“What do you mean?” he demanded hoarsely.
Max was more agitated than Simon would have thought possible. His hand shook as he put it up to his forehead, and the whites of his eyes showed like those of a nervous horse.
“She took the clothes I had brought, to try on, and the papers to go with them. And just now, Anton found this note in the hall.”
It was significant that he thrust the paper towards Simon and not Leopold.
The Saint took it. It was short and to the point and said in German:
Dear Friends,
Do not be annoyed with me. I have a plan of my own for getting the Necklace. It is better that I carry it out alone. But if I am not back in three days’ time, come and get me out of Schloss Este. I am sure Simon can do it even if it’s impossible!
Love to you all and Thai.
The Saint felt that old surge of tingling excitement, the herald of adventure to come.
“Perhaps we can still head her off,” babbled Leopold.
“And risk fouling up this plan of hers for getting the Necklace — whatever it is?”
“Who cares about the Necklace?” Leopold ranted. “It is only Frankie who matters.”
Max was lighting a cigarette. It was a gold-tipped Russian one, and its most oriental fragrance, though it evidently pleased him, irritated Simon’s nostrils. In spite of his trembling fingers, Max’s voice was firm and decisive.
“It so happens that Frankie cares a lot about the Necklace. So much that she is willing to risk her life for it. We owe it to her to give her a chance with her plan, whatever it costs her. It would only be tragic if we could not complete the plan, if she fails.”
Simon gave him a quizzical look. This combination of practicality and romantic idealism was very Austrian. It was just the sort of thing which had caused the downfall of their great Empire. No man can serve two masters, and the Austrians always tried to please everyone with the result that their priorities often got hopelessly muddled. But he didn’t think Max’s were.
“Unfortunately,” Simon reminded him, “none of us has the faintest idea where to look for the Necklace. We can only hope that she does get her hands on it.”
“And so you would just leave her to do everything alone,” accused Leopold, ready to work himself up into one of his quick rages.
“Calm yourself, Leopold.” Max spoke authoritatively. “I am sure that Simon is thinking of something more than that.”
“I’m thinking that at least we know where she’s headed for,” said the Saint. “And if it’s too late to stop her, at least we could be a lot closer than this if she needs help. How far is it to Schloss Este?”
“About an hour’s drive. It’s on the border, as a matter of fact.”
Simon looked thoughtful.
“I’d rather avoid the official frontier check-point. That would get us involved with passports, visas, and all the other red tape of customs and immigration.”
Max nodded vigorous agreement.
“Especially since the Germans who have occupied the Castle, the Gestapo, have turned the whole village of Este into a verboten area since they made the Schloss their headquarters for both Hungary and Austria.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know a lot of things. It is my business to find out as much of what is going on everywhere as possible.”
“Why did they pick Schloss Este?”
“Because it is large, and because of its situation. With the river on one side and their gun emplacements on the others, barbed wire, mine fields and all the rest, there is no way in unless one is officially welcomed.” Max grimaced. “And that is not a welcome many people would like.”
“I wonder how Frankie thinks she can get in.”
Max spread his hands apart, palms upward.
“Who knows? She may have thought of some story to go with her peasant clothes, but what good that would do I cannot think.”
The Saint concurred in that admission with a slight tightening of his lips, but he forced himself to keep thinking constructively.
“She may have thought of using that drain that you were telling us about in Vienna,” he said. “But whether she did or not, it still seems to be the likeliest way in for us. The frontier follows the river there, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s where we’ll cross to Schloss Este — the shortest way.”
Annellatt pondered for only a few seconds, puffing jerkily at his acrid cigarette.
“The only way,” he agreed. “But someone must stay here to be in charge in case anything goes wrong. That will be you, Leopold. Simon and I will go together.” He drew himself up theatrically. “If that is the end of us, you must carry on.”
“No,” said Leopold firmly and with unexpected authority. “It is I who must go. Frankie is my cousin and the Necklace is to do with my family.” He gave Max’s pudgy form a cruelly critical survey. “Besides, you are too old — or at any rate, not in condition.”
Max had had his moment, and it might have been uncharitable to suspect that he was relieved rather than affronted by its rather tactless rejection.
“Perhaps you are right,” he sighed, but could not resist getting in a return dig: “And besides, there should be someone left with the brains to cope with emergencies and to organise another attempt if necessary. You and Simon will go. I reluctantly will remain behind.”
He bowed gracefully to the Saint, who bowed back.
“Very sensible,” Simon remarked. “Valour is the better part of idiocy. Only fools get medals. The bright boys get made generals by being able to read maps at Headquarters Command.”
In less than an hour, Max had the whole expedition organised, and they were on their way to the border in Max’s Mercedes, followed by Anton, Erich, and another man in a large Opel saloon. When Max was not being Austrian and scatty he could act with positively Teutonic efficiency. That was probably how he had become a millionaire in a country where most people are too lackadaisical to be ambitious, or at any rate to fulfill what ambitions they do have.
The Saint and Leopold were dressed as workmen and had papers identifying them as “agricultural engineers” — a magnificently sesquipedalian title in German that Max had dreamed up for the delectation of a bureaucratic mentality fascinated by high-sounding designations, which would cover almost any simulated activity from map-making to testing electric mains. That might not help them much if they were caught inside Schloss Este itself, but they would have to tackle that eventuality if and when it came.
It was a warm night for October. What was more important, however, was that it was a moonless one because it was overcast. Max gave them more information as he drove.
“The river is a tributary to the Dekes, which runs into the Raba, which flows along the border.”
“Then it is not a very wide river,” Leopold said.
“But a swift one, and that is what we need. Speed is essential, as you will be in a rowing boat travelling downstream. The less time you are in the open the less danger you will run.”
“The boat is to be supplied by you, I take it,” said the Saint.
“Exactly. I keep one there — for fishing! You will drift silently down river and steer across it. I and my men will create a diversion farther upstream, while you become sewer rats. I am sewer you will do well — that is an English-type, joke, no?”
“And you’ll be our Pied Piper. That is an Austrian-type joke, yes?”
“Yes,” agreed Max enthusiastically.
“Austrian corn can be as green as English com,” said the Saint philosophically.
Max looked baffled, but then he laughed heartily.