The Curse of the Singing Wolf (13 page)

“Nothing for me,” said Dr
Watson. “Where’s our hostess. She should be told about the
rockslide.”

Moriarty checked the time on
the grandfather clock. “Don’t tell me she’s still in bed! It’s
almost midday! Pour me a malt whiskey, Reichenbach.” He turned to
the Countess. “Do you know where our hostess is at present?”

“I was thinking she might be
with you.”

He looked amused. “Why would
you think that?”

“She’s not in her bedchamber.
Her bed has not been slept in. And none of the servants have seen
her since last night.”

“Are you sure?” quizzed Dr
Watson.

“Quite sure.”

“On second thoughts,” he said,
reading the worried look in his companion’s eyes. “I’ll have a
large whiskey.”

He gazed at the four men
wondering which of them was going to own up to hosting their
beautiful hostess in their bed for the night.

“Does anyone know where our
hostess might have spent the night,” he said to get the ball
rolling. His money was on the Fenian.

The men all shook their heads
and looked mystified.

“At the risk of upsetting
anyone,” confessed the Countess, “I took the liberty of checking
the bedrooms in the west wing. I didn’t go in. I just poked my head
in while looking for our hostess. There was no sign of her.”

A series of awkward
surreptitious glances followed. Herr von Gunn was the first to
react.

“Of course there was no sign of
her! We all bid our hostess goodnight at the same time and
retreated to our rooms.”

The other three men all nodded,
backing him up.

“She said she was going to
finish her cigar and then retire,” reminded the Baron as he helped
himself to a cigarette from an exquisite Faberge cigarette box
encrusted with cabochons before passing it on.

“I recall Velazquez was
clearing the glasses,” added Prince Orczy, taking a cigarette
before passing it along. “He must have been the last one to see
her.”

Moriarty took a cigarette and
passed the box to the next person. “Let’s speak to him now.” He
looked around for a bell-pull but the chateau pre-dated such modern
trappings.

“I’ll go down to the kitchens,”
volunteered the Countess. “Since we are short-staffed that is where
I think he will probably be found. I’ll summon Inez as well.”

Velazquez and Inez resembled
carved stone caryatids poised either side of the fireplace as the
men took turns interrogating them.

“When did you last see your
mistress?” asked the Baron, looking steadfastly at Inez.

“I saw her last when I helped
to serve the dinner.”

“What did you do after that?”
put the Prince.

“I went up to her private
apartment to unpack her travel bags and turn down her bed. I used
the back stairs that the old man showed me. They lead up to the
south tower from the room with the well. I did not cross the great
hall.”

“I can confirm the bags were
unpacked and the dresses and accoutrements arranged as they should
be,” said the Countess. “The bed had been turned down and the
pillows fluffed up.”

Inez looked gratefully at the
Countess.

Von Gunn went next. “You did
not see your mistress this morning?”

“No signor, I was told not to
disturb my mistress until I was summoned. No summons came. I was
busy in the kitchen helping the old woman to prepare the
breakfast.”

“Do you have any idea where
your mistress might be?” Dr Watson used a less interrogative
tone.

Inez shook her head and her
vibrant dark locks seemed to take on a life of their own.

“No signor, I do not know where
my mistress could be.”

Her eyes filled up with tears
and she suddenly looked frightened.

The Countess’s tone was
sympathetic. “Have you ever visited Chanteloup before?”

“Never, when the mistress came
here I remained at the Hotel Louve.”

“Are you from these parts?”

“I was born in Seville. When my
mistress came to Seville with the opera and saw me dancing barefoot
in the street she gave me the job at the hotel in Biarritz.”

Moriarty trained his sights on
the handsome toreador.

“When did you last see your
mistress?”

Velazquez opened and closed his
mouth but no words came out.

“It’s all right,” said the
Irishman, “this is not the Inquisition. We are simply trying to
establish where your mistress might have gone.”

Velazquez looked only slightly
reassured but this time he managed to get out some words. “I saw
her last when I served the dinner.”

