The Curse of the Singing Wolf (28 page)

“His clothes are not on his
chair.”

“Then he either did not bother
getting undressed and slipped out during the night or he got
dressed early this morning and has gone off somewhere.” She
wondered if the boy had got wind of the legend of the Cathar loot
and decided to do some treasure hunting of his own. “Has the
dungeon been checked?”

“Yes, I did that myself.”

“What about the gate?” pitched
the Baron.

“It is barred and the
portcullis is down. I also checked that myself.”

Von Gunn replaced his coffee
cup and gave a grunt. “What about the stable and the yard? The boy
probably went out early to let the horses and the donkeys into the
outer bailey and is malingering to avoid his chores.”

“The animals are still in the
stable. The old man checked.”

“What about the cellar?”
continued von Gunn. “The boy could have decided to follow in the
footsteps of that nervy toreador. He might have been helping
himself to some wine in the middle of the night and has passed
out.”

“Inez checked the cellar.”

“And the well?” said the
Prince.

“Desi checked the well.”

“Look!” intervened Moriarty
impatiently, slapping his hand on the table. “We could go on like
this all morning. It’s a damn nuisance but there is nothing for it
but to go over every inch of this place ourselves, gentlemen. If
this was the first such disappearance I would say: damn the boy! He
wouldn’t be the first boy to run off and join some brigands,
thinking of it in terms of a romantic adventure, a chance to escape
a life of servitude, an opportunity to make an easy fortune and
have some damned fool fun along the way, but it is
not
the
first disappearance. Have we all forgotten the Singing Wolf? Have
we all just pushed her disappearance to the back of our minds? I
tell you, Fedir and I heard something rushing up the stairs. We
were both wide awake because we heard a loud bang. We both thought
the loud bang came from the kitchen. It is time for more than a
cursory search and a shrug of the shoulders.”

He sounded like someone
rallying troops for war. The men responded in a positive vein. They
gulped down the remainder of their breakfast while they discussed
which section of the castle each would be responsible for then
marched off to their rooms to gather their weapons. The Countess
was secretly annoyed that she would have to delay introducing
Lalique to the four men and consoled herself with the belief Milo
had had an accident while searching for treasure and would soon be
found injured but certainly alive. She made her way to the east
wing to look in on Dr Watson since Fedir had been too busy
searching for Milo all morning to act as valet. She didn’t bother
knocking. The door was unbolted and she went in. Remnants of his
dinner suit were strewn across the floor. His stripy pyjamas were
still under his pillow. The bed was cold. The sherry bottle was on
the bedside table along with a water glass. One was half empty, the
other half full and the liquid in the glass was not water. Dr
Watson was nowhere to be seen.

She hurried to her own room and
gave five knocks. Xenia was in the process of brushing Lalique’s
long golden hair which had just been washed. The girl was still
sitting in the scented bath water.

“Is it time for the surprise?”
asked the girl eagerly.

“Not yet,” said the Countess,
smiling indulgently. You need to curl your hair and get dressed
first.” She turned to Xenia. “How long before you are ready?”

“Not for an hour at least.”

“That’s fine. We are currently
busy searching for Milo. He’s gone missing.”

Lalique piped up: “Is that the
boy with the knife down his sock?”

“How do you know he has a knife
down his sock?”

“I saw him when I was hiding in
the hen house. He got a knife out from his sock and threw it at the
side of the hen house. It gave me such a fright. I almost cried and
let him win but I closed my eyes and was very brave. This morning
he was throwing his knife in the woodshed.”

“You saw him in the woodshed
this morning?”

“Oc.”

“But you were hiding behind the
mirror,” she reminded gently.

“I saw him before I hid behind
the mirror,” pouted the girl. “Almaric came to the stable to bring
me some breakfast. When he left me on my own I felt cross. I was
tired of sleeping in the stable. I wanted to sleep in my cot. I
jumped down from the loft and was running to the kitchen when I saw
the boy with the knife go into the woodshed. I could hear him throw
his knife at the wood stack. I heard the kitchen door open and I
jumped behind the wheelbarrow. Someone went into the woodshed. I
heard a loud noise. I think the big stack of wood fell down. I ran
as fast as I could into the kitchen and up the stairs. Hortense
told me to hide behind the mirror whenever I felt frightened.”

