"Then we would like to speak to Herr Bilka."
"You asked for the gentleman before. That's why I said I didn't understand the question. A Herr Wilka?"
"Bilka," I said. "Jan Bilka."
"I don't know any Jan Bilka," said Notung.
"Don't talk like an idiot!" I yelled, and his eyebrows went up. "Of course you know Jan Bilka. He's a good friend of Herr Michelsen and he lives here."
"I'm dreadfully sorry," Notung said pompously, "but nobody lives here except Herr Michelsen and myself."
Irina's hand flew to her throat as she said, "Do you mean to say you've never seen Jan Bilka?"
"Not only have I never seen a Jan Bilka," said Olaf Notung, "I never even heard of him, gnddiges Fraulein"
Irina sank down on the large couch. "I felt something like this was going to happen." Suddenly she began to tremble. I got out my flask.
"Oh, may I—?" Notung started to say.
"Don't trouble yourself," I said, and unscrewed the top of my flask. I leaned over Irina. "Have a drink," I said.
She shook her head. Her face was white, her hands were fists. I was afraid she was going to pass out. "Please," I said.
"I—I don't want to."
"You've got to!" I bent her head back a little and put the flask to her lips. She drank and began to cough. "Another one," I said. "A big one this time." She swallowed a big one and shook herself, but she stopped trembling. "But—but that isn't possible!" she cried. "Bilka lives here. I know he does."
Notung stared at her, then at me, as if he didn't know what to do next. He said, "This has to be a misunderstanding. A most regrettable one. Please, gnddiges Fraulein, don't cry."
"I'm not crying," Irina sobbed, the tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away. I handed her my handkerchief.
Notung said, "I can only repeat—nobody lives here besides Herr Michelsen and myself. Nobody ever did. I ought to know. I-"
"Stop!" I cried.
"I beg your pardon."
"You're to stop. In short, you're to shut up. Period!" I took a drink from the flask. "You're lying. You know very well—"
Raising his voice at last, he interrupted me. "I refuse to stand here and be insulted. Please leave the apartment at once!" But I went on. "You know very well that that is a lie. We spoke to Herr Bilka this afternoon, 6n the phone. And he was here at the time, here in this apartment."
"Impossible!"
"What's your number?" I asked.
"2-2068-54," he answered promptly.
"There you are! That was the number at which we spoke to Herr Bilka!"
"And I am telling you that is impossible. There is—there was no Herr Bilka!"
Irina jumped up. "Tell the truth! Please, please tell the truth! So much depends on it for me. Has something happened to him? Have you been told not to talk about him?"
Notung looked sincerely embarrassed. "You simply must calm down, gntidiges Fraulein."
"Calm down? How can I calm down?" she cried. She was trembling again. For years I hadn't felt sorry for anyone but myself. Now suddenly I felt pity for another person, honest and heartfelt pity. Irina was so vulnerable, so young and lost. I thought how the only person in her life right now who could help her was myself. And in me she had found one hell of a guy to lean on!
"Herr Bilka is my fianc6! Herr Michelsen is a good friend of his. He visited him often in Prague. And they had agreed that my fiance should come here after his flight. And I heard his voice this afternoon, coming from this apartment after we had been connected with this number!"
Notung was looking at her dispassionately. To me he said softly, "Shall I call a doctor?"
"You're to keep your mouth shut!" I said.
Irina clung to me suddenly, her panic-stricken face raised to mine. She was stammering. "What do we do now? Herr Roland, please help me. Something terrible has happened to Jan. Please, Herr Roland—"
I stroked her silky hair. "We must go slowly," I said, "but we'll get to the bottom of it, I promise you. But now you've got to pull yourself together."
She nodded, wiped her tears away, and let go of me. "It must be quite clear to you by now," I said, turning to Notung, "that we are going to be the ones to call the police."
