Silhouette in Scarlet (21 page)

Thoughtfully I tucked the bottle into my bra and pulled on a heavy sweater to hide the bulge. By the time I was ready to appear in public, my imagination had gotten into gear, and I was feeling
. . . Well, let’s say I felt a little queasy. It wasn’t hard to figure out what John was up to; he would remain resolutely unconscious as long as possible and dribble out his
information as slowly as was compatible with safety. He was trying to gain time. I hoped his plan had worked.

I found him in the kitchen scrambling eggs, and I am not ashamed to admit that I was relieved to see him. On the counter beside him was the cat, eating bacon with the insolence of a creature who
knows he is under official protection. I might have known John’s attempt to woo the cat with kidneys had an ulterior motive. He had used it, quite cold-bloodedly, to complete the distraction
of Hans, but it really hadn’t been in danger; a big, stupid man is no match for an angry feline, especially when the big, stupid man knows his boss has a weakness for pussycats. Hans was
still nursing a grudge. He fingered the scratches on his cheek as he glowered at the cat.

They were all there, even Georg and Leif – sitting at the table waiting for breakfast The condemned man was not eating a hearty meal, he was cooking it for the executioners.

I said, ‘Good morning,’ and John turned. I examined him critically.

‘You got off easier than I expected,’ I said.

‘Most of the bruises are in places that don’t show,’ John explained. ‘How about slicing some bacon?’

I took the knife. His wrist was swollen to twice normal size, and turning a pretty shade of purple.

‘Let me do that,’ Leif said, as I leaned into the slab of bacon. I handed over the knife. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked tenderly.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’ John glared at me. I went on, ‘I take it you have arrived at an agreement.’

‘Oh, right,’ John said. ‘I’ve agreed to show them where the loot is buried and they have agreed to cut my throat. Amiable arrangement, isn’t it?’

‘I will keep my promise, Dr Bliss,’ Max said. ‘In a few hours you will be free of us.’

The stench of burning eggs filled the kitchen. John dumped them onto a platter with such vigour that fragments flew all around. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, Max, my lad,’ he said.
‘As I told you, I’m no surveyor. The calculations are going to take a little time.’

‘As much time as you can manage,’ Max said with a sneer. ‘Don’t get
your
hopes up, my friend. Dr Hasseltine will be happy to assist you in your
calculations.’

Georg, devouring burned eggs with the relish of a man whose taste buds are dead and buried, looked up. Apparently he had not been present during the interrogation after all, for he asked,
‘You know the bearings?’

‘Rough ones,’ John replied. ‘My informant didn’t have equipment with him; he had to estimate.’

‘Naturally,’ Georg said. ‘To obtain accurate measurements on such uneven terrain, one would need levels, transit and tripod, plumb bob . . . I can perhaps rig some sort of
makeshift substitute.’

‘That would be most accommodating of you,’ Max said. ‘And the sooner we begin, the sooner we will be finished.’

‘Why don’t you just kill him now and get it over with?’ I said angrily. ‘This cat-and-mouse nonsense – ’

‘Keep your suggestions to yourself,’ John said.

‘We must make sure he has not tricked us,’ Max explained. ‘I promised him a pleasant death if he would cooperate. I will keep my word, but if he has deceived me . .
.’

‘That does it,’ John announced. Picking up the heavy frying pan, he tossed it into the sink with a theatrical gesture. ‘I’ve had it. No more Mr Nice Guy. No more cooking,
no more delectable dishes – ’

‘Thank heaven for that,’ Max said, poking at the shreds of burned egg. ‘Come. To work.’

Chapter Nine

T
HERE WAS A
purposefuless to Max’s procedures that morning that had been lacking before. Until I saw what he could do in the way of
organization. I did not fully realize how uncharacteristically indecisive his earlier actions had been. For the past twenty-four hours he had just been marking time. If he hadn’t known it
before, one look at the pasture would have told him that random digging was no use. I could think of several reasons why he had been willing to waste time, and I didn’t like any of them. I
disliked his brisk, angry efficiency even more. Today was the day. If John’s revelations turned out to be a red herring, Max would pack it up and leave – after he had finished his other
business. We had at the most about twelve hours.