“Are you sure?” questioned the
Baron. “Weren’t you clearing the glasses at the end of the
evening?”

Velazquez began to shake, even
his voice sounded shaky. “Oh, yes, signor, I remember now I saw her
on the chair where the Countess is now seated.”

The Baron appeared satisfied
with the amendment. Bad nerves can make a man forgetful.

Prince Orczy went next. “What
did you do after you cleared the glasses?”

“I took them down the stairs to
the room where Desi was washing the cups and the little plates then
I went to my room.”

“Did you see your mistress this
morning?” continued the Prince.

Velazquez shook his handsome
head and clamped both hands together to minimize the trembling.

“Is this your first visit to
Chanteloup?” asked Moriarty.

“Yes, signor.”

“Your mistress never brought
you with her when she came to stay here?” checked Moriarty.

“No, signor.”

The Countess asked the
penultimate question. “Are you from these parts?”

“No, señora, I was born in
Pamplona. I have never visited these parts before yesterday.”

The final question was posed by
Dr Watson.

“Where do you think your
mistress may have gone?”

Velazquez looked genuinely
baffled and not a little scared, his voice had a discordant quiver,
as if he’d strummed the wrong note on his guitar.

“I…I cannot say, signor. I…I do
not know.”

“Thank you,” dismissed von Gunn
curtly. “You can both go back to your duties.”

Moriarty waited just long
enough for the two servants to depart then said what they were all
thinking. “Well, that left us exactly where we started.”

“None the wiser,” agreed the
doctor morosely.

“Is anyone else thinking what
I’m thinking?” said Prince Orczy.

“Stop being cryptic!” rebuked
the Baron, feeling suddenly short-tempered.

“I’m thinking about that
rockslide,” elaborated the Prince.

“Yes,” agreed von Gunn. “I was
thinking it too.”

Dr Watson looked surprised.
“You think our hostess may be buried under all those rocks.”

“It’s possible,” said von
Gunn.

“No it’s not.”

The five men turned to look at
the one lady amongst them who had spoken.

“The rockslide happened
before
we all said goodnight.”

The men all kicked themselves
for having forgotten it.

“All right,” persisted von
Gunn, throwing down the gauntlet, “she’s not exactly buried
under
the rocks but she’s somewhere
in
that pile of
rocks.”

The Countess picked up the
challenge.

“Was the portcullis down this
morning?”

“Yes,” they all said.

“Was the gate barred?”

Yes, again.

“In that case, last night she
must have climbed up to the ramparts and abseiled down the other
side in the dark and after managing that feat she then traversed
the fallen rocks but somehow slipped beneath some loose boulders
without setting off another rockslide - and all for what purpose?
To escape a place she clearly loved. Look how beautifully this
place is furnished. Look how much consideration has gone into every
detail. The placement of every item is harmonious and pleasing. The
furniture is not grand, not expensive, but it is supremely
comfortable. This is a much-loved home, a haven, a place of refuge
and sanctuary. Note the abundance of votive candles and ikons – it
has the ambience of a private convent.”

As they were contemplating the
monastic decor the clock stuck twelve and they retreated to their
rooms to freshen up. Lunch was waiting for them when they returned.
It took the form of platters of bread, goose pate, rabbit terrine,
cold smoked ham, cheese, olives and fruit. They helped themselves.
There was no point attempting genial conversation. Their minds were
on one thing and one thing only.

“It could be a practical joke,”
offered Dr Watson, ever the optimist.

“She did not have that sort of
sense of humour,” rebuffed the Baron.

“She was definitely not a
practical joker,” seconded the Prince.

“In that case,” asserted
Moriarty, “she either met with an accident during the night or she
met with foul play.”

No one said anything after
that. They all needed some time to digest the implication. An
accident was a distinct possibility. It was also the better option
because the alternative implied they had a murderer in their midst.
Discounting the two elderly caretakers and the Countess’s servants
that left the four servants from the Hotel Louve - if not them then
it had to be someone seated at the table.

