The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace (24 page)

The rutted cart track by which the Rat and
the Gorilla had
reached the cottage, which was little more than a cleared
space along which logs could be dragged in the work of forestation
, eventually
debouched on to a better secondary road.
Banking on a usually
reliable sense of direction, the Saint
turned right, and in
a few kilometres a signpost told him that
they had rejoined
the road by which Annellatt had brought
him to the river
crossing the previous evening.

Now the route back to Schloss Duppelstein was
only a
problem for his memory, which in
such situations had almost
never
failed him.

A growing sense of jubilation crept into him
and began to
dissipate his earlier fatigue.

“We’re on our way again, boys and
girls,” he proclaimed.
“And with one pain less in our necks.
Maybe we’re still un
popular on account of a slight argument at
the border, but at
least we know that we don’t have the Gestapo to contend
with. And
anything less than that has got to be less formida
ble.” A
new-found optimism in him was effervescent and in
fectious.
“Common or garden villains we can eat for canapes—
and I’m
sure Uncle Max has the underworld connections to
put us on their
tails!”

2

As it turned out, for the rest of the trip
they were not even
challenged. Either the alarum had been slow to
disseminate
from the border, or the local constabulary maintained
reasonable working hours and were not about to go prowling after supper on the
off-chance of running into some fugitives who
should have had
enough sense to be holed up somewhere for
the night by that
time.

When they reached Schloss Duppelstein, to
their surprise
the main gate of the Castle was open. It was usually
locked at
night. Max must have been expecting visitors, or perhaps
someone
had just left and the gates had not been closed after
him. Maybe, because
of Anton’s absence, the routine of the
Castle had been
upset.

They walked across the courtyard without
seeing any sign
of life except a light high up in Max’s study, another
one in a
ground-floor
room, beneath the state rooms in the central
block,
and the lights of the great chandelier in the entrance
hall.

The front door was unlocked, and as they entered the hall
they met the young footman Erich coming up from
down
stairs, a pair of trousers
hanging over his arm. His eyes wid
ened
when he saw the trio.

“Ach, Frau Gr
ä
fin!”
he blurted. “Thank God you are back
safely.
The Herr Baron will be greatly relieved.”

“Where is he, Erich?” Frankie asked
as she swayed on her
feet.

The footman stared at her with concern.

“Are you unwell,
Gn
ä
digste?”

“No, just tired. Very, very tired. But
where is your
Master?”

“He is upstairs in his study,
Gn
ä
digste.
If you will allow me
to go
ahead I will tell him that you are here.” He caught sight
of the blood on Leopold’s
bandage. “The Herr Graf is in
jured!”
he stammered.

“It is nothing, Erich,” Leopold
said, managing a smile. “An
unfortunate accident. A mere pinprick.”

Erich turned to Simon.

“And you,
mein Herr,
are you all
right?” he asked in heav
ily accented English.

“Right as rain, whatever that
means,” replied Simon breez
ily. “But we could do with a good stiff
drink and then bed.”

“Ach, yes sir,” said Erich.
“Unfortunately Anton is away
tonight, but I will get you something
right away. Would you
care to go into the library? There is a fire
there still and I
have not yet locked up for the night.”

“That’s true enough,” said the
Saint. “The alarm must be
switched off or we couldn’t have got in. By
the way, why were
the front gates open?”

“Anton usually sees to that, sir. I was
going to attend to it, but I am new here and not very used to the
routine.” He flut
tered his hands apologetically. “There
is so much to do. Also
the Master had visitors late tonight. I was
about to put these
away,” he indicated the trousers on his arm,
“and when I had
done so I was going to lock the place up and
switch on the
alarm.”

“Right,” said the Saint. “We’ll
go into the library if you
will tell the Baron that we’re back.”
He was careful to con
form with Annellatt’s fictitious local
identity. “But be a good chap, and don’t forget the drink when you
return—or perhaps
even before you go!”

“Certainly, sir,” replied the young
footman obsequiously.

It struck the Saint that Erich was the kind
of man who en
joyed taking orders. It was more a German type than an
Aus
trian, but then the Germans owned Austria now, so perhaps
Erich
would prosper.

The servant was saved from having to go
upstairs by the sudden appearance of Max on the balcony which ran around
the top
of the hall.

“Who is it, Erich?” he called.
“Who are you talking to?”

“It’s only us chickens,” Simon
called back.

For a long moment Max remained utterly
still. Then he let out a mild oath and came hurrying downstairs.

“Frankie!” he cried, and caught
her in an avuncular em
brace.

She rested her head on his shoulder, too
weary to say any
thing. Max looked past her at Leopold.

“What is that blood? Are you badly injured?
What has
happened?” He turned to the Saint. “Are you
all right?” he
asked anxiously.

The Saint grinned back at him.

