The Great Game (38 page)

             
"Harshly!"
Barnett carefully folded his newspaper and stood up to face von Linsz eye-to-eye. "You have kept us captive here for the past two weeks, with the nonsensical notion that we can tell you Professor Moriarty's plans, about which we know nothing, or the even more ridiculous assumption that we care about your plans, whatever they may be. You have questioned us together and separately, and learned nothing, since we have nothing to tell.

             
You've made us the victims of what can most kindly be described as a horrible mistake, and the best way to remedy it would be to let us go—now!"

             
Von Linsz shook his head sadly. "You must blame your Professor Moriarty for your situation, and not us," he said. "We, with good cause, believed you to be his agents. Indeed some of us are still not convinced that you are not. If so, you can see that it was in our interest to eliminate you. And we could have done it in a much, ah, harsher manner."

             
Cecily looked up from her sewing and favored the graf with a pitying smile. "I have noticed that every lawbreaker blames others for his own actions," she said. "It seems to be one of the common aspects of the criminal mind
. '
If only he'd just given me the money I wouldn't have had to hit him over the head!' 'If only they'd told me what I want to know I wouldn't have had to kidnap them and hold them prisoner.' "

             
"Yes, yes," von Linsz said. "All that would be very convincing, if only
your
Professor Moriarty had not disappeared from sight something over a week ago."

             
"Disappeared?"

             
"Yes, disappeared." Von Linsz stalked further into the room. "Having been forewarned that he is the head of your Secret Service, and has a large band of agents among the criminal classes all over Europe, we have naturally been keeping an eye on him. We managed at the last minute to intercept one informant, a teacher of something-or-other who had discovered our suspicions regarding yet another agent. We were successful in preventing this teacher from speaking with Professor Moriarty at his home in London, but Moriarty is no longer there. He has eluded our watchers."

             
"Who is this 'us' you keep talking about?" Barnett asked. "So far we have seen only you."

             
"There is no reason why you should not know. I speak for the New Order of the Knights of Wotan," von Linsz said. "Our presence is not yet widely felt, but assuredly it soon will be."

             
"And it's this order that is so concerned with the movements of Professor Moriarty?"

             
"Well put," von Linsz agreed. "It is, indeed, his movements that concern us. A week ago he left his house, and he has not returned. It is believed that he was on the evening paddle-
steamer from Newhaven to Dieppe, but after that he vanished from sight. How do you explain that if he is not trying to thwart our plans?"

             
"He's gone on holiday," Barnett suggested.

             
"Bah!" von Linsz said. "He's gone on a holiday like you were on a holiday—artfully timed to get you to Vienna just at the right moment."

             
"The right moment for what?"
Barnett
asked,
the exasperation showing in his voice. "As I've been telling you for two weeks now, we don't know what you're talking about!"

             
"It's no use dear," Cecily said. "You can't convince him that we don't have the information he wants. And besides, by now we do know too much about his—their—affairs for him to let us go. We may not know what his gang is planning, but we know
something
is going to happen, and that is too much knowledge."

             
Von Linsz bowed toward Cecily.
"Very true, madam.
Unfortunate, but true."
He bent over and backed out of the room. "The Festival of St. Simon begins in two days," he said, pausing in the doorway.
"Celebrating one of our greatest victories.
The traditional festival is held in the meadow in front of the castle over this weekend, and we must prepare. I have much to do."

-

             
The mummer perched himself on a table by the window and carefully drew the roller blind down the last quarter-inch. "This Thursday," he said, "that is, the day after tomorrow, there is to be a great festival here. It's the anniversary of the battle of Uhm
in,
I think it were, 1164, in which the Turks were beat back for an inch or two. They give thanks to St. Simon, who must have had something to do with it, I suppose. The festival goes from Thursday to Saturday, and then the locals spend all day Sunday in church. Or so I've been told. The grounds in front of the castle are being set up now with tents and the like."

             
Moriarty nodded. "Fortuitous," he said. "I think we can use that to our advantage."

             
They were gathered at one end of Prince Ariste's private rail-road parlor-car. The special train had arrived at the rail yard outside the town of Uhmstein late the night before, and the prince's four cars were now detached from the engine and sitting in a corner of the yard. The dozen volunteers that Prince Ariste had brought along from his regiment were outside their car, exercising. Even in civilian clothes, it was hard for them not to look like what they were: highly trained soldiers from an elite unit.

             
"What are we to do?" Prince Ariste asked.

             
Moriarty stood, his hands clasped behind his back, his head jutting forward like a great hawk. "For the moment our time is best spent in gathering information," he said. He looked at the mummer. "Just where is the window to the Barnett's cell?"

             
"It ain't rightly a 'cell,'
" Tolliver
said, "just a room up on the fourth level. But, with its big, heavy oak door and the bars on the one window, which is real high up, I suppose the result's the same. It's on the left-hand side, second window in. I can point it out to you."

