Subsidiary remarks regarding Lukas Strauss: according to our police files, the man claims to be an actor, and has appeared in three plays since arriving in Berlin four years ago. He is a native of Vienna, with a secondary education, the child of a carpet-layer, one of four children. He is known to work for various persons engaged in espionage, but is not considered to be a true agent in any sense of the word. His activities are minor, and motivated by the need for money, not any known political purpose.
April 5
Received Oertel Morgenstern at ten; the man was prompt, courteous, and clever. He supported Lukas Strauss’ report completely, including that von Wolgasts clothing was wet, as well as stained, very probably with blood. That said, he added some of his own observations in regard to Ragoczy and Nadezna. He staved that he had reason to believe that Nadezna had been blackmailing Baron von Wolgast, and that the Baron had every good reason to want to be rid of her, while none of his investigations could reveal anything that smacked of the illicit, either in conduct or finance, between Nadezna and Ragoczy. He further stated that he — Morgenstern—has been making inquiries about Ragoczy for several months, although he declined to say precisely why or for whom. He was reluctant to testify in court, but offered to provide a sworn statement. It seems that he is concerned that his employer, ostensibly a journal in Prague, would feel his work would be compromised if he entangled himself in legal affairs in Berlin.
His report on the events at Nadeznas house the night of her death provide sufficient reason to consider Baron von Wolgast may be implicated in the crime; surely there is as much reason to suspect him as to suspect Ragoczy.
Subsidiary remarks regarding Oertel Morgenstern: his journalistic credentials are in order, and the journal has confirmed editorial reluctance to have their man at the center of a murder trial; however, I would be remiss if I failed to observe that we have an account from a man known as Eduard Angebot that suggests that Morgenstern is a foreign agent in the employ of the British, possibly known as Sidney Reilly. I would not be surprised to discover this is true, but whether Morgen-
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
stem is a journalist or an agent, his testimony is nonetheless persuasive, and he has no reason that I can discern to offer a false account in this matter, for although von Wolgast deals in arms, I have no reason to suppose that this Morgenstem, or Reilly, or whoever he may be, is in any way involved with the procurement of weapons. It is apparent that he is convinced of von Wolgasts culpability in this matter, and is willing to risk his position to give his report to us. I am inclined to believe him in regard to Ragoczy. His notes indicate that von Wolgast has had extensive dealings with Tancred Sisak, which our own police records confirm. Morgenstem also provided certain information regarding a Paul Reighert, whom he states was the man accompanying von Wolgast to Nadeznas house. I have not been able to verify this, for I have learned that Reighert is not presently in Berlin. Upon his return, I intend to conduct a long interview with him, to find out as much as I can what part, if any, he has played in this case.
Subsidiary remarks regarding Paul Reighert: a known procurer for the Chez Noir, the man is a defrocked Jesuit, apparently dismissed from his Order for seducing schoolgirls, although I have been unable to secure confirmation of this from the Catholic Church. He has been seen in von Wolgasts company from time to time. Currently he cannot be linked directly to any of von Wolgasts enterprises, the two men are not strangers, and it is not beyond possibility that their dealings have gone beyond those we have been able to discover.
Subsidiary notes related to von Wolgast: his wife, long the resident of a private hospital was found dead eight days ago, following the visit of her cousins. There is currently no reason to suspect foul play, but I have asked the nuns to provide me with a full account of her death, as well as for any information on her cousins, whom I may want to interview if the nuns’ information indicates it would be appropriate. 1 understand her husband declined to permit an autopsy, saying that her suffering was finally at an end, and that she should have the dignity in death she was unable to achieve in life. I will reserve any opinion in the matter until I speak directly with Baron von Wolgast.
April 7
I have this morning received a telegram from Franchot Ragoczy, who is currently in residence at his Schloss in Bavaria, requesting any information I can provide regarding an apparent abduction in Amsterdam two days ago. The woman abducted is English, Rowena Saxon, also known as Rowena Pearce-Manning. He indicated he would soon have more specifics to aid me in my inquiries. The telegram was sent at three in the morning from the train station at Hausham, with the no-
Writ in Blood
459
tation that the case was urgent and required utmost discretion. What bearing this may have on the present investigation I have not yet ascertained. When I have confirmation of this event, I will comply with Ragoczy’s request. If there is any commonality from the investigation ofNadezna’s death to the alleged abduction of this Englishwoman, I will discover it.
