Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain
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“It is possible, but it was also unnecessary. Our dealings were of long standing. I came to her with the offer, as my man-of-business will ver-
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ify. She knew nothing of my interest in her work until I had her contacted through the appropriate legal devices. And before you wonder if she had not made a secret offer to me before then,” he went on, one hand raised to silence Blau, “I had never met Nadezna when I first contacted her. That you will have to accept as true, for I can give you no proof that I did not know someone before I first met the person. I doubt anyone can.” He fell silent.
“You may be correct,” said Blau after a moment. “I would not like to have to do so, in any case.” He finished his coffee, and considered sending for more.
“Have you discovered yet who the anonymous caller was? I know the crime was reported by an unidentified person telephoning the police.” Ragoczy saw that Blau was startled by the question, and took advantage of this. “I have been looking for answers, too, Inspector.” His source was Leopold Oberstetten, who had not revealed his informant, and Ragoczy trusted him enough to accept his intelligence as accurate.
“How did you—” Inspector Blau was sputtering.
“I said I have been looking for answers,” Ragoczy repeated without rancor or impatience. “And this is one I found. I am puzzled why you have not mentioned this mysterious telephone call.”
“It is strange that you know of it. We have been keeping it secret,” said Blau, his suspicions flaring again.
“Not as secret as you thought, if I could learn of it.” Ragoczy said, thinking that Leopold Oberstetten had outdone himself with this intelligence.
“Unless you made the telephone call yourself, after you committed the crime,” Blau said, his eyes narrowing keenly. “In which case, you become a more likely suspect than before.”
Ragoczy shook his head. “Wouldn’t that be a trifle reckless? Did the man making the call have an accent?” Ragoczy asked, making no mention of his own faint, unidentifiable accent.
“You could have disguised your voice,” Blau said, not as convinced as he wanted to be by his own argument.
“Surely your police operators are skilled at recognizing different accents, even those the speakers attempt to disguise,” said Ragoczy, adding “If they are not, they should be.”
Blau scowled. “We believe that the killer might well have made the telephone call; he would know to tell the police that the door was open,” he admitted. “If you committed the murder and did not want to place the call yourself, you might have hired someone to do it.”
“Oh, that would be very clever of me,” said Ragoczy, nodding in spu-
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rious approval. “As clever as arriving at the house while Pflaume was still there when I knew he would be gone in half an hour. Not content with providing you with one witness to my presence, I had another place the telephone call. I would then have a second witness to say what I had asked of him, making me more suspicious than ever. An ingenious ploy, I concede. How can I have overlooked Pflaume? I should have killed him, too. That would give you two bodies, not one. I wonder how I have survived to this age, with such cleverness.”
“All right.” Blau held up his free hand in a show of capitulation. “I will grant you probably did not make the telephone call. But I would like to discover how you found out about it.”
“If I am permitted to, one day I may tell you,” said Ragoczy, his demeanor concealing his growing distress. “There was a telephone call. We may consider that a given, may we not?”
“Yes.” It was annoying to accommodate Ragoczy, but Blau did it. Then he rang for more coffee.
“I am assuming you spoke with Herr Tauber?” Ragoczy went on. “Does he confirm the time of my arrival at his home?”
“At approximately seven-thirty, yes he does.” Blau had not wanted to admit as much, but Ragoczy would surely talk with Tauber, and denying what he had said would achieve nothing.
“And Pflaume left for his supper when—?” Ragoczy pursued. “A few minutes before seven?”
“According to his statement. He arrived at the bierstube at five minutes after the hour; the host knows him well.” Blau realized the questioning had got away from him, and he struggled to reclaim it. “How do you come to know of this? Why should you duplicate the work of the police?”
“For several reasons.” Ragoczy prepared to enumerate them again, his hand lifted so that he could use his fingers as indicators. “First, to reiterate: I want to find her murderer. Second, I want to assure myself that you have investigated all possibilities, so that the guilty party may be held accountable. Third, I need to know what you have indicating I am the murderer, so that I may counter the information or expose any misrepresentation. Fourth, I may be able to reach certain persons the police cannot so readily approach.”
Blau nodded for each point. “If you had said this at our first interview—” he began.
Ragoczy laughed once. “If I had said this at our first interview, Inspector, you would have been convinced of my guilt. Any lack of shock or confusion would have looked to you as if I had some knowledge of
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the crime. You spoke to me about seven hours after her body was found, to notify me of her death. When I was questioned early that morning, not more than two hours later, I was upset and appalled, which is why my first statement lacks details. Most of us, disturbed in the dead of night with shocking news, do not instantly recall all details. Again, I assure you, I was not party to her death in any way.” He stood up for the first time. “Nadezna was a woman of many gifts, and it offends me that she should die so ... so egregiously. I have no desire to hamper your work, and every reason to want you to succeed.” Ordinarily he would have held out his hand, but he realized Inspector Blau would not regard this as anything but an attempt to suborn him.
“If you say that enough, I may be convinced of it,” said Blau, opening the door in response to the double knock for his fresh cup of sugared coffee. He handed over his old cup, saying “Danke” as he did; he closed the door on the “Bitte.”
