Borrower of the Night - Elizabeth Peters [25]
‘A light robe,’ I said. ‘White or pale grey, with full sleeves and a gathered yoke.’
‘Well, you saw the girl’s nightgown – God save us. I also saw her dressing gown, or housecoat, or whatever you call it. It was lying across the foot of her bed.’
‘And it, I suppose, was black,’ said Tony.
‘Navy blue,’ I said. ‘With small light-coloured flowers. Very unflattering, with her colouring . . . That doesn’t prove anything. She could have a closetful of long white robes, and she had plenty of time to change.’
Tony stood up.
‘This is a waste of time. You think that girl was faking. Well, I don’t. Come on, Nolan, let’s be off.’
George sipped his drink.
‘You two kill me,’ he said conversationally. ‘Why don’t we put our cards on the table?’
‘What cards?’ I asked. ‘You know why we are here and vice versa. If I judge your sneaky character accurately, you probably know by now as much as Tony does. But you don’t know any more than that; and if you did, you wouldn’t tell us. You must be crazy if you think I’m going to give you any information.’
George reached for the bottle. I moved it away from his hand. Good Scotch is expensive. Unperturbed, he grinned at me.
‘You’re quite a girl. If you find the shrine, I might revise my long-seated hostility towards marriage.’
‘That’s big of you. But my hostility is just as deep-seated, if not as long established.’
George stood up. Still smiling, he stretched lazily. Muscles rippled all over him.
‘I’m noted for getting what I want,’ he murmured.
Tony, who had been swelling like a turkey, couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘Play your hot love scenes in private, why don’t you?’
‘If you’d take the hint and leave, we would,’ said George.
‘Oh, no, we wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘Out, both of you. I need my beauty sleep. Who knows, I may not find the shrine. Then I would have to rely on sheer sex appeal to catch myself a husband.’
‘I’m betting on you,’ said George. He glanced at Tony, who said shortly, ‘It’s all for none and one for each in this game. We’ll see. Come on, Nolan. Good night, Vicky.’
The undercurrents in that conversation set my teeth on edge, and I was still thinking about them the next morning. When I reached the dining room, Tony was the only one at our table. He grunted at me, but didn’t look up.
‘Where’s George?’ I asked.
‘Been and gone.’
‘Did you two exchange any meaningful remarks after you left me?’
‘Define “meaningful.” Tony looked at me. ‘You know what that crook is planning, don’t you? He’ll follow us until we find – uh – something, then jump in and grab it.’
‘Time to worry about that if and when we find it. At the moment we aren’t even warm.’
‘Wrong. The time to worry is now, before Nolan pops out of a dark corner and hits somebody over the head.’
‘He won’t hit me over the head,’ I said smugly.
‘Are you sure?’
Come to think of it, I wasn’t at all sure. I wouldn’t give Tony the satisfaction of agreeing with him in his assessment of George’s scruples, or lack thereof; but I didn’t object when Tony proposed that we make a joint expedition out to the old Wachtturm. As he said, it wasn’t a good place for solitary exploring. A lot of nasty accidents could occur in a crumbling, deserted place like that.
Before we had finished breakfast, Irma came to the table. She was wan and pale, with dark circles under her eyes. On her, even baggy eyes looked good. Tony got to his feet so fast he almost turned his chair over.
‘My aunt wishes you – both of you – to have tea with her this afternoon,’ she said.
‘How nice,’ I said, since Tony was too preoccupied with his tottering chair to be coherent. ‘What time?’
‘Four o’clock.’ She didn’t look at me; she was watching Tony from under those long lashes. His confusion seemed to amuse her; she gave him a small but effective smile before she turned away.
‘I suppose,’ Tony said, capturing the chair and sitting on it, ‘she’s going to bawl us out.’
‘Who, the Gräfin?’ There was only one Gräfin in that house; it was impossible to think of Irma by her title. The word,