The Trail of Four

by Manjiri Prabhu

  His cell phone rang just then and Dan responded absently.

  ‘Dan, this is Stefan. We found out who called you yesterday.’

  Anger flitted over the hotelier’s face, as he listened. When he switched off the call, he rose and headed out to the reception.

  ‘Karen, I’m going out for a while and will return in an hour. Please handle any emergencies till I return.’

  Karen nodded. Dan slipped on his sunglasses, climbed into the Schloss’s car parked in front of the Meierhof and drove speedily out of the grand gates.

  ***

  ‘You okay?’ Re searched Isabel’s face.

  She was staring out at the lake, her face impassive, a flick of unruly blonde hair partially covering her eyes.

  ‘I’m fine. I should’ve guessed, when last night Stefan invited me to identify the body, that all he was really doing was trying to find a way to implicate me.’

  She sounded neither surprised nor stressed. Re was amazed at her self-control. Anyone else in her position would’ve probably broken down or run to book a lawyer.

  ‘But Stefan is wrong. The man who died last night is not Justin. And I have not killed him, so I have nothing to fear,’ she continued.

  ‘I agree with you. But if you want to consult a lawyer—’

  ‘First, let’s get to the end of the Trail. We have a lot more to worry about here than Justin’s disappearance. There are more lives at stake here than just mine.’

  Re stared at her for a moment. ‘Isabel, you know that I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t get involved in Justin’s disappearance.’

  She turned to him then and her blue eyes locked with his brown gaze. For the first time, he saw the unshed tears pooling in her eyes. She held his hands in hers and the corners of her lips lifted in a tender, brave smile.

  ‘I know, Re. Thank you!’

  ‘Right, let’s get down to work then.’ Re briskly patted his pockets for the clue that he had slid in before playing his flute. ‘Here it is. I tried deciphering it on my own but it blurred in my head. Perhaps you can make more sense of it.’

  They seated themselves again on the bench and Isabel read the clue to herself again.

  ‘Birds, ducks, monkeys and trees,

  Spring on me the Bees’ Knees,

  Past deer, cherubs and pointing men

  stepping stones and standing women

  Across the silky, wavy length

  where the real key lies in the borrowed strength.’

  ‘The first line is kind of easy,’ Re prompted. ‘You would find birds, ducks, monkeys and trees in a zoo, right?’

  ‘Yes, but the Salzburg zoo, although being the oldest in Europe, has no Reinhardt connection as far as I know. Why then would he go that far to place the trail?’ Isabel wondered.

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Especially when he literally had his own zoo right here on the Schloss premises.’

  ‘Even monkeys?’

  ‘Even monkeys.’

  ‘Past deer, cherubs and pointing men,’ Re quoted.

  Isabel raised her hand and pointed to the statue right beside the Meierhof door. It was the statue of a man, leaning forward, with one arm behind and the other ahead as if pointing at something. There were two such statues facing each other. Re was surprised that he had never really stopped to study them.

  ‘But this is all scattered. We need to pinpoint a location. What does Bee’s Knees mean? Another slang term from the ’20s?’

  Before Isabel could comment, Re pulled out his phone and quickly flicked through a search. Moments later, he raised his head and a smirk reflected on his face.

  ‘Bee’s Knees—an extraordinary person, thing or idea, the ultimate!’

  ‘The ultimate idea would probably be the trail. And the ultimate person would be Reinhardt, but why would the animals spring Reinhardt on himself?’

  ‘Precisely. Which means these animals ‘spring’ something ultimate on him. And where are these animals in the first place? In the zoo or here?’

  ‘I would think here. Reinhardt had a zoo here, that’s for sure. But I’m not sure where. He had birds and flamingoes in a cage along with the monkeys. Plus the men, women, cherubs. All indicate the statues leading to some place.’

  ‘I know where the deer are,’ Re said suddenly. ‘Those deer, my favourite, right outside the Schloss main door, those must’ve been there since Reinhardt’s time, right?’