“I hope you will,” said Ragoczy with intense feeling.
Blau used his pencil to stir his coffee, buying himself a little time with this fussy act. “It is odd for you to be so forthcoming if you are actually guilty of her murder.” He held the pencil up to make his point. “Unless you are so confident that you believe you will never be apprehended or tried for the murder, in which case, you are enjoying yourself at our expense.”
Ragoczy sighed. “If I help you, I am doing it because I am guilty: if I don’t help you, I must be guilty.” He shook his head and looked up at the Inspector. “With such constraints, what can I say to you?”
“Not a great deal,” Blau confessed. “If only we knew who made that telephone call.”
“You can want to know it no more purposefully than I,” said Ragoczy. “I do not like these tales about, saying that I was the one to blame for her death, and they will continue as long as no one else is held responsible. Any lingering suspicion will fall on me because I am a foreigner and her patron, which is more peculiar in those who are not German.” He glanced down at the floor, then back at Blau. “I would tell you that I want her killer tried and convicted because he deprived the world of a wonderful talent, but that is one of the things that makes you suspect me, isn’t it.”
“It is a factor,” Blau told him, sitting on the edge of the table not only for comfort but so he could loom over Ragoczy.
“A factor,” Ragoczy repeated, his sarcasm hardly in check; he was not the least intimidated by Inspector Blau’s encroaching nearness. “Yes.”
Blau gave Ragoczy a long, thoughtful stare. “There was a murder, four
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years ago. You probably heard nothing of it; it was not a significant one and the press paid little attention to it.” He sipped his coffee, th
en went on in a distant, conversational tone, “I investigated the crime. A woman—a singer in one of the theatres, considered to be talented and with a following—was found strangled in her rooms. There were many possible suspects at first, but each was finally eliminated, leaving us with no one. She had had a friend, a man a trifle younger than she, who was known to be deeply but platonically attached to her. Because he was not her lover, and because he gave every sign of wanting to assist our inquiries, we had not considered him, for there were aspects of her murder that hinted at sexual excesses.” He coughed once. “When her platonic friend finally confessed, he said he had wanted her but could not have her, and when he could bear it no longer, he killed her.”
“And you think I may be another, like him, who killed because the woman did not want me,” Ragoczy concluded for Blau. “Inspector, how am I to convince you with the ghost of that wretched fellow haunting you?” He cocked his head. “Think a moment. I am not a callow boy, Inspector; I have loved women who refused me—many times. It has been . . . ages since such refusal made me resent the woman who gave it. To hack a woman I deeply admired to pieces—” He broke off.
Blau saw torment at the back of Ragoczy s dark eyes, and he relented. “I am less suspicious of you than I was two days ago.” He had more of the coffee. “That does not mean I am not going to continue to investigate you, but that my inquiries are tending to make me look in other directions.”
“That is a relief,” said Ragoczy, preparing to rise. “Is this the whole of it, Inspector, or have you more questions you wish to put to me?”
“Not at the moment. But I would rather you remain here for an hour or so.” He was prepared to leave Ragoczy alone for a while once again, to see if he became rattled.
Ragoczy regarded him with a knowing half-smile as he sank back in the chair. “I will not have anything different to say to you, Inspector, no matter how long I sit here. But if it will make you more willing to accept my assertions, I will not begrudge you the time.” He appeared to make himself comfortable.
The Inspector waited a full minute before speaking. “You do not advance yourself with such remarks, Count.”
“I intend no disrespect,” said Ragoczy at once. “I am only telling you that I am tired of the contest. I would far rather see you asking questions of others.” He held up his hand once more. “Which inclines you to suspect me again; I realize that. But since I know I did not kill
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Nadezna, why should it astonish you that I would prefer you use your energies in finding the man or men who did.”
“Very credible,” Blau approved as he went out the door and returned to his office, his brow furrowed in thought. The trouble was, he told himself, that Ragoczy was a very persuasive man, and Blau was finding it hard to remain unconvinced by his protestations. He supposed that Ragoczy had intended to plant just such doubts in his mind as he now possessed. He took his place at his desk and sipped meditatively at his coffee, letting his mind make the connections that had brought him so far in his profession.
“Inspector Blau?” The young dispatcher spoke hesitantly from the half-open door. “I... I have something for you.”
“Yes?” Blau said curtly, resenting the intrusion.
“It is Ragoczy s servant. He is here with someone from the Russians . . . its about Ragoczy.” The dispatcher had paled as he spoke, as if realizing he was not giving Blau good news.
“The Russians? The Embassy?” Blau demanded.
“I suppose so. There is a courier from the Czar, in any case.” He straightened up as if to make this announcement more official.
‘"With Ragoczy s servant,” Blau mused aloud, taking a perverse satisfaction in this acknowledgement. “Extending the Czars protection, I would guess.” He had expected something like this, but was annoyed it had come about so soon.
“I don’t know,” said the dispatcher stiffly. “But they would like a word with you.”
Blau did his best not to sigh as he stood up. “Very well. Send the gentlemen in.”
