"You see," Ariste said. "In each of these cases there actually was a unifying factor: someone stood to gain."
"I guess that's so," Barnett admitted. "But if there is one in the current madness, it eludes me. And I think that there has to be a predisposition for such madness before the germ can take hold."
"You think, perhaps, it happens by infusion, like some strange epidemic?" Ariste asked. "Perhaps the idea of assassination is 'in the air.' Perhaps the people could be vaccinated against it as they are for the pox."
"Well, whyever these horrible people are doing it," Cecily said, taking Diane's hand, "please be careful."
"I promise, my dear," Princess Diane said with a wistful smile.
"Although our safety is rather in the hands of others, I do what I can to assure that those hands are competent."
"We leave tomorrow for Monaco to visit our royal cousin Prince Albert," Ariste said. "In ten days we shall be back at Weisserschloss, our royal residence at Spass. It has over two hundred very drafty rooms, several of which we would insist upon putting at your disposal would you care to join us for a week or two."
"We go from here to Austria," Barnett said. "And from there back to Paris, and then to London. I think Spass is in a fairly direct line from Innsbruck to Paris, isn't it?"
"Direct enough for us, my love," Cecily said, laughing. "If the American News Service can do without you for an extra week, I'm sure Mr. Hogbine can do without me. Besides, think how jealous he will be. He received an invitation to one of the queen's afternoon teas once, about ten years ago, and he hasn't ceased speaking of it since."
"Good!" Prince Ariste said. "Then it's settled. A week of bridge evenings. How delightful!"
"Perhaps they won't wish to play bridge every evening," Princess Diane suggested.
Ariste looked hurt. "Not want to play—"
"Of course we will," Cecily said. "Diane, how could you be so cruel?"
"It's a wife's job," she replied, patting her husband fondly on the arm. "Well, as long as you understand what we have planned for you in the way of entertainment, we shall look forward to seeing you in three weeks."
"One second," Ariste said, reaching behind him. "I have a gift of a rather utilitarian nature for Benjamin." He brought forth a slender walking stick of a dark wood, with a silver handle in the shape of a duck's head, and passed it to Barnett. "Dr. Silbermann says that your wound will probably continue to trouble you for another few weeks, so I thought you might find this useful. It is not thick, but I assure you that it will bear your weight. The handle is in the shape of the Juchtenberg drake, our family's device, and the full arms are emblazoned on the back. I trust you will not find that an impediment to its use."
Barnett took the stick and hefted it in his hand. It was the prince's own walking stick, he realized. "I thank you, Ariste," he said. "Using it will give me both support and pleasure."
"It is capable of offering another sort of support also," Prince Ariste said, "one which I trust you will never need." He reached over and pushed the drake's head, right beneath the embossed Juchtenberg coat of arms. There was a soft click, and the shaft of the stick separated from the handle and slid down, revealing the razor-sharp rapier blade within.
"Well!" Barnett said. "A handy-dandy little device, indeed." He felt at the blade gingerly with his thumb, and examined the mechanism. "The walking stick is so small in diameter that one would hardly suspect that a blade could be concealed within."
"There are artisans at Spass to equal the finest in Berlin or London," Prince Ariste said. "Particularly von Yucht for small arms and Shostak for fowling-pieces. This cane is a von Yucht."
"Also glassware, my dear," Princess Diane told Cecily. "And linens. For those of us who already have quite enough fowling-pieces."
Prince Ariste shook his head sadly. "She doesn't mind eating the bird once it's on the table," he said, "but she has no interest at all in how it came to be there."
"That is so," Diane agreed, nodding. "To the butcher should be left the butchering, say I."
Frau Schimmer appeared in the doorway and knocked on the door frame before entering. She carried a silver tray on which rested a squat, dusty bottle and five wide-mouth stemmed glasses with lacy silver trim on bowl and stem. "Gnadig Furst und gnadige Furstin," she said, "Signor and Signora Barnett; I wish you to share with me a final schnapps before you leave my establishment." She wiped the dust off the bottle and carefully and gently pried out the cork. "There are but six of these bottles left in the cellar. When they are gone—" she shrugged. "But how can they be used better than by toasting good friends?" She poured an inch of the dark amber liquid in each glass.
"Cognac?" Ariste asked as she handed the glasses around.
"It is the Grande Champagne Cognac d'Epeursé," Frau Schimmer explained, running her hand lightly over the bottle, as though she expected it to purr.
Barnett looked at his glass doubtfully. It would be impolite to mention that he preferred beer.
"My god!" Ariste said. "After all these years? That it should still exist—that it should still be drinkable—that I should find it here—it is too much. No disrespect meant, dear Frau Schimmer, but this is absolutely incredible!"
Frau Schimmer beamed. "It is perhaps the last six bottles left in the world. They were in the cellar when I acquired the villa. Left here, no doubt, by some fleeing aristocrat during the time of the Terror."