“When you were hiding behind
the wheelbarrow did you see who went into the woodshed?”

She shook her head. “I had my
eyes closed.”

“Did you hear them speak?”

She shook her head.

The Countess turned to her
maid. “If Fedir comes by tell him Dr Watson is not in his room. He
drank too much last night and he may have passed out in the
garderobe. I don’t have time to check. Fedir can prepare him a
bath. I’m going down to the woodshed.”

Von Gunn had taken it upon
himself to interrogate Inez and Desi in the main kitchen. He was
barking out questions concerning the whereabouts of Milo. Both
servants were sobbing wretchedly into their hands. Reichenbach was
interrogating the old man in the bakery and Moriarty was doing the
same to the old woman in the scullery. Neither was getting very
far. Prince Orczy was scouting the ramparts and Fedir was checking
the outbuildings. The Countess signalled to Fedir to join her in
the woodshed.

One glance revealed that the
wood stack had buried the boy. Poking out from under the small
mountain of logs was a boot, no longer spit-polished, but dusty and
grimy. Fedir began to clear the logs while the Countess went to
inform the others. Milo’s body was soon exposed and it was clear he
had not died accidentally. He had been stabbed through the heart
with a dagger. The killer had most likely removed the uprights that
held back the wood stack. The logs had rolled forward and buried
the body. If not for the girl they might have searched fruitlessly
for hours.

Moriarty extracted the dagger
and studied it intently. “This is a stiletto, the sort favoured by
criminal gangs from the south of Italy, common in Naples and
Sicily. You can see the markings on the handle. It’s like a calling
card. It tells everyone what gang you belong to. How the hell did
it end up here?”

“Sarazan must have entered
during the night and killed him,” suggested von Gunn.

“Let’s not start that again,”
said Reichenbach gruffly.

“The boy was a Sicilian
orphan,” reminded the Countess. “My manservant saw Milo throwing
his dagger against the hitching post the other day. The boy told
him he got the dagger from his father and learned to use it from an
early age. I think he kept it in his sock.”

“How do you know he kept it in
his sock?” Moriarty passed the stiletto to the Prussian to study.
His abrupt tone indicated suspicions were running high.

“I believe that is the usual
hiding place.”

“Yes, but how do you know?”

“I travelled extensively with
my step-aunt. We spent some time in the south of Italy with the Duc
d’Otranto. I remember someone mentioning that was the case.”

“I can verify the boy wore
extremely thick socks even in summer,” said von Gunn. “I spoke to
him about it once and he just smiled stupidly at me.”

Reichenbach looked at Fedir.
“Was the body buried under these logs?”

Fedir nodded.

Reichenbach turned to Moriarty.
“I think we now know what that loud noise was this morning. This
wood stack rolled forward and banged against the stone wall here
that connects to the kitchen. It would have sounded like a minor
earthquake. Whoever removed the uprights was able to move swiftly
to avoid causing themself a serious injury. That rules out the old
man and his wife.”

“Sarazan,” said von Gunn with
emphasis. “I keep repeating it because it is so obvious.”

Reichenbach ignored the German.
“Let’s get the body into the cellar. We’ll need a blanket. The body
is like a sack of broken bones. There’s been a lot of blood spilled
and the fact it has not turned to gore indicates the stabbing was
not done last night but probably this morning. I’ll hang onto this
stiletto if no one has any objections. I can pass it onto the
authorities if it ever comes to that.”

The Countess sent Fedir to
locate a blanket. In the meantime they were joined by Prince Orczy
and went over the details all over again.

“But why kill the boy?” said
the Prince, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He must have known more than
he let on the first time we interrogated him,” reasoned Moriarty.
“He might have seen someone other than Velazquez creeping about the
night the Singing Wolf went missing.”

“Then why didn’t he say so?”
huffed von Gunn. “By the way, where’s Dr Watson? Does anyone else
find it suspicious that he is conveniently absent?”