7
When Rupert finally awoke, it was nearly two in the afternoon; his wounds had been expertly treated and bandaged, his ribs strapped, and his arm placed in a sling; a bridge of gauze and sticking plaster protected his newly set nose. He was lying in a comfortable bed in a pleasant room looking out onto a hillside of pine and oak. He blinked his one good eye and groaned, more from inner anguish than from pain, for to his astonishment, the worst of his hurts had been taken away, as had his clothes; he was in a fresh nightshirt of heavy muslin.
“Good afternoon, Mister Bowen,” said Ragoczy as he rose from his chair next to the bed. He had changed from the robe of the night before to a neat hacking outfit, all in black; his manner was unruffled; only the smoldering quality in his dark eyes revealed his foreboding. “I hope you are feeling better.” He smiled pleasantly. “You are in a guest room in my Schloss in Bavaria. You came here very late last night, much the worse for wear, and began shouting for Rowena.”
“How . . . who . . . ?” he asked as he touched the bandage over his blackened eye.
“I think you had better tell me that,” said Ragoczy, reaching for a bellpull near the fireplace. “I would like to know the answers to both who and how. You said that Rowena had been taken by two men, men whom you assumed worked for me. Who were these men you spoke of last night? What can you tell me about them?”
“What doctor did . . . ?” Rupert persisted, knowing that his care had been expert. The last thing he wanted now was to be in Ragoczy s debt.
“That isn’t important. You will mend; that is what must concern you.” He came back to the bed and looked directly down at Rupert. “When you arrived last night, you made a number of statements that trouble
Chelsea Qainn Yarbro
me. You accused me of taking—I must presume you mean kidnapping—Rowena. Since I did not, I would appreciate a full account of how that happened.”
It all came back in a rush. Rupert turned his head way, chagrin doing what his wounds could not do: he was ashamed. “Oh, Good Lord! How could I have slept?” He muttered a few words of dismay, then realized Ragoczy was still waiting. “I was certain you had done it.”
“Yes; I am aware of that,” said Ragoczy with an ironic glint in his eyes.
He sat up, his hand to his head as if holding it would control the dizziness that possessed him. “I. . . What time is it?”
“One forty-seven in the afternoon. You’ve slept roughly eleven hours,” Ragoczy said calmly, his own concerns carefully kept at bay while he gained the information he sought.
Rupert glared at him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were ... not quite yourself for a while,” Ragoczy informed him, recalling how both he and Roger had struggled with their unexpected guest when he began to flail about, ranting and delirious, while they were trying to bandage his ribs. “I thought it would be for the best to let you restore yourself somewhat before dealing with the events that brought you here.”<
br />
“Oh, God,” whispered Rupert; his mind raced with ghastly images. “She has been gone so long ...”
“When was she taken?” Ragoczy asked, his tone a bit sharper in spite of his best intentions.
“I called on her ... it must be day before yesterday. It... it has been my habit to visit her regularly, given the nature of our relationship.” He held up his head as if anticipating an argument; when Ragoczy offered none, he went on. “It was slightly after four when I went round to Miss Pearce-Manning’s house. I wanted to show her my new racing automobile.”
“Ah, yes; the Darracq,” said Ragoczy. “Very impressive.”
“Yes. She had her housekeeper bring me coffee—” He broke off, suddenly pale.
“What is it?” Ragoczy asked, striving to keep Rupert on the topic at hand.
“I haven’t thought about the housekeeper. There was a stain in the kitchen, and she was missing. I . . . supposed she had run away, but. . . they might have . . . hurt her.” He looked directly at Ragoczy. “I hope that she has not been ...” He could not bring himself to speak the word he feared, nor could he speak of his fears for Rowena.