Prince Ariste turned to the others. "Drink it gently," he said. "This is the cognac of kings. From the time of Louis the thirteenth, who was known as Louis the Just, to the time of Louis the sixteenth, who lost his head, the kings of France drank d'Epeursé cognac. And even they had to save it for special occasions, there was so little of it produced."
"Well!" Barnett looked at his glass with new respect. "Marie Antoinette," he said. "Anne of Austria. Madame du Pompadore. The Sun King."
"And perhaps, when Louis the fourteenth entertained Voltaire, he broke out the d'Epeursé—or perhaps not," Prince Ariste commented. "After all, what sort of palate could be expected of a philosopher?"
Princess Diane smiled. "A toast?" she suggested.
Prince Ariste raised his glass. "To—" he thought for a moment. "To friendship," he said finally. "For, as the Hebrew sage Solomon said, 'A faithful friend is a strong defense, and he that hath found such a one hath found a treasure.' "
Barnett felt a warm glow of pleasure. Such a sentiment from such a man was almost worth getting blown up to receive. "To friendship," he repeated, and the three ladies echoed the words in the same breath.
"Let us toast our good-byes with the cognac of vanished royalty," Prince Ariste said. "Let us pledge to remain faithful even though the world changes, and be reminded by this noble liquor that it does, indeed, change."
"It is my husband's great tragedy that, having been born a prince, he couldn't become a philosopher," Princess Diane said.
"But I think that's all to the good. He is a very happy prince, but he would be a very sad philosopher. Whenever he speaks of the habits, the entertainments, or the fate of the human race, he gets very serious and makes me cry."
Prince Ariste turned to stare at his wife in astonishment. "Why I never realized," he said. "I promise never to be serious again."
Early the next morning, after a farewell breakfast, Benjamin and Cecily stood at the front door of the villa with Frau Schimmer and a gaggle of the villa's employees and watched the Buleforte-Juchtenbergs ride off in a post-chaise, with a brace of armed outriders to assure that the tranquility of the northern Italian countryside was preserved.
"I hope they're all right," Cecily said, as the carriage wheeled out of the gravel driveway and off down the road.
"I do too," Barnett said soberly. He stood there staring at the receding dust cloud while the others retreated indoors from the brisk morning air. And then, suddenly, he broke out laughing. "He's a prince and she's a princess, and they live in a big white chateau on a hill—with two hundred rooms—and we're wonderin
g if they're all right."
Cecily drew her wool shawl around her shoulders and shook her head. "To be living in fear—"
"They should be safe enough," Barnett said. "They'll be well protected from now on. If anyone is still targeting them, he'll have his work cut out."
"Would you trade places with them?" Cecily asked.
Barnett considered. "No," he said, "but not through fear. I enjoy my work, and would not choose to give it up, not even to live in a large white chateau and have people tug at their forelocks as I drove past. Why the poor man can't even find a decent game of bridge!"
Mummer Tolliver, a great green scarf wrapped around his neck, slipped out the front door and came over to join them. " 'E's left, you know," he said, stamping his patent-leather shoes on the gravel.
"Who?"
"That German fellow. Lindner. Late last night 'e took off in a dog-cart what come up for 'im. Bags and baggage, parcels and paints. All gone."
"Interesting." Barnett said.
"Either he was not watching us, or he has done watching us," Cecily commented. "I wonder which."
" 'E were watching you," the mummer said. "How do you know?"
"I knows," the mummer said. "I, in my turn, were watching 'im. You told me to watch 'im, and watch 'im I did. Who says I didn't?"
"Very good, Mummer," Cecily said. "You have again shown that intelligence and perspicacity upon which we have grown to depend. Let us go back inside and discuss this."
They returned to the sitting room of their suite. "Well, Mummer," Barnett said, settling onto one side of the well-worn faded blue chintz couch that took up most of one side of the room. "Let's have it."
"When you was downstairs last afternoon, socializing with them Bulefortes," the mummer explained, perching himself on the edge of a hardback chair so that his feet stayed on the ground, "I set myself to keep a steady glom on this Lindner. Being as 'ow you hadn't relieved me of the responsibility, if you see what I mean."
"You were watching him?"
"Not 'im, exactly. I was more like watching the door to 'is room. After ascertaining, you might say, that 'e was indeed in residence. 'Ere's 'ow it goes. I takes up my station in a convenient broom closet what was only a bit down the hall, settles comfortable-like on a pile o' dirty sheets and towels, and waits; peering through the keyhole whenever I 'ears a noise. I don't expect nothing in particular, you understands, I are merely doing my job. So, after about a half-hour, that's when 'e comes out, and I sees where 'e goes." The mummer paused for emphasis.
"Mummer, you have a compelling narrative style," Cecily said. "Please continue."
"Straight, 'e goes, up to your door—that is, the door to your room, if you see what I mean, and 'e knocks on 'er. Then 'e knocks again. But you're not 'ome, o'course."
"Of course," Barnett agreed. "He was just making sure that we were still downstairs."
"You've got it," the mummer said approvingly. "Then the bloke takes a key from 'is waistcoat pocket, unlocks your door bold as brass, and strolls in."
