Midnight Harvest (8 page)

Zapatilla hated being forced to ask questions, but he acquiesced. “And thus you are unnoticeable as so many servants are, and you use that to your advantage,” he said heavily. “What has this allowed you to discover about this Ferenc Ragoczy, Comte de Saint-Germain?”

“I must suppose you know he is from the Carpathians and travels on a Hungarian passport. The government has such things on record, and I know you have been given access to the files,” said Liebre, his attention drifting slightly after his brisk beginning. “I also suppose you know Saint-Germain is wealthy. That is obvious to the meanest intelligence. His suits are some of the best I’ve ever seen—very subtle, very understated, but highest quality, made by the best tailors, English and French. All his shirts and ties are silk. He has the manner that comes with long-held riches.” He picked up his coffee-cup and took another sip. “According to Señor Echevarria, Saint-Germain has a great many business investments, in many countries.”

“Yes, yes,” said Zapatilla impatiently. “You aren’t telling me anything that we are unaware of.” He tapped the desk with his spoon. “If you have nothing more to add, this conversation is useless.”

Liebre stiffened. “I know more, of course. I wanted to show you I know what you would expect me to know—” He stopped, and leaned back. “I have learned that le Comte has a mistress in Cádiz; he has visited her privately five times that I am aware of, although it may be more. He has been giving her his attention since last October, so far as I am cognizant of his actions. I have seen him take her flowers, even in January. He is very discreet, for the lady is married.”

“And this is not new information.” Zapatilla put down his spoon. “I would think that every intelligence service in España knows that.”

“He has been away from Cádiz for almost a month, though he continues to pay for his suites, which is an expensive gesture if it is only intended as a ruse. His manservant goes with him; his rooms at the Hotel are empty, but paid for for the next five months. Saint-Germain drives a Minerva cabriolet and owns a Riley Monaco—”

“An unusual auto,” said Zapatilla.

“He keeps it at the Hotel,” said Liebre. “He may have another auto in Córdoba; I haven’t been able to ascertain that. His manservant has a Voisin C14. Not many employers have an auto for their servants.”

“We have already determined he is wealthy,” said Zapatilla.

“That we have,” said Liebre. “It is real wealth, not the flash display that is seen so often with the newly rich. No high airs for le Comte. He tips handsomely but not foolishly.” He paused. “He doesn’t eat in the Hotel dining room.”

“He likes his privacy, and he has a good-sized suite, does he not?” Zapatilla interjected.

“He has three four-room suites on the second floor—almost half the wing. He has another four-room suite for his manservant. They say he brought his own bed and it is as simple as a monk’s—just a thin mattress atop a chest.” Liebre shook his head in disbelief.

“Some men are like that; the Kaiser slept in an iron soldier’s bed all through his youth,” said Zapatilla, doing his best to show indifference to this new and perplexing information. He reminded himself he would have to confirm the information about Saint-Germain’s bed for his records.

“No doubt they are,” said Liebre. “But le Comte doesn’t appear to be one of them: he’s elegant, not puritanical.”

Zapatilla decided not to pursue the matter with Liebre. “What else have you observed? Is there any event that stands out in your mind, or any detail, no matter how small, that might reveal important information about the man? What has caught your attention about him?” He laid his forearms on the desk, his thumbs just touching. “And keep in mind that I’ll be sending a report to your superiors.”

Liebre hesitated for an instant—a tactical error with Zapatilla—and attempted to mask it by having a bit more coffee. “I don’t think he likes going out during the day. Whatever he does in his suites, it occupies him until sunset.”

“He never goes out in the day?” Zapatilla asked, instantly suspicious of Liebre.

“I didn’t say that. He does it less frequently than most of our patrons at the Hotel,” Liebre told him, still uneasy.

“Many Spaniards prefer to go out during the night,” Zapatilla pointed out. “Most of the entertainments of life happen after sundown.”

“So they do,” Liebre agreed, a little too quickly. “But le Comte is a foreigner, and many of them are not accustomed to our ways. It is unusual for a foreigner to—”

“That doesn’t mean that he isn’t able to live as we do,” Zapatilla interrupted, beginning to count this interview as a waste of time.