“I will send a telegram to the Amsterdam police to discover what has
Writ in Blood
461
become of Yseut,” said Ragoczy smoothly. “You were served coffee: then what.”
“Well, Rowena . . . Miss Pearce-Manning came down from her studio. She was in a rallying mood, and we had a tussle of wills, don’t you know, as one does with spirited girls. I reproved her for her lack of management, I recall, and she took it amiss; women do like to think they are sensible. But when I offered to take her for a ride in the Darracq, she was all enthusiasm, and had we only left at that moment, she must have been spared what happened next.” His voice dropped and his words came more unevenly. “We were in the front parlor, and something had been broken in the kitchen. I remember telling Miss Pearce-Manning—”
“You may call her Rowena to me, Mister Bowen. She has allowed me to use her given name for some time.” Ragoczy was finding Ruperts punctiliousness grating, but kept his demeanor as cordial as possible.
“Very well,” said Rupert with evident disapproval. “I told her she would have to deduct the cost of whatever was broken from the housekeeper’s wages, to remind her of the need for economy. She has occasionally been lax about such things, relying on her grand-father’s generosity to keep her from having to practice needed thrift.”
“Is this to the point?” Ragoczy asked, allowing his sense of urgency to make itself felt.
Rupert flushed. “No . . . not truly,” he replied, and returned to his account. “I do not recall precisely when I noticed the masked man standing in the door, but it was on me in a flash that he meant no good, and I strove to drive him off.” He put his hand to the bandage over his eye. “He gave me this for my trouble, along with the rest of it. Although,” he added in self-defense, “I was able to land a few good punches before the second masked man appeared, and I was bested. I did not entirely lose consciousness at first, for which I am eternally grateful. Rowena was in a swoon.” He coughed. “The men spoke in German, and one of them said they were bound for Innsbruck, so I could not help but suppose that you—”
“That I had sent two henchmen to abduct Rowena. Merci bien du compliment.” His crisp sarcasm had the desired effect.
“I will not apologize,” Rupert announced. “What would you have thought, in my position? I was convinced you brought her into danger.”
Ragoczy relented at once. “And I fear you may be right, Mister Bowen, although not for the reasons you suppose,” he admitted. “How long were you—”
“The first thing I remember after one of the men struck me in the
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
head, some time after we fought, was the sound of chimes ringing four. So I must have lain there all night.” He began to fidget with the satin comforter. “When 1 left the house, I decided I had to find you before any irreparable ill was done. I had to confront you—for her sake.”
Ragoczy did not stop himself from saying, “What a very flattering notion you have of my character.”
“Well,” said Rupert, his swollen jaw thrust out, “you cannot blame me. You have made every effort to encourage my fiancee in exploits that most men would consider unacceptable in their promised brides.”
Knowing there was nothing to gain from getting into a discussion of Rowenas intentions regarding marriage, Ragoczy said, “That is a matter for later; I will accept responsibility for the danger she is in. What must concern us now is finding her. You have indicated that one of the men spoke of Innsbruck.”
“Yes,” Rupert said. “They were going to take the fast train to Basel.”
“Which means they would probably have arrived in Innsbruck some time this morning, if there were no delays. Is there anything more you remember?” He had gleaned far more from Rupert s report than the young Englishman realized, and hoped for one last part of the puzzle.
For a moment Rupert was silent, his thoughts in disorder. Then he said, “One of the men said something about the Baron s lodge. That is all I recall, but that they put Rowena in a wheeled-chair to make it appear she was ill.”
“The Barons lodge,” Ragoczy repeated, warning himself inwardly against the folly of rushing to assumptions. “Who knows about this kidnapping?” he asked before Rupert demanded to know the reason for Ragoczy s increased interest.
“I sent telegrams from Metz, night before last; one to her family, and one to the police in Amsterdam; I described the incident to the authorities, but I decided to spare her family such distressing specifics. I urged the Amsterdam police to be circumspect in order to avoid scandal. You know how cases of this sort can attract unwanted attention.” He shifted uncomfortably; the pain was beginning to return.
“A wise step,” said Ragoczy as much to comfort Rupert as out of any conviction that such a request would have any weight whatsoever with the police. He stood up. “Leave this to me, Mister Bowen. You have already done more than anyone could expect.”
