“Thank you. So do I,” she said, and turned away, heading back toward the place where Saint-Germain’s car had crashed through the barrier and down the cliff.
Two more policemen were at the scene, one of them of higher rank than the others. He eyed Rowena with suspicion. “You the lady with him?”
“I am,” she said, comprehending the imprecise question. “I want to ride with him in the ambulance.”
“It might be pretty messy,” he warned, but with less concern than the first officer had shown.
“I’m prepared,” she said. “I have spoken to his business colleague, and he instructed me to have him taken to the hospital at the Affiliated College of the University of California on Parnassus.”
“Oh, did you?” The officer put his hands on his hips. “It costs extra, doing that. And you may have to pay up front.”
“I have enough with me, I’m almost certain,” said Rowena, certain the ambulance could not cost more than a taxi-ride to Mills Field, which was three dollars; she had thirty-five with her, a lavish sum, which made her feel protected: she could stay in a hotel and have a good meal for much less; she could surely afford the ambulance charges.
“Well, we’ll see what the ambulance driver has to say,” the officer proclaimed. He looked down toward the water. “They got him out. They say he hasn’t breathed.”
“He could be in shock,” said Rowena.
The officer gave her a pitying glance. “Yes. That’s it, ma’am.”
Rowena ignored this. “Let me see him.”
“He’s pretty badly banged up,” said the officer.
“Don’t worry about me, Officer,” said Rowena. “I’m not going to faint or do anything unseemly.”
“So you may think, ma’am, but—”
Rowena interrupted him ruthlessly. “I am going down to the water’s edge, and I am going to remain with my relative. It’s what he’d do for me.”
The officer heaved a put-upon sigh. “There’s steps over there. Damned steep, but they’ll take you right down to the back of the Benson house. The ambulance will pull in on the other side of the house.”
She stared at him. “You were going to take Ragoczy away without letting me know, weren’t you?”
He hitched his shoulder. “Something like that.”
It would have been tremendously gratifying to yell at the officer, to heap all her worry and tension on him, but she stopped herself; she needed this man’s good opinion or she might lose Saint-Germain. “You were wrong, Sergeant,” she said before she went to the steep wooden stairs leading down the cliff to the shore. Grasping the railings tightly, she went down as quickly as she could, glad of her field boots that protected her shins from the whipping berry vines that slapped at her as she passed.
Four policemen were gathered around a still figure lying on the shore, his sodden clothing badly ripped, the side of his face skinned to the bone. His right arm and shoulder were severely abraded, and there were pebbles and other debris in the torn flesh; blood ran sluggishly from the grisly injuries. Two of the policemen were wet, mute testimony to their rescue efforts. As Rowena approached, one of the officers knelt down and took Saint-Germain’s wrist again, trying to find a pulse. He shook his head, and was about to speak up, when he caught sight of Rowena, and he released his hold on the wrist and got up.
“Excuse me,” said Rowena as she came up to the policemen. “This man is my blood relative. I want to look at him.”
Slowly the police moved aside; one of the men whose clothes were wet said, “You don’t want to do that. I’m afraid he’s gone.”
Rowena was shaken at the extent of the damage she saw, but she reminded herself that no matter how bad it looked, if Saint-Germain’s spine was unbroken, he would recover, if she could keep him away from the doctors, so she knelt down next to him and leaned over him, trying not to see the shredded skin and exposed tissue. “You have to breathe,” she whispered urgently. “They’ll call the coroner if you don’t breathe.” She was tempted to shake him, to force him to respond, but she knew the police would stop her if she tried; she repeated her plea, and was finally rewarded with a rough sigh, and a twitch in his hand.
“Jesus! Will you look at that?” the tallest of the officers exclaimed. “I would have sworn he was—” He silenced himself.
Taking his undamaged left hand in hers, Rowena said, “You have to send him to the University Hospital,” she said to the police. “He has a condition that needs special attention.”
