Tempting Fate (95 page)

“Yes,” she said, then went on to protest, “I am not leaving without you, Saint-Germain. I cannot.”

“You must. I am fairly confident that the police would separate us in any case, and very likely would not detain you. For Germany to keep a citizen of France without good and sufficient reason would be a most untactful move at this time. Therefore, we will spare them the problem and arrange for you to leave. Wear the black coat and veiled hat. And if you have a very dark dress, wear that as well.” He spoke quickly, not pausing to debate with her.

“As if I am in mourning?” she said. “Not very original.”

“No, but eminently workable. If there is any question, you are returning suddenly to France, which explains why you will take any accommodations available, because of the unexpected death of your … father? brother? sister? perhaps mother? What?”

“Let us say my father. If I must choose one, that may be the best. He collapsed suddenly at … at his desk … and died two days later of…” She shrugged.

“You’d best be sure you have worked out an answer to that question, for you may be asked it.” He bent over to put another log on the skimpy fire.

“I don’t think I’ll know what did it, that it was so sudden and unexpected that no one knows what was wrong. He had been in perfect health, and then, this!” She put a hand to her brow in a flamboyantly theatrical gesture.

“Don’t do such things,” Ragoczy reprimanded her gently.

“Why not? The Germans expect it of the French and Italians. But I won’t. I will be one of the quietly-suffering types, so that my dry eyes will be thought to indicate bravery and self-control instead of heartlessness.” She leaned back in the chair. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You haven’t much choice, Madelaine. We must be prepared to do this properly.” He walked across the room. “Two hours isn’t much time.”

“Should I wait for you to join me at the train station?” She was beginning to enter into the spirit of the occasion, but her apprehension robbed her of any enjoyment she might have experienced.

“No. I won’t travel by train.” He touched his tie, loosening the knot a bit. “You forget I have the Delage.”

“But you said yourself that there is going to be rain, and that means mud…” Her eyes were growing wide again, and she started to get up from the chair.

“Yes, but I am assuming that I have a better automobile than what the police here may drive. I will not try to cross the border near here, if they are truly trying to keep me here, but I’ll go south, toward Switzerland. There are ways through the mountains, and if the automobile cannot make it, then I will go on foot.” He lifted his hand to forestall her arguments. “I have a good supply of earth, and that will serve me well. And I will travel only at night. It should not take me long to reach France. There is a cache of gold coins in my belt, so you’re not to worry about my not having enough money to take a train or buy fuel for the automobile.” He had neatly anticipated her various objections to his plan, and she shrugged.

“All right then. You wish me to be a mourning daughter. Is Roger my…?” She looked up at him inquiringly.

“He is, I think, your brother-in-law, who has come to bring you back to Paris. That will account for your marked dissimilarity and the fact that he is traveling at the moment on a Spanish passport.” He sighed. “It was easier two or three centuries ago. At the most you needed a travel authorization or a letter of introduction or a business contract, and you could go fairly much where you wished. A patent of arms helped in some cases and was a disadvantage in others. But now there are telegraphs and photographs and passports and visas and … all the rest of it. Undoubtedly it will get worse, which disappoints me. I do not want to have to spend decades in out-of-the-way places so that I may keep my credentials credible.” He slapped the back of the chair in his annoyance.

“What passport are you using now?” she asked, thinking of her French one tucked into her purse.

“At the moment, I have my Hungarian passport, but in London I have a Czech and a Polish passport, and a set of Russian diplomatic papers as well, not that they are much use anymore.” He gave an exasperated shrug. “In time I will grow used to these new complications. It is part of what we must do.”

“Have you thought of what you will do next?” she asked. “About your passports, I mean.” The rest she did not wish to talk about.

“I believe I will get Canadian papers. It is easily enough arranged. That will make my traveling easier. No one has any idea what Canadians look like or act like. They have a large number of foreigners living there, no mean consideration, and therefore my accent will not be thought unusual. But that is for later.” He braced his arm on the back and leaned over her. “Courage, mon coeur. You will come through this well.”

“And you?” she shot back at once. “What of you?”

“I will. You have my word on it.” The tips of his fingers touched her hair, her cheek, and for some little time neither of them said anything.