“Shall I fetch Ragoczy?” the dispatcher offered, looking over his shoulder as if he feared eavesdroppers.
“Not yet,” Blau decided, unwilling to surrender all his authority at once. “I will let you know.” He set his empty cup aside, thinking as he did that Ragoczy has played him expertly, delaying and misdirecting all inquiries about him until the Czar s messenger could arrange for his release; it was another indication of his skill in diplomacy. No wonder he had been willing to be interviewed and to make every show of cooperation; he knew it would never lead to anything but the shelter of the Czars diplomatic cloak. What struck the Inspector most forcefully was Ragoczy s dogged insistence on his innocence. He would never have to answer for his deeds, so what did it matter? Blau waited by his desk, wishing he did not feel so much like a schoolboy.
Duke Vladimir Arkadeivich Nagoyev was not quite thirty, a bit too
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taken with himself to make the impression he so obviously desired; his uniform was immaculate, the medals on his chest jingling a little as he stopped to salute Inspector Blau. “Inspector,” he said in very good German, nodding once instead of bowing, “how lamentable that we must meet under these provoking circumstances.”
“Yes: provoking,” said Blau, taking Nagoyev’s proffered hand.
“My credentials,” went on Nagoyev, handing over a small portfolio of impressive-looking certificates. “You will want to assure yourself they are in order. And these—the reason for my coming.” The last was two envelopes, one with the Byzantine double-headed Romanov eagle embossed on it, the other with the address of the Embassy in Berlin.
Behind him, Roger slipped into the Inspectors office, his expression marvelously neutral. He waited in silence while Blau examined the various documents he had been given.
“So.” Blau let out his breath slowly. “You are going to take charge of Count Saint-Germain.”
“The Czar is recalling him to Saint Petersburg, as you will see,” Nagoyev said by way of confirmation. “It is expected that he will leave tomorrow, or the day after at the very latest.”
“Tomorrow. I see,” said Blau. “How very ...”
“Very what?” Nagoyev asked sharply, hearing the condemnation in Blaus tone.
“How very predictable,” said Blau, sitting down without any apology. “Your Czar wants his man back in Russia. If we do not comply immediately, I am warned that there could be an incident, which none of us want.” He looked pointedly at the two envelopes, now open. “So it is, is it not? predictable.”
Nagoyev scowled, sensing he was being mocked. He moved nearer to Blau s desk. “I will sign whatever you require.”
“You most certainly will,” said Blau with feeling. “I will make sure the Czar is aware that his actions have compromised a murder investigation, possibly beyond repair.” He spoke bluntly in order to shock Nagoyev out of his smugness.
“Any comment you care to make will be conveyed to the Prime Minister,” said Nagoyev stiffly. “If Stolypin feels your complaint needs some attention, he will attend to it. The Czar will not be troubled with matters of this sort.”
“Will he not?” Blau asked, as if he were astonished at the information. “I am shocked, truly shocked.” He realized he had put himself beyond the acceptable limits of conduct, and he at once took measures to ameliorate the offense he had given. “I mean no disrespect, Duke; the
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Kaiser is not one to concern himself with murder investigations, either.”
Not sure this had been sufficient apology, Nagoyev said, “Rulers of nations and Empires do not sink to the level of children.”
“I suppose not,” said Blau, and began to fill out forms as quickly as he could. As he finished the first, he called to his assistant, an eager young man from Koln who had come to Berlin to be at the heart of things. “Here. Use the information on this sheet to complete the applications for Francho
t Ragoczy to leave Germany.” He handed the material over.
“But . . . isn’t he one of the ...” He could think of nothing else to say.
“Yes, he is a suspect in the murder of Nadezna. But he is here as a diplomat, and as such, his diplomatic position takes precedence over our inquiries.” He looked up at Nagoyev. “He will have to return to Russia at once. We can give him a grace period of seven days, but no more. When and if he returns to Germany, he may be once again under suspicion and subject to German laws in regard to it.” He issued the warning in a flat tone, as if he had spoken it thousands of times.
“He will be so informed,” said Nagoyev, preening a little in spite of his best intentions to remain businesslike.
“If you do not mind, sir,” said Roger from his place by the door, “I would like to speak with my master.”
The old-fashioned expression my master caught Blau’s interest, and for the first time he looked at Roger with real curiosity. “I will arrange it,” he said, setting the form he had begun aside. “Tell me, have you been with Ragoczy long?”
“Half his life, sir,” said Roger with utter candor: he did not mention that half of Ragoczy s life was two thousand years.
“You aren’t German, are you?” Blau pursued.
“No, sir. I was born in Cadiz,” he said, using the modem name for the Roman city that had been Gades when he lived there.
“And Ragoczy hired you in Spain?” Blau was now alert to any minute change in Roger’s voice, any hesitation or stutter that would identify problems.
“No, sir. I met my master in Rome.” Again he told the truth.
“So you and Ragoczy are both exiles,” said Blau, nodding to himself; some of Roger’s devotion must come from this shared misfortune.
“In a manner of speaking,” Roger agreed.
“Did we get a statement from you?” Blau inquired, ignoring the glare from Nagoyev.