The Trail of Four

by Manjiri Prabhu

  ‘And we’d appreciate your assistance in helping solve the Trail of Four,’ Dan responded. ‘Thank you, Isabel, you’re a pal!’

  She nodded, a half-smile on her lips. It totally transformed her stern face and she actually looked friendly.

  ‘We’re very short of time and you need to share with me every little detail about the Schloss and Salzburg. When can we begin?’ Re asked.

  ‘I’ll meet you in the Great Hall of the Palace in half an hour,’ Isabel said.

  Dan glanced at Re, a look of relief and happiness on his face.

  ***

  Luckily, Stefan found parking in a Kurzparkzone. It was Saturday so he didn’t have to pay and he strode out to Kapitelplatz. A chill clung to the air, and he was glad of the blue jacket which he had pulled on as an afterthought.

  It was going to be a quick meeting. Fortunately, Mr Holzinger had instantly agreed to meet him at the Café Tomaselli. Stefan had speedily rushed back to headquarters and picked up the evidence. If there was anyone who would be able to identify the original, it was Holzinger. Holzinger would know.At least one mystery could be solved right away.

  Stefan passed the giant, sparkling Gold Ball—the Sphaera—on a black tripod with the sculpture of a man standing tall on top of it, gazing out at the historical square. He halted briefly at the public Chess Board. Two men were seated on the bench and contemplating their next move with the huge black and white wooden chess pieces. As a child, Stefan had loved to join the Salzburgers, enjoying game after game in the warm sunshine. Now, he barely got the time, he realized, with a twinge of regret.

  He walked briskly past the Dom Cathedral and through the Residenzplatz to the Alter Markt, and, glancing at his watch from time to time, strode across to the Café

  Tomaselli. The green-and-white striped umbrellas outside the café and on the overhanging terrace gave the old white building a festive air as did the pink flowers bordering the terrace in abundance. Like everything in the Old town, Café Tomaselli projected charm and age with its wooden panelling, newspaper stand and the wickerwork chairs. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart himself came to the Tomaselli for his almond milk. His widow Konstanze, and her second husband G.N. von Nissen of the Danish Royal Council, also lived at the café for a while. As for Max Reinhardt, he used to frequent the café, too, in his time. The police officer remembered reading that Reinhardt was so attached to the place that his every trip had to end there.

  Stefan sank into a cushioned chair by the window. Normally, he would’ve appreciated the warm ambience, but his mind was weighed heavily with the problem at hand. Refusing the pastries that the uniformed waitress offered on a silver tray, he ordered a Kaffee mit Schlag. He had barely taken a sip, when a tall man with a stubbled chin and redframed round spectacles appeared at the door of the café. Instantly spotting Stefan, the man hastened towards the table. The police officer was never more glad to see the historian.

  ‘Show it to me,’ Holzinger demanded eagerly, as he slipped into the opposite chair.

  Stephan smiled understandingly at his curiosity. He extracted a single sheet of paper from a notebook and placed it on the table. Holzinger touched it gingerly and with an air of deep reverence. He removed a magnifying glass from his coat pocket and studied the words, taking his time. Finally, when he glanced up, his green eyes were gleaming with excitement.

  ‘This is definitely Max Reinhardt’s handwriting! This is indeed a letter from him. .Where did you find it? It is invaluable!’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that—at least not right now—but are you a hundred per cent sure?’

  ‘Of course I am…except about this last sentence. This is a very good imitation of his handwriting, but you can immediately tell from the strokes and the colour of the ink, that it is pretty recent.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s all I need to know.’

  ‘Oh no, no, you’ll have to tell me more!’ Holzinger protested.

  ‘I will,’ Stefan promised. ‘But not just yet, I am not permitted to. Let me order you some coffee. It was very kind of you to come at such short notice.’

  ‘For a discovery this important, I would come in the middle of the night!’ Holzinger laughed.

  ***

  ‘This is serious business,’ Mark said again. Worry was stamped all over his wrinkled face.

  Dan glanced at the vice-president of the Salzburg Global Seminar and wished he could say something to alleviate his anxiety. Mark’s colleague, Wendy, shook her head in blatant disapproval.

