Whitney St John Cambro -

Three days later, the fake codex sold to a private collector from Texas for two million pounds. O’Flaherty got his money. Szász got his warning. Gerald got a postcard from Whitney: a picture of Belmarsh Prison, with the words Thinking of you scrawled on the back.

“Of course he will. But the Art Newspaper loves a good Nazi-era restitution story. And I’ve already sent a copy to the FBI’s Art Crime Team, Interpol, and a journalist named Emma Lund, who won a Pulitzer last year for exactly this sort of thing.”

What she wanted, at the moment, was the Marbury Codex. whitney st john cambro

“I’m an honest one,” she said. “Which is far more dangerous.”

“The codex is stolen,” Albrecht said. “You have two choices. Hand it over, and I’ll ensure Szász doesn’t press charges against your firm. Refuse, and I call the Metropolitan Police and the Art Newspaper before lunch.” Three days later, the fake codex sold to

After he left, she unlocked the safe, swapped the real codex for Ezra’s forgery, and locked the fake inside. The real one she placed in a Pringles can—because criminals are, above all, practical—and drove to a 24-hour post office. She addressed the package to the National Museum of Ireland, Dublin, with a note: Anonymous donation. For the permanent collection. No questions asked.

“The sale is in three days,” she said. “I’ll handle the rest.” Gerald got a postcard from Whitney: a picture

The trouble began not with the codex, but with the Cambro half of her surname. Gerald Cambro, her ex-husband, had built a respectable career in forged Renaissance bronzes before his unfortunate incident with Interpol. Whitney had kept the hyphen because it was good for business; people assumed she was the widow of a minor aristocrat, not the ex-wife of a convicted fraudster. But Gerald, serving his sixth year in HMP Belmarsh, had decided he wanted a reunion.