Death in a High Latitude, page 3
Half of me wanted to be on the way to Hamburg instead of Cambridge. That Dr Braunschweig’s fifty-foot ketch should be missing as well as the man himself seemed to me highly significant – but significant of what? I wanted to know much more about the boat, about the club and the conditions in which she was kept, but it was hard to see what bearing this might have on his disappearance. And although there were lots of questions that I wanted to ask, I do not speak German at all fluently, and it seemed wiser to leave the questioning to the Hamburg police while I got on with things at Cambridge. But what was I to get on with? Seddon’s report on the missing Baffin Map was about as thorough as it could be, and while I could go over the ground again with the Cambridge police it didn’t seem likely that they could tell me anything we didn’t know already. The museum did not seem much more hopeful. The Cambridge CID had talked both to Dr Wilding, the Curator, and to the new Keeper of Arctic Maps, Dr Ingrid Mitchell: what could they add to me? Of course, I should be asking different questions: when the loss of the map was reported to the Cambridge police nobody had any idea of the bizarre circumstances which now surrounded it. And I should have to be careful not to give the museum people any inkling of those circumstances. Somehow I’d got to find out what conceivable interest a seventeenth-century map could have to a political terror group in Germany – that is, if they were a terror group. And what had happened to the map?
*
The Museum of Cartography is a beautiful early eighteenth-century building tucked in at the back of St John’s College. There is no formal link between college and museum, but many St John’s men have been distinguished in exploration, and by tradition the college provides one of the trustees for the museum, the college having offered land for the building when a later benefactor added to the original grant from the Hudson’s Bay Company, to enable the collection of maps to be properly housed. The entrance and courtyard remain as they were when the museum was built, but considerable extensions have been added. The museum has been fortunate in its architects, or perhaps there is something in the Cambridge air that makes for academic beauty by its river (unlike Oxford, which used the Thames for gasworks). On that early summer morning I felt that the ugly business which had brought me to Cambridge had an incongruously lovely setting.
Seddon’s notes told me that Dr Wilding had been Curator for twenty-eight years, and that he would have retired this year had there not been difficulty in finding a successor, a professorship of geography and a senior post in the Map Room at the British Museum having unexpectedly become vacant at the same time. My appointment was for ten o’clock, and I reported a couple of minutes before the hour. An attendant conducted me to the Curator’s secretary, who took me into a high, light room overlooking the river which had been the Curator’s office since the place was built. Dr Wilding was a picture-book example of the benign elderly scholar. ‘It is good of you to come,’ he said as he rose to greet me. ‘I fear we cannot help you much, but if you will tell me what you want I shall do everything in my power to assist.’
‘You should have been told that my business concerns the Baffin Map.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. I fear I grow forgetful. Alas, the Baffin Map is unaccountably astray.’
‘I know – we have been informed of that by the police. I am concerned with the grant of export licences for works of art, and my department has been approached by a reputable dealer who wants to know if we would grant an export licence were he able to acquire the map from you. Apparently an American university has approached him in the matter.’
‘I am not surprised. But you have no problem because we would not sell the map.’
‘I am sure you would not. But you will understand that the disappearance of the map makes inquiries about a possible export licence for it of considerable interest.’
‘Yes, yes. It is all most distressing. Shall we have the police here again?’
‘That may not be necessary. I thought it best to call on you myself so that you can give me whatever facts you have at first hand.’
‘It is considerate of you.’ He looked at my card. ‘I see that your name is Blair. We had a Blair once on the staff of the museum. He was an expert on early Arab maritime maps. No relation, I suppose? No, people never are.’
‘I understand that the map was lent to the university of Hamburg for an exhibition there, and that as far as you know it was returned.’
‘Yes. The university authorities behaved most responsibly in the matter. We lent them several of our maps. They were collected by a member of their staff. Dr Steinberg travelled with the maps to Hamburg, and he travelled back here with them when they were returned.’
‘You checked them with him?’
‘Yes. Or rather, I checked the number of packages against a list of the maps we had lent. I did not myself open them – we have an expert staff of packers and map handlers – but as Dr Steinberg accompanied the maps personally they must have returned.’
‘Were they insured?’
‘Yes – the university of Hamburg paid the premium.’
‘Have you claimed on the insurance?’
‘No. I have seen no reason to, because I am sure that the map is somewhere in our building.’
‘Yet you reported its disappearance to the police.’
‘In confidence. I should add that this was partly at the insistence of Ingrid – that is, Dr Mitchell, the Keeper of Arctic Maps. Dr Mitchell is a – er – quite stern young woman. She is most able, of course. Doubtless you will meet her.’
‘Do you ever sell maps from your collection?’
‘It is a matter for the trustees, though naturally they are guided by my advice. Yes, we do sell items from time to time. Like all museums we suffer from lack of space, and sometimes it is necessary to dispose of items of secondary importance to make room for additions to our collection.’
