A Matter of Honor

Dear M. Roget,

I have left in your safe keeping a small icon of Saint George and the dragon in my box 718. I am transferring the ownership of that painting to a British army officer, Colonel Gerald Scott, D.S.O., O.B.E., M.C. If Colonel Scott should come to claim the icon at any time please ensure that he receives my key without delay.

My thanks to you for your help in this matter, and I am only sorry we have never met in person.

Yours sincerely,

Emmanuel Rosenbaum

“And you say that Colonel Scott came to collect the contents of the box earlier today?”

“No, no, M. Rosenbaum. The colonel died quite recently and left the contents of the box to his son, Adam Scott. M. Neffe and I checked all the documents including the death certificate and the will, and we were left in no doubt that they were both authentic and that everything was in order. He was also in possession of your receipt.” The young banker hesitated. “I do hope we did the right thing, M. Rosenbaum?”

“You certainly did,” said the old man. “I came only to check that my wishes had been carried out.”

M. Roget smiled in relief. “I feel I ought also to mention that your account had run into a small deficit.” “How much do I owe you?” asked the old man, fumbling in his breast pocket.

“Nothing,” said M. Roget. “Nothing at all. M. Scott dealt with it.”

“I am in debt to M. Scott. Are you able to tell me the amount?”

“One hundred and twenty francs,” said M. Roget.

“Then I must repay the sum immediately,” said the old man. “Do you by any chance have an address at which I can contact him?”

“No, I’m sorry I am unable to help you there,” said M. Roget. “I have no idea where he is staying in Geneva.” A hand touched M. Roget’s elbow, and M. Neffe bent down and whispered in his ear.

“It appears,” said M. Roget, “that M. Scott was planning to return to England shortly because he had to check in at Geneva airport by five.”

The old man lifted himself up. “You have been most helpful, M. Roget, and I will not take up any more of your time.”

“It’s flight BE 171, and your seats are 14A and B,” the man behind the BEA check-in counter told them. “The plane’s on time so you should be boarding at gate number nine in about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” said Adam.

“Do you have any luggage that needs checking in?”

“No,” said Adam. “We only spent the day in Geneva.”

“Then have a good flight, sir,” said the man, handing over their boarding passes. Adam and Heidi started walking toward the escalator that would take them to the departure lounge.

“I have seven hundred and seventy Swiss francs left,” said Adam, thumbing through some notes, “and while we’re here I must get my mother a box of decent liqueur chocolates. When I was a boy I used to give her a minute box every Christmas. I swore when I grew up if I ever got to Switzerland I would find her the finest box available.” Heidi pointed to a counter that displayed row upon row of ornate boxes. Adam selected a large, gold-wrapped box of Lindt chocolates, which the girl behind the counter gift-wrapped and placed in a carrier bag.

“Why are you frowning?” asked Adam after collecting his change.

“She’s just reminded me that I have to be back behind a till tomorrow morning,” said Heidi.

“Well, at least we’ve got the Coq d’Or to look forward to tonight,” said Adam. He checked his watch. “Not much else we can do now except perhaps pick up some wine at the duty-free.”

“I’d like to find a copy of Der Spiegel before we go through customs.”

“Fine,” said Adam. “Why don’t we try the paper shop over in the corner.”

“A call for Mr. Adam Scott. Will Mr. Adam Scott please return to the BEA desk on the ground floor,” came booming out over the public-address system.

Adam and Heidi stared at each other. “Must have given us the wrong seat allocation, I suppose,” said Adam, shrugging. “Let’s go back and find out.”

They returned downstairs and walked over to the man who had handed them their boarding passes. “I think you put a call out for me,” said Adam. “My name is Scott.”