‘Interesting person, Princess Stephanie.’
‘Oh, you don’t know the whole of it. She was born in Vienna, trained as a ballerina and was extremely goodlooking. She got her title through marrying German Prince Friedrich Franz von Hohenlohe but divorced him in 1920, retaining the title of Princess. From that point began her rather colourful and dynamic life. Since she moved in high social circles, she seemed to know the who’s who in British aristocracy, the Nazi elite and Austrian society, and used her connects completely to her advantage. She was a lady with contacts, so to say. Hitler called her “My dear Princess” and even awarded her one of the most important titles of that time, “Honorary Aryan”. In those days, if you had even a drop of Jewish blood in you, that was totally impossible to achieve.’
‘Anyway, the point is that she oversaw many changes and renovations at the Schloss, but her stay there was shortlived. She had to flee because she was declared a British agent by the Germans. She fled to America but as soon as she landed, she was arrested as a German agent. In short, she was accused of being a double agent. No one knows the truth. There wasn’t enough proof against her so after a rather prolonged investigation, the Americans had to release her.’
‘Intriguing! So if Princess Stephanie knew Reinhardt, she would probably ensure that his best artifacts were returned to him,’ Re said. ‘Nevertheless, perhaps we should check out the Max Reinhardt suite first.’
‘We’ll have to ask Dan if any hotel guest is put up there. We can’t barge in, if there is. And anyway, he’ll have to get housekeeping to show it to us.’
Luckily for them, fifteen minutes later, they were taking the lift up to the second floor.
‘Reinhardt, as you know, built a secret staircase from the Library which goes to the upper floor of the Library and further leads to the Max Reinhardt suite,’ Isabel explained, as a stiffly starched, uniformed woman led them into the Library. ‘We’ll take the same route.’
Evening light had begun to stream in through the big white windows overlooking the lake, adding an orange glow to the wooden panelling. The housekeeper led Re to a glass cabinet which was crowded with thick, old-fashioned books from top to bottom. With a grand flourish, she opened the cabinet and displayed the opening to the secret staircase. Re smiled. The pride each and every person shared in the Schloss was amazing.
He bent his head and stepped into the congested space, as the narrow staircase spiralled upwards. Isabel paused to point out an engraving on the back of the staircase. ‘You see the letters “R” and “S” carved within the flowers? We believe these initials belong to the architect who built this staircase.’ Her voice sounded hollow and strange where they stood.
They continued their progress up the narrow staircase, past the door which led to the Library, to the top. The housekeeper unlocked a door and allowed them to enter.
‘The Max Reinhardt Suite,’ she announced with yet another flourish.
‘Thank you.’ Isabel smiled and the housekeeper closed the door behind her.
Re and Isabel stepped into the apartment. The suite consisted of a sunlit big hall with a large carpet, and a smaller bedroom. Compared to the rest of the Schloss, the furnishings were very simple and limited, allowing for a sense of space. The windows were huge, hung with faded brown material draped like theatre curtains. A worn palegreen sofa set, an armchair, a writing bureau, an elaborate stucco ceiling and a fantastic view of the lake made up the Reinhardt suite.
‘Unusual,’ Re commented, sensing an aura of restraint and caution.
Isabel nodded. ‘It’s an elegant room.’
‘Let’s look around and see if we can find a book or a diary,’ said Re. ‘There could be a hundred hiding places here.’
‘I’ll check the bedroom, you do the hall,’ Isabel agreed.
Ten minutes later, Re realized the hunt was futile. His gut instinct told him they had missed something. When Isabel joined him a few minutes later, the expression on her face told him that she was of similar opinion.
‘Nothing, anywhere. This feels like a cold trail,’ she said.
Re nodded and extracted the paper from his pocket, referring to it.
‘In gentle blue robes, sits the Big Cheese, telling tales
And in the serenity of the frail sheets, every other truth pales…
We assumed that the Big Cheese was Reinhardt. But what if it wasn’t him? What if he meant someone bigger than him?’
‘Bigger than him. You mean Archbishop Firmian?’ Isabel guessed.
