“And the other car? You are sure it went up the hill?”
“Yes. I saw its tail-lights go right up the hill past the inn.”
“Towards Finstersee?”
Trudi nodded. “In that direction. There are forests along that road. When the car reached the trees, I could no longer see its lights.” She looked at his worried face. Surprised, she said, “I thought you would have been asking me about the box.”
“I’ll come to that,” he promised her. “But is that all you can tell me about Johann?” And there was nothing much he could ask about the box, except her permission to carry it downstairs. And not much carrying could be done when he was expected to be a polite guest. Women were really astounding, he thought as he noticed Trudi’s perfect hostess manner. But at least it kept her calm. He had been afraid of too much emotion when he had entered this room. Emotions were fine in the right place, at the right time; but danger and death couldn’t be warded off by emotions. And you remember that, he warned himself. What happened to you out there, almost at the door of this house? He looked at Lynn, and his eyes softened. For a moment, they exchanged a hint of warm laughter, of recollection shared; of astonishment, excitement, complete euphoria. Hold on, hold on, he told himself. Later, later. Not now. He looked quickly back at Trudi, regained his thoughts.
“That’s all I know,” Trudi assured him.
“Well—about the box—” And what the hell do I say? May I take it? Do I march upstairs into your room and get it?
“I’m glad you were thinking of Johann,” Trudi went on. “I was afraid that he would be forgotten. Once you got the box, perhaps he never would be found. You would not do that?”
“No.”
She rose. “Come. But you must walk quietly. The stairs creak.” She lifted the lamp that stood on the table and carried it toward the flight of wooden stairs that ran up one wall. “Please come, too,” she told Lynn, dropping her low voice to a whisper as she glanced quickly at the door leading to the back of the house. The snoring had long since stopped; Frau Seidl was deep in sleep.
They climbed the stairs, lightly, carefully, and followed a narrow wooden passage to Trudi’s room. She placed the lamp carefully on a small bureau, opened the massive chest that stood at the foot of her bed. She took out layers of linen, placing them in exact order on the plump eiderdown. “Now,” she said, and pointed.
Mathison reached into the chest for a box wrapped in white cloth. It was cumbersome to lift out of its hiding place. He had to strain to keep its weight from settling too heavily on the floor as he put it slowly, silently down. He pulled off its winding sheet, and saw that he could grasp it more easily for its journey downstairs by two handles folded at its sides. The box was both locked and padlocked, a solid piece of work. One thing was certain, this was not the kind of container that a photographer would choose for his equipment. We’ve really got something here, he thought, and looked at Lynn. Perhaps she, too, had been prepared for disappointment, for her eyes were now wide with excitement.
Trudi was staring at the box with a mixture of dislike and distrust. She didn’t move, as if she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. “It is very valuable, Johann said. Equipment that belonged to Herr Bryant. You will see that Frau Bryant gets it?”
Mathison looked at the pathetic, anxious, transparently honest face. “If she is alive,” he said very quietly.
“If?”
Lynn glanced at him quickly.
Trudi said, “Have you heard something about Frau Bryant—something you have not told me?”
“I heard that the three men who took her away have been arrested. But there was no mention of Frau Bryant. That’s what troubles me.”
“You think she is dead? Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know for certain. But there is a friend of mine waiting outside. He may have learned something more.”
“But if she’s dead,” began Trudi, doubt and fear rising anew, “what do I do?”
“Let’s get this box downstairs,” Mathison said. “You want it out of your room, don’t you?” Trudi nodded. She was close to tears again. “How on earth did Johann carry it up here?” he asked, trying to sound conversational, prosaic, undramatic, anything to calm Trudi. He lifted the box. It wasn’t an impossible hoist for one man, just difficult to negotiate quietly on that narrow staircase.
“It was in a large rucksack.” At least Trudi had stepped out of his way. Her voice, her movements were listless.
“You haven’t kept that lying around, have you?” It could be dangerous.
