The James Bond Anthology

The stranger was middle-aged, rosy, well-fed, and clothed rather foppishly in the neo-Edwardian fashion – turned-up cuffs to his dark blue, four-buttoned coat, a pearl pin in a heavy silk cravat, spotless wing collar, cufflinks formed of what appeared to be antique coins, pince-nez on a thick black ribbon. Bond summed him up as something literary, a critic perhaps, a bachelor – possibly with homosexual tendencies.

M. said, ‘Dr Fanshawe is a noted authority on antique jewellery. He is also, though this is confidential, adviser to H.M. Customs and to the C.I.D. on such things. He has in fact been referred to me by our friends at M.I.5. It is in co

Bond raised his eyebrows. Maria Freudenstein was a secret agent working for the Soviet K.G.B. in the heart of the Secret Service. She was in the Communications Department, but in a watertight compartment of it that had been created especially for her, and her duties were confined to operating the Purple Cipher – a cipher which had also been created especially for her. Six times a day she was responsible for encoding and dispatching lengthy SITREPS in this cipher to the C.I.A. in Washington. These messages were the output of Section 100 which was responsible for ru

M. turned to Dr Fanshawe. ‘Perhaps, Doctor, you would care to tell Commander Bond what it is all about.’

‘Certainly, certainly.’ Dr Fanshawe looked quickly at Bond and then away again. He addressed his boots. ‘You see, it’s like this, er, Commander. You’ve heard of a man called Fabergé, no doubt. Famous Russian jeweller.’

‘Made fabulous Easter eggs for the Czar and Czarina before the revolution.’

‘That was indeed one of his specialities. He made many other exquisite pieces of what we may broadly describe as objects of vertu. Today, in the sale rooms, the best examples fetch truly fabulous prices – £50,000 and more. And recently there entered this country the most amazing specimen of all – the so-called Emerald Sphere, a work of supreme art hitherto known only from a sketch by the great man himself. This treasure arrived by registered post from Paris and it was addressed to this woman of whom you know, Miss Maria Freudenstein.’

‘Nice little present. Might I ask how you learned of it, Doctor?’

‘I am, as your Chief has told you, an adviser to H.M. Customs and Excise in matters concerning antique jewellery and similar works of art. The declared value of the package was £100,000. This was unusual. There are methods of opening such packages clandestinely. The package was opened – under a Home Office Warrant, of course – and I was called in to examine the contents and give a valuation. I immediately recognized the Emerald Sphere from the account and sketch of it given in Mr Ke

M. broke in, ‘Thank you, Doctor. Just one or two final questions and I won’t detain you any further. You have examined this emerald ball thing and you pronounce it genuine?’

Dr Fanshawe ceased gazing at his boots. He looked up and spoke to a point somewhere above M.’s left shoulder. ‘Certainly. So does Mr Snowman of Wartski’s, the greatest Fabergé experts and dealers in the world. It is undoubtedly the missing masterpiece of which hitherto Carl Fabergé’s sketch was the only record.’

‘What about the provenance? What do the experts say about that?’

‘It stands up adequately. The greatest Fabergé pieces were nearly always privately commissioned. Miss Freudenstein says that her grandfather was a vastly rich man before the revolution – a porcelain manufacturer. Ninety-nine per cent of all Fabergé’s output has found its way abroad. There are only a few pieces left in the Kremlin – described simply as “pre-revolutionary examples of Russian jewellery”. The official Soviet view has always been that they are merely capitalist baubles. Officially they despise them as they officially despise their superb collection of French Impressionists.’

‘So the Soviet still retain some examples of the work of this man Fabergé. Is it possible that this emerald affair could have lain secreted somewhere in the Kremlin through all these years?’

‘Certainly. The Kremlin treasure is vast. No one knows what they keep hidden. They have only recently put on display what they have wanted to put on display.’

M. drew on his pipe. His eyes through the smoke were bland, scarcely interested, ‘So that, in theory, there is no reason why this emerald ball should not have been unearthed from the Kremlin, furnished with a faked history to establish ownership, and transferred abroad as a reward to some friend of Russia for services rendered?’

‘None at all. It would be an ingenious method of greatly rewarding the beneficiary without the danger of paying large sums into his, or her, bank account.’

‘But the final monetary reward would of course depend on the amount realized by the sale of the object – the auction price for instance?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And what do you expect this object to fetch at Sotheby’s?’

‘Impossible to say. Wartski’s will certainly bid very high. But of course they wouldn’t be prepared to tell anyone just how high – either on their own account for stock, so to speak, or acting on behalf of a customer. Much would depend on how high they are forced up by an underbidder. Anyway, not less than £100,000 I’d say.’