“I’m suffering from acute thirst.” He looked at the foot
man pointedly. “I think Erich was about to
end the drought.
Shall we go into the
library and talk? I’m afraid we do have some bad news for you, about someone we
had to leave be
hind.”

Max’s eyes widened as Erich hurried off
towards the pantry.

“Who is that?” he asked when the
servant was out of
earshot.

“Anton is dead.”

“Good God, who killed him?”

“How clever of you to know he was
killed,” Simon re
marked. “But, you’re right. It wasn’t a
heart attack, not even
a seizure. And he didn’t die of old age. He
was killed by one
of Frankie’s kidnappers, the nasty little twerp who looks
like a
rat.”

“Come, we will go into the
library,” said Max. “You must
all be dead with
tiredness.”

He led the way helping Frankie along, and the Saint put
out a hand to steady Leopold as they followed.

As Erich had said, a fire was still burning
in the book-lined
room.
Max threw on a log and busied himself with stirring
up a blaze. Frankie sank into a leather-upholstered armchair.
Leopold collapsed full length on a sofa. The Saint
sat easily
on an elegant gilded
chair.

Max turned and faced them.

“My friends,” he said. “I am
only thankful to have you
back. For me it is unimportant whether or
not you managed
to get the Necklace. I should never have allowed you to
go,
and if you had been captured or killed I should have felt
guilty
for the rest of my life. As it is, poor Anton …”

“We got the Necklace all right,”
Simon told him. “That is, Frankie did.”

Leopold groaned. Frankie lay back quite
still and silent in
her chair, her eyes closed.

“Gott
im Himmel!”
Annellatt’s
voice almost cracked. “The Necklace too! It is almost too much to have you
three back
safely,
and
the Necklace as well—”

“But unfortunately we haven’t still got
it,” the Saint went
on. His voice was bland, almost conversational. He could
have been talking about the weather.

Max’s face dropped dramatically.

“I don’t understand.”

“Just that those two Gestapo types took
it away from us.
That’s how Anton got killed. It was a very nasty case of
trigger-happiness. But it was not a Gestapo job.”

Erich came into the room just then, bearing a
silver tray on
which were a decanter and several glasses.

“Thank you, Erich,” said Simon.
“You are a ministering
angel. Remind me to leave a halo under your
pillow when I
go.”

The servant placed the tray on a table, bowed
impassively,
and left the room. Max walked over and started pouring
out
the drinks.

“What did you mean by that?” he
demanded. “About the
Gestapo?”

With a glass in his hand, Simon settled down
to recap the
whole story, as briefly as he could without leaving
anything
important out. He wanted to be sure that Max got the
picture
exactly as he saw it himself.

Annellatt’s bright brown eyes concentrated raptly on his
face throughout the recital.

“And so,” Simon concluded,
“the Gestapo might or might
not take an interest in that little scuffle I
got into at the
border, but they aren’t after us for the Necklace—which
is good for us. On the other hand, what’s bad is that we haven’t
a clue
where to start looking for this mob that’s hijacked it. Unless your
‘connections’ can get a line on them.”

Annellatt’s knitted brows only expressed the intensity of
his concentration.

“That may be easier than you
think,” he said. “You three
have done more than your share. Now,
when I have put a
proper dressing on poor Leopold’s wound—I am quite qualified
to do it, without sending for a doctor who might ask
embarrassing
questions—you should all get some rest, while I go to work. Tomorrow I may have
a surprise for you.”

3

The Saint did not go to sleep.

He did not even get undressed, although he
drank the hot
chocolate from the Thermos which Erich had thoughtfully
placed on
his bedside table.

He stood by the window of his room in the central block of
the Castle on the floor above the state rooms, and
gazed out
over the moon-washed roofs of the Castle. It was a romantic
sight. So it must have looked on moonlit nights for
centuries
to people long dead and
gone. But the Saint was not concerned with the past. It was the urgent present
which oc
cupied his mind.

He looked across to where the light still
gleamed from
Max’s study window. For the Saint it illuminated one ines
capable
fact.

The time had come for action. The final drama
was about
to be played out. But first he must go and see Max. By
himself. That enigmatic man with the charm which he could turn
on and off at will, and a mind
as calculating as a machine, yet
filled with
warmth and humour, must be told certain facts.
And he must be informed of them without delay, late though
the hour was. Otherwise the Hapsburg Necklace
might be
lost to them for ever.

The Saint slipped out of his room and down the passage to
the balcony round the top of the main hall. Here
the lights
had been extinguished, but
the moon broke through the slats
of
the shutters to illuminate portions of the black and white
marble floor
of the hall below him.

The Saint moved like a wraith in the shadows.
It was as if
he
had become a shade himself. Anyone standing in the hall
would neither have seen nor heard him. On the far side he
tried the door leading to the other rooms of the
central block
on that floor, and from
thence to Max’s wing. It was locked.
The
Saint had suspected it might be. Max was the sort of
man who would ensure total privacy for himself.