“There’s a bell,” Holte pointed out to Blessing.
“Good thing, too,” said Blessing, tugging on the pull; there was a faint clanging from deep within the hotel.
A few minutes later, the night watchman came to open the door. “What do you want?” he asked first in Czech and then in German.
“I’d like a room,” said Blessing in the local language. “I just arrived here.”
The night watchman gave him a thorough once-over, then nodded. “Come in,” he said in German. “I can accommodate you.”
“Thank you,” said Blessing. “And may I arrange to be called at eight-thirty? I have a commitment at ten.”
“Certainly,” said the night watchman as he stepped behind the reception counter. “How long do you intend to stay?”
The light over the register that the night watchman had opened now blinked twice; the night watchman swore.
“I don’t know—possibly a day or two, but perhaps as long as a week,” said Blessing, and reached into his coat for his small, buckled portfolio, where he had his passport and other papers. “Here. N. N. N. Blessing, of London, England,” he said, handing it over along with his card.
“Very good, Herr Blessing,” said the night watchman, as he examined the passport carefully, and put the business card into his breast pocket. “What is your business in Brno? I need you to be specific.”
“I am here on legal matters; I am to locate a family member for my clients,” Blessing said, watching while the night watchman wrote this into the register. “I don’t know how long that’s going to take, so I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
“If you will sign and fill in your address?” the night watchman asked, indicating the lines in the register that Blessing was to use.
Blessing wrote in the spaces the night watchman had indicated. “I will need a bath in the morning. May I arrange for that with you?”
“I’ll put it in the book. At what hour would you require it?”
“Eight forty-five.”
“Very good,” said the night watchman. “I’ve put you on the floor above. The bath room is at the far end of the hall; the toilet room is next to it, on the right.”
“Thank you,” said Blessing, taking up his satchel and reclaiming his portfolio and passport. “Do you expect a deposit?”
“For the bath, yes. You may pay in marks, if you like.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred; the inflation in Germany has had a great influence on us, I’m afraid.” The night watchman lifted one hand to show there was nothing he could do about it. “I hope that it is no inconvenience. I can hold off taking the full amount if you have a partial payment and will visit the bank in the morning.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Blessing. “I anticipated the need for cash, and took out a goodly share of it before I left London.” He included a half-crown as he handed over the amount requested in English money.
The night watchman almost smiled. “Thank you, Herr Blessing.”
“It would be surprising if the inflations didn’t impact the Czech economy; it certainly had an impact on England, in trade,” said Blessing without complaint. He found his billfold and took out the money. “Will you have a receipt for me for the amount?”
“When you wake up, Herr Blessing.” The night watchman made notes on a pad of paper next to the register. “Will you want breakfast in your room or would you prefer it in the dining room?”
“In my room. I have work to prepare and I need to do it in private.” Blessing paused. “Eggs and sausages, with black coffee, if you can manage that?”
“Indeed we can. What time would you like those brought up?” He blotted the fresh ink in the registry and put the fountain pen aside.
“At eight-thirty; when I want to be wakened,” said Blessing.
The night watchman turned to the pigeon-holes behind him. “Room 103; at the top of the stairs”—he pointed them out—“the first room on your left.” He handed over the key. “Please return it to the desk clerk when you go out, Herr Blessing. I would wish you a good night’s sleep, but you haven’t enough time for that. I trust you’ll be able to rest a little,” he said with a chuckle at his own wit.
“Unfortunately, that might not be possible, but thank you,” Blessing said as he shouldered his duffel and made for the stairs.
The room was of a good size—Blessing estimated fifteen by twelve feet containing a high sleigh bed made up with a satin comforter and six pillows, a chest of drawers with a mirror and a ewer of water atop it, an armoire, a small table with two chairs, and three lamps, one of which—the one at the bedside—was on. There was a thick carpet on the floor, covered with woven designs of wild flowers, and the walls were painted a light shade of blue-green. Three windows faced east and looked out on the side-street. Blessing put his satchel on the end of the bed, opened it, and took out a thick file, then a pair of pyjamas, a bathrobe, and a shirt and waistcoat; he hung up the robe, shirt, and waistcoat, then slowly got undressed, hung up his suit, dropped his roll-top pull-over into the duffle, and got into his bed clothes.