“No, it doesn’t,” Liebre conceded. He finished his coffee and set the cup down. “But there is something I have noticed that may be of interest to you.” His early cockiness had faded and he seemed subdued, tentative. “It’s what he keeps in the Hotel safe.”

“And what would that be?” asked Zapatilla, prepared for almost any outrage from this self-important young man. Still, he was curious enough to want to find out what Liebre was prepared to vouchsafe him.

“He keeps jewels. Many jewels. More than a hundred, I should guess; perhaps as many as one hundred fifty. A considerable fortune, in fact.” Liebre’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“And how do you know this?” Zapatilla demanded.

“The night clerk showed me, at the end of last month.” It was a stunning admission, and, if true, a potentially alarming circumstance, for the lapse in confidentiality this indicated was troubling.

“Are you certain the jewels are genuine?” Zapatilla asked smoothly.

“According to what Señor Echevarria told the night clerk, all of them have been examined by jewelers of the highest repute and they have certified the quality of the stones, which is very, very high.” Liebre cleared his throat. “They were astonishing to see, like bits of the rainbow sitting in a metal box.”

“And has he done this before, the night clerk, with other patrons’ possessions? Shown you what they kept in the safe?” Zapatilla almost held his breath for the answer.

“Yes,” said Liebre as if offering up an obtuse apology; he volunteered nothing more.

“How often?” Zapatilla asked. “And which patrons?”

“Only the foreigners,” said Liebre, as if this made such behavior more acceptable. “He never interferes with any property of our Spanish guests.”

“Oh, very good,” said Zapatilla with heavy sarcasm, his head lowered and his hands spread out. “He does not break the law for Spaniards—only the foreigners are afforded that privilege,” he scoffed; but even as he spoke, it occurred to him that the night clerk might also be working for one of the governmental offices, which would account for his behavior. “Who is this most accommodating clerk?”

Relieved to be able to shift some of the error away from himself, Liebre said, “Eduardo Deshielo. He comes from Asturias.”

“Which accounts for something, to be sure,” said Zapatilla at his driest, just as he supposed Claude Rains would say it.

“I thought you’d want to know,” Liebre said, a suggestion of sulkiness in his attitude. “If I erred—”

“And so I do,” Zapatilla allowed hastily, then paused to consider what he had heard. “I need to know more about this Eduardo Deshielo. He has broken the law, and that may make him useful to me.” He was thinking aloud, and he did not invite any response from Liebre.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them that lasted for the better part of two minutes. Finally Liebre said, “I have found out that le Comte has property in Córdoba. There is a house that has been in his family for some time, according to what his manservant told Señor Echevarria. The house is supposed to be in the old part of the city, built on the foundations of another house that was torn down centuries ago. His manager, Lazaro Flojasilla, sends regular reports to the Hotel. Also, he often has letters from England, from a firm of solicitors.”

“So you mentioned,” said Zapatilla. “As to the property manager, we have already spoken to him. The house le Comte keeps in Córdoba sustained some damage in a recent bombing incident—nothing very bad, but enough to require repairs—that accorded us an opportunity to learn a bit more about the holding.” He said nothing more, savoring the frustrated expression Liebre tried unsuccessfully to hide; Zapatilla decided to drop a crumb for Liebre. “The house is a minor matter. His business there is my primary concern: I have been reviewing his airline assembly plant’s records; he is very up-to-date on innovations. And he has a head for business, I will give him that.”

“It could be … he may convert his earnings to jewels,” Liebre ventured, making an effort to smile; he wanted to restore Zapatilla’s good opinion of him.

“It is possible,” said Zapatilla.

“And prudent,” said Liebre. “Just consider the advantages. He can carry the jewels anywhere, they will not diminish in value, no matter what becomes of the currency, they have value everywhere in the world he might decide to go, and they are less conspicuous than cash, and more reliable than bank drafts.”

“This is so,” said Zapatilla, who was not so convinced by his own argument as he pretended to be. “You may be on to something.”

Glad to be able to improve his standing with Zapatilla, Liebre enlarged upon his thoughts. “If he has jewels enough, he could travel without difficulty, and establish himself with minimal effort.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” said Zapatilla.