An accident was debated. Their
hostess may have leaned too far over the ramparts and fallen to her
death, or some stones may have come loose as she leaned against a
parapet. She may have fallen down some stairs which they were yet
to discover. There were several plausible possibilities and they
explored them all.

Foul play was more awkward,
although Prince Orczy, ever the gambler, immediately put forward
the most palatable winner.

“My money is on that bandit,
Sarazan.”

The Countess challenged the
assumption. “How did he gain entry? The gate was locked and the
portcullis was down,” she reminded.

Herr von Gunn cleared his
gullet and raked his stubbly wheatfield. “I own twelve castles and
I can assure you that every castle has a secret tunnel. I do not
believe castle builders ever erected a pile of stones without
including at least one secret tunnel. Some were so ingeniously
incorporated into a buttressed wall or a fake wellhead they were
not discovered until a castle actually fell into total ruin
suddenly exposing a large drain or postern that seemed to have no
purpose.”

“Accepting that Sarazan entered
via a secret tunnel, presumably during the night, and kidnapped our
hostess,” reasoned Moriarty, “it seems odd that he did not slit our
throats while we slept. And though we agree the furnishings here
are not lavish I’d wager the ikons are priceless and the gold and
silver candlesticks as valuable as anything found in Versailles.
And we all have personal items amongst our luggage – gold pocket
watches, diamond tie pins, silver cigarette cases and so on. No, I
don’t buy into that theory.”

“Very well,” postulated von
Gunn. “Perhaps it was not Sarazan who came in, but our hostess who
went out. Posterns were escape routes in times of siege.”

“But why would she go?”
demanded the Baron, banging his fist on the table. “We are not at
war and we are not under siege.”

“Not yet,” said the Prince half
in jest, but even as he said it he felt a cold shiver run up his
spine, which must have been contagious for the others felt the same
shiver infect their own backbones.

The Countess waited until they
all shuffled back to the sitting area for coffee and cigars and had
rid themselves of fanciful theories.

“There is only one thing to be
done. We must organize a thorough search of the castle. May I
suggest we search in pairs to avoid any possibility of overlooking,
er, some vital clue.” What she meant to say was: covering something
up.

The catch in her throat was
duly noted. Suspicions were not yet mounting, but the first seed
had taken root. If their hostess had met with foul play there was
no escaping the fact that one of the four men was probably hiding
something. Last night they had discussed getting away with murder.
Had one of those stories touched a raw nerve? Had the long-ago
killer suddenly realized that his crime was not a secret? Did the
Singing Wolf visit one of the men in the night and tell him she
knew his secret? Did she threaten to expose him? Did he decide to
silence her then and there?

“Each pair should take a
different part of the castle so that we don’t double up,” proposed
Dr Watson, who knew he would be unable to relax until the mystery
of their missing hostess was cleared up.

“I think it might be a good
idea if we don’t go with someone we are familiar with,” added the
Irishman, “to avoid any accusations of collusion. I’ll go with the
Countess.”

“That was a bit fast,” argued
the Prince.

“I cannot help it if you are
slow off the mark, Orczy. You can go with von Gunn.”

“Why von Gunn?” the Prince
challenged, scowling.

“Because you and Reichenbach
are known to move in the same social circle, whereas you only see
von Gunn once a year in Biarritz, moreover, Reichenbach is good
friends with both you and von Gunn, same as me, who is likewise
good friends with all three of you, so it makes sense for me to go
with the Countess and Reichenbach to pair up with Dr Watson.”

His reasoning was quick as well
as clever and by the time anyone had had a chance to think about
the logic behind it the moment had passed. Further argument was a
waste of time.

The great hall was immediately
eliminated from the search. It was in effect one great room of
double height with a vaulted roof and just the one gigantic column
in the centre. Once any niches had been discounted and the
furniture checked there was nowhere a body could be concealed.

Dr Watson and Baron Reichenbach
opted to search the outside, including the stables, barns,
outhouses, ramparts and courtyards. They would also check the outer
perimeter using binoculars.