Re nodded. ‘Yes, of course, it could mean him, too. For Reinhardt at least. And the painting in the Marble Hall, isn’t he attired in a blue something?’
Isabel looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, but what about “the serenity of the frail sheets, where every other truth pales?”’
‘No, Isabel, it’s not Firmian,’ Re shook his head. ‘We are ignoring a very important phrase and word here—“gentle blue robes” and “serenity”.’
‘Archbishop Firmian couldn’t be called gentle by a long shot. He expelled 20,000 Protestants from Salzburg back then, giving them only a week’s notice to leave. In the process of expulsion, hundreds died and he created a lot of ill-will. People say that he built the Schloss out of their money and to regain some goodwill from the public.’
‘Which means, there has to be another “Big Cheese in gentle blue robes”, where you can also “find the serenity of the sheets”.’
Isabel gazed past him momentarily, as his words sunk in. ‘Oh my God,’ she exclaimed suddenly, ‘of course there is! And I know exactly where he is,’ she exclaimed.
‘Tell me who,’ Re’s heart began a tattoo of anticipation. ‘Come on! Let me take you to the Big Cheese.’ Her voice was urgent.
Re followed her down the winding secret staircase into the Library. Then past the Marble Hall, down the stairs into the Great Hall, at the end of which she turned right and halted.
‘Oh, I forgot,’ she said in disappointment. ‘The chapel would be cordoned off.’
‘The chapel,’ Re repeated, understanding dawning. Isabel raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled.
He flicked open his cell and dialled a number. ‘Dan, we need your help.’
***
Ten minutes later, Isabel, Re and Dan were standing in the chapel. The dug-out grave was now decently and respectfully covered with a plastic sheet, and a yellow tape surrounded it.
Isabel looked at the paintings on the walls and pointed wordlessly.
Four paintings, two on either side of the tall walls, depicted Christ in blue robes. On the right side of the wall, he seemed to be in conversation with a buxom woman in a gown. In another painting he was kneeling beside a sick man, holding his hand while applying something to the man’s eye. On the left wall, one painting depicted him holding an agonised man to his bosom, as he glanced up skywards. And the last one had him pointing to a clergyman who seemed to have succumbed to his preachings. Jesus was the central character in all the paintings, his flowing blue robe connecting the series. There was an equal note of pain and healing, despair and hope, in the colours and backgrounds of the paintings.
Re studied them in amazement - Big Cheese in the gentle blue robes…
‘These paintings were done by Andreas Rensi in 1740,’
Isabel told them. ‘The same person who painted The Four Seasons in the Marble Hall. And this mural on the ceiling is a work by Franz Anton Ebner in 1740, and depicts The Wedding of Atalante. You see this balcony? That’s where the Archbishops and the nobility would sit, and the villagers would be allotted these benches.’
Re’s gaze flew from the paintings to the ceiling to the balcony and finally rested on the altar.
‘The altar’s made of eight kinds of marble. And you see these statues on either side? That’s Holy Florian on the left, who protects us from fire, and Holy Donatus on the right, who guards us from thunderstorms. Almost nothing in the chapel has changed over the years. There’s still no electricity either,’ Isabel ended wryly.
>
But Re was still staring at the altar. Directly under the statue of Jesus, with two ornate candlestands on either side, was an old Bible, opened and tagged with a small blue strip.
‘The serenity of the frail sheets, where every other truth pales’, he quoted, under his breath. Without another word, he dipped under the demarcating red rope and approached the Bible. In a trice, Isabel was beside him.
‘Please be careful,’ she whispered.
The pages were wafer-thin but the big bold print was still dark and legible. Re flipped through the pages lightly, his heart beginning to thud loudly. Would it, wouldn’t it?
After all these years, would the clue still be here? He flicked through the pages, checking for any sheet of paper inserted between the pages of the Bible. Finally, he looked over at Isabel, the scowl on his face indicating his frustration.‘I was pretty sure it would be here,’ he said dejectedly.
