4
The manservant’s eyes goggled and his jaw hung open. In a moment, however, he had regained his composure and his face once more wore its professional mask. In his hand was a Luger automatic, and Simon noted that it was held in a manner which combined decorum with instant readiness for action.
“Ach, Herr Templar!” Erich’s eyes flicked as he tried to determine whether Simon was armed. “What has happened, sir? How do you come here?”
The Saint smiled genially.
“Locked doors do not a prison make, my dear Erich, to misquote a famous English poet.”
The man’s dark eyes became expressionless once again. The Saint sensed, as indeed he had always felt about Erich, that here was potentially a really dangerous customer, far above the calibre of the Rat and the Gorilla. Had the man possessed a sense of humour he might even have approached Max’s stature in villainy. Even so, the Saint realised that he would have to be very careful in dealing with the humourless Erich.
“But what are you doing here, sir?” the man repeated. “I thought you had retired for the night.”
“I had, but I’m given to sleep-walking, especially down the sides of buildings. The doctors tell me I’m a unique case. It only comes over me when I get close to Dracula country. Do you have any bats in your belfry?”
As he rambled on inconsequentially, the Saint was edging into the doorway. But Erich was not to be caught unawares. He stepped backwards, but his gun was still at the ready.
“You have not told me why you are here,” he persisted stubbornly.
“And why I am not still locked in my room,” said the Saint dryly. “But I have some bad news for you. Your master has vanished. I can’t find him anywhere.”
For an instant there was a glint of surprise in the other’s eyes. Then his lids drooped partially over them.
“He is in his study, sir,” he replied, giving the Saint a calculating stare.
“Oh, no, he isn’t. I’ve just been up there.”
“Impossible,” Erich said flatly. “I have been in my quarters, and at this time of night the only entrance to the East Wing is past my room because the state rooms are all locked and their burglar alarm is switched on.”
“Perhaps he turned himself into a bat,” responded the Saint helpfully. “Or maybe he’s been kidnapped. Didn’t you hear a couple of shots a few minutes ago?”
As he spoke he again attempted to edge closer to Erich, but once more the manservant retreated, his gun held steadily on target.
“I was on my way to investigate them, sir, when you rang the bell.”
“There seems to have been some sort of a fracas,” Simon informed him. “There are a couple of dead men at the foot of the stairs in that wing. Someone seems to have been playing games rather roughly with them.”
Erich’s eyes widened.
“Furchtbar! Who are they, these men?”
The Saint was watching him keenly.
“I don’t know their names, but I’ve seen them around before in other places, and they were never up to any good. One of them looks like a big ape and the other like a rat.”
Erich’s face was once more expressionless.
“Are you sure you did not kill them, sir?” His query was polite, but his voice had a menacing ring.
“No, I’m not,” said the Saint cheerfully. “Or yes I am, whichever way you want to look at it. What I mean is, I am not sure I did not kill them because I did kill them.”
Erich’s eyes were suddenly as cold as agates. So was his voice.
“And possibly, sir, you have killed the Herr Baron?”
“No, he was too quick for me. I didn’t get the chance. He jumped on his cat and rode off between the chimney pots. A very versatile chap, your master.”
Erich’s gun pointed directly at the Saint’s heart.
“What have you done with him?”
“I tell you,” maintained the Saint, “I haven’t touched the blighter. But his cat touched me in several places.” He indicated the scratches on his face. “Left his calling card, he did.”
“I think, Mr Templar, you had better answer my question.”
“I have. Quite truthfully. Your master did a bunk. Or as they say in America, he took it on the lam. Sie scheinen schwer von Begriff zu sein. I expect he’s in his car right now heading for parts unknown as fast as it will take him. Don’t ask me which, any one will do for him in his present circumstances. He’s a refugee from the Law, you see, as well as from me. You might be in a bit of the same trouble yourself, just from having been associated with him. Unless you’d claim that you were always really working for yourself — but that could be embarrassing too, couldn’t it?”
“Was meinen Sie?”
“I mean that Max’s beautiful organisation had its weak spot, like a lot of brilliant organisations have had before. As the old saying goes, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. In this case, the weak link is you.”
“Ich verstehe nicht.”
“Oh, but you do understand. Like a lot of smartie subordinates before you, you thought you were smarter than the Boss. So you thought you could use his set-up for a while, and then take over and ditch him at the right moment. It’s only your bad luck that I got wise to the double-cross. Maybe you were just that much too clever when you tipped somebody off about our false papers.”
For a while there was silence. Erich was obviously fitting the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together, swiftly and competently, in his mind.
“I think,” he said finally, “that I shall have to kill you.”
The Saint actually laughed. A spectator would have thought that he was really enjoying himself. The spectator would have been right. This was just the sort of situation that Simon Templar revelled in: death only a few feet and perhaps only a few seconds away. Unless he could dodge it.
“I expect you’re right,” he said. “But I must warn you that I’m probably quicker on the draw and a better shot than you are. It’s my Boy Scout training.”
Erich steadied his aim deliberately. For a long moment they faced each other. Then the Saint dipped into his shirt pocket and brought out the necklace. The movement was slow and relaxed, making sure not to give any suggestion that he might be going for a concealed weapon. Which he was doing, of course; but this weapon was psychological.
Erich’s eyes bulged as he saw the fiery splendour of the stones. Obviously his mother hadn’t told him that artificial gems could sparkle as brightly as real ones. He drew in his breath sharply.
“Das Halsband!” he whispered, as if he were admitting something against his will. With an effort he switched back to English and his attention to Simon. “Where... how did you get it?”
The Saint swung the necklace in languid hypnotic arcs in front of the man’s eyes, and Erich had difficulty in keeping his gaze from following it.
“Your master gave it to me,” Simon answered. “He said he didn’t want it any more — or you either. So off he went, leaving me to dispose of both of you.”
Erich was not easily intimidated.
“In that case,” he said, “you are wrong, Mr Templar. It is I who will dispose.”
“Have it your own way,” said the Saint accommodatingly. “But if this is what you want most, you’re welcome to it. Help yourself — as one Schmuck to another.”
And he tossed the Hapsburg necklace carelessly to the footman, even more carelessly than Max Annellatt had recently tossed it to him.
Adept as he was, Erich would scarcely have been human if he had not grabbed at the necklace as it snaked towards him. For one fatal instant his attention was distracted from the Saint.