“Johann took it.”
And kept it, perhaps. Hence Johann? Well, we all make mistakes, Mathison thought gloomily. He listened to the sound of a car travelling downhill. There had been several in these last ten minutes.
“I’ll go ahead and warn you when you come to the last steps,” Lynn said. She had picked up the lamp and was already waiting for him in the passageway. “Come on, Trudi,” she urged gently.
“Those cars?” he asked Trudi as he started down the staircase.
“The concert ended some time ago.”
And what’s Chuck thinking, outside there in the cold? Wondering if I’ve botched everything? Too damned slow about getting this box? And yet, how else? Mathison reached the foot of the staircase without any clatter. He needed a couple of deep breaths, though, after he lowered the box gently onto the floor. “I’ll find my friend and bring him here. You can talk with him, Trudi.” He picked up his windbreaker, moved quickly to the door, took out his pack of cigarettes.
“But I don’t know this man,” Trudi was saying sharply as Mathison left.
Lynn took charge. “Please trust us, Trudi. I heard Frau Bryant say she wanted to meet this man. He is a—a kind of detective. He was actually on his way to see Frau Bryant when she was kidnapped. She thought he could help her. With that box.” And an ugly brute of a thing it is, she thought, looking down at it. “I don’t know what is in it, but—”
“It’s equipment.”
“No. Not that.”
“But Johann said—”
“Johann was mistaken.” And that is being more than kind to Johann. “Trudi, Trudi—photographer’s equipment couldn’t have caused so many deaths.”
“Many?” Trudi stared at the box as if it contained a nest of adders.
“I have heard of three.” Richard Bryant, Eric Yates, Greta Freytag... “There may be others.”
“Johann?” Trudi asked slowly, fearfully.
“Bill’s friend outside, and all the men who are with him, will try to help Johann. I know that. Bill promised you.”
Trudi kept looking at the box. “I hate it,” she said with sudden vehemence. “There’s a curse on it. Get them to take it away. Get them—” She broke off, listened, as she heard brakes screech on the road. “That was a car—stopping. Here.”
“Two cars.”
“Your friends?”
“I don’t know.” Lynn almost panicked. “Quick, Trudi,” she said as she bent down and tugged at the box. “Give me a hand. Quick!”
Mathison had stepped out of the Seidl house, pulled on his windbreaker, and paused as he lit a cigarette and looked around him. The small front garden, enclosed by its neat waist-high wooden fence, was as quiet as the road that skirted it. So was the meadow to its side, and the small grouping of dark trees where Chuck said he would wait. No one around. The moonlight was half-strength and even more muted by the high wind-blown clouds. His eyes became accustomed to the night, and he walked quickly along the short path that led toward the meadow. He reached his car, parked in the shadows at the side of the house. From there, it was only a matter of sixty or seventy yards to the trees. Had Chuck left? Everything was so peaceful.
But Chuck was there, all right. So was friend Andrew. So were two men bundled up like a couple of local climbers. Chuck said quickly, “You saw the box? What’s it like?”
“Locked and padlocked. Not equipment, I’ll judge. Fairly heavy.”
The surprise package? wondered Mathison. “Yours looks crummier,” he said, much amused, “and a little larger.” He bent and groped for the handles and hefted it. “Heavier, too. But not bad. What did you put in it? Bricks?”
“Give Chuck some credit for more artistry than that,” Andrew said. “Hundreds of typed sheets, sodden through, not a word legible.”
“A slow leak through the years?” Mathison laughed softly. Not bad, not bad at all.
“Come on, Bill,” Chuck was saying, “you and I carry this back to the house. Fair exchange. Where’s the real thing?”
“It’s now in the kitchen just behind the door.”
“Good.” He turned to talk to one of the climbers. “Hank, you get to our car, back it up to the meadow. Andrew, you and Chris can cover us from the road and keep an eye out for Bruno. He should be arriv—” He cut himself short, swung around to face the man who was approaching quietly, by way of the trees that edged the meadow, from the fields that lay at the back of the Seidl house.