‘Hey, will someone kindly tell me what’s happening?’ Dan glanced from Re to Isabel, a little annoyed that they seemed to have forgotten his existence. ‘Isabel, weddings and baptism ceremonies take place here occasionally. That Bible is used often and passages are read from it.’
‘In that case, it’s possible that over the years the paper may have fallen out,’ the historian concluded regretfully.
‘You mean there’s supposed to be a clue in there?’ Dan asked from behind them.
‘We thought so, at least until now,’ she replied.
‘The Bible had a plastic cover which we had to remove,’ the hotelier added casually. Re and Isabel both turned eagerly to face him.
‘Do you still have it?’ Isabel asked.
Dan shrugged. ‘No, it tore off some months ago, so we had to replace it. But there were also some loose sheets which came off the Bible. One of the housekeepers found them and brought them to me.’
Re passed Isabel a quick look of hope and triumph.
‘I have it in a folder in my office,’ Dan added with a grin.
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Re exclaimed.
He quickly turned to face the altar and dipped his head in reverence, then hastened after the hotelier and historian. The short walk from the Schloss to the Meierhof felt unusually long and Re almost broke into a run. He could barely control his impatience as Dan looked for the folder in his cupboard, almost in slow motion. Would the clue be in the loose papers from the Bible?
‘Here it is,’ Dan extracted the folder from a pile of files and dropped it before Re on the table.
The journalist quickly flicked it open. A sheaf of papers was loosely pinned together. His fingers trembled as he turned the first page and then the second. Then paused. Isabel, who was peering over his shoulder, sucked in her breath. There it was. The next clue.
‘Hats off to you. Your persistence will definitely pay off. If you can find those who look down and through the tinkered glass, over glory and finery and a reflection of their part,’ Re read aloud.
‘Another piece of history,’ Isabel whispered in awe.
Re turned the sheet and touched the ragged left edge of the paper. The roughened crumbly material on it appeared to be dried glue. So Reinhardt had stuck the sheet inside the Bible, so as not to lose it, but it had still come apart. It was sheer luck that the housekeeper had found the papers and Dan had preserved the sheets.
‘Hats off to you, Max,’ Re echoed in a mumble. ‘Exceptionnel!’
Chapter 3
ow, this is fantastic!’ Dan seemed stunned and Isabel nodded in understanding.
‘It’s real Dan. Every word belongs to Max Reinhardt. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Also hard to imagine that someone is trying to stop us from finding the Trail,’ Re added solemnly.
‘What?’ the hotelier asked, appearing confused.
Re explained about the boat incident briefly, observing Dan’s shocked expressions.
‘Someone attacked you! But who and why would someone stop you from unravelling the Trail?’ Dan looked even more bewildered.
Re and Isabel exchanged quick glances.
‘We thought perhaps you would be able to tell us that,’ said Re.
Dan frowned. ‘What do you mean? Why would I—Wait, you don’t think I—? Preposterous!’
‘Dan, only you and Stefan knew we were using your boat to cross over to the Schloss,’ Isabel pointed out.
He shook his head in shock. ‘My good friend Re and my best colleague suspect that I tried to attack them! This is an unbelievable tragedy. You think I would injure my friends? And destroy my own boat? You are a lousy investigative journalist, Re, if that’s the conclusion you came to!’
‘Ca va, Dan, desolé!’ Re cut in smoothly. ‘I know you didn’t do it. I know you too well.’ A guitar jangled jauntily in his head, he noticed with relief. Dan was okay. Totally harmless.
Dan looked a bit appeased, but retained an unsmiling front.
‘The point is that someone is following our every step,’ Isabel said to him.
‘Today, he tried to warn us off with the attack, tomorrow as we get closer to the gift, he may actually try to harm us. On one hand, there’s someone who feels no qualms about killing twelve innocent people at the Mozart house and on the other, someone else doesn’t mind sending us for a toss in the lake. I feel as if we are getting squished from both sides.’ Re frowned.
‘And if we don’t find the Gift in time, three other Pillars of Salzburg will face disaster,’ Isabel added, chillingly.
‘Re,’ Dan opened up, ‘I think there’s something you should know. I got a phone call today. In the morning a guy spoke asking me to come to Café Tomaselli if I wanted to know the truth of what actually is happening at the Schloss.’