“I hope I know where my duty lies,” said Rupert, a little huffy.
“You do, beyond cavil,” Ragoczy assured him, then paused, regarding Rupert with a measuring look. “Mister Bowen, since you and I are
Writ in Blood
463
equally anxious to preserve Rowena from any more hazard than she has already endured, may I ask a favor of you?”
“I . . . suppose so,” said Rupert, leery of Ragoczys request.
“I would appreciate the loan of your Darracq.” He held up his hand to keep Rupert from interrupting. “Neither of my motor cars that I keep here can sustain the speeds a racing automobile can; if Rowena s situation is as dire as you indicate, speed is demanded to spare her.”
“Yes; yes, I take your point,” Rupert conceded reluctantly; he had no wish to have Ragoczy drive it, but he was aware that he was in no condition to make the attempt. He thought furiously for nearly a minute, and then sighed. “Very well. Go ahead. But it is low on petrol, and I have used the reserves I have purchased.”
“Fuel is the least of my worries,” said Ragoczy briskly.
“You will not think so if you are stranded,” Rupert said.
“Mister Bowen, one of the businesses I am involved in is the creation of fuels for automobiles and lorries. I have four large drums of fuel here, each containing one hundred-ninety litres. They are being readied to—”
“You cannot put that much in the boot,” Rupert warned him.
“Then they will be stowed elsewhere, so their weight can help maintain balance and traction, and my gear will go into the boot. You need have no fear that I will fail to reach her for lack of petrol.” He held out his hand. “I will leave you in the hands of my manservant, Roger, in whom you may repose complete confidence. I am going to prepare now, and I will depart within the hour. Roger will bring you something to ease your hurts; be sensible and take what he offers.�
��
This abrupt shift from attentive auditor to assertiveness took Rupert aback, and he stared at Ragoczy, nonplused. “You mean to go after her?” “Of course, Mister Bowen. I should have thought this was obvious.” He bowed slightly, then turned toward the door.
“You’d better take a pistol,” Rupert recommended “I will bear it in mind,” said Ragoczy as he let himself out into the corridor where he relinquished his affable demeanor; his stride was purposeful, his heels sounding a crisply determined tattoo as he went along to his private apartment.
“Have you determined where she is?” Roger asked without preamble as Ragoczy closed the door.
“Somewhere near Innsbruck, at the Barons lodge,” said Ragoczy curtly. He passed through his outer room and into his bedchamber. “It is close enough for the bond of blood.” He remained wholly clothed as
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
he stretched out full-length on his hard, narrow bed; beneath the mattress stood a large chest of his native earth.
“In a way it is unfortunate that she is not yet come to your life,” said Roger from the doorway; he held a valise in his hand.
“If she had, this would not have happened,” Ragoczy said, his eyes half-closed and his words becoming distant.
“Very likely not,” Roger agreed as he continued to prepare Ragoczys valise. “But you might have found her more easily.”
“True enough,” said Ragoczy. “Make sure you pack clothing for her. She will want something fresh.”
“Do you think she would object to wearing riding breeches?” Roger inquired.
“I think she would probably welcome a burnoose,” Ragoczy said with a quick sardonic smile.
“There are four thirty-litre containers of fuel being put into the Dar-racq, beyond the filled tank; Gualtier is attending to it, and to the packing.” Roger said nothing more for a short while, then: “Is the bond strong enough to guide you?”
“It will have to be. At least I know where to begin.” said Ragoczy bleakly as he lapsed into a kind of sleep, not unlike the sleep he taught Mesmer. Generally he used this state to control animals, but it could be used also to trace those with whom he had a blood bond; for the next half hour, he remained suspended while he discovered her, bound and in the boot of an automobile, bound for a place called Madem. He felt her anger, confusion, and despair keenly, and lamented that she was not yet vampiric, so that he could communicate some solace to her; as it was, he found her emotions wrenching, and as he came back to himself, he had to shake off her distress in order to concentrate on the things he would have to do.
Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain Page 61