“Do you think you can get to sleep now?” Holte asked from a place near the top of the armoire.
“If I draw the draperies, I’m certain I can.” Having said this, he went to the window and pulled the dark-green velveteen draperies across the windows. “There.”
“I’ll return a little after eight, shall I?” Holte asked
“Where are you going?” Blessing asked, and reached to pull the metal string to turn out the light.
“I’m going back to GAD’s cell. I want to see how he’s doing.” Holte began to sink through the floor.
“I’ll see you in a couple hours.” As if to emphasize this, the nearest church steeple’s clock struck five forty-five, and Holte was away into the night, moving with ghostly swiftness through the dark streets. He hastened to the police barracks and slid into basement cell 16; GAD was still lying on the bunk, sleeping fitfully, the single blanket he had been provided pulled up to his head. Holte took his place in the upper bunk, and waited. An hour later, a clang announced the beginning of the prisoner’s day; Holte dropped down to the floor as the ceiling light in GAD’s cell went on, and GAD mumbled and yawned, stretched tentatively, then slowly sat up; Holte watched him, and concluded that, young though he was, GAD’s muscles were stiff from the night on the thin, hard mattress. He observed GAD get to his feet, run his fingers through his hair and over his beard, then stretching once again, yawning a third time, and coughing once. Reluctantly GAD began to fold his blanket, and then swung it onto the foot of the bunk.
There was a rattle of keys, a door at the other end of the corridor slammed open, and a voice shouted an order; aware that it would be a while before his door was opened, GAD sat back down on the lower bunk, and stared at the chamber pot in the corner, but did nothing but listen to the opening and closing of doors along the corridor.
A quarter of an hour later, GAD’s cell door was flung open, and a square-built man with an equally square jaw shiny from shaving, wearing a uniform that Holte did not recognize, ordered GAD out; he obeyed, and Holte followed the two of them along to the latrine, where GAD stepped into a doorless stall before going to the sink to wash his hands and face. There were signs that other men had been there a few minutes ago, but now there was only GAD and the man in the uniform, who took GAD back to his cell and locked him in. Holte watched GAD a short while, then returned to Blessing after he had made a rapid tour of the Town Hall and the courts building. He would recommend that Blessing go to the Town Hall before visiting the courts building.
Pinkish, watery sunlight was shining, the sun a bright glare in thin clouds east of the city when Holte once again passed through the window and draperies into Blessing’s room; the clock on the table said eight forty-one. There were sounds of activity from the kitchen and four of the rooms, a sign that the day had begun and the staff was preparing to deal with the hotels’ guests. Holte drifted
up to the ceiling and let his thoughts wander until there was a sharp knock on the door and Blessing came rapidly awake.
“Herr Blessing?” a voice asked from the hallway. “I have your breakfast. If you will open the door?” His German was stilted but understandable.
“Bitte,” said Blessing as he went to the armoire and took out his bathrobe, pulling it on over his pyjamas before going to answer the door, where a young waiter stood with a tray in his hands.
“Your breakfast,” the waiter informed him unnecessarily.
“Ja. Put it on the table, if you will.”
The waiter obeyed. “Your bath will be ready in fifteen minutes,” he informed Blessing, pocketed the tip Blessing handed him, and left the room.
Holte floated down to the end of the table, looking like an attenuated bit of filmy cloth. “GAD is awake. It appears that they’re isolating him: he’s by himself in his cell, and he did not wash with the other men. There was a guard on him the whole time.”
Blessing had taken a look at the heap of scrambled eggs and the four patties of sausage. “Sit down Holte. You make me nervous.” He inspected the crockery coffee pot, lifted the lid, and frowned. “Looks like silt.”