‘You would not regard the Baffin Map as of secondary importance?’
‘Indeed, no. It is not in my own field but it is unique of its kind. I am more directly concerned with early maps of Asia. You may have come across my book, The Asiatic Sources of Eratosthenes.’
‘Surely it is still the definitive work.’ He almost purred with pleasure.
‘You are generous to say so, but yes, I think it remains the leading authority for the period. Much good work is coming out of American universities nowadays, but on the sources of Eratosthenes I feel that we are still in the lead. Are you interested in the special problems of his location of the Caspian?’
He would have been delighted to discuss Eratosthenes all day, but it seemed unlikely that this would cast any light on the missing Baffin Map. I felt that time was slipping through my fingers. ‘Would it be possible for me to see Dr Mitchell?’ I asked.
‘Certainly. But you are so well-informed about Eratosthenes that I should like to pursue certain matters with you.’
‘I shall look forward to it. But we are being pressed for a decision on the Baffin Map and there are some points I should like to clear up with Dr Mitchell.’
‘What a nuisance!’ He lifted a telephone. ‘Janet, could you see if Dr Mitchell is free, and if so could you take Mr Blair to her?’ A minute or two later his secretary came into the room. ‘Dr Mitchell is free. Shall I take Mr Blair now?’
‘Do you feel that you must go at once?’ Dr Wilding asked hopefully.
‘I fear so.’
He sighed. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you. It is not every day one comes across such interest in the cartography of the third century BC.’
*
I left the Curator in something approaching despair. Obviously he knew little about the Baffin Map and cared less. His attitude to its disappearance seemed deplorable, but he lived in a world of his own. Whatever his eminence as a scholar, he was clearly long past his job as an administrator, and for the sake of the museum I hoped that his retirement might not be long postponed. As we walked through the long corridors of the museum, making our way to the newer buildings at the back, I hoped that Dr Mitchell might live nearer to reality.
She did – embarrassingly close, I felt, when the secretary introduced me and left. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, looking at my card. ‘I have never heard of you. What do you wish to see me about?’
I was using one of my private visiting cards, with my address in the Temple, and which gives simply my name without any military rank. It was the best I could do at short notice. I felt instinctively that vague stories about export licences would not go down well with this sharp young woman and decided to give her an edited version of the truth. ‘I take it this room is secure?’ I said.
‘What on earth do you mean?’ She was still standing at her desk as she had got up to receive me, and she seemed, understandably, a bit startled. She was quite an attractive young woman, I thought, in her early thirties, with a good figure, a slight hardness in her appearance redeemed by widely spaced, intelligent eyes. She was wearing an amber necklace, the beads of an unusually deep reddish colour that suited her dark hair with a hint of red in it, and her clear skin.
I handed her my official warrant from the Department. ‘You will see that I am an officer of the Police Liaison Department of the Home Office,’ I said. ‘I am not myself a policeman, but naturally I work in close association with the police. If you are at all suspicious of me ring New Scotland Yard and ask for Assistant Commissioner Seddon. He will vouch for me, and if you put through the call yourself there can be no doubt that you are speaking to the Metropolitan Police.’
‘I don’t doubt you. I don’t know what you want.’ She sat down. She didn’t invite me to sit, but there was a chair in front of the desk and I took it. ‘My visit concerns the Baffin Map,’ I said. ‘You must know all about its disappearance – indeed, I understand that it was you who pressed the Curator to call in the police.’
‘I did.’
‘It has come to the knowledge of one of our embassies – I’m afraid I am not at liberty to say more – that the Baffin Map, or rather a map purporting to show Baffin’s discoveries in the Arctic, is being discreetly offered for sale. It may be a fake, it may be a legitimate copy of your map, or it may be the original stolen from the museum. Because the diplomatic service is involved we have been called in, and it is my job to see if we can help the embassy to recover the map – if it is your map. I have, of course, a full report of the inquiries made by the Cambridge police – regrettably they do not take us very far. You will understand that the diplomatic side of the matter is delicate, and that is why I am concerned that nothing we say can be overheard.’
She ignored this, and as I didn’t think it at all likely that anybody was listening in I let it go at that. What she did say rather surprised me. ‘What are they asking for it?’ she said.
‘I understand it is in the region of a quarter of a million pounds.’
‘Then it is undoubtedly our map. Is the embassy going to buy it?’
‘Hardly – ambassadors have no funds for buying stolen property. It is more a question of seeing whether the police in the country concerned can act. How can you be so sure that it is your map?’
‘The price, for one thing. No one is going to pay so much without being sure of what he is buying, and inks and paper used in map-making can be dated accurately nowadays by scientific analysis. That seems to me to rule out a fake. Has your embassy seen the map?’
‘No. A member of the embassy staff may be permitted to see it, and that is why it is so important to have your views on what to look for in deciding whether it is your map.’
