As the Crow Flies

“Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe,” murmured Charlie. “Show the man in.”

A small, bent, tired-looking figure whom Charlie suspected was not much older than himself entered the office and waited to be offered a seat. Charlie rose from behind his desk and ushered his visitor into an armchair near the fireplace before asking him how he could help.

Mr. Schubert spent some time explaining to Charlie how he had escaped from Hamburg with his wife and two daughters, after so many of his friends had been sent off to concentration camps, never to be heard of again.

Charlie listened to Mr. Schubert’s account of his experiences at the hands of the Nazis without uttering a word. The man’s escape and his description of what was taking place in Germany could have come straight off the pages of a John Buchan novel and was far more vivid than any newspaper report of recent months.

“How can I help?” asked Charlie when Mr. Schubert appeared to have finished his sad tale.

The refugee smiled for the first time, revealing two gold teeth. He picked up the little briefcase by his side, placed it on Charlie’s desk and then slowly opened it. Charlie stared down at the finest array of stones he had ever seen, diamonds and amethysts, some of them in the most magnificent settings. His visitor then removed what turned out to be nothing more than a thin tray to reveal loose stones, more rubies, topaz, diamonds, pearls and jade filling every inch of the deep box.

“They are but a tiny sample of what I had to leave behind, in a business that was built up by my father and his father before him. Now I must sell everything that is left to be sure that my family doesn’t starve.”

“You were in the jewelry business?”

“Twenty-six years,” replied Mr. Schubert. “Man and boy.”

“And how much are you hoping to get for this lot?” Charlie pointed to the open case.

“Three thousand pounds,” Mr. Schubert said without hesitation. “That is far less than they are worth, but I am no longer left with the time or the will to bargain.”

Charlie pulled open the drawer by his right hand, removed a checkbook and wrote out the words “Pay Mr. Schubert three thousand pounds.” He pushed it across the desk.

“But you have not checked their value,” said Mr. Schubert.

“Not necessary,” said Charlie, as he rose from his chair. “Becaus

e you’re going to sell them as the new manager of my jewelry shop. Which also means that you’ll have to explain to me personally if they don’t fetch the price you claim they are worth. Once you’ve repaid the advance, then we’ll discuss your commission.”

A smile came over Mr. Schubert’s face. “They teach you well in the East End, Mr. Trumper.”

“There are a lot of you down there to keep us on our toes,” replied Charlie with a grin. “And don’t forget, my father-in-law was one.”

Ben Schubert stood up and hugged his new boss.

What Charlie hadn’t anticipated was just how many Jewish refugees would find their way to Trumper’s the Jeweler, closing deals with Mr. Schubert that ensured Charlie never had to worry about the jewelry side of his business again.

It must have been about a week later that Tom Arnold entered the chairman’s office without knocking. Charlie could see what an agitated state his managing director was in so he simply asked, “What’s the problem, Tom?”

“Shoplifting.”

“Where?”

“Number 133—women’s clothes.”

“What’s been stolen?”

“Two pairs of shoes and a skirt.”

“Then follow the standard procedure as laid down in company regulations. First thing you do is call in the police.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s that easy. A thief is a thief.”

“But she’s claiming—”

“That her mother is ninety and dying of cancer, not to mention the fact that her children are all crippled?”