"Leaving you in the hall," Barnett said. "What a shame. It would be interesting to know what he was interested in among our belongings."
" 'E were not interested in your belongings rightly at all," the mummer said. " 'E were interested in your communications, you might say."
"How's that?"
"Tell us all," Cecily said. "This is most interesting."
"Well, as soon as Lindner goes through the door to the sitting room, I leaves my closet and enters the suite through the other door, the one to Mrs. Barnett's dressing room, which, you will recollect, uses the same key. Then I sneaks up to the connecting door, which is ajar, and, laying myself flat on the carpet, peers around the edge of the door to watch what 'e is doing in the sitting room."
"Very good!" Cecily said approvingly.
"What 'e is doing is going methodical-like through all the papers on the writing-desk and in your portmanteau. 'E looks carefully through the lot o' them, being extra-careful not to disturb their arrangement as 'e does so. 'E takes a writing pad out of 'is pocket and jots down a couple of notes as to the contents of these 'ere papers. Then 'e leaves the premises."
"What papers?" Barnett asked.
"A fair question," the mummer said. "I don't know what papers, as I didn't 'ave no chance to peruse them myself. But it was that very pile o' documents right there," and he pointed across the room to the writing desk.
Barnett went over to examine the small stack of papers on the desk. "It's our travel documents and such," he said. "Our tickets for the vapore tomorrow, the telegram confirming our reservations at the Jaegerhof in Innsbruck for the day after tomorrow. The reply to my telegram to the Paris office. Nothing worth the trouble of peering at, I would think."
"I guess his needs are different than ours," Cecily said. "Clearly he needed to know where we are going."
"But why?" Barnett asked.
"After 'e leaves this 'ere room," the mummer continued, " 'e goes back to 'is own room. By now I is very curious about what this gent is doing so I determines to find out."
"The secret police lost a fine agent when you decided to become a pickpocket, Mummer," Barnett commented.
"It wasn't my choice," the mummer said. "It was my father. 'E felt that a chap should have a trade that 'e can fall back on, 'e did."
"So what happened?" Cecily demanded. "Did you get into the room?"
"O' course I did," the mummer said. "Who says I didn't?"
"Go on," Barnett said.
Tolliver took a butcher-paper package from his jacket pocket and unwrapped a length of baguette stuffed with butter and Swiss cheese. "If you don't mind me eating and talking," he said, tucking his handkerchief under his chin and taking a bite.
"There's some bottled water on the dresser," Cecily said, getting up. "I'll get you a glass."
Mummer nodded his thanks, took another bite, and went on, "Well, after 'e's been in 'is room for a while, with me hiding in the hall closet as before, 'e comes out with a towel round his neck, so I riggers 'e's going to the bathroom down the hall. So I takes the opportunity to sniggle myself into 'is room."
"Sniggle?" Cecily asked.
"Well, 'snick' if you prefer. So I snicks into 'is room and finds myself a place of concealment."
"Perched atop the clothes-press, no doubt," Cecily said. "Disguised as an old leather suitcase."
The mummer smiled patiently at her. "The ladies will have their bit o' fun," he said.
Cecily looked abashed. "Sorry, Mummer," she said.
"No need," he told her. "Fun's fun, after all." The mummer smiled broadly to show that he could take a joke and tapped the side of his nose significantly. Barnett wondered what that was supposed to signify, but he decided not to ask.
"After looking around for a place of concealment," the mummer went on, "I slides myself under the bed, which may not be original but is adequate for the purpose, and I waits to see what occurs. Shortly 'e returns from 'is ablutions and changes 'is clothes. Then 'e sits on the bed, and 'e sits and sits. 'E's reading over some notes and talking to 'imself, but I can't make heads nor tails out of it, cause 'e's doing 'is muttering in German, in which language I is very poor. The professor 'as taught me a bit of it, so I can understand some of the singing in Tristan und Isolde, and a few other of Wagner's operas, of which I am inordinately fond. But not enough to follow Herr Lindner's muttering."
"You like Wagnerian opera?" Barnett asked, trying not to sound surprised.
The mummer nodded. "Very jolly," he explained.
"Yes," Barnett agreed, "that's how I'd describe them."
The mummer took another bite of baguette. "After a while 'e takes that helio-stat of 'is out of the drawer and puts it together by the window. And then for a while 'e's clicking away sending a message to someone out on the lake. And then 'e's peering into the telescope and scribbling into 'is notebook, by which I figure 'e's getting a answer." Mummer took another bite of baguette. "And then 'e says a couple of impolite words o
f a religious nature, and starts scurrying around the room and throwing everything into suitcases. And in a short order after that, 'e 'as vacated the room and is on 'is way."
"Sounds like whoever was on the other end of that helio-stat gave him his marching orders," Barnett commented.
"I was thinking some such thing myself."
"Let's hope he keeps marching," Cecily said. "And marching and marching. Let's hope they're done with us, whoever they are."
The Great Game Page 13