The Trail of Four

by Manjiri Prabhu

Re inclined his head slightly towards her and nodded. ‘Interesting, almost like the Schloss was a person.’

  ‘Mansions, houses, palaces—they all have an energy which is strong and active. Like the soul has. And Schloss Leopoldskron literally oozes that energy. People call it a tragic place, because of its history, but I feel that the same tragic history has given it that edge, that emotion which can only be associated with a person. The emotion of loss. Of pain. Of nostalgia. Just the way you mentioned a minute ago.’

  ‘You’re in love with the Schloss,’ Re remarked quietly.

  Their eyes met for a brief moment. Isabel did not respond. She fiddled with the fork and her helping of noodles.

  ‘Who isn’t?’ Martina sighed. ‘It’s a charming place, but if you look at its history, each individual associated with it has actually experienced that pain and loss. Whether it was Reinhardt or Princess Stephanie Hohenlohe.’

  ‘Who is Princess Stephanie Hohenlohe?’ Re was intrigued. ‘The name sounds vaguely familiar.’

  Martina raised an elegant eyebrow. ‘You don’t know about Princess Stephanie Hohenlohe? She was one of the most dynamic personalities I ever read about. She was a powerful aide to the Germans until they suspected she was an American agent. A dynamic woman who had top contacts, and was socially very active and helpful.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Isabel agreed. ‘She had charge of the Schloss for a while before she had to flee. A very classy woman, who knew almost everyone that mattered, and who was very useful in negotiating deals. She had many labels—“Hitler’s aide”, the “Nazi Princess”—and led a very colourful life till she died at the ripe old age of eighty-one.’

  ‘Princess Stephanie was one person whom all of Salzburg knows, but there’s someone else of her time, almost completely forgotten. This maid, Veronique, at the Schloss,’ Martina added. ‘A lovely Austrian-French girl who, it is said, was madly in love with Max Reinhardt. She was an aspiring actress and a painter and really looked up to Reinhardt. When Reinhardt left, she too left the Schloss. She married, I believe, but followed in the footsteps of Princess Stephanie, her career as an actress forgotten, when she became an informer. However, she wasn’t very lucky with the way her life ended. Trapped on all sides—Austrian, German, British and American—all assumed that she was their enemy country’s spy, till she had to escape into hiding. Nothing was proved, of course, but I believe that she spent her last few years in misery, and regret for her tainted past, unable to prove her innocence.’

  ‘Sounds like a sad tale,’ Re commented.

  ‘Pathetic.’

  ‘It’s interesting that you should mention Veronique,’ mused Isabel. ‘Very little is known about her although you’ll find tons of stuff on Princess Stephanie Hohenlohe.’

  ‘Veronique was such a fascinating character,’ Martina’s lips curved slightly. ‘But that’s what I mean about pain and loss, whether it was Reinhardt’s love for the Schloss or Veronique’s love for him.’

  ‘Did Reinhardt know about Veronique’s feelings for him?’ Re was curious.

  ‘I doubt it. She was just a maid whom no one ever noticed. But she was always there for Reinhardt, helping out with the plays, hoping to learn to act, hoping that he would one day notice her. It was a silent love, poor thing. I read somewhere that in her last years all she did was talk about the Schloss and watch sad films like Dr Zhivago. Perhaps Lara in the movie reminded her of herself—that whole spy thing, lost love…she could relate to it.’

  Re nodded, detecting her sensitivity to the maid. ‘Melancholique, l’amour toujours.’

  ‘Oui, c’est vrai! Excuse me, I’ll catch you two later. Good luck with the trail.’ Martina rose, flashing them a quick smile. She carried away her half-empty plate and glass and Re nodded as she withdrew gracefully.

  ***

  Dan stared out of the window and watched the men in plainclothes patrolling the Schloss premises. He adjusted the tight noose of the tie round his throat, the discomfort more mental than physical. Two dogs, held tightly on their leashes, sniffed the ground, bushes, hedges, tree bases, corners. It was an eerie sight. So much security, so much suspicion—but required for the occasion. He felt a lot safer with the trained animals searching the grounds.