  ‘Appalling…such a horrendous thing has never happened at the Schloss.’

  ‘But the most important thing right now is to keep it strictly under wraps. Not even a hint of the trouble should leak out of the Schloss premises,’ Mark continued.

  ‘I agree. Tomorrow is the welcome dinner. We absolutely have to maintain top-level secrecy about anything associated with this investigation,’ Wendy added.

  ‘It’s been taken care of. We have an official and a private team working on it. Hopefully, this problem will be resolved soon,’ Dan assured them.

  ‘Resolve, or be in deep trouble. We don’t have a choice, do we?’ Wendy remarked. She stared grimly at the hotelier from behind her red-rimmed spectacles.

  Dan nodded. He didn’t need to be explained the gravity of the situation. He was already aware of the havoc it would create if news of the stolen heart escaped the Schloss premises. Nothing that the Seminar had ever seen in the last seventy years at least!

  ***

  ‘That is the Brothel Madonna.’The soft voice echoed slightly in the Great Hall.

  Re was minutely studying an ornate sculpture of a lady with angels around her, but he turned immediately to face Isabel. She had changed into jeans and a black polo-neck top, and appeared brisk and efficient. The yellow light of the chandeliers mingled with daylight, illuminating the Great Hall with a textured luminosity. A hint of emotion flittered past him and a violin played at the back of his mind.

  ‘The Brothel Madonna?’ he asked to confirm.

  Isabel nodded as she walked towards him. ‘Max Reinhardt bought this sculpture in Vienna. He would observe this statue regularly outside a house he passed on his walks, and had taken such a fancy to it that he went into the house and asked the Madame if he could buy it. But the lady refused his offer, saying that she couldn’t, because the statue apparently protected her girls. It was then that Reinhardt realized that he was in a brothel. Ultimately, of course, he did buy it. But that is why it is called the Brothel Madonna,’ she explained.

  Re studied the sculpture hanging over the grand fireplace and wondered what Max Reinhardt had seen in it.

  ‘This Great Hall was used as a foyer of the Schloss and apparently the guests got out of the carriages right here. I don’t know if there’s any truth to it, though. And this fireplace that you see, is the only fireplace that still works in the Palace.’

  For a moment, Re imagined the Great Hall as it would’ve been centuries ago: the clatter of carriage wheels, horses’ hooves, the sizzle of the burning log distinct in his imagination. He could smell the oil of the wheels and taste the dust of the road on his tongue, the effect mingling with the slow melody of a violin.

  ‘Do you have the note?’ Isabel’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  ‘Oh, yes. The original has been taken by the police, but I do have the copy Dan gave me,’ Re said. He extracted two folded sheets from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed them to her.

  Isabel settled down on the old weathered sofa and spread the papers on the teepoy. She read it out loud and slowly, emphasizing each word.

  ‘Follow the Trail of Four and find my last gift to the Schloss. You have two days. If you fail, you endanger the Four Pillars of my beloved Salzburg, on the strike of twelve, every time! Save my Pillars… Find my gift…Follow the Trail of Four.

  Max Reinhardt

  P.S. The heart will be destroyed on the 4th strike of 12 and the energy will destroy Salzburg.’

  She lingered mom
entarily on the page, her fingers moving over the script, as if feeling it. Then she turned her attention to the second sheet of paper.

  ‘Start: Where everything begins. And everything ends

  And the angels are delighted, the envious demon growls, the human wisdom vanishes and the triumphant church rejoices

  And then she wears the crown of life.’

  ‘Well?’ Re prompted, as she reflected over the pages.

  ‘Firstly, if this is indeed Max Reinhardt’s handwriting and a letter from him, we are in actuality holding a valuable piece of history.’ Her voice held a hint of awe.

  ‘Yes, I guess, but we don’t know yet if it is.’

  ‘I think I do. I’ve read enough of his letters to recognize his handwriting. Although of course, I am no expert handwriting analyst. But this letter looks genuine enough to me and that in itself is thrilling. Imagine a note from the great Max Reinhardt!’