"That's entirely up to you," Notung said coldly. "As a matter of fact, I beg you to do so. I have no intention of putting up with your insulting behavior a moment longer. / shall call the police and bring charges against you for disturbing the peace. I shall—"
"Quiet!" I said, and Notung could feel the barrel of the Colt against his stomach. I was so furious that I acted instinctively when I drew Conny's pistol out of my coat pocket. I realized that this might get me into trouble, but I didn't care. The whole thing stank! Irina's hysteria was the last straw. I didn't give a damn about consequences. That dog had no intention of calling the police.
Notung looked at me. He would have liked to look at me haughtily, but there was fear in his face, great fear. Not only because of the pistol aimed at his stomach, but also for another reason—I could have sworn it!
"What's the meaning of this? Are you crazy? Put that gun away or 111 call for help."
"So call for help."
Two seconds passed. Three. Five. Eight— He didn't call for help. His eyes were slits now. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice hoarse and not in the least arrogant any more.
"Turn around," I told him, "and don't forget that I've got you covered. So don't try anything. We shall now go for a little walk."
"Where to?"
"Through the apartment." I gave him a light nudge in the back with his gun. "Get going. First back into the hall, where you'll lock the door and put on the chain." I'd noticed that the door to the outer hall had remained open.
Notung was very quiet now. He locked the door and put the chain across it as I had told him. I left the door to every room open so I would hear if someone tried to leave the apartment.
"Let's start," I said, nudging him again.
We wandered through the entire apartment, seven large rooms and several antechambers. Three bedrooms. All the rooms were decorated in the best taste. It must have cost a small fortune to furnish them. Silk wall coverings everywhere, in different colors, and all the furniture fine old antiques. "And you do all the work yourself," I asked Notung.
"We have a cleaning woman and a cook, but they don't sleep in. On Mondays they only work half a day."
"What are their names?"
"The cleaning woman's name is Marie Gernold, the cook is Elizabeth Kurz. I don't know where they live."
"Of course not," I said, "but that shouldn't be difficult to find out."
"Why do you want to find out?"
"Because they may have seen Herr Bilka."
He had nothing to say to that.
We walked from room to room. I opened drawers, went into walk-in closets. There really wasn't anybody else in the apartment. I emptied drawers on the floor, creating chaos in every room. I had told Irina to watch out for anything that might belong to her fiance. "And if it's only a cufflink—the smallest thing is enough."
She didn't see or find anything.
In one dressing room the closet door was open. As far as I could see, two or three suits seemed to be missing.
"That's right," said Notung. "The white suitcase Herr Michelsen always uses when he flies is missing, too." I had opened a door in the wall. Behind it there was a small space with many pieces of luggage. Notung looked in a bureau. "Underwear is missing, too. And shoes," he said.
At last we had done the whole round, with no success. No Michelsen, no Bilka. Nobody but Olaf Notung. Finally we were back in the huge salon. "Now do you believe me?" asked Notung.
"No," I said. 160
"If I may be permitted to give you some good advice—"
"Keep your good advice to yourself," I said. "And don't think for a moment that I'm through. I'll be back. And I won't be alone. You can count on that, Hen Notung. And if you have any idea of traveling right
now, too, I'd advise you not to do so without informing the police first about where you can be reached. Because it is my intention to go to the police at once and tell them everything that happened here." We had to report to the police—Hem had told us to—so in this case I wasn't even bluffing.
"And I shall also have a thing or two to tell the police," said Notung. But it sounded flat.
I put the gun away. We went back into the hall. Irina was managing to control herself; I could sense how hard she was trying. Notung opened the front door and we walked out into the hall. Nobody said good-bye. The door closed and I could hear it being locked on the inside. I led Irina to the elevator that was still waiting, closed the mesh gate and the sliding door, and pressed the button. The moment the elevator started rumbling down, Irina fell forward, against me. She was weeping, and it sounded as if she would never stop.
I stroked her hair and tried, mechanically, to console her, all nonsense because I hadn't the slightest idea what had happened or what was going to happen next. "J an '" she sobbed, "Janl They've done something to him! I know it! I know it!"