‘Couldn’t I see it myself? I could travel anywhere at short notice.’
‘Obviously that would be the best thing, but I’m afraid it’s out of the question. If crime is involved it will be major international crime, and we must assume that those concerned will know all about you. For the moment it must be left to the embassy staff to handle things.’
‘It seems most unsatisfactory, but I suppose you have a point. What do you want to know about the map?’
‘I have the description of it from the catalogue of the museum. I want to know what makes it specially important.’
She considered for a moment. Then she asked, ‘Are you familiar with the history of Arctic exploration?’
‘Not very.’
‘At least you’re honest.’ She gave me a rather thin smile, but it was a smile. As if she were lecturing to first year undergraduates she went on, ‘Elizabethan seamen were firmly convinced of the existence of a North-West Passage from the Atlantic to the riches of the east, and sixteenth-century capitalists, including the Queen herself, fully realised the commercial advantages of finding such a route. There were also local resources to be exploited in fish and furs. Martin Frobisher got as far as what is now called Baffin Island in 1576 and thought he had found gold, though the “gold-bearing” rocks he brought back were found to contain only iron pyrites. In the later sixteenth century John Davis, after whom the Davis Strait between Greenland and Baffin Island is named, added considerably to knowledge of the Arctic, and in spite of the severe ice he met remained hopeful that a passage leading to the Pacific could be found. In 1610 Henry Hudson discovered Hudson’s Bay, a vast expanse of water which he thought was open sea. The voyage ended disastrously in a mutiny which led to Hudson’s death, but some of the mutineers got back to England with reports of his great discovery – which incidentally saved them from the gallows by exciting so much interest. William Baffin followed Hudson’s exploration and after several voyages got remarkably far north in the bay that bears his name. In 1615–16 he discovered Lancaster Sound, Jones Sound and Smith Sound, all of great importance in later Arctic exploration. For the next two centuries, however, the capitalist world had other things to think about and Baffin’s discoveries were largely forgotten – partly because he was thought to have brought back no map. The Hudson’s Bay Company found so much profit in exploiting Arctic Canada that it saw no point in pushing northwards to the wastes of Baffin Bay. Baffin’s importance as an explorer was rediscovered in the nineteenth century, when the Royal Navy after the Napoleonic wars turned its attention to the Arctic and the search for a North-West Passage. Baffin’s map turned out to be remarkably accurate.’
‘But you say he brought back no map.’
‘I said that he was thought to have brought back no map. That is the point. The map now known as Baffin’s did not come to light until 1776, a hundred and fifty years after his last Arctic voyage. It was found among the papers of a great-great-nephew, whose daughter married a Fellow of the Royal Society interested in geography. She gave the map to the museum, which forgot about it until the Navy sent Parry to the Arctic in 1819. The interest aroused by Parry’s voyage awakened interest in Baffin’s map, and its importance was recognised.’
‘You believe the map to be genuine?’
‘There can be little doubt. There were no other voyages from which it could have derived. It is signed “William Baffin” in a form which corresponds to Baffin’s known signature.’
‘Your catalogue says that a particular feature of the map is its use of coloured tints to indicate depths. Isn’t that unusual for the period?’
‘Yes, that is one of the things that make the map unique – and so valuable. It is a beautiful piece of work, and, as I said, surprisingly accurate.’
‘Have you got a copy that I could see?’
‘No – I don’t think there are any copies. Wait a minute, though – there was a small photograph of it in the catalogue of the Hamburg exhibition. They sent us some, and I think I’ve still got some in this drawer. Yes – you can keep this if you like. While I think of it, there’s another photograph in Mornington’s Arctic Exploration, but his book was published about forty years ago. It was a standard work of its time, but is now out of date. I can vaguely recall a photograph of the map, but I doubt if it’s as good as the one in the catalogue.’
I studied the reproduction she gave me. It was small, and in black and white, but it showed Baffin Bay clearly enough, and what I took to be the coast of Ellesmere Island. ‘He got very far north,’ I said.
‘Yes. He was a remarkable navigator in ice.’
‘You reported to the Curator that the map was missing. How long did you wait before telling him?’
‘One day – half a day, really. We had given research facilities to Dr Longworth, of the United States Institute of Arctic Navigation, and he wanted to consult the map. The assistant who would normally have brought it to him went to the cabinet it should have been in, and it wasn’t there. She told me at once – it was lateish in the afternoon, about four thirty. I thought that it had probably been misplaced after its return from the Hamburg exhibition, and I organised a search for it first thing next morning. When it hadn’t turned up by noon I reported to Dr Wilding.’
‘He still seems convinced that the map is mislaid and not really missing.’
‘That’s because he wants to think so. He’s due to retire soon, and he doesn’t want any sort of cloud over his retirement. He objected strongly to calling in the police.’
‘But you did call in the police.’
‘Of course we did – I went to see them myself, and then they came here, and Dr Wilding had to see them.’
