“Please forgive the delay,” he said as he walked toward them. The door closed behind him. “I am Josef Mutters.” He extended his hand. Ridgeway took it and shook its warm firm grip. “I am a vice president here at the Thule Gesellschaft Bank.” He repeated the full name of the bank as if to help his two visitors make sure they were in the right bank. “What may I do for you?”

Seth retrieved the package from the wet bar.

“We wish access to our box,” he said as he handed the package to Mutters.

For an instant, the vice president looked at the roughly wrapped parcel as if it might contain some new American disease. Just as swiftly, though, his professionally obsequious face reassembled itself.

“May we sit for a moment?” he asked. Seth nodded and the three arranged themselves around the sofa. Mutters placed the parcel on the coffee table and began to unwrap it.

He almost stifled a short gasp of surprise when he saw the painting. He looked at it silently for a long time. When he looked up again, the obsequious look in his eyes had turned to fear.

“After these many years,” Mutters said, as much to himself as to his guests. He nodded to himself, confirming the inevitability of the painting as one confirms death when it finally arrives.

“My father made arrangements for this,” Mutters said. “Back when such procedures were still legal. It was unusual, but he saw nothing illegal, and thus accommodated the customer.” He looked at them sharply. “But then you must know all about that, don’t you? After all, you have the painting.”

Seth felt the hand of fear clutching at his intestines. Did the man suspect them? Would he ask them questions they couldn’t answer? The police wouldn’t be long.

“Of course we know all that,” Seth snapped. “We didn’t come here for a history lesson. We came to collect the contents of our box.”

Mutters’s gaze was intense. Seth could see the man’s thoughts shifting in his eyes, evaluating, measuring, deciding.

“Of course,” Mutters finally said. “Please forgive my lapse of manners. It’s just that…” He looked at Seth. This time his eyes had the soft, compliant texture of the servant “This is the last of an era.” His voice was nostalgic. “All of the other accounts with… unusual arrangements have all been converted to standard procedures. And Swiss law forbids us from reinstituting the practice.” Mutters looked like a mourner lamenting the passing of a dear friend. He was silent for a moment. Then, abrupty, he stood.

“By your leave,” he said formally. “I must gather a number of items to proceed.” Seth nodded curtly and Mutters quickly left the room.

The vaultlike thud the door made each time it closed had begun to play on Seth’s nerves. He cracked open a bottle of Grange at the bar and poured glasses for Zoe and himself. They drank mostly in silence.

Mutters returned just as Seth had filled their glasses the second time. Mutters held the door open as Abels pushed in a small wheeled metal cabinet with a counter-height work surface. In one hand, the vice president held a sheet of paper and a torn envelope from which the paper had obviously come. He followed Abels into the room and had him position the cart next to the window overlooking the lake.