Morelli snorted. 'Don't ask me.'
'But somebody must have seen something.'
'Why?'
'Because marble is bloody heavy, that's why. You can't just stick it in your pocket and stroll off. If you stagger down the street with a Bernini in your arms, somebody should notice.'
Morelli smiled cynically. Just goes to show how little people know. 'Just as somebody should notice a murderer trotting about the administrative block, or hear a shot. And no one did. Nobody ever sees anything in this city. Nobody's ever around and if they are they're too busy going somewhere. I sometimes think you could steal the city hall and there'd be no witnesses.
'Anyway,' he went on, getting up to leave. 'This bust is not really my main concern. Your friends in Rome are taking that one on. They think it's the genuine article and they've lodged an official complaint with the Moresby about illegal export. They're going to harass the museum until they get it back. Don't blame them, either. This friend of yours is coming over to try and recover it.'
'Flavia?' Argyll asked with surprise.
'That's the one. That Bottando told me. That'll cheer you up, won't it?'
Argyll thanked him for the news.
'You OK, there?'
Oh, the limits of conversational gambits in this part of the world, Argyll thought, and turned to look at the new visitor.
'Mr. Thanet,' he said, with real surprise. The director did not seem the sort to go running around hospital wards bearing bunches of grapes. But, there he was, standing by the bed looking anxiously at him. 'How nice of you to come.'
'Least I could do. I was most distressed to hear of your mishap. Most upsetting for you. And for us, of course.'
'It's not your week, is it?'
Thanet opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and sat down instead. Argyll looked at him carefully. Clearly the man had come with good intentions, to cheer and console. But equally clearly it wasn't going to work out like that. Thanet had a captive audience - with his leg sticking up in the air there was nowhere for Argyll to run - and it looked as though he wanted to unburden himself.
'What's up?' Argyll asked, inviting the man to get on with it. 'You look worried.'
This was something of an understatement. In fact, Thanet looked dreadful. His normally anxious-looking face had developed vast bags under the eyes indicating he had had little sleep in the past few days. Everything about him, from the tired and creaky way he moved, to the almost random gestures of exhaustion, indicated a man on the edge. Hadn't lost weight, though.
'We're in an appalling situation. You wouldn't believe what's been going on.'
'Sounds bad,' Argyll said sympathetically, turning cautiously to rearrange his pillows and make himself comfortable. This could be a long haul.
Thanet sighed the sigh of the almost deranged. 'I fear the museum might close. And we were so near to clinching the most exciting project. It's terrible.'
It sounded a bit like exaggeration, and Argyll suggested Thanet might be overreacting. Whoever heard of museums closing, after all? They just got more expensive in his experience. By the time he died, he reckoned that the whole of Italy would have come under the aegis of the National Museum.
'This is America, and this is a private museum. Whatever the owner decides happens. The new owner of the Moresby Museum is, it seems, Anne Moresby. And you have witnessed for yourself how high we rank in her regard.'
'I thought that there was meant to be a trust fund or something set up to guarantee your future?'
'So there was. But Mr. Moresby hadn't signed the papers yet. He was going to announce it at the party and sign at a little ceremony the following morning. He never signed. Never signed.'
Clearly, this omission was weighing on Thanet a little.
'But the museum administrators have money anyway, don't they?'
Thanet shook his head. 'No.'
'None?'
'Not a cent. Not of our own. Everything was paid for by Moresby personally. It was awful - we never knew from one year to the next what our budget would be. We didn't even know whether we would have one at all. We had to ask him personally every time we wanted to buy something. It was his way of making sure we knew our place.'
He sighed heavily as he contemplated what might have been. 'Three billion dollars. That's what we would have got if he'd lived another twenty-four hours and signed those papers.'
'But he might have changed his mind anyway, mightn't he? His son said he was always doing that.'
The very thought of Jack Moresby made Thanet look pained, but he conceded that it was accurate. 'But not this time. That's the good thing about trusts. Once it was set up, it couldn't have been dismantled without the agreement of all the trustees. And I was going to be one of them.'
'So what's the situation now?'
'Disastrous. Anne Moresby inherits everything.'
'And what about his son?'
'I can't say I've thought about him much. There will be a monumental legal squabble, of course, but considering that he was legally and properly cut out of the will and has little money to pay lawyers, I doubt he'll get much. If anything. At least his position hasn't changed because of all this.'
'And what about you?'
Thanet looked heavenwards for support. 'What do you think?' he said bitterly. 'Mrs. Moresby has made it clear over the years that she thinks this museum is a complete waste of time. It's such a tragedy. After five years, I thought we could finally get on with building a great collection. And on top of that, the police in Italy are breathing down my neck about this bust. Do you realise, they've made a complaint about illegal export?'
'What I'd like to know is where it came from.'
Thanet shook his head. Minor detail, to his way of thinking. 'I don't know anything about it. You know that. You'll have to ask Langton. Of course, he's made himself scarce.'
Argyll looked at him incredulously. 'Do you really expect anyone to believe a director of a museum saying he doesn't even know where his pieces come from?'
Thanet gazed at him sadly with a slight tinge of despair. 'People don't, but it's true nonetheless. You must know the history of the museum?'
Argyll shook his head. Always willing to learn something new.
'Mr. Langton used to be in charge of Moresby's private collection, before the old man had the idea of founding a museum. When the museum project came up, he naturally expected to be made director. I can't say I blame him.
'That, of course, was not Moresby's way of doing things. He decided it was going to be a prestige project and so he wanted a prestigious person to head it.'
'You?' Argyll asked, trying hard to keep a tone of slight incredulity from seeping in at the edges.
Thanet nodded. 'That's right. Yale, Metropolitan, National Gallery. A glittering career. Langton had never worked in a major museum; so, in short, he was shunted aside. Naturally I wanted the job, but I thought it was unfair, the treatment he got. So I created a post for him in Europe.'
'Nicely out of the way,' Argyll commented. Thanet gave him a disappointed look.
'I could have got him a lot further out of the way, you know, had I put my mind to it. But despite that, I'm afraid he's never really forgiven me for occupying his chair.'
'Did Moresby like him?'
'Did Moresby like anyone? I don't know. But they went back a long time, the pair of them, and the old man realised that Langton was a useful person to have around. Langton stayed in the hope of easing me out one day, and he took great pleasure in organising acquisitions direct with Moresby, not telling me what was going on. Hence this bust turning up – and your Titian.'
'So was this thing paid for?'