"No," I said. "I don't believe it."
Actually I didn't know what to believe. I looked across Irina's shoulder, through the elevator cage, and said, "I'll find him, Irina. I'll clear this thing up and if it's the last thing I do, I'll—"
I didn't finish the sentence, because as we were passing the first floor, I saw a man in a bright silk robe standing in front of the door of his apartment and beckoning to us.
13
Andr6 Garnot was a tall, slender man with short gray hair that stood up straight from his scalp like a brush; his face was
expressive and he had beautiful eyes under bushy brows. Even in i his robe he looked like an aristocrat.
The four of us were seated around a low table in Garnot's apartment—the antique dealer Garnot, the superintendent, Irina, ( and I. Kubitzky was still wearing his heavy winter coat over hisi pajamas. He was mumbling to himself in Polish, nervous andi afraid, as he had behaved ever since we had met. "This was just! the way we thought it would happen," Garnot said, and with a^ slight accent, when I had finished telling the two men everything^ we had experienced upstairs with Olaf Notung.
"Just the way," said the little Pole. -
"What are you so afraid of?" I asked.
"Of them, up there," said Kubitzky.
"The servant?"
"The servant and this man Michelsen."
"Why are you afraid of them?"
The Frenchman explained. "Herr Michelsen is—well, shall we say, a rather strange man. And the visitors he receives are even! stranger."
foreigners r
"Among others," said Garnot. "But many Germans, too. At all! hours. It's been upsetting Herr Kubitzky for years. And then] sometimes there's shouting up there, so loud you can hear it all] the way down here, sometimes in the middle of the night."
"What do they shout?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't you know, if you can hear it all the way down] here?"
"They shout at each other in some foreign language or other. | Herr Kubitzky and I have never been able to make out which one. It may be in several languages."
"And shots have been fired," said the superintendent, looking] at me above his thick glasses.
"When?"
"Several times. Once they dragged somebody away. Two! men. They had the third man between them. His legs were: lifeless. They shoved him into a car and drove off."
"Didn't you notify the police?"
"Of course," said Garnot. He was holding something in his j hand that looked like a silver lipstick.
"And?"
"They questioned us. Then they went upstairs; stayed there 162
about two hours. Came down again. Didn't say a word. Went away and didn't come back."
"I never heard of such a thing!"
"But that's the way it was," said Garnot, who suddenly looked very pale. "Next day Herr Kubitzky got a phone call. If he ever interfered again with what was going on upstairs, he would end up in a cement tub."
"In a what? "
"In a cement tub. The caller explained it to Herr Kubitzky. He would be stuffed into the tub, which would then be filled with cement and dropped into the Elbe. So you can imagine why Herr Kubitzky is afraid. There were several more calls in the same vein. And then, today, the business with the two cars... that was obviously murder."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Absolutely sure." Suddenly Garnot gripped his chest and groaned.
"What's the matter?" Irina was startled.
Garnot leaned back in his chair, gasping, then he lifted an arm and held the little silver object to his open mouth, and pressed the cap. There was a soft hissing sound. "Asthma," Kubitzky explained in a whisper. "The poor man has asthma. When it storms like this, it's always worse."
The litde silver object was an inhaler. Garnot was struggling for breath, his face had turned purple, and his labored breathing rattled in his chest as he sprayed the vial into his mouth. We sat there motionless. The storm was still raging outside. All I could think of was: Asthma. Fraulein Louise's dead French friend... asthma—
"You can't help him," Kubitzky said softly. "We must wait until the medicine takes effect."
It didn't take long. Two or three minutes later Garnot's face began to pale again; his breathing became less labored. He put down the spray. "Excuse me," he said. "It's this miserable storm. It affects the bronchial tubes, they clog up, then they tighten "
"So you can't really breathe," I said.
"Actually," said Garnot, "what I can't do is breathe out properly. When I breathe out, more air than normal is retained in the lungs, so, with the next breath I can't get enough air. But let's not talk about it. It's odious. I apologize. I know you're in a hurry, so I'll tell it fast. The man you are looking for, mademoiselle and monsieur, is about thirty years old?"
