussed.
“How much money do you think—?”
“I shouldn’t worry about that, if I were you. The Schliemann treasure should bring in a fortune,” Lindgren said encouragingly, and offered Nordberg a cigar. Nordberg took it and put it to his lips; the count held a flame to it from a gold lighter. The professor did not smoke, but it would have been unthinkable to refuse an offering from the count. He smiled to hide a grimace at the unfamiliar acrid taste, and persisted.
“But, roughly, how much—?”
“Please don’t worry about that,” Lindgren said sincerely. “Whatever monies result from selling the treasure, I assure you will be yours. I have all the money I need. What I don’t have is some project to occupy my mind. And this sounds as if it might be good sport. But first, of course, I should not wish to even become involved unless the treasure is authentic. And when may I verify that?”
“Right now, if you wish.” Nordberg puffed out smoke, wondering if one could become accustomed to rich cigars. “It’s in several safe-deposit boxes at my bank, the Handelsbanken in the Østergade in Copenhagen. The bank is open, and it’s only an hour from here—”
“Shall we say tomorrow, instead? Suppose I meet you at the bank at eleven,” Lindgren said, and came to his feet. He did it in a reluctant manner, as if he would have liked to continue the scintillating conversation with the brilliant professor for hours, but unfortunately other matters prevented him from this pleasure. The truth was he had a lot of thinking to do and he wanted his mind clear when he saw the treasure the following day. If it should turn out to be authentic, he did not want to be confused about what had to be done. He walked his guest to the door, one friendly arm about the other’s shoulders, saw him properly taken over by Wilten, and made his way toward the dining room.
Professor Nordberg walked to his ancient car as if on air. It was real! It had happened! He had neither imagined it, nor dreamed it! Everything had come about exactly as he had hoped and prayed for. And what a pleasure to be associated with a gentleman like Count Lindgren! He had the count’s word for it — his word! — that he would never need for anything again! The money was all to be his! Ah, to be rich. Oh, not to live in a grandiose place like Lindgren Castle, but to have a larger apartment, with a servant — a combination maid and cook... He could picture the maid he would hire when money was no problem. With a low-cut uniform that would show off her full figure to the best, short skirts for her wonderful, enticing legs. A maid who would understand the needs of a passionate man, and who would share that passion.