“Well, you may wish to change. Get your bags ready and bring them to Roger’s room. We might as well begin the deception here.” He offered her his hand as she rose from the chair, and they kissed fleetingly.

“I will insist that Roger tell me everything that you do,” she warned him, and blinked as the door opened behind them.

“The manager said—” Roger began in his calm voice as he shut the door unhurriedly.

“In Arabic,” Ragoczy admonished him. “We’re being cautious.”

“Oh?” Roger came over to them. “The manager made a strange remark.”

“Small wonder,” Ragoczy said ironically. “The police are asking questions.”

“Questions?” His face was almost without expression, but his faded blue eyes flickered from Ragoczy to Madelaine.

“Yes. Your father-in-law, Madelaine’s father, has just died in Paris and you must escort her back for the funeral.”

“A most unfortunate occurrence,” Roger said solemnly, waiting to hear the rest.

“Yes, and you will have to be most solicitous of her at the train station. You will take any first-class carriage going in the general direction of Holland, Belgium, or France. You will make whatever arrangements are necessary to get to Paris once you are out of Germany. Wire Nikolai when you have your route established, but not from this country.” He did not look at his manservant, knowing that Roger would remember everything he was told and would question if he were dubious about any portion of the strategy.

“And you?”

“For the moment, I am going to have to remain here. Is the Delage at the train station or here?”

Roger coughed delicately. “There is a question about a permit. It is here at present. I had hoped that you would know where the permit might be obtained.”

“It isn’t necessary. I will take the automobile.” He rested his hand on Madelaine’s shoulder. “Go change, ma belle, and make yourself ready.” He bent to kiss her hand, loving her for her strength that had been his deliverance.

“In Paris?” she asked tenuously.

“Yes. And soon, my heart. Believe this.” He did not speak until she had left the room, and then he turned at once to Roger. “I must get ready to see the police. I will need two bottles of schnapps and a glass. Order me a small meal and have it brought to this room.” He loosened his collar and unbuttoned his black jacket. “Hurry. I haven’t much more than an hour to ready myself, and by then you should be away from here.”

“As you wish, my master,” Roger said at once, and went from the room quickly. He came back ten minutes later, with the two bottles of schnapps, remarking as he closed the door, “Herr Barmherzig was shocked, but I think he liked being shocked.”

“Undoubtedly,” Ragoczy said quietly. He was seated before the fire, his clothes in disarray, his hair mussed, and his eyes, which he was still rubbing, reddened. “Open one of the bottles and pour it down the sink. Make sure no one sees you. Then bring it here and put it beside my chair, not quite out of sight. I’ll take care of the other.”

“As you wish.” Roger took one of the bottles and tucked it under his arm, then went in to the hall.

While he was gone, Ragoczy opened the second bottle and sluiced a generous mouthful of the stuff, then spat it into the fire, watching the flames rise higher, crackling. A bit more of the liquid was poured onto his hands, and, satisfied at the smell of it, he poured the glass Roger had provided full of the schnapps, letting a little slosh over the rim. By the time Roger came back into the room, it reeked of spirits and Ragoczy himself seemed far gone in drink. He waved vaguely in Roger’s direction and slurred out a few words of instruction as his manservant closed the door. “Well?” he asked when they were private again. “Will it serve?”

“To what end?” Roger asked, putting the empty bottle down as Ragoczy had instructed him.

“The police will not have a very coherent conversation with me this evening, and by morning, I will not be here.” He rubbed his eyes once more, for good measure. “Take Madelaine out the servants’ entrance, and tell anyone who asks that she does not want to have to speak to anyone. I will see that the rooms are paid for, so do not bother about that. We do not want to alert the manager or anyone else that we are leaving.” He sniffed at his hands. “I got drunk twice in my life, when I was very young. There was nothing like this, then, just very raw wine. My head pounded for two days after each of them.”

“There are worse things to do,” Roger said, to indicate that he was listening.

“You’re not to let Madelaine worry about me. She will, of course, but keep her from brooding. It will serve no purpose. I have not told her, but I think you should know that I think it may be difficult to cross the border for some distance. If that is the case, it may take me a few days to leave here. You know what to do if I am … detained.” He gave his servant a long look.