“He could leave España easily, and most countries would be glad to have a rich industrialist settle inside their borders. Some of the other countries may be offering him favorable conditions to move.” Liebre was being more confident again. “Never mind his title, his riches make him useful for any nation.”

“It is a sad commentary on our modern world,” said Zapatilla, dismissing the issue with a turn of his hand just as Claude Rains might have done it. “Have you any reason to suppose he may be planning to leave? Has he said anything, or his manservant?”

“I can’t recall any such suggestion,” said Liebre, becoming a bit more animated. “If you like, I can try to find out as soon as he returns.”

Zapatilla considered this. “I think it may be more important to watch him. If he is going to leave, he may do so without warning.” He achieved a dry chuckle. “He manufactures airplanes—who is to say he won’t fly out of España?”

“I have no reason to believe he is a pilot,” said Liebre.

With a little sigh that his humor was unappreciated, Zapatilla said, “No, he is not. We have that on the testimony of his two pilots—Blaz Riosalado and Raul Telas—who have already told me that Saint-Germain dislikes flying; he claims he doesn’t want to be far from the earth.” This observation was accompanied by an overly ingratiating smile.

Liebre managed to laugh this time. “He may be wise.”

“His airplanes have excellent reputations. I don’t think he would have any reason to hesitate to fly in one,” said Zapatilla austerely. “And no one can claim he isn’t aware of the quality of his company’s products.”

“Very true,” said Liebre quickly. “But it does seem that Saint-Germain dislikes flying. There are any number of people who do.”

“Surprising, that he should be one of them—don’t you think?” Zapatilla asked, observing Liebre closely.

Liebre smirked. “He probably watched dogfights during the Great War. He’s old enough. That would make anyone think twice about flying.” His face paled a bit. “Airplanes were less reliable then, of course.”

“Of course,” Zapatilla echoed.

“But he has also said he dislikes traveling by sea,” added Liebre.

“When did he say that?” Zapatilla asked, thinking he had never had a report on Saint-Germain expressing such sentiments before.

Aware that he had finally hit upon something Zapatilla wanted to hear, Liebre lost a little of his stiffness. “He was going to some kind of affair at the concert hall, a gala for some sort of occasion, and he happened to mention that some of the guests had arrived by yacht. I made some comment about his lack of one—just a joke, you know how you do—and he told me he becomes seasick far too easily for sea travel.” He smiled a little. “A man as polished as he, turning green and puking over the rail!”

Zapatilla was not amused; he laid his hand on the files on his desk. “Still, a most interesting admission, if it’s true.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Liebre asked. “It isn’t the kind of thing one says of oneself if it isn’t.”

“Unless he intends for us to think of him as incapacitated by sea travel, and thereby misdirect our attention.” Zapatilla tasted the last of his coffee; it was cold and turning bitter.

“But you are not misdirected,” said Liebre, making the most of his opening; he felt his confidence begin to well again.

“No. There is no reason I should be,” said Zapatilla. He wanted to make notes but would not give Liebre the satisfaction of seeing him do it. “In fact, I will take this as an indication that I should alert the army to the possibility that Saint-Germain may have access to a ship—not necessarily at Cádiz, but there are many other harbors in Spain, and in Portugal, for that matter.” He looked down at the files again. “It is a worthy precaution, I think, watching where he doesn’t expect to be observed. He may yet betray himself.”

“Then you anticipate trouble,” said Liebre, a bit too eagerly.

“Always, in all things. I do not limit myself to le Comte de Saint-Germain.” He directed his best stare at Liebre. “And you would do well to do the same.”

Liebre tried to remain comfortable. “I will. Of course I will.”

“You are in a most opportune place to take advantage of the post you have.” He gave Liebre a long, thoughtful stare. “I think you may count yourself fortunate. If you are able to acquit yourself well, I believe you will be assigned to more rewarding work than what you currently have.”

“I am eager to serve,” said Liebre. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Satisfied that he had engaged all Liebre’s attention, Zapatilla leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I have it on good authority that Saint-Germain is returning to Cádiz in a week or two. If you take the time to make a record of all the letters he receives between now and his return, I will put your name forward at the Ministerio de Guerra for advancement. I can see you’re ambitious and dedicated, both of which should serve you well in the Ministerio.”