  ‘I think so. Plus stepping stones. I don’t remember spotting any here. They could’ve been a part of the Garden Theatre that Reinhardt constructed over a huge grass lawn. It was a rather elaborate construction with marble vases, small fountains, ponds with hedges and even an orchestra pit with balustrades. To give it the right effect, he brought baroque sculptures from across Austrian palaces. The theatre was inaugurated in 1931 with a play by Shakespeare, but that had to be cancelled because of heavy rain. Reinhardt was totally flabbergasted and disgusted with Salzburg weather. The theatre was shut down but it actually, totally deteriorated during the Nazi occupation. That’s when the vases and sculptures sunk into the bog and marshy land. Perhaps, over the years, the stepping stones did too.’

  Re could imagine it all as she spoke, the images appearing and disappearing and the mix and match of stones and colours.

  ‘You know what. I have an idea. Let’s quickly go to the Library. I know just the right book, that would tell us exactly what this clue means,’ Isabel rose even as she spoke. ‘It even has several photographs which may help us find the trail again.’

  Re readily followed her, slinging his video camera bag on his shoulder. The morning had grown older and stronger as the sun rose overhead, breathing down on them with sudden intensity. Hadn’t it rained the previous night, Re wondered, as they hastened across the courtyard to the Schloss? At the main door, he paused momentarily and stared at the two deer on the lawn. They seemed to beckon at him every single time he passed them.

  Isabel pushed opened the heavy wooden doors and stepped in, taking the broad marble staircase on the right. A metal statue stood at each corner of the landing and Re particularly observed the knights. They crossed the Marble Hall which was now empty, and the staff was clearing away the dishes. Crossing over to the Library, Isabel headed straight to a shelf with a gold-embossed nameplate which projected the name ‘Reinhardt’. Her finger travelled along the spines of the books and finally rested on one.

  ‘Here it is! Max Reinhardt by Gusti Adler. Gusti Adler, as you already know, was Reinhardt’s personal secretary. He relied on her a lot. She was extremely dependable and carried out Reinhardt’s detailed instructions to the hilt.’

  Isabel flicked through the book quickly. While she skimmed through the volume, Re remembered Adler’s letter placed in a glass cabinet. It was an excerpt from Gusti’s letter to Reinhardt’s writer and theatre friend Oliver M. Sayer, and sudden curiosity prompted him to read it. It was in flowing black handwriting. And despite the time that had passed, was easily legible.

  ‘…or rather the roof burned and the rain, in the weeks following, made a ruin of the whole building. Of course the walls are partly still standing, but the whole place is in a terrible state of tumbledown.

  I was alone in Leopoldskron in the night of the fire. And I was in the rooms you lived in last year. Just going to sleep, when I heard shots—that was the termites of the roof exploding—but I took it for shots, moreover because I heard the shrieks of help from Verwalter and the girls.

  I thought they were all being murdered and I was terribly frightened. When I opened my window to look at what was going on outside, I saw the flames already above my window and the whole roof was glowing fire. I only had time to run downstairs. There was a storm blowing the flames towards the castle. Russinger was out on the roof of the castle pouring water as fast as he could to prevent the fire catching over there too. And no possibility of telephoning for help because a thunderstorm in the afternoon had torn the telephone wires down.

&
nbsp; So we waited at least one hour before the fire engine came and you can’t imagine what anxiety it was. The cows could be driven out of the stables still and the horses saved with the greatest efforts because the court was a hellfire and smoke from four sides at once. The pigs could not be taken out, but we found them in the morning, when everything was over, still alive, only a little dizzy from the smoke.

  Nobody was hurt, though that was a miracle, because everybody had been asleep when the fire broke out and everything went so terribly quickly on account of the storm and the schindel roof. Only the poor Verwalter’s furniture was thrown out of the windows and you can imagine how it landed on the ground. Also Edmund Reinhardt’s furniture was taken out and suddenly stood under the trees.’

  ‘So a big fire at the Meierhof had almost razed the building to the ground,’ Re spoke aloud.

  Isabel glanced up at him, distracted. ‘Oh, the letter. Yes it was quite a major fire. But it was deliberately caused.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘At that time, the Meierhof was used more like a stable. And as servants quarters. The story goes that one of the kitchen staff at the Meierhof fell in love with someone. I don’t know who. But when her love was not requited, she set fire to the Meierhof out of spite! She had to leave her employ at once.’

