“What is it you want to do?” asked Reighert with a fatalistic shrug, aware that whatever it was, von Wolgast would not be persuaded to abandon his plans for Ragoczy.
Again von Wolgast s answer was oblique. “Does your associate Bernard still keep watch on that Englishwoman in Amsterdam?” he inquired as if wanting to know about the weather, or the supper being laid in the dining room.
“Yes,” said Reighert, a cold stab of something more than fear going through him.
“Good,” said von Wolgast, and resorted to his cigar again.
“Good?” Reighert demanded when von Wolgast said no more. “What the devil have you got planned?”
“Ach,” said von Wolgast, tapping the ash onto the rug. “Do you think it would distract Ragoczy if some misfortune befell her?”
Reighert shook his head emphatically. “Not another murder. No. Oh, no. And not of a titled Englishwoman, no matter where she is living.” He stubbed out his cigarette on the side of his table and lurched to his feet.
Von Wolgast ignored him. “I have given this careful thought, and I am certain that I can keep Ragoczy from continuing his efforts. The information Bernard has provided you should make it easy to accomplish our ends.”
Another singer, a thick-voiced bass, was now beginning the Serenade from Mussorgsky’s Songs and Dances of Death, lavishing the rocking phrases with sensuality and temptation.
“It will not only be Ragoczy who you will have to contend with if there is another murder. You cannot commit the murder of that young woman and—”
“Not a murder,” von Wolgast soothed. “A kidnapping.” He beamed at Reighert, his mouth caressing the cigar.
The music filled the hush between them, and the applause that followed.
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“A kidnapping?” Reighert echoed, as if in response to the clapping, not to anything von Wolgast had said. “Of the Englishwoman? From Amsterdam?” His thunderstruck silence gradually gave way to consideration; slowly he sat down again.
Von Wolgast permitted himself a satisfied smile. “Yes. It should not be difficult. She lives alone, doesn’t she? There should be no problem in taking her on the day her housekeeper is absent, which I understand she is once or twice a week, according to your Bernard. I don’t see that it is necessary to kill her, at least not at first. In fact, it is better if she is alive, for that would demand immediate attention from Ragoczy, and he cannot do two things at once. If a ransom is required, it will make the act seem one unrelated to anything Ragoczy is doing in Germany. If she learns too much, we can abandon her in the mountains. She is not likely to survive long if we deprive her of clothes and shoes. That would be a charming sight, wouldn’t it? A naked woman of good breeding, forced to choose between preserving her modesty or her life.”
Reighert was nearly overwhelmed with confusion. “What mountains? How could this be done?” were the first sensible questions that came to him and he blurted it out. “We are not talking about some insignificant trollop here, we are talking about a woman with important connections. Where would she be held? How would—”
“Calm down, Reighert,” said von Wolgast smugly. “I tell you, I have planned it out perfectly.” He watched as Reighert reached out and opened the cabinet next to the table and drew out a half-full bottle of schnapps; as Reighert drank from the bottle, von Wolgast went on. “You will go to Amsterdam next week, to arrange matters with Bernard. I want you there so that you can supervise the transporting of Miss Pearce-Manning to the train, and guard her in your journey to Innsbruck.” He saw the astonishment come back into Reighert s face again. “I will meet you there, and we will go to my hunting lodge.” He gave a nasty grin. “I use it rarely, and never for entertaining. I doubt if anyone is aware that I have it.”
“A hunting lodge in Austria?” said Reighert, feeling thick-witted; he drank again, relishing the burn of the liquid as it ran down inside him.
“A remote one. Between Hintertux and Madem, very steep. There will be a great deal of snow still.” Von Wolgast tapped off more ashes. “After the lamentable demise of my afflicted wife, no one will think it strange that I decide to spend time by myself, alone, for a while. No one will consider my absence odd, nor will they seek to accompany me,
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out of respect for my grief” His smile was worse than any laughter could have been.
“Then . . . you want this done . . . shortly?”