“Did you get any rest?” Holte asked as he settled himself into the chair opposite Blessing, not quite on the seat.
“A bit. I’ll have to retire early tonight. I don’t think there’s going to be time for a nap today, and I’ll need to be tip-top to handle this case.” He picked up a fork and tasted the eggs. “Fresh. That’s something. Any idea why they’re keeping GAD away from the others?”
“No. It could be nothing more than he doesn’t speak Czech, but that’s just a guess. If I were you, I’d suspend judgment until you can ask him yourself.” Holte leaned forward, penetrating the table at sternum height. “What will you tell him when you see him?”
“I haven’t made up my mind; I’m going to wait until I know what he volunteers to tell me.” Blessing cut into the largest sausage patty with the edge of his fork. “Thick,” he said.
“But cooked through?” Holte said.
“Almost too much.” Blessing nodded. “No danger of trichinosis here.”
“That’s reassuring,” Holte agreed, and shifted the topic of conversation. “May I make a suggestion for a way to approach GAD?”
“Is this more about mentioning his sister—Genevieve, wasn’t it?” Blessing had a little more of the eggs.
“Yes, and Poppy Thornton. I know I’ve said this before, but these two names will inspire more confidence with GAD than a mention of either of his parents—his father in particular.”
“We’ve agreed about that, last night in the train,” said Blessing.
“I’m pleased you remembered; you were quite sleepy,” said Holte.
“I recall that you did tell me Mister Pearse is difficult, and I read his letter that came with his shipment of documents; he has some very stringent demands that he calls instructions, most of which have no application here in Brno; I hope he decides to stay in America. Having him here would be a disadvantage,” said Blessing, striving for neutrality in his expression. “I’ll decide about which of his orders to obey after I see the young man.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Holte asked.
“No; check back with me this evening, and I’ll let you know how things went. You can advise me on what to tell Mister Pearse in my telegram. I need to be careful when I prepare it, since I suspect that no matter what I find out, Mister Pearse will not be pleased.” This last was muffled by another wedge of sausage.
“Probably not,” Holte agreed.
Blessing swallowed and had a sip of coffee before he spoke again. “Just as well that we got here on Sunday night; I’ll have the opportunity to catch the officials—whichever ones I may have to deal with—before they’re soured by the demands of the week.”
“That’s if there aren’t matters left over from the past week,” Holte said.
Blessing shook his head. “I’m going to remain optimistic.”
“Then if you don’t mind, I’ll absent myself for most of the day; you don’t need me to help you fill out forms. There are things I can do while you deal with the officials, things that might help you speed matters along.” Holte started to rise at an angle, bound for the ceiling and the outside. “I hope that all goes well for you today.”
“So do I. I’m planning to buy the local paper, to find out what I can about the incident that put GAD in jail.” Blessing drank more coffee.
“That’s right. You know Czech. I forgot that for a moment. Apologies,” Holte said, feeling chagrined that something so important had escaped him.
“No need to apologize. I’ll use German for the most part while I’m here. I’ll see you later,” said Blessing as he poured himself a second cup of thick, dark coffee.
“Good luck,” Holte said as he glided up and out of the room and into the glare of the morning.
THIRTY-SEVEN
TUESDAY MORNING GOT OFF TO AN EARLY START: POPPY HAD HARDLY EMERGED from the tub and pulled her bathrobe on when Miss Roth called her downstairs to the phone; she picked her damp towel off the bathroom floor, and called out to Miss Roth, “I’ll be down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She had caught her Aunt Esther’s expression. “Ask whoever it is to wait, if you would.” It was not quite seven a.m.
“It’s Inspector Loring,” Miss Roth informed her, adding knowingly, “He’ll wait.”
Spurred on by knowing who was calling, Poppy abandoned her usual morning routine and made her way downstairs to the phone. She took the receiver from Miss Roth with a nod of thanks and said, “Good morning, Inspector. What is ?”