  ‘That was quite a revenge, I would say,’ Re commented, mentally debating whether to share Perth’s confession with Isabel.

  ‘It was stupid. And dangerous,’ Isabel said.

  ‘You can tell that to her great-grand son.’

  ‘Who?’ her interest was piqued.

  Re told her about Perth and Joanna’s backgrounds and it was Isabel’s turn to look amazed.

  ‘What a strange coincidence that these two were here, together, just when the heart got stolen’

  Re nodded. The image of a tiny white lace apron rose in his mind.

  ‘Here’s the paragraph I was looking for. It’s in German,’ Isabel cut into his thoughts, referring to the book in her hands. ‘This is her narration of her time in Reinhardt’s employ and it’s so interesting. I’ll translate as best as I can : Reinhardt loved animals. He never tired of watching them, playing with them. A special delight were the exotic birds that inhabited a confined part of the park. There were three pelicans in a Baroque pavilion and how the cranes and herons danced! And then the Flamingos—a rosy cloud, delicately toned, rangy, always in groups… Reinhardt was so worried he once sent a detailed telegramme from Berlin, in the midst of the most strenuous rehearsals, about the flamingos.’

  She paused and glanced at him. ‘So we do have our zoo here.’

  ‘Parfait!’

  ‘There’s more. There were black and white swans in the Hercules Pond and ducks in the marshy channels and budgies in the aviaries. Plus, the monkeys I told you about, Chinese Nightingales and other small colourful birds in cages. The monkeys lived in a glass house. Take a look at the pictures.’

  Re glanced at the black-and-white pictures of Max Reinhardt and Hugo von Hofmannsthal in the gardens, Max with his dog Tobacco standing by a hedge, and one of the Garden Theatre with green hedges, trellised partitions and statues. The dense trees and the lake formed a dramatic backdrop to the stage.

  ‘So we’ve decoded birds, ducks, monkeys and trees, deer and pointing men and standing women but where do they all lead?’ Re frowned.

  ‘To a place where the ultimate spring on to Reinhardt.’

  ‘Over the stepping stones and across the silky wavy length,’ Re continued.

  ‘Where the real key lies in the borrowed strength—“Borrowed strength!”’ Isabel exclaimed. ‘I know what that means!’

  Re raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

  ‘Strength. The Hercules statue! The Hercules statue was originally located in Schloss Florenberg, belonging to Hermann Bahr, a writer. He and Reinhardt were friends as well as did business together, which is how Reinhardt saw the Hercules statue and was very eager to get it for his park. Wait…’

  She flicked open through the pages of the book and paused at a point. ‘Reinhardt knew that the statue was precious to Bahr as well but assigned Gusti to negotiate a deal for him. Gusti and Bahr were also good friends and she felt bad when Reinhardt finally got to buy the statue. She says that that it felt like a funeral procession to her when they were transporting the Hercules all the way through the city on a cart pulled by oxen. But fortunately, when Bahr and his wife came for a visit afterwards, they were delighted to see the statue in its new surroundings and all trouble was forgotten.’

  ‘Borrowed strength. Hercules statue,’ Re’s eyes shone. ‘And also the Bee’s Knees—which means the Ultimate!’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. All the statues and birds lead to the Hercules Pond.’

  ‘Across the silky, wavy length…has to be the body of water we have to traverse to get to the statue where lies the “real key”.’

  ‘But the stepping stones?’

  ‘I saw a picture of the Hercules Pond just now. Can you find it again?’

  Isabel did and they bent their heads over it. The photograph clearly showed the swans in the pond and the Hercules statue in the centre, surrounded by dense trees.

  ‘Look, just as I thought. The stepping stones!’ Re couldn’t hide his excitement.

  ‘Yes!’ Isabel sighed.

  Right across the pond, white square slabs of stone followed a path to the statue.

  ‘They sunk, that’s why I was confused,’ Isabel concluded.

  She shut the book hastily and regarded Re with shining eyes. ‘Should we?’