  ‘You aren’t implying, of course, that his ghost wrote that note to us.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I mean that Max wrote this note long, long ago but for some strange reason, it has turned up now.’

  ‘You mean Max Reinhardt actually wanted someone to follow this “Trail of Four” to find his last gift?’ Re asked practically.

  ‘I believe so, although there is no conclusive evidence of any such thing in history.’

  ‘And yet we have a note from Max asking us to find his last gift. This is obviously some kind of game.’

  ‘Max was a theatrical person, brimming with fantastic ideas, so it’s possible. Especially since this second sheet of paper appears to be the first clue in the trail.’

  ‘Okay, let’s look at it this way. If Reinhardt had left a gift, whom would he tell about it, and where would he keep it?’

  ‘If he had at all, it would have to be before he left the country in 1937. At that point, he would probably have taken his secretary Adler into confidence. Adler was with him for many years and always had detailed instructions from him about his arrangements. He was a man of great detail and he relied a lot on her to implement them. Adler would probably now be in the States and seriously old. The other person who was kind of close to him was Johann Russinger, his butler and caretaker of the Schloss for many years. But I have no clue to his whereabouts and if he is still alive. As for where Reinhardt could keep his gift, it could be just about anywhere.’

  ‘What are the chances that it would be in the Schloss?’

  ‘A very good chance. This was home. He loved it dearly. But if it is here, why hasn’t it been discovered before now?’

  ‘Because he kept it in a secret place?’

  ‘Or because he had to flee the country since the Nazis were going to take it over. He feared the worst and quit Austria overnight. And his fears were proved right. When the Anschluss happened, the Nazis arrested Jews and destroyed their property. They took over the Schloss and began indiscriminately demolishing everything Jewish in it. Including the six-star sign of the Archbishop Firmian, which they mistook for the Star of David. It was only when orders from the top commanded that the six-star sign was not to be touched as it was not the symbol of David that the Germans stopped the destruction. And which is why, Max Reinhardt’s symbols on the Library door got overlooked and can be still found there. So here’s my point: if Max was aware of what would happen to his lovely home, would he leave the last gift in the Schloss?’

  ‘No, probably not.’

  ‘Unless—I remember reading somewhere that Max Reinhardt had organized a grand party for his theatre friends,’ Isabel added thoughtfully. ‘He was the kind of person who loved to dramatize life, even using the Schloss rooms as sets for his plays. He did everything in a melodramatic fashion. This particular party, I believe, was planned as a surprise party for his theatre friends. Unfortunately it never took place.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The night before the grand party, Reinhardt left the country, never to come back.’

  ‘Which means that, perhaps, in that surprise party he would’ve shown everyone his last gift. A chance he never got, for obvious reasons,’ Re concluded.

  ‘He left in a huge hurry and probably did plan to take the gift with him, but for some reason, he couldn’t. In that case, the gift could still very much be here.’

  ‘I believe that someone found this note—this trail—and is now using it to his advantage. He perhaps knows—or has guessed—that whatever the gift is, it is very valuable. He needs the trail to be unravelled to reach the gift.’

  ‘But then why not do it himself? Why show it to the whole world?’ Isabel questioned.

  ‘Because he isn’t capable enough, or smart enough, to find it himself?’

  ‘But then why steal the heart?’ Isabel frowned.

  ‘It’s my guess, of course, but I think it is to ensure that the Seminar authorities treat this very seriously and realize that it is not just some frivolous game although it may seem so. All said and done, it is Max Reinhardt come back from the past, who is now playing it with us. By stealing the heart, everyone concerned understands that this is a dangerous game and comes with its own dire consequences.’

  ‘But what will happen if we just decide to ignore it all?’

  ‘Would you do it? Would anyone who loves the Schloss and preserves its history ignore the fact that the most sacred part of the Schloss—Archbishop Firmian’s heart—is stolen and could be destroyed? Or that someone is threatening the destruction of the pillars of Salzburg? Even though Max Reinhardt is dead and gone?’

