WYMAN FLEW TO GENEVA on the afternoon of May 14. After a pleasant thirty-six hours in Paris, the flight had no appeal for him. He regarded the Swiss as a nation of insipid nonentities who deprive you of your money in four different languages. Wyman’s visit therefore took no longer than the job required.
He took a taxi to the Banque Internationale Descartes, 53 Rue Pascal, and was shown into the manager’s office. Monsieur Georges Piaget was an impeccably polite cadaver with a limp handshake and an antiseptic voice.
“Good afternoon, Mr Ryle,” he said to Wyman. “What can we do for you?”
“A great deal, I hope,” Wyman said. “I am acting on behalf of another party who wishes to open an account at this bank. The gentleman concerned is also not a Swiss national, and for reasons of discretion he wishes the account to be numbered. For the time being he wants me to act on his behalf in the matter of depositing and withdrawing sums from the account.”
“I see,” Piaget said. “That should present no difficulties, Mr Ryle. Nevertheless, since neither you the contracting party, nor the beneficial owner of the account are Swiss nationals, a certain amount of documentation is required.”
“I appreciate that,” Wyman said.
“Splendid. You are probably aware of what is required, but I will go through it all in case of difficulty. To begin with, Mr Ryle, we need documentation of your own identity—your passport would suffice.”
Wyman drew out the false passport and handed it to Piaget.
“Splendid,” Piaget repeated, noting down the passport number. “We will also need several specimens of your signature, and details of your place of residence. And of course, we need to know certain details about the beneficial owner of the account.”
“Yes,” Wyman said. “I think you will find all you need here.”
He produced a typewritten document and placed it on Piaget’s desk.
“This,” he explained, “gives the gentleman’s full name, and his place and country of residence. There is also a letter of introduction from a reputable European bank. As you can see, it confirms the gentleman’s address and certifies the specimens of his signature given below.”
“Excellent,” said Piaget.
He studied the documents carefully, and if any of it surprised him, his face did not show it.
“This is more than sufficient,” he added. “There are one or two standard documents we must request you to sign, and I will introduce you to the official who will be responsible for this account. You will appreciate, of course, that once the agreements have been signed, we will require a period of forty-eight hours to complete our own formalities.”
“Of course,” Wyman said. Piaget was really saying that the bank would need two days to make its own private inquiries about the bona fides of the beneficial owner of the new account.
“As a matter of fact,” Wyman said, “I expect this account to remain unused for a week or two yet.”
“Indeed,” Piaget said.
“Yes. We then expect a very large lump sum to be paid into the account, and we expect it to remain there for a minimum of eight months.”
“I see,” said Piaget. “What sort of figure should we expect to receive, if the question is not an indelicate one?”
“You will find it written on the back of the page giving details of my client.”
Piaget glanced at the sheet and slowly looked up at Wyman. Years of experience had taught Piaget to avoid expressions of pure greed, but there was a remote hint of it in his voice.
“This is quite a sum,” he said.
“It is,” Wyman agreed. “But I am sure you are perfectly capable of dealing with it.”
“Quite so,” Piaget said. “Perhaps your client would like us to manage his account for him. The Bank provides an excellent service—”
“The possibility has occurred to my client,” Wyman said, “and we shall probably discuss it at a later date. For the time being I am simply interested in establishing the account.”
“I entirely understand,” said Piaget, picking up his telephone. “Perhaps I can introduce you to M. Barthes. He will be responsible for your client’s account.”
Three minutes later Wyman was shaking hands with a pin striped suit inhabited by M. Barthes and M. Barthes’ last dozen meals.
The three men sat down and the remainder of the formalities were completed. Wyman signed the standard Form A of the Swiss Bankers’ Association, entitled “Declaration for Opening an Account or Depositing Securities”. In doing so, Wyman was declaring that he, Edmund Ryle, was merely the contracting party, and that the beneficial owner was someone else.
He then signed the formal agreement establishing the account, giving the name of Ryle and that of the beneficial owner. Appended to the agreement was a long list of general conditions.
Finally, because Wyman was opening a numbered account, he had to sign yet another document which was ponderously entitled “Special Agreement Completing the Contract for Opening an Ordinary Account and Deposit”. This was supposed to indemnify the bank against any risks arising from using a code-number instead of a name in the account. The code G2H-17-493 was entered on the agreement, and that was that.
It was explained to Wyman that deposits and withdrawals would be made exclusively by means of this number. Despite the elaborate secrecy of this procedure, Swiss banks still regard numbered accounts as more vulnerable than “ordinary” ones, and so further precautions are insisted upon.
Wyman was told that cash withdrawals could not be made over the counter. To release any sum of money, Wyman would have to see his account manager in person, and M. Barthes would withdraw the cash under his own signature. The lowly cashier was far too untrustworthy to be allowed to handle numbered accounts.
Once the formalities had been completed, M. Barthes left, and M. Piaget gave a cigar and a glass of brandy to his new client. He expressed his delight at being able to do business with an Englishman.
“The English are such gentlemen,” he enthused.
“Yes,” Wyman said. “Perhaps that’s why they get foreigners to handle their money for them.”
“Perhaps,” said Piaget. “The English have the most… unfortunate banking system. Your desire for privacy in domestic and social affairs is most laudable. It is a pity that it does not extend to your commercial affairs.”
“Indeed,” Wyman said. “This is because the English obsession with privacy is outweighed by the English obsession with tax.”
“Quite so,” Piaget remarked sadly. “It is most unfortunate.”
“Do you really think so?” Wyman asked.
Piaget’s face creased into a frozen smile.
“Of course not,” he said.