  The suites were sparkling with fresh linen, gleaming surfaces, and redolent of fragrance, all set for the arrival of the special guests. Only the occupants of four rooms already taken on the second floor were to be informed of the protocol for the next four days. He made a mental note of the tasks ahead.

  ‘Dan?’ Stefan’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  The hotelier turned from the window. Stefan was seated by his desk, consulting the list of guests. In his blue jacket over his uniform and with his focused attitude, he seemed in control and all set for action. ‘There are exactly four guests at the hotel just now, right?’ he asked to confirm.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Dan. ‘But from tomorrow, when the Seminar speakers begin arriving, we would need the rooms for them. Some of the dignitaries have four to five aides who would be accompanying them. The hotels are going to be full. That is why only those guests who had booked a long time back have been permitted to stay on at the Meierhof.’

  ‘And do they all have access to the entire Schloss?’

  ‘Yes, they do. That’s the specialty of this Schloss. It’s a Schloss first, and then a hotel. I want the guests to enjoy this privileged space, to touch things, to feel the Schloss. That is my USP. That is why they eat their breakfast and other meals in the grand Marble Hall. They have rooms in the Meierhof and the Schloss—grand suites, even Max Reinhardt’s suite. That is the purpose of this hotel. Allow free experience of the long-ago regal times. I have guests coming to me and saying, “It’s a lovely hotel, once you realize that it’s not really a hotel!”’

  ‘It’s a great concept, of course, but it will prove quite a challenge for us at the moment,’ Stefan said gravely. ‘We need to pinpoint locations, ask questions—who was where last evening—and I’m afraid I have no choice but to interrogate your guests.’

  ‘But that would mean revealing that something untoward has happened at the Schloss. We’ve got to keep it strictly under wraps—’ Dan began in earnest.

  ‘We won’t reveal the reason behind the interrogation. We can say it’s a routine check-up before the big event.’

  Dan sighed. ‘I don’t like this one bit. If there’s any problem, or if news leaks out—’

  ‘Dan, we don’t have a choice. I am positive that someone who knows the lay of the Schloss is responsible for what happened last night. Let’s begin the interrogation without wasting further time. We are facing a deadly adversary who is going to strike in exactly ten hours!’

  His words sent a tingling down Dan’s spine. He needed no further convincing. ‘Let me check if the hotel guests are in. Who would you like to begin with?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Hollander from Paris.’

  ***

  ‘Off the rocking path, to the step from where the fours play,

  Sucked into the Cat’s Meow with the one that inclines the way

  As I look on…’ Isabel read slowly. She paused and shook her head. ‘My mind is going blank.’

  The afternoon sun was mellow and a wind had picked up. The breeze ruffled Re’s ponytail as he stared at the Schloss from between the bare branches of the tree, clicking photographs of what he saw from his vantage point. Isabel sat astride the trunk of the tree, trying to smooth back her wind-ruffled hair.

  ‘Logically thinking, Reinhardt would now lead us into the Schloss, depending on how many clues there remain for the Trail to conclude,’ Re declared, packing his camera in its waterproof bag and tucking it inside his jacket.

  ‘I agree. But from what we know of Reinhardt, there is always a possibility that he would prefer to make us work at it. He would want to make the Trail challenging, don’t you think? However, I think, for starters, we ought to assume that we may now have to approach the Schloss. So, “Off the rocking path”
would probably mean “Quit the rocking path”?’

  ‘“Off the rocking path, to the step…”. We have to find a step first.’

  ‘Yes, but to get off the rocking path, first we have to take it, which means we take a boat. And then find that step where the “fours” play. Then get sucked into the Cat’s Meow. But what’s the Cat’s Meow?’ Isabel looked bewildered.

  ‘The Cat’s Meow isn’t the name of a place, is it? A restaurant? A cafe?’ Re raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Not that I’ve ever heard of, and in any case, Reinhardt wouldn’t reveal the name of the place!’ Isabel almost laughed.

  Re grinned. ‘You’re right, of course! Sucked into the Cat’s Meow, would mean something similar to the phrase “From the frying pan into the fire”. Somehow, I think I’ve heard this before. I think it’s a kind of expression. Wait…’ he flipped open his cell and did a quick search on the Internet.

  Isabel waited patiently, staring out at the scenic vista before her.