"Yes," said Irina.
"Tall? About five-foot-ten?"
"Yes!"
"Blond hair, cut very short—you might say, a military haircut?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" Irina jumped to her feet.
"A long face, looks very strong, tanned, with a scar on his chin."
"That's him!" cried Irina, beside herself now. "That's Jan! Jan Bilka!"
"We didn't know his name," said Kubitzky.
"How is that possible, if he was staying with Michelsen? He must have had to register with the police," I said sharply.
"Yes," said Kubitzky, biting his lip and looking embarrassed.
"Didn't Michelsen give you a registration slip for him?"
"No," said Kubitzky.
"Didn't you ask for one?"
"No. He told me he had attended to the registration."
"And you were satisfied with that?"
"Yes." Kubitzky lowered his head.
"He was afraid," Garnot explained. "After everything that had happened in Michelsen's apartment—and then he'd been told not to pay any attention to Michelsen."
"I see," I said, and to Garnot, "and you saw a man fitting this description and staying with Michelsen?"
"Yes. I saw him several times, although he stayed in the apartment most of the time."
"So he did live there!" cried Irina.
"Of course. We've been trying to tell you that all along."
"Since when?" I asked.
"Since the end of August," said Kubitzky. "But I implore you, don't betray me. Don't let anyone know that you have this information from me!"
"So the servant lied."
"He certainly did. This gentleman—what did you say his name was?"
"Bilka!" cried Irina, wringing her hands. "Jan Bilka!"
"This gentleman, Jan Bilka, stayed with Herr Michelsen from the end of August until today. They left the house together."
"You saw—" She could say no more.
"Sit down!" I told her, forcing her to sit down beside me.
"They left the house together, yes," said Ga
rnot. "Herr Kubitzky saw it and I saw it." 164
"When did they leave?" I asked. "Before the man was knocked down by the car?"
"No," said Garnot. "After that." He was still breathing with difficulty, and we watched him anxiously. He smiled and shook his head. "It's all right. This weather is really a killer. No, as I said—afterwards, Herr Roland."
"How long afterwards?"
"Oh, quite a while," said Garnot. "The police were here in the meantime, remember?"
"They left the house at exactly 8:04," said Kubitzky. "I looked at my watch." He wiped the sweat of fear off his forehead with his handkerchief. "Three vehicles drove up. Then Herr Michelsen and this man, Jan Bilka, came down in the elevator. Both of them were carrying suitcases, Michelsen one, Bilka two. There weren't many people on the street, and I could see everything."
"So could I," said Garnot. "From the window over there. There were men in the vehicles."
"How many?"
"Nine in all," said Garnot. "They got out and stood around in the street, here and on the other side, their hands in their pockets. It looked to me as if their purpose was to prevent anything from interrupting them."
"Could you recognize the men?"
"No. They were just men wearing coats and hats. They all wore hats," said Garnot. "Michelsen and this Herr Bilka got into the middle vehicle, a big black van. It looked like a delivery truck. It was completely closed. I thought the whole thing was extremely fishy, so I wrote down the number of the van." He took a small piece of paper off the table. "Here you are."
I took the paper. The number was HH-DX 982.
"You're sure that's right?"
"Quite sure. The van was standing under the light, the other two vehicles were in the shadows. After Herr Michelsen and Herr Bilka got into the van, the men who had come along ran back to their cars and all three drove off fast."
"And the servant?"
"He really has Monday afternoon off," said Kubitzky. "The cook and cleaning woman, too. And the servant really did come home late tonight." Suddenly he slapped his forehead. "We've completely forgotten, Herr Garnot! The young woman!"
"Yes. How stupid of us," said the antique dealer. "Michelsen and Herr Bilka had a woman with them."
"What sort of a woman?"
"Blond. Very pretty. Still quite young. She moved in when Herr Bilka did, in August."
The Traitor Blitz Page 18