“If he’s come through that, you’re damned right it’s special,” said another one of the officers, his voice higher-pitched than usual. “I’ll tell the ambulance driver where to take you.”
Rowena brought her gaze back to the ruin of Saint-Germain’s face. “Your beautiful clothes are wrecked,” she said inconsequentially, unable to bring herself to speak of anything more afflicting than that as she stroked his small, well-proportioned hand.
Saint-Germain moved slightly; a hint of sound came from him. “No accident.”
She put her finger on his lips. “Shush,” she whispered. “Not here.” She glanced at the police, afraid they might have heard him. For some reason she could not define, she could not bring herself to trust the police. “We’ll get you to the University of California Hospital, you know, the one on Parnassus, by Sutro Forest.”
His fingers twitched in hers to show he heard her. “Saw him,” he gasped. “Saw him.”
A whooping siren cut through the desultory conversation among the policemen, and the tallest one leaned over, taking Rowena by the arm. “You gotta let the ambulance attendants through, ma’ am. We’ll arrange for you to ride with him.”
Rowena allowed herself to be lifted, but she stood where she was. “I appreciate it, Officer.”
“I sure thought he was…”
“Dead,” she finished for him. “Those of his blood sometimes have … catalepsy. Some of them have even been buried because a mistake was made. Fortunately they … were restored.”
“Good God,” the other wet policeman said. “What a terrible thing. No wonder you’re so worried.”
The necessity of having to say anything more was lost as two ambulance attendants came rushing toward the group of policemen, a stretcher held between them.
“Where’s the patient?” the attendant in the lead asked.
The policemen moved aside, but Rowena stayed where she was. “This is my kinsman. I am coming with you.”
Before the attendants could refuse, the tallest officer said, “Yeah. The guy’s got some kind of seizure condition. Don’t ask me but it’s creepy.” He pointed to Rowena. “She’ll explain it.”
The attendants were not pleased, but they offered no argument, moving to Saint-Germain’s left side to load him onto the stretcher. Saint-Germain moaned, which shocked the attendants so that they almost dropped the stretcher. “He’s gonna need blood,” said the rear attendant.
“Undoubtedly,” said Rowena “But his type is very rare, and he needs his own physician. That’s one of the reasons he has to go to the University of California Hospital in San Francisco. I’m sure you know where it is.”
“It’ll cost you fifteen dollars,” said the lead attendant as he and his partner lifted the stretcher with Saint-Germain on it.
“I can afford it,” said Rowena as she fell in beside the stretcher.
The ambulance was ready for them and they loaded it quickly. One attendant remained in the back with Saint-Germain and Rowena, the other got into the front with the driver and turned on the siren.
“You’re lucky,” said the driver as the attendant gave him their destination. “The bridge is open. You couldn’t have done this a day ago.”
“A day ago we wouldn’t have been here,” said Rowena, sitting on the pull-down chair on the rear door. She stared at him anxiously. “Is there anything you can do?”
“We’d take off his clothes, if you weren’t here,” said the attendant in the rear with her. “It has to be done.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” she said. “I’m an artist; I’ve seen any number of naked bodies.” But not Saint-Germain’s, she reminded herself, not entirely.
“If you’re sure? He’s not going to be pretty,” said the attendant even as he reached for heavy shears.
“Go ahead,” said Rowena, and steeled herself for what she would see; it had been a long time since she had seen him without a shirt or a robe on.
The attendant began to cut Saint-Germain’s trouser-leg, taking care not to touch the wounds. “It’s amazing he doesn’t have any broken bones, not that I can see. A fall like that should mean fractures everywhere.”
“The car must have protected him,” said Rowena, feeling the ambulance swaying. How strange, she thought, to be crossing the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time and not be able to see anything.
“We must be the first ambulance over the bridge,” said the attendant as he dropped the cloth into a paper sack and began on the jacket; where he was not battered and bloody, Saint-Germain was very, very pale, his skin seeming almost translucent.
“I guess so,” said Rowena.