Von Wolgast nodded with supreme confidence. “I want it done as soon as you have taken care of Antonia. You will leave within a day of her death. I will arrange your travel for you, in both directions; your tickets will be waiting here when you come back from your .. . errand. If you will pack your bag before you go to the hospital, you need do no more than collect it and the packet I leave for you: it will spare you the inconvenience of working out routes and will keep you to a schedule.” He sat forward and balanced his cigar on the edge of the table. “You will reach Austria through France and Switzerland, to avoid any inquiries of the police Ragoczy might instigate. I have worked out the timetables already.”
Reighert scowled. “You make it sound as if Miss Pearce-Manning will cooperate in this. I shouldn’t think she would.” He found von Wolgast s confidence in his plan mesmerizing.
“But that assumes she would have anything to say about it. Now that you have the heroin, you can keep her sedated during your travels, incapable of speaking for herself, or moving, which would account for strapping her into a wheeled-chair, and the necessity for your constant attendance. What official will stop a devoted uncle from bringing his stricken niece home to her family? Think of the pathos of it.” He gestured with operatic extravagance.
“Bathos, more like,” muttered Reighert.
“Only if you are clumsy,” von Wolgast warned him. “Once you have her at Innsbruck, you will not have to drug her, and we will transport her—bound and gagged if necessary—to my hunting lodge. It will be your work to send the ransom telegram and to monitor all the responses, as well as obtain reports about any investigations underway.” He stopped. “The money from the ransom can be paid to Pflaume, and that will guarantee that it will be beyond recovery, should any attempt be made to trace it.”
“Can that be done?” Reighert asked. “I’ve heard that it has been, but I’ve never known it to be successful.”
“The numbers on the banknotes are apt to be recorded. Scotland Yard is meticulous about such matters. And if her family in England pays the ransom, you may rely upon Scotland Yard to do their utmost to keep track of the money. The bank will insist upon it if the family does not.” He folded his arms. “Imagine what anguish Ragoczy will feel.”
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“If he cares for her,” Reighert appended, trying to find a flaw in the plan. “You have no evidence that he—”
“Oh, I am convinced he does, having encouraged her artistic pretensions as he has done. It suits his purpose to have her away from her family, filling his absences with daubing paint about. Why should he do that, but to put her in a position of obligation to him? It may be only an affaire with him, but you may be certain that any man as proud as he will not stand idly by to see his mistress taken advantage of by anyone but him. And Ragoczy has an unconscionable amount of pride. And it is pride that goeth before a fall,’ if I remember correctly.” He coughed delicately. “With a little finesse we might be able to implicate him in her disappearance. He could not then pursue any inquiries about Nadezna without further embroiling himself in both . . . misfortunes.” From the front of the Chez Noir came a chaotic eruption into The Looking-glass Waltz, the guests creating high-spirited cacophony; the pianist had to pound the keys in order to be heard at all.
“It was not his way with Nadezna, to use his sponsorship to bind her to him,” Reighert reminded von Wolgast.
“Have you considered Miss Pearce-Manning herself? Nadezna was a woman with great gifts but a common birth. I don’t think Ragoczy wou
ld sully his exile s name with so lowly a paramour as Nadezna was.” His sneer was eloquent.
“And Miss Pearce-Manning is part of a titled family,” Reighert persisted, though he was almost convinced von Wolgast would succeed. “You may be right, Baron.”
“Of course I am. And while Ragoczy is searching futilely for Miss Pearce-Manning, we will have a chance to discredit him completely. It should not be too difficult to persuade his house steward—”
“Erich Rotscheune,” Reighert supplied.
“Yes: Rotscheune,” von Wolgast agreed, irritated by this interruption. “He must have a price that would make it possible for us to plant certain of Nadezna s things in Ragoczy s house in Glanzend Strasse. It must be done diplomatically, of course, and in such a way that Rotscheune will not feel he has necessarily acted against his employer. There are one or two things of hers that I would like to have out of my hands and put into his; things that will lend credence to the rumors about his role in her murder.” He licked his lips and picked up his cigar once again. “So. As you can see, I have been most thorough in my planning.”