John had reached the same conclusion. His seemingly erratic behaviour had one purpose – delay. He was hoping for darkness – twilight, rather – before making his attempt to
escape. I was pessimistic about his chances. Twelve hours is a long time.

Nagged by Max, Georg collected the equipment he proposed to use. It wasn’t impressive; the stakes and string and other implements resembled gardening tools, and were, in fact, taken from
the shed that served that function. At Max’s pressing invitation I joined the group and we left the house.

The sky threatened, and a chill breeze denied the approach of midsummer. I demanded a coat, and Max let me go up to get it. When I returned he glanced at the purse I had slung over my shoulder,
but did not object; he had searched it himself and knew I had no weapon.

When we reached the pasture, everyone stared expectantly at Max. The wind that ruffled John’s flaxen locks and blew my hair into my eyes didn’t stir a strand of Max’s grey wig.
He took a paper out of his breast pocket, studied it, and turned a minatory eye on John.

‘Fifteen paces due west from the large boulder at the northeast corner. Fifty paces due south. Sixteen paces west from the dead pine on the southeast corner, fifty paces due north from
there. Is that it?’

‘I told you it was rough,’ John said defensively.

It was straight out of ‘The Gold Bug’ or some other fiction. Perhaps Max had not been raised on the classics. He was sceptical, though; as his chilly gaze remained fixed on John, the
latter shivered exaggeratedly and wrapped both arms around his body. ‘The Second set of measurements is obviously a cross-bearing,’ he added.

Georg shook his head and made disapproving noises. ‘It is very inaccurate. How long is a pace? There are too many boulders; which is the correct one? And I cannot believe that none of you
had the intelligence to bring a compass.’

Mine was in my purse at that very moment, disguised as the butt end of a flashlight. At least one of Gus’s boats must have direction-finding apparatus, but since none of the gang had
thought of that, I didn’t see any reason to bring it up.

The men scattered, looking for landmarks. There was no dead pine at the southeast corner. Finally someone found a stump and concluded that must be the remains of the tree. Georg sat down on the
stump, took out notebook and pencil, and began making calculations, muttering, ‘If we take it that true north lies that way . . .’

The proceedings had a certain macabre humour, but I was in no mood to enjoy them. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ I told Max. ‘It’s freezing.’

‘Stay away from the hut,’ Max said curtly. His eyes were on John, who, closely followed by Rudi, was pretending to look for a boulder. They wouldn’t let him out of their sight
from now on.

The hut didn’t interest me. Gus wasn’t there. The Austrian had been following me the day before. Max had ordered him to give the impression that he was guarding the hut if I seemed
to be interested in it, but he had had to run to get there before I did.

I was almost certain I knew where they were keeping Gus, but almost wasn’t good enough. If I was wrong, there might not be time for a second guess. So I went into the forest.

It had been eerie before, in the dimness of twilight. Under a stormy sky, with wind lashing the upper branches, it was a perfect setting for a horror film. One expected to see the Frankenstein
monster come lurching along between the trees.

The search didn’t take long, since I was looking for a man-made structure. I found a few blocks of dressed stone, tumbled down by the growth of tree roots that had heaved them to the
surface. Man had left his mark, but not in the recent past The blocks might have lined a grave.

When I emerged from the trees onto the headland above the water, the wind blew my hair back like a banner. It was a north wind, carrying the snowy breath of the high mountains. Thirty feet
below, waves attacked the tumbled rocks of a shallow bay. The cliff wasn’t sheer; in fact, it could hardly be called a cliff – just a steep decline, half rock, half earth, with clumps
of rough weeds clinging to pockets of soil. I wondered if Gus could get down, with his game leg. It was the only place I had seen that offered possible hiding places, among the wave-washed rocks.
As for swimming – the steel-grey water, laced with dirty white froth, was not enticing.

