I must have stood by my door for almost five minutes, reaching for the handle and pulling my hand back, reaching, pulling back . . . It was a horrible idea. It was crazy.
I knew I would never sleep soundly again unless I found out.
The hour was later than I had realized. Tony was sound asleep. I beat on his door for quite a while before he answered.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘The game’s afoot.’
I didn’t wait for him. The next victim was Blankenhagen. It took almost as long to rouse him. By the time he opened his door, Tony had joined me, which was just as well; Blankenhagen probably wouldn’t have let me in without a chaperone. A chaperone for him, that is.
They were both furious. After I had talked a while they were still furious – but they were interested. I asked the doctor a question. His face was a sight to behold.
‘Heiliger Gott – I do not know. I suppose it is possible . . .’
‘That’s what I thought. Then . . .’ I spoke softly but urgently. Several times Blankenhagen’s mouth opened as if to interrupt, but he didn’t. I think he was struck dumb. Tony kept making strange strangling sounds.
‘But,’ said Blankenhagen when I had finished. ‘But – but – now, at this hour?’
‘It has to be now. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve got to find out. If I could do it alone, I would.’
Blankenhagen sat twitching like a hen on a clutch of radioactive eggs. Finally his narrowed blue eyes moved to meet Tony’s. They both turned to stare at me.
‘I am insane,’ muttered Blankenhagen. ‘You understand, I have not the equipment, even if – ’
‘I know. But the first part has to be done now.’
‘Allow me then to assume my trousers.’
Tony and I went out into the hall while the trousers were assumed. He was wide awake now and so torn between anger and fascination that he was barely coherent.
‘Why didn’t you – why did you – I ought to kill you, you – you woman!’
‘I woke you up,’ I pointed out. ‘I needn’t have done that. I’m sorry I did, if you’re just going to stand around and yell.’
Blankenhagen emerged, with trousers, just in time to prevent an undignified scuffle. I led the way down the corridor, stopping in my room to get a coat and some other equipment. Our next stop was at the carpenters’ shack in the south wing. Then we proceeded to the crypt.
As the work went on, I was convinced of one thing. This particular tomb had not been opened before. It was doubtful whether we could open it now. The mortar chipped away easily, but the stone slab on which lay the carved effigy of Count Burckhardt von und zu Drachenstein behaved as if it were reluctant to leave its place. But it was a couple of inches thinner than the first slab we had raised, and this time nobody sat on the floor and watched. Finally we had the slab propped back, and Blankenhagen climbed down into the vault.
The coffin was metal. Even after Blankenhagen had shot the bolts that held the lid in place, he had to score through the corroded joint. I had anticipated this possibility; our tools included a couple of metal files. When Blankenhagen’s hands gave out, Tony took his place in the vault. I followed Tony, ignoring male chauvinist complaints from Blankenhagen. (There were no complaints from Tony, but not because he wasn’t a chauvinist.) To reach the upper part of the coffin I had to sprawl across the lid, and some of my wilder fancies can be imagined. I got the lid loose at last. My hands were raw and so were my nerves.
Lying on the floor of the crypt, Blankenhagen reached down into the vault and grasped one of the coffin handles. Tony took the other. They heaved in unison; and we found ourselves looking down on the face of Graf Burckhardt, who had departed this life in the year of our Lord 1525.
Thanks to a well-sealed coffin, the Count’s body was fantastically preserved, almost mummified. The features were not nice to look at. They had an expression of twisted agony which was the effect (I kept telling myself) of the shrinkage of the facial tissue. The leathery lips were drawn back over yellowed teeth that looked predatory and vicious in spite of the long moustache that half veiled them. The body wore a gaudy court costume which had suffered more from the ravages of time than the flesh itself. The gold lace was black, and the velvet tore under Blankenhagen’s careful hands.
The doctor appeared quite composed. After medical-school dissections, this probably looked like a relatively tidy specimen. He busied himself with the body. I found, to my disgust, that I didn’t want to watch.
‘We are all mad,’ he said finally. ‘But if madness has any method, I have what I require. Shall we . . .’
Tony helped him with the coffin lid. They got it, and the slab, back into place, though not without effort. Blankenhagen tucked his specimens into an envelope.
‘I wonder under what law they will imprison me,’ he muttered, as we climbed the stairs into the chapel.
‘If you get in trouble, we’ll say we forced you,’ I said. ‘But I doubt if the Gräfin will make an issue of this.’
Blankenhagen stopped under a trumpeting angel and looked at me.
‘Professorin . . . ’
I tried not to look pleased. I love that title.
‘I am only flesh and blood,’ said Blankenhagen, thumping theatrically at his chest. ‘I am wild with curiosity. You must tell me the truth.’
‘I don’t know the whole truth myself. How soon can you give me some test results?’
‘lf I give you these, you will in turn give me your confidence?’
‘Well – okay. That’s fair enough. I – what was that?’
Tony whirled around.
‘Nothing. What did you see?’
‘I could have sworn something moved behind the altar.’
‘Nerves,’ Tony said. ‘Mine are shot to hell.’
Blankenhagen thought for a moment and then said decisively, ‘Also gut. I will tell you results tonight. Come, we go to the town.’
‘Not the police,’ I said apprehensively.
‘Ha, ha,’ said Blankenhagen, without humour. ‘I should go to the police with this story? No. I know slightly a man in Rothenburg, a chemist with whom I attended university. He has the equipment we need.’
Blankenhagen’s friend lived in a modern area outside the walls, on a street paralleling the Roedertor. He was a youngish man with quizzical eyebrows and nocturnal habits; there was a light in the upper window of the house, and our soft knock was promptly answered.
Blankenhagen’s explanation of our errand was decidedly sketchy, but it was accepted with no more than a lift of the chemist’s eccentric eyebrows. He ended up doing the experiment himself, after watching Blankenhagen fumble with his equipment for a while. He didn’t even look surprised when the significant dark stain appeared in the test tube.
‘You expected this?’ he asked amiably.
Blankenhagen’s eyes were popping.
‘Amazing,’ he muttered ‘Expected? It is what she expected.’
Tony was staring at me as if I’d grown an extra head.
‘I didn’t think of it,’ he mumbled, as if denying an accusation of crime. ‘Only a real weirdo would think of a thing like this.’
To tell the truth, I was pretty amazed myself. But in view of the general consternation it behoved me to be calm. I thanked the chemist, apologized for our intrusion at such an hour, and led my limp male acquaintances to the door.
The chemist waved my apologies aside.
‘I do not ask questions. I do not ask if it is the Central Intelligence, the Federal Bureau, or perhaps Interpol. You will come for a beer, when it is over, and tell me what you can?’
‘I may not be allowed to tell,’ I said. ‘You understand?’
‘Yes, yes. Foolish, this secrecy; but I know how they are, these people.’