  ‘No,’ Isabel agreed briefly. ‘In fact, I’ve heard it is the SSS—the Secret Society of Salzburg, a very high-profile group of original Salzburgers—who have the secret goal of preserving the “Energy” of Salzburg. These people are a very closed group and no one knows exactly who they are. Only those who have family graves in St Peter’s Cemetery are allowed entry to this very secret group, which passes from generation to generation. I believe one of their tasks is to protect the Archbishop’s heart in the chapel.’

  ‘Intriguing.’ Re was thoughtful.

  ‘Very!’

  ‘So the way it stands now, you have a trail left by Reinhardt—a game that he had probably set up for his friends—but which is now being used by some cunning mind for a sinister purpose.’

  ‘But I have a basic question. Where did this person find this note? Over the years many Salzburg Seminar directors have conducted research to find if there was anything of value at the Schloss. Why wasn’t this “note” found then?’

  ‘Because perhaps it was never at the Schloss? Perhaps it was sent to someone?’

  ‘After all these years? Quite unlikely. Why would Max send such a note to anyone? And if he had, why didn’t that someone take action on the note until now?’ Isabel frowned. ‘I believe that this note was actually found here at the Schloss. Perhaps it was hidden there by Max himself, and because he had to leave urgently, it got left behind. And someone found it fairly recently.’

  A momentary silence followed as Re and Isabel both reflected over their theories.

  ‘Also,’ Isabel added, ‘what if Reinhardt was just fooling, and that there is really no gift at all? Or if there is, it could be just some fun item. What happens then?’

  Re was thoughtful. ‘Okay, here’s my gut instinct. Someone has gone to a great length of trouble to put all this together, using Reinhardt’s letter and a trail set years ago to excite the Schloss to find the last gift, then stealing the heart and threatening the Pillars of Salzburg to ensure that we do so. What Reinhardt had in mind for the Pillars is a mystery to me, but why would someone go to such great lengths and ensure the implementation of the trail, unless he was certain of a valuable find?’

  ‘You mean this person has proof that this “gift” really exists.’

  ‘Infallible proof.’

  ‘Wow…in that case, his threats are also real!’

  ‘Precisely. So now that we have established that Reinhardt indeed has a gift tucked away somewhere, d
o you have any idea what it could be?’

  Isabel was reflective. ‘When Reinhardt bought the Schloss, in 1918 it was in a rather dilapidated condition. He made many renovations between 1918 and 1937. He literally rebuilt parts of the Schloss. There is a strong possibility that he found something here. For example—and this is just a wild guess on my part—there was often talk about evidence of Mozart’s presence at the Schloss, whether he played or not, during Laktanz’s time. You know, Laktanz was the Archbishop’s nephew who inherited the Schloss and who was a patron of artistes. Many historians have tried very hard to find this evidence. But now that I think of it, isn’t it a possibility that the evidence wasn’t found because it had already been found by Reinhardt? And perhaps that’s what the surprise party was all about,’ she finished on an animated note.

  Re glanced at her. ‘So, the gift is evidence that Mozart actually played at the Schloss?’

  ‘The more I think of it, the more it seems like a huge likelihood.’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘Yes. We can safely assume now that Reinhardt planned the trail as a surprise for his friends. Going by his style, it appears that he planned it in his usual theatrical manner, by setting the “Trail of Four”, as he himself calls it in the note. He would want to make his friends work at the solution, not hand the prize out to them on a platter. He probably hid the evidence himself and had plans of enjoying their struggle as they traced the trail.’

  ‘Like the clue he has included in the note.’

  ‘Yes. If he could create plays and enact them in his rooms, why could he not create clues for his friends that would lead them to his “gift”?’

  ‘And that is precisely what the Trail of Four is.’

  Isabel nodded, her bob of hair bouncing.

  ‘Which means that the gift is still in its secret place. And somehow, someone has secret knowledge of this gift and wants us to find it for him.’

  ‘And so we are back to square one,’ Isabel declared.

  ‘Not really. We have established that Reinhardt would have found evidence that Mozart played at the Schloss and hid the evidence somewhere, perhaps at the Schloss. He planned a surprise party to disclose the gift but he couldn’t implement that plan because he had to quit Salzburg overnight, which means that his gift is still very much available for us to discover. Also, someone has stumbled upon this knowledge, and has cunningly used it to his advantage.’