I started back. I must have been midway through the belt of trees before I suddenly realized that I wasn’t nervous any longer. The shadowed aisles between the trunks promised shelter from
wind and storm, not hiding places for monsters. The moan of the boughs overhead stirred my blood instead of chilling it. The trees might guard the crumbling bones of the ancient dead, but the
spirits of those antique warriors and herdsmen held no terror for me. They had accepted me as one of their own.

I arrived at the dig in the middle of a loud, abusive argument. The digging had not yet begun, and the first words I heard, from Max, explained the delay.

‘What use are your mathematics?’ he shouted at Georg. ‘You are wrong. Your cross-bearings come nowhere near one another.’

‘I made a slight error’ Georg muttered. ‘If you will try these new calculations – ’

Max slapped his notebook from his hand. ‘The man who found the reliquary did not use exact measurements. We will imitate his method. We will pace off –’

‘But you don’t know the length of his stride,’ Georg protested, with some justification.

‘No matter. You – no, you, Willy.’ The Austrian started nervously when Max pointed at him. ‘Go to the boulder. Then walk normally. Count as you go and stop when you reach
fifteen.’

It had taken them almost an hour to arrive at this common-sense solution. There is an adage dear to strategists: Divide and conquer. Confuse and conquer is an even better technique.

‘I think there’s a cemetery in the woods,’ I said brightly.

‘Later, later.’ Max waved me to silence

‘I think I’ll go back to the house.’

‘Later. Are you at the boulder, Willy? Good. Start walking. One – two – three – ’

‘I could make some coffee,’ I said. ‘Mr Smythe looks as if he could use a stimulant.’

I shouldn’t have mentioned his name. Max had become sensitized; the syllables stung him like a hornet.

‘No!’ he cried, turning to me. ‘Don’t speak to him; don’t go near him. Be quiet. You are distracting me. Curse it, Willy; how far have you got?’

Willy was standing stiffly at attention, arms at his sides. ‘Fifteen, sir.’

‘Good. You are sure you counted correctly? Then turn – a right-angle turn. Fifty paces.’

Willy started off in measured slow step, like the Marines at a funeral procession. The formal deliberation of his movements had a hypnotic effect; I found myself counting in chorus with Max:
‘Forty nine, fifty.’ Max shrieked, ‘Stop!’ with such shrill vehemence that Willy leaped into the air.

‘Stand still,’ Max shouted. ‘Don’t move. If you stir one inch, under any circumstances whatever, I will skin you alive. Now.’ He turned a measuring eye on the
remainder of his crew. According to their temperaments they shrank or stiffened under his survey. Hans giggled nervously.

‘Not you,’ Max said, scowling at him. ‘Rudi, you are the same height. The tree stump. Go to it.’

Rudi plodded off through the stubble. ‘You are welcome to stay here, Dr Bliss,’ Max said, without looking at me. ‘But you must not try to speak privately with Smythe. Is that
clear?’

‘It’s clear, yes. But I don’t see why – ’

‘Dr Bliss, you cannot suppose – ’

‘I am here, Max,’ Rudi called.

‘I see you are, cretin. Stay there.’ Max took my arm and led me away from the others. ‘Dr Bliss,’ he said earnestly, ‘don’t suppose that I am unaware of your
intentions. You will not give up attempting to save the life of that wretched man until the deed is done. I understand your principles, and I admire them. I don’t want to see you hurt. Do you
believe that?’

‘Oddly enough, I do believe it,’ I admitted.

‘However, I am a man of business. I must obey . . . That is, I must obey the dictates of professional necessity. If you interfere with my plans, I will remove you from my path. Don’t
force me to do that.’

‘What do you expect me to say, Max?’ I demanded. ‘“Okay, thanks a lot, you just go right ahead and slaughter him”’? You do what you have to do, and I’ll
do the same.’

Max raised his arms and let them fall. ‘I have tried.’

‘Right. But . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘It goes against the grain,’ I said. ‘But – thanks for the warning, Max.’