“Felix Zauner.” Andrew identified the man quickly. It must be. That figure was coming from the direction of the village, using the back fields as a short cut. “Yes, it’s Zauner. And about time, too.” I told him over half an hour ago to meet us down here, he thought with annoyance.
“Keep him with you, Andrew,” Chuck said. “Come on, Bill. Let’s start moving. Is Trudi expecting me?” He bent down to grip one handle of the box.
“Yes. I told her—” Mathison stopped, straightened up, looked in the direction of the road. Two cars were speeding down from the village. Chuck dropped his end of the box, too. They all looked, not even paying attention to Zauner, who slipped into the shadows around them and then stopped abruptly as he recognised Mathison.
The two cars drew up with a scream of brakes, one behind the other, directly in front of the Seidl house. From the first car, two men slid out quickly and ran up the short path through the garden, heading straight for the door. They did not knock. They shoved it open, vanished inside.
Lynn... Mathison broke out of cover and raced across the meadow, tugging the automatic free from his jacket pocket.
The box, thought Chuck, and started after him.
Andrew set off, too, only pausing to call over his shoulder to Hank and Chris, “Watch that second car!” Its engine had been kept running.
Zauner stopped brooding about Mathison, took a step after Andrew, struck his foot against something metallic. He grimaced at the quick stab of pain, stared down in amazement. He knelt and touched the object with his hand. “Get down to the road. Keep out of sight of the cars. Block them off if they start for Bad Aussee.”
“But they’ll be out of sight, too,” Hank protested. There was a curve in that road, just at the last grouping of trees on the edge of the meadow. He knew. He had found it useful for parking Chuck’s car.
“You’ll see them all right if they make a dash for it.”
“Are you staying here?”
“Someone has to.” Zauner glanced down at the box.
“Then keep your eyes open. I recognised one of the men. They are Grell’s friends. But how the hell did they learn about Trudi Seidl’s house?”
“Get going!” Zauner told them with all his authority. He watched them move off, two quiet shadows merging with the ragged rim of trees, heading for the lower stretch of the Bad Aussee road. His face was like stone, his thoughts a raging torrent. So they did not tell me they had actually discovered the box, taken it, were even now waiting for transportation. No, that wasn’t fair; he had only himself to blame, arriving too late to be told. Late because of Elissa, because of trying to find her at the inn to warn her there was some kind of alert down at the Seidl meadow. Don’t cheat, she had warned him, and all his determination to help as little as possible had faded away. There was no choice left... At the inn, he hadn’t been able to find Elissa. Or Grell, for that matter. Frau Hitz, busy clearing the dining-room, could only say they had been discussing the lady’s complaint about her room when she had last seen them in the hall. It couldn’t be, he thought as he stared obliquely across the open meadow toward the two cars parked in their dark huddle in front of the Seidls’ garden. It couldn’t be. And yet, as the American agent had asked, how the hell did they learn of Trudi Seidl’s house?
He drew a long deep breath. Hank and Chris were out of sight, must be at the road by this time. He checked in the direction of the house, too. (Mathison and Chuck had entered, Andrew was almost there.) His attention was jerked back to the cars; someone had just stepped from the driver’s seat of the second one. Someone who must be alone, for the figure stood hesitating, only its head visible, watching Andrew disappear into the house, deciding perhaps to go after him and even the odds against the two Nazis inside. It wasn’t Grell, that was certain. It wasn’t any of his hunting friends—their height would have brought their shoulders up above the car’s low roof. Yes, it could be...