“He’s in pretty good shape, I’ll say that,” the attendant went on as he tossed the right side of the jacket into the sack and started on the shirt. “Silk. Don’t see too many silk shirts.”
“He dresses well,” said Rowena.
The attendant had cut the shirt and undershirt; he caught sight of the wide swath of scars on Saint-Germain’s torso, running from the base of his sternum to the top of his underdrawers. “Will you look at that?” he marveled. “He must’ve been in the Great War.”
“He was in Europe before the war,” said Rowena truthfully enough.
“Someone got him.” The attendant kept at his task as the ambulance slowed for the tollbooths. “Those are old scars.”
“Yes; they are,” said Rowena. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying, all the while wishing she were stronger, more able to maintain a proper deportment under pressure. Her headache was getting worse and she felt herself growing hot, a symptom of her change-of-life. This was hardly the time for such nonsense, she thought as she felt a finger of sweat slide down her neck.
“You all right?” the attendant asked.
“I’m upset,” said Rowena.
The attendant nodded. “Small wonder.” He moved the paper sack aside.
She rubbed her hands together. “How much longer?”
“Fifteen minutes, maybe less,” said the attendant “We’re running the siren, and the cops won’t stop us.”
“Is that really an advantage?” She could feel the ambulance rock as it sped along the street that led to the passage through Golden Gate Park.
“We’ll go up to Ninth Avenue, probably, then up the hill.” The attendant had taken out a towel and was cleaning his hands.
“The driver must know the best way; the fastest,” said Rowena as if to convince herself.
“He sure does.” He took out a white drape and spread it over Saint-Germain, taking care not to do anything to make his injuries worse. The fine cotton was soon spotted with red. “It’s gonna be hard to clean him up. There’s sand and rock and glass in his wounds. And shock is always a problem when you’re dealing with an accident.”
“I’m sure his doctor will know how to manage it; he will meet us there; I know he will,” said Rowena She would have liked to hold Saint-Germain’s hand, to care for him herself, but that would not be possible yet.
“They’ll take care of him in Emergency,” said the attendant “They have a good staff, and they’re hard workers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Rowena, hoping that Rogerio would be there to meet them.
“He’s gonna need blood,” said the attendant.
“Oh, yes,” said Rowena.
The attendant found a jar of saline solution and an intravenous needle and line. “I should try to get this started.”
“It might be better to wait,” said Rowena. “I think his physician will want to do it. He’s supposed to be coming to the hospital.”
“Did you talk to him?” The attendant hesitated.
“No; I spoke to his associate, who assured me he would call Ragoczy’s physician.” She mustered all the authority she could. “I don’t want to do anything that could compromise his recovery.”
“Makes sense to me,” said the attendant, and moved back from the stretcher to sit down next to Rowena. “My name’s Holmond, Walter Holmond,” he said.
“It’s good to meet you, Walter Holmond. I’m Miss Saxon,” she said, offering her hand.
His handshake was firm but not so tight that it hurt. “You’re a real trouper, Miss Saxon. Not many women could do this,” he said, and fell silent.
Rowena sat back, longing for an aspirin. She would be so glad to have this day behind her, to have Saint-Germain safe once more; that was her biggest worry now, that she would be unable to protect him from the kind of scrutiny he most dreaded. As the ambulance turned left, she hung on to the side of the seat, her queasiness increasing, not all of it from the motion of the vehicle.
“He’s a good man?” Holmond asked, jutting his chin in Saint-Germain’s direction.
“The best I’ve ever known,” Rowena said.
“Then I hope for your sake he pulls through,” said Holmond, adding, “We’re almost there.” He coughed. “You’ll have to pay the driver.”
“Fifteen dollars,” said Rowena. “Yes; I will.”
The ambulance slewed to the right and barreled across the intersection, then sped up Ninth Avenue.
“Maybe three minutes more,” said Holmond.
Let Rogerio be there, let Rogerio be there, Rowena repeated silently. “Hang on,” she murmured to Saint-Germain, and thought she saw him nod, trusting it was something more than the motion of the ambulance that caused it.