“That you have,” said Reighert, wishing he could rid himself of the sensation of being sucked by a whirlpool down into the depths of the ocean; always in the past he had been titillated by a new undertaking,
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but since von Wolgast had begun his pursuit of Ragoczy, Reighert had become steadily more anxious. He said, “It is a very risky plan; I presume you are aware of it.”
“Small risk, small gain,” von Wolgast paraphrased. “And this will accomplish so much more than removing me from the possibility of suspicion in Nadezna’s death: it will put to an end this preposterous notion of limiting the production of weapons. With Ragoczy revealed as a violent criminal, any venture he advocates must be seen as reprehensible. Let the Czar limit his own weapons, if it suits him.” His petulance flared at the recollection of Ragoczy s mission. “It cost me half the price of a field gun to learn what the Czar was trying to gain. I begrudge Ragoczy every mark of it.”
Reighert had heard this recitation often enough to want to avoid another one. “Yes, and so you shall, if your plan is as flawless as you suppose it must be.” He lit another cigarette. “The first thing we must arrange is the visit to your wife. You said you will have the necessary authorizations for me.”
Reluctantly von Wolgast gave his attention to his more immediate goal. “Yes. I have asked for a letter from her physician admitting certain family members to see her. I will supply you with identification as her cousins, and a note from her old Confessor, who still believes she will return to her senses, if God is satisfied that she is ready for such an experience. I will include a most heartrending request that she be placed in restraints while her cousins are with her, so that neither she nor they will come to harm. They will leave you alone with her if Antonia is restrained. You should be able to inject her without detection.”
“Shall we kiss her? That would be a fine opportunity.” Reighert exhaled slowly. “And appropriate, in context; a kiss as a . . . betrayal.” “Whatever you wish,” said von Wolgast with studied indifference. He drew on his cigar; his expression was inscrutable. “So long as she dies.” A tick jumped in Reighert s cheek. “She will.”
“Very good.” Von Wolgast lowered his head and stubbed out his cigar on the floor. “If she does not, you will answer for it. The police would find your presence at the hospital questionable at best.”
Reighert swore under his breath, then made himself say, “I am not going to disappoint you, Baron. But I would not like to be cast in the role of coryphaeus.”
Von Wolgast chuckled. “This is not going to be a tragedy, Greek or otherwise. Rest assured that you will not have to serve as the chorus, or its leader.” He rose, his hand extended. “Then we are agreed? After
my wife is . . . departed, you will go to Amsterdam and secure Miss Pearce- M anning?”
Reighert shook von Wolgast’s hand. “I think it may turn out to be an unwise move, but I can offer no reason for my opinion other than a chill in my spine—”
“Which is to say that you are growing fearful,” von Wolgast interrupted. “Yes, I can see why you might feel that way. But think of how great an attainment you will have when you’ve overcome your trepidation and brought the woman to me.” He waved one arm in the air. “You will be able to demonstrate that you have broken the hold that fear had upon you.”
“Possibly,” said Reighert, still not wholly convinced. “You may want to work out your strategy more closely.” He saw the ferocious scowl that greeted his remark and decided it would not be wise to contradict von Wolgast while he was so rapt in his own plan. There would be time later, he thought, when he could suggest the dangers in the Baron’s scheme.
As von Wolgast opened the door, he heard the opening bars of The Artists Life Waltz hammered out on the piano, accompanied by cheers of approval and one or two groans of displeasure. “It is going to be a hectic evening, by the sound of it.” He nodded his approval. “Heloise told me she would save me two hours with Aurore. Apparently Bien-not is . . . indisposed tonight.”
“She is very young,” said Reighert, wanting to be rid of von Wolgast so he could make his own arrangements for the night. “Until . . what day, Baron?”
“I will expect to meet with you again in three days, for a final discussion. You will be here?” The implication that Reighert might flee was apparent in the set of his countenance.