Zauner stepped out from the trees’ shadows onto the meadow. He whistled softly. Then he raised both arms and signalled wide. Mathison had entered the kitchen silently, automatic ready. Chuck came hard on his heels, revolver in hand, drawing himself instinctively close to the side of the door before he took the final step inside. They stopped abruptly, lowered their weapons, looked with amazement at the placid scene. The two men weren’t there. Neither was the box lying behind the door. The two girls were sitting at the table, their heads turned toward the staircase. Trudi’s hands were at her lips, her eyes wide. Lynn held a forkful of meat half-way between mouth and plate, as if she had been eating supper when the two strangers from the car had come bursting in and gone rushing upstairs. They were there now, moving around from room to room with cautious footsteps.
Trudi said, her voice hushed in disbelief, “They didn’t stop, didn’t speak. They knew just where to go.”
“Ever seen them before?” Chuck asked quietly.
Trudi nodded. “They are from the inn.”
Nazis. Mathison glanced at Chuck, then looked around for any sign of the box. Lynn came to life again. She laid the fork down, drew her legs aside as she lifted the short hem of the tablecloth and pointed underneath. She tried to smile, but her face was strained and exhausted.
“Okay, okay,” Chuck said softly, and relaxed. He turned to Andrew who had just entered, put a finger to his lips. From overhead, there came a sharp curse, the voice of one telling the other to hold the light higher, here, here! And then the voice, rising in violent rage, “It’s gone!” A wooden lid crashed shut. Footsteps were louder now, stumbling heavily in one last angry search. A bed was pulled across the floor, a door was smashed.
“Let’s get them out of here,” Chuck said. That first; then I dash for the trees, try to draw them to that other box. If they find it, that will shut them up for good. “Get out of range,” he told the two girls, pointing to the back wall of the kitchen. “See what’s happening on the road,” he said to Andrew. He signed to Mathison to keep well to the side of the staircase. He raised his voice into a drillmaster’s yell. “Come down here, you! Drop your weapons!”
There was complete silence. Then instant bedlam. From outside came the roar of a car starting its way downhill. Overhead, a quick retreat from the staircase; the sound of a window being forced, glass breaking; a scramble of feet over a balcony, two heavy thuds at the side of the house. And at the back of the kitchen, a door was thrown open and a pink-cheeked woman in a flannel nightgown, two grey braids over her shoulders, a stick in her hands, was screaming for police.
Chuck signalled with a nod to Mathison. They both stepped outside. Andrew was there, keeping well to one side of the door, watching the scene on the road with cold amusement. The two Nazis, one limping now, were piling into their car, starting off downhill after the other one. It hadn’t gone far, only to the end of the meadow edged by trees.
Andrew said,
“There is one person in the lead car. A woman. I think it’s Elissa.”
“Working with the Nazis?” Mathison asked. He was incredulous. Just when could that have happened?
“One of those temporary pacts they go in for,” Andrew said, “and I think she is about to break it.”
The woman was out of the car, running toward the central clump of trees.
“She knows where to go,” Chuck said thoughtfully.
“She ought to. A man signalled to her from that exact spot. He stepped back into the trees as soon as he glimpsed me. He didn’t stay long enough to let me recognise him.”
“Then let’s get him. And make a show of protecting our possessions. Bill—someone has got to stay here, and you’re it. Sorry. But Grell may come prowling around. Anything can happen now.” Then he was sprinting after Andrew. Their two vague but discernible figures ran into a stretch of darkness and became nothing.
Mathison drew his back against the wall of the house, kept his head turned to the meadow on his right, put his trust in his senses to warn him of any approach from the left. The meadow was the action point. These two damned fools could get themselves killed, he thought. Did they think the Nazis would let them get anywhere near that box? And yet Chuck was right about making a show of protecting it; the Nazis might otherwise wonder why they could take the box so easily. But not too much show, he told Chuck silently. Or perhaps you are too eager to nail that traitor?
His eyes turned to the road down near the trees. The two Nazis were out of their car, following the woman. She could run and she could dodge, Mathison noted; she was taking full advantage of the broken light with its strange patchwork of blacks and greys. She was already at the hiding place. He still couldn’t identify her clearly.
The Salzburg Connection Page 41