TEXT OF A LETTER FROM COLONEL ANDREAS MORALES IN SEVILLA TO CENERE IN SAN FRANCISCO; SENT AIRMAIL.
88, Calle de los Obreros
Sevilla, España
11 June, 1937
Cenere
North Point Hotel
901 North Point Street
San Francisco, California, USA
My dear Cenere,
Your telegram has finally caught up with me, and I am grateful to you for keeping me informed of your activities, although I cannot entirely call it progress; I am also surprised you should spend so much on a telegram when an airmail letter would have been less than twenty percent of the cost of the telegram. Still, you were obeying my instructions and what’s done is done. The same cannot be said of your mission. I will agree your attempts on Ragoczy’s life should have succeeded, and that they have not is hardly to your discredit, but I also agree with you that to act again soon would be a great risk that is likely to be too problematic to contemplate, at least for the next month or so; Ragoczy must be on the alert, and he has shown himself to be a formidable opponent, and for that reason alone, circumspection is called for.
Let me tell you now, however, that your failure to kill Ragoczy is not acceptable. You will remain where you are until this mission is complete. And you will not threaten me again in regard to informing my superiors. I may have exceeded my authority, but you have taken the most flagrant advantage of my desire to see this Ragoczy removed. Consider all you have done and you will be grateful that you are being permitted to do the work you have been so handsomely paid to do, rather than suffer the same fate as Ragoczy must-I say must advisedly, certain that you will not miss my meaning. If you should fail to kill him, do not return to España, or you will find that you will have to answer for your failure before a firing squad.
I cannot recommend another attack on the artist-woman, no matter how closely associated she may be to Ragoczy. She is a noted personage, and attacks on her could bring about the very scrutiny your work is supposed to evade. The police have investigated the break-in, you tell me, and have not closed their case. This situation can too easily turn against you; bid
e your time if you must As much as I want Ragoczy dead, I want more to have no connection, directly or indirectly, to that so-called accident or the break-in at Miss Saxon’s house, not with the police taking such an interest in the matter. I want you to keep that in mind as you make your next plans as you undertake to fulfill your pledge to see Ragoczy dead.
You say you tampered with his brakes and the steering-linkage on his automobile, which is totally wrecked due to the fall the auto took into the water. Had matters gone only a bit more in our favor, Ragoczy would be dead now and you would be returning to Europe, where there is more work waiting for you. But such is the perversity of fate that your best efforts succeeded only in causing severe injuries, and the destruction of the vehicle. In regard to the latter, I am assuming that the damage you inflicted on the auto could not be easily identified as artificial rather than unfortunate; if your role in the accident can be determined, then you must reevaluate your task and determine if it is prudent to continue as you have done. It may be that another approach is called for, and it is up to you to discover it and put it to the most careful use. Under no circumstances are you to be arrested; if that should happen, you will be utterly on your own, for your apprehension by the police would undo all the advantages you have so carefully achieved.
You also inform me that Ragoczy has been in the care of a private physician from the time he was injured until now, making it impossible for you to reach him through hospital personnel, a most distressing development, and one you must factor into your next plans. I will not support any action that will expose your purpose, and that includes more attempts on those close to Ragoczy, for that makes for complications that may lead to the sort of discovery you are sworn to evade.
Another two thousand dollars has been wired to you, as per your request I cannot imagine how you contrive to spend so much. For most Americans, two thousand dollars would be a handsome salary for a year, and you claim to need five times that amount to do your work, which, on the face of it, is a simple thing to accomplish. You may be very good at what you do, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are expensive to maintain. This is the last money I will vouchsafe you until I have word from you that you have succeeded. I have been patient, but I expect results, discreetly achieved. I will pay you your price, but I also ask that you do this with as much dispatch as you can without risking discovery. Be certain that any prevarication will only be held against you, and any revelation to the local authorities will bring swift reprisals. If you are identified as what you are, you must leave or assure your silence. I know I make myself dear.
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