Gross, seated in another chair closer to the rear of the car, put his evening edition of the Neue Freie Presse down and peered at Werthen over the edges of nonexistent bifocals.
‘You’re enjoying this, Werthen.’
‘Yes, I am rather. What time will dinner be, Beer?’
‘Sir, you can kiss me in the valley of wind.’
Which comment brought a mild chuckle from Gross, who once again turned to his newspaper.
Fraulein Metzinger entered from the other end of the car, from the rear of the train.
‘I do believe you’ve missed your calling, Fraulein,’ Beer said, looking approvingly at the gray and white-trimmed nurse’s uniform she wore.
She blushed at the comment and then straightened her shoulders. ‘I will take that as a compliment, Herr Beer.’
The private train hurtled through the early evening, as the four settled down to a meal together and final plans for the coming day.
Werthen awoke with sunlight in his eyes, pouring through the tiny window of his sleeping cubicle. He sat up in bed and looked at a brilliantly white world under an azure blue sky. In the distance were the Alps, tall, imposing, frozen. Off to his right he could see the icy blue tip of Lake Zurich and the high spires of churches in the city.
A good day for a kidnapping, he decided.
The four of them breakfasted as the train bypassed Zurich, traveling southward along the Lake of Zurich sparkling and inviting under the rising winter sun. Vineyards lay thickly covered under a blanket of snow, grape arbors like stick men dotting the fields. They were attended in actual fact by none other than Meier, Wittgenstein’s loyal servant, who could also be trusted, it seemed, to keep his mouth shut about any adventures he might be part of, as could the engineer driving the train and the brakeman, all loyal Wittgenstein men.
At ten after nine their private train pulled up at a siding near the station of Kusnacht. Out of the train they could see in the near distance their target, the Park Hotel am See. The grounds abutted the banks of the lake and the premises consisted of two large ornate buildings. The older, three stories high with turrets at both sides, fronted the lake; an enclosed portico connected that to another newer, but no less impressive hotel building farther back from lakeside. It stood five stories and had balconies surrounding each floor. Overall, this newer building was fitted out more in the alpine style favored by the builders of mountain lodges, while the older, original building had an air of gingerbread quaintness. Boat pads stood empty this time of year, but Werthen could imagine that in fine summer weather the lawns and launching pads would be a buzz of activity.
‘You know your tasks,’ Gross said to Beer and Fraulein Metzinger. ‘If there is any sign of difficulty, however, you must simply cease and return to the train. We have not come to create more violence. Understood?’
Fraulein Metzinger — dressed in her nurse’s uniform and standing next to a wooden wheelchair with blankets neatly folded in the seat — nodded, but Beer simply stared at the hotel buildings as if in a trance.
‘Herr Beer?’ Gross said. ‘That is understood?’
‘She’s that close,’ he said. ‘The woman who killed my boy.’
‘I promise you she will pay for her crimes,’ Gross said. ‘But not at your hands.’
‘Whatever you say, Professor,’ Beer replied, still gazing at the hotel.
Despite the low sun, the chill off the lake was intense. Werthen was anxious to get things under way. He handed Beer an overcoat that matched his uniform, both with the crest of the Park Hotel am See on them, another gift from Herr Wittgenstein, who seemed to have tentacles everywhere.
Their plan was for Beer to enter the hotel in the guise of one of the staff, then to go to Frau Steinwitz’s room — the number of which was supplied by Drechsler — and to bring mid-morning coffee laced with sufficient laudanum to put her to sleep. Fraulein Metzinger, posing as a nurse, would then go to the room and she and Beer would administer diethyl ether sufficient to render her totally unconscious. Fraulein Metzinger had been advised in the technique by a doctor friend, having told him she was writing a penny thriller. The doctor was only too happy to contribute to her creative efforts.
Beer and Fraulein Metzinger would then put the lady into the wheelchair, bundled up so that no one could see she was unconscious, and wheel her to the waiting train. If noticed by staff or other guests, it would simply appear that she was being taken for an airing.
Gross and Werthen would be waiting in the grounds for their return, keeping an eye out for any watchers or bodyguards. It was, after all, possible that Colonel Gutrum would send someone to accompany his daughter.
‘Good luck to you both,’ Werthen said. ‘And remember what Doktor Gross said. The first sign of trouble, you both get out of there. We will find another way to deal with her. Is that agreed?’
Agreement came from both, though with little enthusiasm.
Beer set off first, crunching through the snow. Five minutes later, Gross, Werthen, and Fraulein Metzinger followed.
It is finally under way, Werthen thought.
Werthen thought he might freeze while waiting. He knew it would take some time for the laudanum to work. Meanwhile, he tried to keep warm by walking back and forth along the small quay built in front of the hotel. Gross simply huddled in his heavy overcoat, his derby pulled down low over his face, and stared out into the icy waters of the lake. He was strangely quiet this morning, Werthen noticed, but perhaps that was because he was nervous about the success of their plan. Understandable enough. But he missed the criminologist’s usual banter.
Werthen was about to try and bring Gross out when he heard the unmistakable crunch of wheels over frozen snow. There, coming down the path from the back building, were Beer and Fraulein Metzinger wheeling an inert Frau Steinwitz. They had done it. A wave of elation swept over Werthen.
‘Gross. They’re coming.’
The criminologist turned, and Werthen saw his expression turn from relief to alarm.
Werthen looked back and saw now that there was a fourth person coming down the same lane. He was large but agile, and though dressed in finer clothes than before, Werthen was sure it was the man with the broken nose who had attacked him and later Herr Meisner.
‘Behind you,’ he shouted to Beer, but too late, for the thug had already apprehended them and lifted Beer up by the front of his overcoat like a rag doll, shaking him. Werthen could hear Fraulein Metzinger scream. She attempted to push the wheelchair down the path, but the man grabbed her as well, throwing her to the ground like a bundle of old clothes.
Werthen was racing up the pathway toward them, followed by Gross. They had come armed, and as he ran he drew the revolver out of his coat pocket. He could hear Gross panting behind him as he pulled away. The thug had now taken the wheelchair and was returning toward the hotel. This altercation had not yet attracted attention from within the hotel; neither were there strollers about to witness events.
He reached Beer and Fraulein Metzinger, and though shaken, they both seemed unharmed.
‘Let them go, Advokat,’ Fraulein Metzinger said, holding Werthen’s arm. ‘Remember your own rules. We try another day.’
Werthen wanted his own vengeance with the thug who had attacked him and his father-in-law, but knew she was right.
‘Then let me,’ Beer said, struggling with him for the revolver in his hand.
Gross had by now caught them up and wrapped his arms around the struggling Beer.
Ahead of them shots suddenly rang out. They all looked toward the sound and saw the large man topple in the snow. Then another pair of reports from the gun, and Frau Steinwitz slumped in her chair.
Werthen could hardly believe his eyes.
There on the path, gun in hand, was Doktor Praetor. He made no attempt to run away as panic broke out from inside the hotel. He dropped the revolver and simply stood there as a pair of beefy security guards came running down the path and held him. A woman screamed from the terrace at the sight of carnage.