“You aren’t dressed for it,” said John.
“Where the hell is my robe?”
It was lying on the bed. I reached for it, and jumped spasmodically as a thunderous knock echoed at my door. “Vicky?” Tony bellowed.
“What do you want?”
“I want to come in.”
“Well, you can’t. Go away.” I got one arm in a sleeve. It was the wrong sleeve. John, lips twitching, moved to help me—or so I thought; instead of the robe, it was his arms that went around me. After an exploratory traverse, his lips settled into the hollow between my neck and shoulder.
“What happened?” Tony demanded loudly. “Are you all right? What did you do to him? What did he do to you?”
“Noth—ooop!—nothing.” John was laughing soundlessly; the movements of his lips were horribly ticklish. “Stop that,” I gurgled.
“What?” Tony shouted.
“Get lost, Tony. I mean it.”
“That goes for you, too,” I added, as the sound of heavy, offended footsteps thumped away.
John released me and sat down on the bed. “How do you do it?” he asked curiously. “Where do you find these farcical characters?”
“We are not amused,” I said, finally managing to get both arms into the sleeves of the robe. “Do you suppose we can possibly have a sensible conversation now?”
“Yes, I suppose we’d better. There’s no telling who will pop in next. Let’s see—where were we? You were telling me about visiting Hoffman’s grave.”
“That’s all there was to it. I visited the grave, I left my wreaths. That was a relatively peaceful interlude in a day otherwise full of surprises. Don’t you want to know why Schmidt got drunk last night?”
“Yes, I do, rather.”
“He found a body in my back yard. A dead body.”
“Anyone we know?”
“Do let’s stop being so cool and sophisticated about all this,” I grumbled, pacing the floor. “It was Freddy. According to Schmidt, he had been stabbed.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t work up much heated indignation about Freddy’s demise,” John said. “I saw he wasn’t at his post today; I assumed he had fled or been sent away, but it doesn’t surprise me to learn that someone found him an unnecessary encumbrance. Let’s see…. Schmidt found him yesterday. He must have been killed, and left on the premises, the night before. The murderer would hardly risk carrying out his activities in daylight; your neighborhood is too populous. So what was the noble dog doing night before last?”
“I had taken him to his sitter early in the evening. Which means,” I added, before he could do so, “that the killer didn’t know I have a dog; or he knew the dog was out of the way; or he didn’t give a damn whether the body was discovered or not.”
“That would seem to cover all the possibilities,” John admitted. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down? You’re making me nervous.”
“No, thank you. Let me get on with my report. If you’d stay at home where you’re supposed to be, you’d have known all these interesting things earlier.”
“Oh, were you looking for me?”
“Yes. So was Clara.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry to have missed Clara.”
“She went with me to the cemetery.”
“How jolly. I seem to detect a note of criticism, even of resentment, in your voice; is there something I’m missing?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Let’s see, what else is new? Oh, yes. Jan Perlmutter has come in out of the cold, or out of the closet, or whatever—”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
John threw up his arm as if to protect himself from a blow. “Your suspicion cuts me to the quick. I saw the gentleman with you this evening, and I recognized him from the snapshot you were good enough to share with me.”
“Oh.” I sat down on the bed. “So you admit you’ve been watching over me. Or is it following me?”
“A little of both.” His hand moved across the small of my back.
“I said this is business—”
“A little of both,” John repeated. “Yes, I saw Perl-mutter. I found it amusing….” Somehow I found myself on my back with John leaning over me and the robe I had assumed with such difficulty half-off. He continued without missing a beat, “…seeing you all together, smiling at each other and lying…” He kissed me and went on smoothly, “…in your collective teeth with every word….”
I let out a screech. “Your hands are freezing.”
“Oh, sorry. Let’s try this.”
The next sound I made wasn’t a scream, but I supposed it might have been rather shrill. John’s reply, if any, was lost in a thunderous crash. The door exploded inward and a large, round projectile hurtled through the opening. A large, round, orange projectile.
“You are safe, Vicky, I am here,” Schmidt shouted. “There is nothing to fear!”
“Oh, Christ,” John said. “Is that—does he have—”
He rolled off me and got very slowly and carefully to his feet.
“Put the gun down, Schmidt,” I said apprehensively.
“Oh, it is Sir John,” Schmidt exclaimed. “I am so glad to see you again, my friend.”
John bared his teeth in a sickly smile. “I’m delighted to see you, too, Herr Schmidt. Er—that’s a very nice gun you have there. Colt forty-five, isn’t it?”
Schmidt nodded, beaming. “Yes, it is a rare antique. Would you like to see it?” He offered it to John. I think he’d forgotten his finger was still on the trigger. The muzzle was pointing straight at John’s nose.
“Lovely,” John said in a strangled voice.
His hand moved in a blur of speed, sweeping the weapon neatly out of Schmidt’s pudgy little paw. Then he turned pea-green and collapsed into the nearest chair.
“You don’t have to be so rude,” Schmidt said, hurt. “I would have given it to you.”
“Where did you get it?” I demanded. Germany in its admirable wisdom has very tight gun-control laws.
Schmidt grinned and winked. “Ha ha, Vicky. I have my connections.”
“It probably isn’t even registered,” I muttered. “Schmidt, what possessed you to come crashing in here?”
“You screamed,” said Schmidt.
“I did not scream. I…It was not a scream.”
“Well, I see that now,” said Schmidt. He gave me an admiring leer. “I forget that you have so many lovers. First Tony—”
John stopped mopping his brow and gave me a thoughtful look, but said nothing. Schmidt went merrily on, “I knew it was not Tony, since he was with me. Dieter was very angry after you would not let him make love with you, he said many rude things which you did not hear because you had closed the door, but I was afraid he would come back and do what he said he would do to you, so I brought my gun, in case of trouble, and tiptoed here to listen at the door and make sure Dieter had not come back to assault you, and then when you cried out…Well, now you see how it was. Are you going to get up from the bed?”
“No,” I said.
“Then I will sit here and we will have a conference,” Schmidt announced.
“Schmidt,” I said wearily, “the door is gaping open—I don’t know how we are going to explain that—and I am somewhat inadequately clothed—”
“Yes, it is very nice,” said Schmidt, eyeing me with candid approval.
“…and why Tony hasn’t appeared I cannot imagine—”
“He won’t come; he is sulking,” Schmidt explained. “He said you were rude to him and so far as he is concerned the entire male population of Bad Steinbach can assault you. But he didn’t mean it, Vicky.”
“Go away, Schmidt,” I said.
“I don’t want to go away. I want to stay here and talk to Sir John.”
“I’m afraid not this evening, Herr Schmidt.” John had recovered himself; he rose with all his old grace, and had the effrontery to grin at me. “Shall we try my place next time?” he inquired politely. “This has been an evening I won’t soon forget, but the novelty of it would pall with repetition.”