“Shut-up,” snapped Moriarty,
lighting up a cigarette before striding off toward the stables to
release the animals into the outer bailey.

Dr Watson regained
consciousness on the floor of the garderobe. He was clad in soiled
long-johns. There was yellow vomit down the front of his new
singlet and horrid bits of dry sick were stuck in his beard. His
mouth felt like the inside of a piss-pot, his breath smelled like
dog turd, his head throbbed and his body was stiff with cold. He
hauled himself back to his bedroom, stripped off and practically
fell into the hot bath Fedir had prepared in his absence.

The Countess arrived fifteen
minutes later with a cup of hot black coffee. He was getting used
to having her walk in on him while he was taking a bath and didn’t
bat an eyelid, or perhaps more to the point, he didn’t have the
strength to bat an eyelid. And since he would have killed for that
coffee he wasn’t about to order her out when she perched herself on
the end of his bed.

“Spare me the lecture,” he
groaned, clutching the cup with both hands as he brought it to his
lips. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

He took a sip of piping hot
coffee and felt it kick-start his heart. The blood hadn’t reached
his brain as yet and he felt only half human and it was for this
reason he was only half listening. She was blathering on about the
lobby boy when his grey cells sparked to life.

“Are you telling me Milo is
dead?”

“Yes, haven’t you been
listening?”

“I’m a bit slow today. You may
need to repeat what you just said.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

She rolled her eyes and decided
to keep the details to a minimum. “Milo was found dead this morning
in the woodshed. He had been stabbed through the heart with his own
stiletto.”

“Stiletto?”

“Yes, it’s a thin-bladed dagger
popular in the south of Italy with -”

“I know what a stiletto is. But
who told you it was a stiletto?”

“Moriarty.”

“I see.”

Feeling prickly, she picked up
on the dubious intonation. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You suspect him of the killing
Milo because he can recognize a stiletto when he sees one?” she
challenged.

“Don’t shout. I have a
splitting head. I am not accusing anyone at this stage, though I
find it interesting that he can recognize a stiletto at a
glance.”

“Who said he could recognize it
at a glance?”

“Are you defending him?”

“No! Yes! Maybe.”

“You still don’t even know what
he does for a living.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I
know exactly what he does for a living.”

“He told you a pack of lies and
you swallowed it hook, line and sinker,” he accused somewhat
unfairly. “Let me guess,” he continued facetiously. “He is a
philanthropist who builds almshouses for the poor when he’s not
busy training thoroughbreds at his family castle or fighting for
Queen and country with his regiment of loyal Irish Guards.”

“He told me nothing of the
sort.”

“What did he tell you
then?”

“He told me he is a
speculator.”

“Ha! And you believed it!”

“I didn’t believe it for a
minute.”

“That means there was a whole
minute when you did believe it!”

“Actually it was much longer
than a minute,” she admitted, “but I now know what he really
does.”

“How do you know?”

“I deduced it for myself.”

He burst out laughing then
groaned loudly and clutched his aching head. “Get me an aspirin,
will you. There’s a fresh box in my medical bag.”

He gulped two aspirin down with
his coffee and felt instantly better though the tablets had not
even had a chance to work their efficacious magic, but such was the
placebo effect of modern medicine that placated human
over-indulgence it worked faster than a visit to the confessional
for the absolution of sin, a catholic cure-all without the hail
Marys. “All right then, what does he do for a living?”

“I’m not saying.”

“I rest my case - you know it
will incriminate him?”

She caught herself pouting and
decided to return to the topic at hand. “After Milo was stabbed the
killer removed the uprights holding back the wood stack and the
mountain of logs rolled on top of him and buried him.”

His brain was slowly kicking
in. “Who found the body?”

“I did,” she said, stretching
the truth because she didn’t want to explain about Lalique until
the four men had met her. It was their reactions that she was most
interested in. “I spotted his boot sticking out. Fedir moved the
logs.” She explained about Milo being of Sicilian extraction and
keeping a stiletto down his sock.