‘Did you go?’
‘I did not. That’s not all. He had a strange request. He was willing to trade info in exchange for the Hercules Statue.’
‘The Hercules Statue!’ Isabel exclaimed in surprise.
‘Yeah, I was taken aback too. It all smacked of rather underhand dealings. Mind you, I was tempted to meet him but I decided I didn’t want to be played like a puppet by someone, in the hope of resolving this issue. If the guy wanted to tell me who’s behind the theft of the heart, he could tell me upfront. Or go straight to the police. So I preferred calling up Stefan and informing him of the call.’
Re was thoughtful. ‘That was wise. As far as I can deduce, there seem to be multiple forces at work here. Someone who stole the heart and wants us to find Reinhardt’s Gift. And someone who doesn’t want us to find it. Are these two different individuals or are they part of a bigger picture?’ He turned to Isabel. ‘You did say something about a Secret Society, didn’t you?’
Isabel nodded. ‘These are original Salzburgers, who have reserved graves at the St Peter’s Cemetery. I believe that they have been entrusted with a task: to protect the Energy of Salzburg. How they do it, I have no clue, but apparently they have their meetings in the Schloss.’
‘They would want us to find the Gift so that the Energy of Salzburg is not dissipated,’ Dan inferred. ‘And I know for a fact that they meet in the Max Reinhardt suite. Every Saturday, the suite is booked for a night and I see a small group of seniors heading up to the room. Of course, the suite is booked in a different name every time, but it’s easy to see that a meeting is in progress.’
‘Today is Saturday!’ Re reminded him.
‘And the room is booked.’
The journalist whistled. ‘If only we could listen in on the meeting.’
‘Sure, you would,’ a voice spoke from the door and Stefan walked in. He looked grim. ‘It’s good to find you here, Re. I need to speak to you urgently.’
It was his tone that put Re on the alert. Isabel glanced curiously at the officer.
‘What about?’
‘Listen, you guys,’ Dan cut in. ‘We’ve got enough tension on our hands to go against each other. Stefan, whatever it is on your mind, I can vouch for Re. I’ve known him for too many years now. And Re, I
can vouch for Stefan. He’s a good police officer and loyal to Salzburg.’
‘Why do you feel the need to vouch for me?’ Stefan frowned.
Re sighed. ‘If the others will excuse us, Dan, can we use the adjacent room? Stefan and I need to talk privately.’
The hotelier appeared a little nonplussed but nodded. ‘Next door on the right. Get it sorted, boys, and quick!’
Re rose and followed the policeman to the next room. It was a small committee room with a round table. Re drew up a chair, while Stefan shut the door behind him.
‘This appears to be very urgent,’ Re commented.
‘It is and I need answers to a lot of things. And fast.’ Stefan seated himself and leaned his elbows on the table, studying Re with piercing eyes.
‘Are you doing background checks on me? Well, let me make it easy for you. My name is Re, it means the second note in the musical scale, in English as well as in Indian music. My father is an Indian musician and moves between Paris and India for his performances. He lives in India and my mother lives in Paris and they have been separated for many years now. What else do you need to know?’
‘I need to know why you always land up where something has gone missing? Before it goes missing.’
‘I think I’ve told everyone this. I get psychic visions,’ Re said briefly, on his alert.
‘Yes, that’s what you tell everyone. But you never manage to find the missing article. Do you? Especially the valuable necklace in Paris, in your last case.’
‘That vanished before I reached the location.’
‘Hmmm…not everything about you is above board, is it, Re?’ Stefan asked, his gaze drilling into Re’s eyes.
‘I am an investigative journalist. Sometimes, I have to move in shady circles. Are you going to hold that against me?
‘I may, if I have proof of any wrongdoing. There’s something else. Is it true that you have a sister?’
For a moment, Re’s vision blurred and a streak of pain shot through his body. Nisa! He shut his eyes for seconds, to compose himself and then opened them wearily. ‘Why do you need to know that?’
The Trail of Four Page 14