“Certainly,” Reighert snapped.
“Excellent. Excellent. And we will tend to the matter of Pflaume, as well?” He was about to turn away, but added, “You ought to wire Bernard, to prepare him for what is coming. Don’t you think?”
“Of course,” said Reighert, preparing to close the door.
“Oh, and Reighert,” von Wolgast said with spurious sweetness, “If you plan to ask for more money, I would recommend against it.”
Reighert made his face go blank, as if nothing of the sort had crossed his mind. He nodded to show he had heard, and then stepped up to the door. “In three days, Baron. Enjoy your evening.” With that he closed the door, standing for several seconds before undertaking the unappealing task of cleaning von Wolgast’s smashed cigar butt off the floor.
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Text of a letter from Euchary Apfelobstgarten in Berlin to Franchot Ragoczy, Count Saint-Germain in Bavaria.
The Office of Procurement Berlin March 29, 1911
Franchot Ragoczy, Count Saint-Germain Schloss Saint-Germain Nr Hausham Bavaria
My dear Ragoczy;
1 have, as you requested, been in contact with Inspector Blau in regard to his investigation of the murder of the ballerina Nadezna. I found, as you suggested I would, Inspector Blau to be a thoughtful and reasonable man, who has informed me that he has received an unusually large amount of anonymous information pertaining to the case, much of which he views with extreme skepticism. He has said that when he is given so much information from undisclosed sources, he is inclined to take the opposite view from what the informants advocate, for it is his experience that such persistent activities are intended to obfuscate the issues instead of illuminating them.
I asked him why he resumed his investigation, and he said it was not, in fact, your return to Germany, but the report of an Austrian fellow, a would-be actor who has apparently been paid to watch you and those you know when you are in Berlin. This man, who Inspector Blau identified only as Lukas, apparently claims that after you left Nadeznas on the night of her death, two other men arrived. This Lukas further claims that the man who had paid him for his services also saw the arrival and apparently the departure of these later visitors.
It is now Inspector Blaus intention to learn as much as he can from the statements of this Lukas, and to question the man who hired him, to determine if his observations do, in fact, corroborate what Lukas has told him. As he has not yet been able to contact this man, whom Lukas calls Morgen
stem, he is without the substantiation he seeks. Until he has done this, he is disinclined to detain you again, not only because of the possible diplomatic consequences, but because he is increasingly uneasy about the case against you. This may change in the
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course of his inquiries: for the time being, you may assume you are not likely to receive a call from the authorities.
Your second request is somewhat more difficult to answer. I have not, myself, seen the orders for arms and munitions, but I have it from a reliable source that there is going to be an increase in guns purchased for the army in the second half of the year. Bids have already gone out to Krupp and von Wolgast for their prices, and the General Staff will be meeting to discuss what is needed in June. Von Moltke is determined to have the best-equipped army in Europe, with the most modem weapons. I am cognizant of your hopes in this regard and I am sorry to have to dash them in this way. Let me suggest that you take the same attitude that the Kaiser has expressed—that so long as it is known that Germany has guns enough to keep the peace, peace will be kept. It may be cold comfort, but it is the best I can offer.
I look forward to seeing you when you return to Berlin, and I trust that day will not be far off, when you are wholly exonerated of any part in Nadeznas murder, and all tarnish to your reputation is gone.
Respectfully, Euchary Apfelobstgarten
6
It was with reluctance that Yseut announced the caller to Rowena. “Mister Bowen is here again, Miss,” she said as she climbed halfway up the stairs to the studio at the top of the house. “He says he will not leave without seeing you.”
“Damn the man,” Rowena said quietly and angrily. “What must I do to convince him I will not—” She broke off as she set her palette aside. “Tell him I will be with him shortly. It would be common courtesy to offer him something, but make it as little as you can: chocolate or coffee or tea. Nothing to eat. He is not invited to high tea. He is not invited at all.”
Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain Page 58