  ‘Got it! “Cat’s Meow” is slang for something splendid, wonderful. It’s slang of the 1920s. So now we have “sucked into something splendid where the fours play”. “Where the fours play” could mean there are many fours in the place. Like in the Marble Hall, of course,’ Re deducted.

  ‘You’re right!’ Isabel said with returning excitement. ‘We take a boat and cross over to the Schloss and look for the play of fours! Oh, and I know the exact location of the step where the fours begin. Right across from here, do you see the garden terrace of the Schloss? There are exactly four steps which rise from the water and lead to the gate. So we were right! The clues lead us straight to the Schloss!’

  ‘Précisément!That was simple enough,’ Re agreed. ‘I guess we should keep in mind that this was Reinhardt’s game. He would want his friends to have fun, not give up the Trail in frustration. That wouldn’t serve his purpose at all, would it?’

  ‘I agree. We have to think like Reinhardt and treat the Trail as fun. Which it would’ve been, if someone hadn’t stolen the Archbishop’s heart. I think that is unforgivable.’

  ‘Oui, that changes the colour of things.’

  ‘Anyway, now we’ll need Dan’s rowing boat,’ she said.

  ‘Boat? We can just go back and approach the terrace on foot, can’t we?’ A twinkle shone in Re’s brown eyes.

  ‘No, no, absolutely not! We have to follow the trail exactly as it is laid,’ Isabel insisted, with a stubborn tilt of her chin. ‘That’s the whole point—follow the Trail as Max Reinhardt wished it. I know that we don’t have much time to lose, but this is history we are unravelling, clue by clue, bit by bit, thought by thought. And I want to experience it the way it was supposed to be experienced, at least partly.’

  Re shrugged. ‘Okay, but just let’s do it quickly.’

  He folded the written clue neatly back into the oilskin and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

  ‘So we go collect Dan’s boat. It’s always parked at the hotel there. That was once rumoured to be Firmian’s whorehouse and, according to legend, an underground tunnel connects the Schloss to that hotel.’

  ‘It just gets more and more intriguing, this place and its stories,’ Re chuckled. ‘I didn’t know Dan kept a boat. Ah, now that I wonder, why does he need a boat when there’s an underground tunnel?’

  ‘It’s not for what you think it is.’ Isabel laughed, her blue eyes crinkling.

  ‘I’m not thinking any such thing,’ Re retorted solemnly.

  ‘Yeah. It’s only for special guests, to give them a feel of the Reinhardt era and glory. So should we go get the boat?’

  ***

  Mr Hollander was a blue-eyed man with sun-burnt, wrinkled skin and thick white hair. His wife, petite and prim, had jetblack hair pulled severely back from a pretty face. Stefan greeted them with a handshake and a warm smile.

  ‘Thank you so much for your time, Mr and Mrs Hollander.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Mrs Hollander asked directly, as they seated themselves across the table.

  ‘Just a routine enquiry. You are aware that a lot of important guests are arriving tomorrow at the Schloss and Meierhof.’

  ‘Yes, we are, but we go back home Monday morning,’ Mr Hollander cut in. ‘We had a splendid four days at the Schloss and Salzburg and now, back to work.’

  ‘That’s good. Just a couple of questions. Can you tell me where you went last evening and what time you returned?’

  The old man glanced at his wife, scratching his white beard.

  ‘We went up to the Festung and spent the entire evening there, then, since the last funicular had left at five, we had to walk down.’

  ‘You walked down?’

  ‘Yes. My husband would’ve run down if he had his way. Every weekend he jogs all the way to the Palais de Versailles which is about twenty-five miles from our home in Paris’

  ‘Seriously!’ Stefan appeared amazed as he tried to gauge the man’s age. Seventy plus, for sure.

  ‘Oh, I like my jog,’ her husband brushed away his wife’s praise. ‘On our way down from the fortress, we met some friends from Paris and had dinner together at Krimpelstatter. It was nice. Honey, what was the soup called?’

  ‘Schottnuuppe—cream soup made with yogurt. Oh, it was divine,’ Mrs Hollander supplied.

  ‘And have you enjoyed your stay at the Schloss?’

  ‘Oh, it was perfect. Couldn’t have asked for more.’

