“Thank you. Can you give us news of Van Ryn?”
“No, don’t know what’s happened to him, but I know why he came to Russia!”
“Good, that may be helpful.”
“He was after the Shulimoff treasure; the old Prince buried it himself before he cleared out in ’seventeen; there’s said to be millions of roubles’ worth of gold and jewels — God knows where it is, the Bolshies have been hunting for it for years — but that’s what Rex is after.”
The effect of hearing this youthful English voice proceeding from the grey-moustached lips of the elderly Russian was so queer that Simon had difficulty in restraining his mirth. They walked slowly down the line of cages towards the door at the opposite end from that at which the keeper stood.
“Stout feller, Rex,” their elderly companion went on. “Knew him when he came over to play polo for the Yanks in nineteen twenty-nine. I hope he’s all right.”
“I received a letter asking for assistance a fortnight ago,” said the Duke. “It was posted in Helsingfors. He was in prison somewhere — but where, I have no idea, unfortunately; he must have run up against the authorities in some way.”
“Probably found wandering in forbidden territory; they’re pretty strict about that. Large areas are closed altogether to foreigners.”
“Where — er — was Prince Shulimoff’s estate?” inquired Simon. “That might give us a line.”
“That’s just the trouble; the old boy was fabulously rich. He had a dozen places; one outside Moscow, another near Leningrad; a villa at Yalta — that’s the Russian Riviera, you know. Then he had an enormous territory near Tobolsk, in Siberia, and places in Pskov, and Yaroslavl, and the Caucasus as well; and being such a wily old bird, he may not have buried the treasure in any of them; the old scout may have thought it safer to stow the goods in one of the monasteries, or the cellars of a friend!”