Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [138]
“Not at all, Mademoiselle,” he replied. “A nobleman’s first duty is not to the police, but to the beautiful woman the police are pursuing.”
“Especially the nobleman who reported the woman to the police in the first place,” said Younger.
“Stratham,” Colette rebuked Younger. “Why would you say that?”
Oktavian was abashed. “I’m afraid he’s right.”
“They found your business cards,” said Younger.
“That’s just it,” replied Oktavian abjectly. “Several of my cards were discovered near the scene of your—your misadventure. The Czech authorities wired the Vienna police, who put me in a cell as if I’d committed a crime. They said a man named Hans Gruber had been killed in Prague. They asked me if I knew him. What was I to do? Naturally I explained that you, Miss Rousseau, had journeyed to Braunau in romantic pursuit of Herr Gruber, and that Dr. Younger had driven to Braunau in romantic pursuit of you, together with your brother, in a motorcycle I’d rented for him. I’m sure the police have everything wrong, as they always do. I told them that neither of you could possibly have been involved in a killing. I’m so sorry; it’s all my fault.”
“No,” said Colette, “it’s our fault the police came for you.”
“Did you tell them,” asked Younger, “that we were acquainted with the Freuds?”
“Certainly not,” said Oktavian. “One doesn’t reveal confidences to the police. By the way, where is my motorcycle, if you don’t mind? I understand you arrived at the hotel last night by taxi. Did you leave the motorcycle at the station?”
“The police didn’t tell you?” asked Younger.
“Tell me what?”
Younger beckoned to Luc. “Count Kinsky wants to know where his motorcycle is,” Younger said to the boy.
Luc pulled from a pocket a small round mirror with a piece of snapped metal at one end. Oktavian took the offering with blinking eyes. From his other pocket, Luc produced a bent wheel spoke.
“Oh, dear,” said Oktavian.
“Enjoyed it immensely,” said Younger. “Agile little vehicle.”
“Oh, dear,” Oktavian repeated, swallowing drily. “Well, they say debtor’s prison is not nearly so unpleasant as it used to be.”
“Wait—there’s one more item,” said Younger, withdrawing from his jacket a bank draft, which he made out to Oktavian Kinsky.
Oktavian stared at the draft. “This isn’t enough for a motorcycle, Doctor,” he said. “It’s enough for a motorcycle and three new automobiles.”
“I know,” said Younger. “And still not enough to repay you.”
There was nothing to pack. Their belongings were all at the hotel and therefore irretrievable. In the courtyard, they were saying good-bye to Minna when Freud returned from his morning walk, accompanied by his wife, Martha.
“You’re going already?” Freud asked Younger and Colette.
“Yes,” replied Younger. “Oktavian is taking us to the station. Every moment we stay, we put you in danger.”
“Mrs. Freud and I have been discussing it, Miss Rousseau,” said Freud. “Let the boy remain behind. With us.”
“I couldn’t,” said Colette.
“Why not? It would be a boon to Martha. We haven’t had a child in the house for a long time.”
“But I couldn’t,” repeated Colette.
“It might make your escape easier,” interjected Oktavian. “The police are looking for a couple with a little boy. They’re sure to be keeping watch at the railway stations.”
“I’ve never been away from Luc,” said Colette.
“Never?” repeated Freud. “You left him to go to Braunau just the other day. With no assurance you would ever return.”
Colette frowned. “There was only one thing in the world I would have done that for. And now I—”
“Fräulein,” said Freud gently but pointedly, “you have had your brother in your care for six years and never obtained treatment for him. This was probably wise on your part, wise beyond your years, because the care he would have received almost anywhere in the world would have been useless or even detrimental. But you will be doing him a great disservice now if you deny him the treatment he needs. He is at a precarious age. If he remains as he is for much longer, it will