             
"Could you take one of us up there tonight?"

             
Tolliver thought it over. "Not likely," he said finally,
" Mess
the one of you we're speaking of ain't much bigger than what I am. First he'd have to get through the grating where this 'ere stream comes through the outer wall. And I
has
trouble passing through the bars, minuscule as I am. Then he'd have to climb the wall of the castle proper, which I
does
by utilizing the vines which grow up the side of the wall. They hold my weight—seven stone about—but I don't think they'd hold much more. And they get mighty thin and sparse around the fourth floor, where the window is, so even I has to be a might careful and precise. It's a matter of stature, you see. The builders of this here castle didn't figure on being invaded by midgets."

             
"Then you must remain our emissary, Tolliver," the professor said. "Are the Barnetts in good spirits, would you say?"

             
"I think as how they'll be in much better spirits when I
tells
them you're here, and you're plotting to get them out."

             
"Then by all means, tell them that we're here, and that we're plotting to get them out," Moriarty said. He turned to the others. "I think perhaps Madame Verlaine and I should make our way to the meadow where the people are preparing for these festivities. It may be time for Alexandre Sandarel to demonstrate some of his mystical powers."

             
"And what should we do?" Prince Ariste asked.

             
"Perhaps you should send word to Schloss Uhm that you're here," Moriarty suggested. "Nobility speaks to nobility, I understand. You've stopped over to see the fete on your way to Vienna. With any luck von Linsz will invite you to join him. Then keep your eyes and ears open, and learn what you can."

             
Ariste nodded. "I will send a footman to tell Graf von Linsz that we're here, and invite him to come over and have a drink with us in my private railroad car. He will certainly suggest that we come to the castle instead, and I will do him the great favor of acquiescing. He is, after all, merely a count while I am a prince."

             
"And a very princely one you are, my dear," Princess Diane told him, patting him on the shoulder.

             
"And I can have my men go down and seek casual employment as roustabouts or day laborers," Ariste suggested. "Perhaps they, also, can contribute to our pool of information."

             
"Excellent!" Moriarty agreed. "Keep someone trustworthy here, in this car, to gather and pass on information. If you are invited to stay in the castle overnight, find some pretext to refuse and return to your sleeping car here."

             
"My medication," Princess Diane suggested. "I am in delicate health, you know."

             
"All this is in aid of getting Barnett and the missus out of their captive environment?" the mummer asked. "I ain't complaining, mind you, I'm just curious."

             
"The dual purpose of arranging to get them out and finding out just why they're being held in the first place," Moriarty said.

             
"I told you that Barnett says that they want to know about you, Professor," the mummer said, "what you're doing and where you're doing it and why."

             
"Yes," Moriarty said. "And I need to know just what misapprehensions these people have that causes them to be so curious about my movements; and it might not be a bad idea to get some idea of just who 'they' are and just what they're up to."

-

             
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson arrived in Uhmstein on the 11:14 day train from Vienna and stood on the station platform, traveling bags in hand, and allowed the wave of humanity that had emerged from the train with them to wash on by them and out of the station. Holmes, following Jenny Vernet's suggestion that he "go in disguise," had acquired a sharply pointed beard and a trim mustache, as well as dark blue trousers, a gray jacket with sloped shoulders and cord trim, and a Tyrolean hat with a carefully curled brim. That, along with a measured stride and a manner of barking out orders to all around him as though he expected them to be unquestionably obeyed, marked him as a military officer in mufti.

             
Watson, who was encumbered by a face that mirrored the bluff honesty of the English gentleman, and a native inability to dissemble, was not disguised so much as rendered so obvious as to be unobtrusive. From the collar of his narrow-labeled tweed suit to the soles of his thick oxford walking shoes he was every inch the British tourist,
Baedeker
in hand, on a European tour.

             
"I suppose the first thing is to find the local inn and get a room," Watson suggested.

             
"We can try," Holmes said, "but I fancy the local inns are all filled with revelers and those who hope to revel. Every burgher with a spare bed, and every farmer who can tuck a straw mattress in the hay loft, is probably going to have guests tonight. We may find ourselves sleeping under the stars. Still, it won't be the first time, eh, Watson?"

             
"That's true, Holmes," Watson acknowledged.

             
"No, I think the first order of business is to discover the whereabouts of Miss Jenny Vernet and what sort of trouble she has gotten herself into. For that, of course, we must visit the local inn. As I believe I've mentioned to you from time to time in the past, my dear friend, pubs and inns are invariably the best source for local gossip. And perhaps we'll be in luck and the innkeeper will know of a spare couple of beds, even if he can't supply them himself. Come, Watson." And with that, shoulders back, chin high, stick held before him like a saber, Sherlock Holmes departed the train station and strode into Uhmstein.