  ‘Wonderful! Thank you so much. I wish you a good stay and happy travels!’ Stefan rose and shook hands again with the couple.

  ***

  The small red boat, a shade flamboyant, was ready for departure. Curious ducks waddled along the boat, pecking and inspecting, and Re shooed them away. Isabel was about to embark, and Re to follow, when a movement behind him caught his quick attention. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure in a brown cardigan slinking behind a tree. Instant recognition came to mind.

  ‘Can you excuse me for a minute?’ he urgently asked Isabel.

  ‘Re, where are you going?’ Isabel checked her impatient tone.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She opened her mouth to protest but Re had already stepped away.

  With quick, long strides, he overtook some passersby and headed towards the tall tree. Smoke from a cigarette swirled from behind it. Within seconds, Re planted himself face to face with the man in the brown cardigan. The man appeared startled, the cigarette dropping from his lips.

  ‘Okay, dude, time to tell me what you are up to.’ Re stuck his hands into his pockets and fixed the man with a sharp gaze.

  He was youngish, with a thin face and black eyes, but a balding head.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Oh yes, you do. You’ve been following us—or rather Isabel—since early morning. I’ve seen you at the B&B and at the fortress, so no point denying it. Why?’

  The man paled and stubbed the fallen cigarette under his shoe, looking away at the lake.

  ‘It’s a coincidence. I am not following anyone,’ he muttered.

  ‘Ecoute, I hate resorting to violence, I really do. But I can if I am forced to, mon ami.’ Re’s eyes remained glued to the rather gaunt face.

  The man hesitated, just a fraction. Re could sense the debate in his mind. Finally, he shrugged. ‘Okay, if you really want to know, ask Officer Stefan Weiss, not me.’

  Re’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and in a snap he held the man’s collar in a firm grip.

  ‘You are lying!’

  ‘Nein, I am not. Give him a tinkle if you like and ask him, because I am not permitted to say more. I only follow orders. And please let go off me!’

  Concealing his surprise, Re slowly released the man’s collar and tucked it back underneath the cardigan. His mind was working furiously. ‘Eh bien, I will.’

  The smirk on the man’s face was proof enough that he had an ace up his sleeve. But what was the ace? Confusion swamped Re�
��s mind, as he retraced his steps to the waterfront. Why had Stefan put a tail on Isabel? What was he trying to prove? Had it something to do with her husband Justin?

  Isabel was clucking away the ducks with determination.

  ‘There you are! Who was that?’ she asked, a little impatiently.

  ‘No one. Let’s go! What a bright beauty this boat is!’ Re changed the subject swiftly, as he pushed the boat into the lake.

  ‘Exactly its owner’s replica,’ Isabel smiled, patting the wooden side. ‘Flamboyant and stylish. Did you know Dan has a craze for colourful socks?’

  Re nodded. ‘I helped him buy a variety in Paris once.’

  ‘I like Dan, you know. He’s a sweetheart. Nonjudgmental, diplomatic but not fake, in fact a genuine friend,’

  ‘And Officer Weiss?’ Re asked, casually as they pushed the boat adrift.

  Isabel glanced at him, a little taken aback.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You’ve know him since high school, haven’t you? The look on his face says that you are a very good friend.’

  Isabel blushed, much to Re’s surprise. Re and she jumped into the boat and he took the oars.

  ‘Was a good friend! Well actually, we dated for a long time, before I met Justin. It was kind of serious without spelling it out, and perhaps, in my mind, it wasn’t even that serious. Because if it had been, when Justin came along, I wouldn’t have been swept off my feet, would I? Anyway, before I knew it, Justin and I were married. I sort of ditched Stefan rather unceremoniously, I guess,’ Isabel said, a tinge of embarrassment in her tone.

  ‘That wasn’t such a cool thing to do,’ he remarked, rowing strongly away from the bank.

  ‘No, it wasn’t. Except that I realized that much later. I mean, we were dating but we weren’t going to marry or anything. He just assumed that we would, which I thought was rather presumptuous on his part. However, I believe I hurt him badly and we hadn’t spoken for a while, especially since that one day, when we had a confrontation at the B&B. It was rather ugly. Justin interfered and it blew out of proportion.’

  She fell silent, and Re concentrated on manoeuvering the oars.