“Yes, my master, I know what to do.” He took a deep breath. “Is there anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so. My thanks, but you know that too, don’t you?” He held out his hand to Roger, clasping the other man’s briefly, but with feeling.

“I’ve never doubted it.” He started for the door, but stopped as he heard Ragoczy say, “You know, a week ago, I would have welcomed this. I would have let them take me, imprison me, or execute me, whatever they wished. Now, I am offended by them, and by my own … cowardice? I don’t know what it was. I kept thinking of how much I loved Laisha. Loved! It’s absurd to say that. I love her. I will love her always. Yet I didn’t recognize that until Madelaine…” He broke off. “Travel safely, old friend.”

“And you, my master,” he said as he closed the door.

Ragoczy sat alone for almost an hour. He heard Roger knock at the door once, a signal they had used for more than fifteen hundred years. So they were away, he thought, and felt a rush of gratitude for both Roger and Madelaine. With them gone, he could turn his attention to the police without being overwhelmed with concern for them. He tossed the schnapps from the glass onto the fire and refilled the glass again as he heard the heavy tread of boots on the stairs. “Come in,” he called out muzzily as a heavy fist pounded the door. “And be damned to you if you don’t cooperate with me this time,” he added with bleary pugnacity.

There were three policemen in the doorway, two of them constables, one of them an officer. Ragoczy saw that all wore small swastika pins on their collars. “Herr Ragoczy?”

“What do you want? Did she call you to complain? What…” He reached for the glass, knocked it over, and gazed at it stupidly. “How’d that…” With great concentration he took the schnapps bottle and poured out a generous amount. “Join me?” he said to the others as if remembering his manners at last.

“Herr Ragoczy, we have some questions we must ask you,” said the officer. He was a tall, lean man with strongly-marked features and an air of worry about him. His brown eyes were troubled as he looked down at Ragoczy.

“Questions? Don’t know why. But ask away, ask away,” he said with an extravagant sweep of his arm that almost knocked over the schnapps bottle.

“I am Inspector Wolfram Spreu of the Bonn police department. I have received a message from Berlin requesting that I detain you.” He was unhappy about these orders, for his posture was hesitant and he could not bring himself to stand at full attention.

Ragoczy perceived this, and hoped he could turn it to his advantage. “Berlin? I was there a few days ago. Cold place. It’s those Prussians.”

Inspector Spreu smiled wanly. “Yes, they are sticklers,” he said uncomfortably. “You were there, you say?”

“Been there for several weeks. Had a nice house in Charlottenburg. There was a woman who stayed there with me.” He gave a leering wink. “Not the same one with me now. She is with me, isn’t she? She’s been saying she’ll take herself off. Upstairs sulking, no doubt.”

“Herr Ragoczy,” Inspector Spreu said quietly, “there have been some serious charges laid against you, by a Nillel Schlacke. She claims that you committed indecencies on her body, and that you stole from her.”

Ragoczy did not need to pretend to be shocked. He dropped the glass, ignoring it as it broke on the floor. “Nillel says what?”

“It has not been investigated yet, but Berlin would like it if you would return there so that the question may be cleared up.” He turned to his two constables and said in an undervoice, “I know that we were warned that he is dangerous, but in this state, I might do better with him alone.”

One of the constables hesitated, but the other regarded Ragoczy with a jaundiced eye. “The only thing he’s about to attack in the condition he’s in is the chamber pot.” He chuckled at his rough humor and pulled his fellow constable’s sleeve. “Come on. Let the Inspector deal with him. It’ll be a thankless job, but…”

“He won’t tell us much until morning,” Inspector Spreu ventured, and ushered the two constables out of the room. He closed it loudly, hoping it would attract the attention of the man in the chair. When he turned, he saw Ragoczy take the mouth of the schnapps bottle from his lips. “Do you think you ought to drink so much?”

“Why not?” Ragoczy asked as he put the bottle down heavily. “In … Inspector, you can’t … I don’t like Berlin. Why should I go back there?” He pitched his voice higher than usual, and added a querulous, whining note to it. “What do they want me for? I ask you that.”