There was a minuscule hesitation, then Loring began his rapid report. “I had a telegram a little after three this morning—a long one—from Blessing; the delivery boy got me out of bed.”
“What’s the time difference with Czechoslovakia and here?” Poppy asked, not willing to try to work it out in her head; she could hear edginess in Loring’s voice, so let him talk.
“Four or five hours; probably five,” said Loring, who was not quite sure himself. “I apologize for calling so early, but I wanted you to know what Blessing told me,” he explained, going on almost at once, “He’s located GAD and had a couple of conversations with him. GAD really is in jail—according to GAD, for disturbing the peace—though the formal complaint is for inciting a riot. Blessing said he thinks the disturbing the peace charge is just as excuse for keeping GAD in jail until they can come up with more serious charges; he is waiting to find out what those might be before recommending any specific action to the Pearses. The alleged disturbing the peace resulted when GAD supposedly interrupted a meeting at the Town Hall last Wednesday, speaking on behalf of Father Avaikian’s Living Spectres, who were staging a protest—by all accounts a peaceful one—about the harassment they had experienced at the hands of some young men from the city, last Thursday night. GAD’s German must be fairly good, since he doesn’t know Czech, and he said enough to rile the magistrates about the Living Spectres, or so the paper says.” Loring took a deep breath. “Part of GAD’s plea was in the paper. Blessing was impressed, and said that GAD was quite articulate, if the account of the meeting is to be trusted.”
“GAD took four years of it, as I recall, and four of French, at the Alexandrian Academy,” said Poppy, coming fully awake speedily. “He’s got an ear for languages.”
“The Alexandrian Academy? Where your brother is headmaster?” Loring asked.
“The very same. It’s a good school academically, in spite of Toby. What’s the rest of your news?” She tried to prepare herself for whatever Loring might have to say.
“Okay,” said Loring, and obligingly resumed his narrative. “Anyway, GAD caused quite a stir and he was arrested and flung in jail, where he remains. There is pressure from some of the leading citizens of the city to have the Living Spectres go elsewhere, according to the report. There is some mention of a ruction outside the
hearing in which a few of the demonstrators were accused of throwing rocks and such, but there is no actual proof of it. Blessing spent all of the morning and half the afternoon with GAD yesterday, trying to learn the whole story of GAD’s incarceration. Along with many other things, he told Blessing that he was ashamed to contact his family, knowing how much his parents disapproved of his European trip in the first place. He was hoping to handle the problem on his own.”
“Ye gods! How was he planning to do that from a jail cell?”
“I don’t know. Blessing didn’t say,” Loring admitted.
“You must have had a very long telegram,” Poppy remarked.
“That’s what I told you; it cost Blessing a small fortune to send; it’s a good thing Mister Pearse is paying all Blessing’s expenses.” Loring cleared his throat. “Blessing will be working with the law courts for the next few days to try to get GAD out of jail, which looks likely, providing GAD agrees to leave Czechoslovakia and return to the US. If GAD digs in his heels and refuses to go, then more serious charges are likely to be forthcoming, some of which could keep him in jail for several years.”
“And the Living Spectres?” Poppy asked. “What about them?”
“I don’t know. Blessing didn’t mention them except to say that they are in the area. Blessing hasn’t been able to contact them.” Loring hesitated, then rushed ahead. “I wanted you to know this in case you hear from Mister Pearse. I don’t want you to be unprepared; he’s apt to be…excitable when he gets Blessing’s telegram.”
“You mean that Blessing wired you first?” Poppy said, perplexed.
“Yes. He’s been sending his information to me in advance of his report to Pearse. He says that he doesn’t trust Pearse not to do something foolish, and so wants me to be forewarned of that possibility, and do my best to dissuade him.”
An idea struck Poppy. “What if GAD insists on staying? What kind of serious charges are we talking about?”
“There’s already the inciting to riot, and likely worse to come, but is it likely that GAD would not agree to leave the country?” Loring asked, surprised.
Living Spectres: a Chesterton Holte, Gentleman Haunt Mystery Page 43
