“Very literary, very intuitive, very profound. You may even be right.”

“To resume, then. His first wife must have known about the treasure; he photographed her wearing it. Was it her death that made him decide to share his secret with someone else? The inevitability of death is the one undeniable fact we all try to deny—”

“If I want more philosophy, I’ll read Plato,” I informed him. “Get on with it.”

“His wife died,” John said obediently. “He married again—a woman forty or fifty years younger. Did he tell her about the treasure?”

“Of course he did. Men do stupid things when they’re in love.”

“Dear me, what a sweeping, sexist generalization.”

“I said, skip the philosophy.”

“You were the one who…. All right, what next? Did the second Frau Hoffman promise to carry on the trust? Or did she urge him to hand over the gold to the proper authorities?”

“Neither of the above. She’s a greedy, ignorant little gold digger, John. If she found the True Cross, her first idea would be to hock it.”

“I’ll accept your evaluation—without,” John added pointedly, “any sexist comments. The reaction you describe is unfortunately common to many members of the human race, male and female alike.”

“So she said something like, ‘Oh, Anton darling, think of all that money,’ and he said, ‘Bite your tongue,’ and she…well, whatever she said, he realized he had picked the wrong lady. The minute he died, she’d have the treasure out of hiding and into the hock shop. That realization was what made him decide to pass on his trust to a more suitable custodian. Better it should end up in a museum than in the hands of—forgive me—someone like you.”

I paused to give him time for rebuttal; he chose not to take advantage of it, so I went on. “He kept putting off the decision to act, however. How many people die without a will? Something finally forced him to make up his mind. I suspect—and there is some confirmatory evidence—that he learned Friedl had already betrayed him—gone behind his back. To—who?”

“Whom,” said John. “Ouch,” he added indignantly.

“Then don’t be a pedant. You derailed my train of thought. Where was I? Oh—Friedl’s extramarital activities. I’m sure she had plenty. Not only was Hoffman old enough to be her grandfather, but he was a gentleman—not her type. Freddy was definitely her type, and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he is not unknown to the police. But he’s even stupider than his lady. What Friedl needed was a person who had two specific qualifications: brains enough to comprehend the unique value of the treasure, and the right connections to dispose of it, quietly, lucratively, and illegally.”

The taut muscles under my cheek quivered, and then relaxed. “It wasn’t me,” John squeaked. “Honest, lady.”

“I believe you, darling. If she had approached you, you’d have taken care of the matter by now and left no loose ends dangling.”

“Thank you.”

“Bitte schön.”