  Neither waited for a response. They hastened past the Marble Hall, down the stairs and tugged open the heavy Schloss main door. The metal deer stared at them, as they broke into a run, down the tree-lined path cutting across the park, past some more statues of men, women and cherubs. And almost skidded to a halt before the pond. The memory of the previous night momentarily interrupted Re’s focus. Was it just this dawn that Stefan had found the body and brought Isabel to identify Justin? The pond looked so surrealistic then, so beautiful now.

  The weather had changed drastically again. Thick clouds had suddenly darkened the sky and a cool breeze lifted the branches of the trees. In the centre of the pond, the Hercules statue stood tall on a stone island, his curly head inclined in concentration. His features were finely carved and displayed a flowing mustache, a long shaggy beard and an aristocratic, straight nose. His sinewy arms revealed faint veins and his front rippled with stone muscles. His robe. which hung from broad shoulders, flowed in gathers behind him as his hands plunged inside, what looked like, a curly-headed upturned face. He looked every bit the embodiment of strength and masculinity.

  Wild plants abounded on the stone island he stood on and the pond water around him was a landscape of brown and rust-coloured leaves. High above him, rose a ring of dense trees, silhouetted against a cloud-studded sky.

  ‘Borrowed strength and Bees’ Knees,’ Re repeated, as he mentally calculated the distance from the statue to the shore.

  ‘What a beauty he is! But how do we get across now that the steps are underwater?’

  ‘Wait here please,’ he instructed and rolled up his pants.

  ‘Re—’ Isabel protested.

  ‘It’s all right. I’m sure it’s not very deep. And it’s a very short distance,’ he quickly assured her.

  Before she could comment, he stepped into the water. Slowly, he encroached deeper and deeper till the water was waist-high and he could wade through cautiously. The water was cold and the ground slippery and mossy. Leaves clung to his shirt, as he edged closer to the pedestal. Thunder suddenly echoed through the park and his foot knocked hard against a big rock. Re winced in pain but prodded on. As he approached the big stone pedestal, he looked for a grip on the craggy mini-island. Finding a step, he heaved himself up, feeling heavy and burdened with the soaked clothes. Foothold after foothold, he managed to hoist himself to a standing position beside the statue. Almost
feverish with excitement, he began feeling the statue, his fingers probing for any possible hiding places. Finally, he dipped his hand into the uneven rough interior of the sculpture of the curly upturned head where Hercules’s hand was tucked in. Nothing. Fingering the crevices, he threw a quick glance over his shoulder at his companion. Isabel was standing motionless, one hand covering her mouth, her attention fixed on his every move. A sense of responsibility engulfed Re. He turned his attention back to the upturned head, just as huge heavy drops began attacking the pond. Oh no, he thought. With doubled concentration, he tapped and probed and just as he was about to give up, something soft rustled against his fingers in the extreme right-hand side of the corner. Re’s heart raced. It was a rolled oilskin, just like the others. Very slowly and carefully he tugged at the edge. It seemed to be stuck in a deep crevice inside the sculpture. Re tugged again, afraid that he would tear it. He tugged again, with added pressure. And again. And suddenly, it slipped out of the crevice and Re felt a triumphant wave well up inside him. He twisted around, and waved the roll with a flourish, even as the rain slammed into his face.

  Isabel gasped and before Re knew it, she had plunged into the pond.

  ‘Wait, what are you doing?’ he shouted over the din of the rain.

  She waded across and reached him within minutes.

  ‘Hold on to my hand. It’s dangerous slippery ground. Be careful,’ she shouted.

  Re tucked the clue into his jacket and clung to her offered hand. Even then, his foot slipped from the island, banging against a pointed stone, sending a shooting pain up his leg. Re peeled off his clinging jacket and held it over their heads. The rain pelted down angrily, as they huddled together and waded back, their progress slow and tedious. Long minutes later, when they ascended the bank, Re heaved a sigh of relief. In silence, they continued their journey to the shelter of the Schloss entrance. Isabel pushed open the heavy wooden door and they stepped into the warmth of the Marble Hall, cutting out the shrill clamour of the rain.

  ‘Come one, show me!’ Isabel urged.

  Re looked pointedly at their drenched bodies. ‘Don’t you want to get into dry clothes first?’