easy. I am sorry for his children.”
“His children?” Yashim found it hard to imagine a Lefèvre with children. But then, what would he know? “Do you have children, Malakian efendi?”
The old man nodded solemnly. “Five,” he said.
“God’s blessing upon them,” Yashim said politely. “Malakian efendi, do you still have that coin for Dr. Millingen? The English collector?”
It was Malakian who looked surprised. “Of course. He does not come here every day.”
“I will be in Pera this afternoon,” Yashim said. “I could take him the coin, if you liked.”
Malakian turned his head to look at Yashim. “You want to meet Dr. Millingen?”
“Yes,” Yashim said.
35
“M Y French is—indifferent, I’m afraid,” said Millingen. He laughed pleasantly and held out a hand. Yashim took it: the doctor had a firm grip. Scarcely older than Yashim, he looked in good shape: the grizzled hair, the lean, brown face, the tall, erect posture. He was neatly dressed in a black cutaway coat and a brilliant white shirt; his cravat was loose at the neck.
“Most kind of you to come. Aram’s been throwing out hints these past few weeks, and my collector’s instinct tells me what you’ve brought. You aren’t an addict, too?”
Yashim smiled. “I do not collect coins, doctor.”
“Good for you! I caught the bug in Greece—time on my hands. It’s nothing much, but I’ve been making a collection of late Byzantine coinage. All those states and little kingdoms which grew up after the crusaders sacked the city in 1204. Silver obloids minted by the Morean despots, for instance. This, I suspect, may be the one I’m missing.”
Dr. Millingen slid the coin from its pouch onto his leather-topped desk and prodded it with his finger. “I knew it. An angelus. Damn, but Malakian is clever. I’ll wager he had this coin the whole time.” He looked up and pulled a face. “A collector is a very weak man, wouldn’t you say? Six months ago I would not have given five piastres for this coin. Now it arrives to close a gap, and Aram Malakian will have me paying through the nose.”
“Well, I suppose if Malakian always supplies you with your coins, he can’t help knowing what you are looking for,” Yashim pointed out.
“Ah, no.” Millingen wagged his finger. “That’s part of the game—when I remember to play it properly. I don’t rely on Aram, you see. There are other dealers, though I admit he’s the best. Sometimes I think they operate a ring, pool their information. So I have to lean on friends outside the bazaar, too. You’d be surprised. There’s a monk in Filibe who helps me, and an old friend in Athens. A doctor, like me. But Malakian! He’ll ruin me!”
Yashim smiled. “I’m afraid he only asked me to bring it over. He didn’t mention money.”
“Not a word!” Dr. Millingen laughed again, and ran his hands through his curls. “The old fox! He knows I’ve been sitting here with my tongue hanging out. And in a moment I’ll put this angelus with the others and complete the set. And then how could I ever let it go again? Oh, Yashim efendi, I’m afraid our old friend has quite deceived you. You have just sold your first angelus.”
Yashim smiled. “I am afraid, Dr. Millingen, that it is I who have perhaps deceived you. I was glad to bring you this coin, but really it is some information that I want.”
Millingen waved his hand. “Fire away,” he said affably.
Yashim found himself hesitating. “At the palace, they will speak for me.”
Dr. Millingen leaned forward slightly. “Yes, Yashim efendi. I believe I know you.”
Yashim felt encouraged. “I knew the unfortunate Monsieur Lefèvre, as well. The man who was killed.”
“Ah, yes. Bad business, that.”
“He told me you had met once.”
Millingen looked surprised. “It’s quite possible. Who knows? I’m afraid he was rather beyond recognition this morning.”
“You examined the body.”
“An autopsy. It means to have a look
“His children?” Yashim found it hard to imagine a Lefèvre with children. But then, what would he know? “Do you have children, Malakian efendi?”
The old man nodded solemnly. “Five,” he said.
“God’s blessing upon them,” Yashim said politely. “Malakian efendi, do you still have that coin for Dr. Millingen? The English collector?”
It was Malakian who looked surprised. “Of course. He does not come here every day.”
“I will be in Pera this afternoon,” Yashim said. “I could take him the coin, if you liked.”
Malakian turned his head to look at Yashim. “You want to meet Dr. Millingen?”
“Yes,” Yashim said.
35
“M Y French is—indifferent, I’m afraid,” said Millingen. He laughed pleasantly and held out a hand. Yashim took it: the doctor had a firm grip. Scarcely older than Yashim, he looked in good shape: the grizzled hair, the lean, brown face, the tall, erect posture. He was neatly dressed in a black cutaway coat and a brilliant white shirt; his cravat was loose at the neck.
“Most kind of you to come. Aram’s been throwing out hints these past few weeks, and my collector’s instinct tells me what you’ve brought. You aren’t an addict, too?”
Yashim smiled. “I do not collect coins, doctor.”
“Good for you! I caught the bug in Greece—time on my hands. It’s nothing much, but I’ve been making a collection of late Byzantine coinage. All those states and little kingdoms which grew up after the crusaders sacked the city in 1204. Silver obloids minted by the Morean despots, for instance. This, I suspect, may be the one I’m missing.”
Dr. Millingen slid the coin from its pouch onto his leather-topped desk and prodded it with his finger. “I knew it. An angelus. Damn, but Malakian is clever. I’ll wager he had this coin the whole time.” He looked up and pulled a face. “A collector is a very weak man, wouldn’t you say? Six months ago I would not have given five piastres for this coin. Now it arrives to close a gap, and Aram Malakian will have me paying through the nose.”
“Well, I suppose if Malakian always supplies you with your coins, he can’t help knowing what you are looking for,” Yashim pointed out.
“Ah, no.” Millingen wagged his finger. “That’s part of the game—when I remember to play it properly. I don’t rely on Aram, you see. There are other dealers, though I admit he’s the best. Sometimes I think they operate a ring, pool their information. So I have to lean on friends outside the bazaar, too. You’d be surprised. There’s a monk in Filibe who helps me, and an old friend in Athens. A doctor, like me. But Malakian! He’ll ruin me!”
Yashim smiled. “I’m afraid he only asked me to bring it over. He didn’t mention money.”
“Not a word!” Dr. Millingen laughed again, and ran his hands through his curls. “The old fox! He knows I’ve been sitting here with my tongue hanging out. And in a moment I’ll put this angelus with the others and complete the set. And then how could I ever let it go again? Oh, Yashim efendi, I’m afraid our old friend has quite deceived you. You have just sold your first angelus.”
Yashim smiled. “I am afraid, Dr. Millingen, that it is I who have perhaps deceived you. I was glad to bring you this coin, but really it is some information that I want.”
Millingen waved his hand. “Fire away,” he said affably.
Yashim found himself hesitating. “At the palace, they will speak for me.”
Dr. Millingen leaned forward slightly. “Yes, Yashim efendi. I believe I know you.”
Yashim felt encouraged. “I knew the unfortunate Monsieur Lefèvre, as well. The man who was killed.”
“Ah, yes. Bad business, that.”
“He told me you had met once.”
Millingen looked surprised. “It’s quite possible. Who knows? I’m afraid he was rather beyond recognition this morning.”
“You examined the body.”
“An autopsy. It means to have a look
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