Mutters looked at the paper that had come out of the envelope once again, and then, taking a short-bladed knife, pried the ingot from its recess in the wood. Beneath it was a key. He pried the key from its slot and handed it to Seth.

“This is your key to the box,” Mutters said. “And this,” he handed Seth the gold ingot with the numbers and letter showing, “is your account number. It matches exactly the number as presented in the instructions we were given by the”—he cast a searching glance at Seth—”gentleman who opened the account and left a trust for its maintenance in perpetuity.”

Seth accepted the ingot and key hesitantly. He could not picture so evil a figure as Hermann Goering holding the very same items that he now touched.

“Well, let’s proceed,” Seth said impatiently.

“Of course,” Mutters said. “I’m afraid, though, that the access numbers embossed in the gold indicate a Priority One account.”

Seth felt his heart wrench, “Which means what?”

“It means that we are not allowed to remove the box from the vault without your presence.” Seth relaxed as Mutters continued. “It’s highly unusual. Normally we would bring your box to you here”—he looked around the room—”or in one of the other examination rooms. But with a Priority One account, you must be there to actually witness the unlocking of the box space.”

Seth nodded. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

Mutters grabbed his page of instructions, then led them back to the elevator and pressed an unmarked button.

“This takes us to our deepest vault level. The most secure.”

Seth nodded, trying to affect the self-centered disinterest in which the rich usually enshrouded themselves. Somehow it seemed to comfort Mutters.

From the elevator, they walked along a brown marble floor, past corridor after corridor lined with safe deposit boxes of varying sizes.

After descending a flight of stairs, they found themselves facing a bank of large safe deposit boxes, some as large as office file drawers. Mutters stepped back from the bank of boxes and bent backwards, hands placed in the small of his back as he scanned the numbers from ceiling to floor. He spotted the right number immediately.

“There,” he said, pointing with his finger. He indicated a box, about four feet off the floor, whose door looked more than a foot wide and six inches high. Zoe and Seth stepped closer to examine the box. Both locks were sealed with a thin gold foil.

“Please examine them closely to be assured that no key has ever penetrated the locks since the seal was applied,” Mutters said.

The seals were intact.

“Shall we proceed?” Mutters asked. Seth nodded and handed Mutters the key that had been hidden for forty years under the gold ingot. The ingot rested uneasily against his thigh, tugging at the fabric of his trousers pocket.

Seth held his breath as Mutters inserted first the bank’s key and then the one from the painting through the foil seals and into the locks. He turned both simultaneously and the lock clicked open. Mutters opened the door to reveal a standard metal safe deposit box container. He reached in, slid the box from the recess where it had lain undisturbed for more than four decades, then held it out for them to see. The lid was secured with four thick gold seals; these, like the gold ingot, embossed with the seal of the SS. Mutters looked at the seals and at Seth. His face remained expressionless; it bore the look of a man who has seen everything once and is waiting for a second time.