Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [42]
Leif’s suitcase contained nothing of interest. He was allowed to keep his razor; it was electric.
The henchmen tossed our belongings back into the suitcases. Then there was an expectant pause.
They searched John first. Hans’s pudgy fingers went over every inch of his body. He didn’t complain until Hans messed up his exquisitely brushed hair. ‘Damn it, Hansel . . . Don’t overlook anything, I beg. What about the cyanide pill and the teeny-tiny knife wedged between my back molars?’
He opened his mouth to its widest extent. Hans was actually peering into the cavity when Max snapped, ‘Enough.’
All eyes turned towards me. I stood up and untied the belt of my robe.
Max said sharply, ‘Turn your backs.’
The henchmen exchanged eloquent glances, but obeyed. ‘You, too,’ Max said to John. His face preternaturally grave, John executed a smart right-about wheel and stood at attention, the back of his ruffled head fairly radiating amusement.
I took off my robe. In deference to Gus I was wearing the least revealing of my nightgowns. It bared my shoulders and arms and my legs below the knee – well, actually, below mid-thigh.
Max studied the exposed parts of me with shrinking fastidiousness. He was clearly torn between personal distaste and professional thoroughness, so I decided to help him out.
‘How’s this?’ I asked, bunching up the gown in back and pulling it tight against my front
Max looked relieved. ‘Yes, that is adequate. If you will turn. . .’
He stayed behind the desk while I pivoted and pulled and adjusted the fabric. I suppose, in a way, it was a more perverse performance than stripping to the buff, and it certainly took longer, but I realized that in his own weird way Max believed he was respecting my maidenly modesty. He made me put my robe back on before he let the boys turn around.
Hans trotted out with the luggage and Max returned to the role of gracious host. He offered me a plate of pastries. I took one, but the first bite tasted like sand, so I put it on my plate. ‘Why are you going to all this trouble?’ I asked bluntly. ‘I don’t know what’s out there, but unless you have more information than I do, you must know it can’t be worth the time and trouble you will have to expend on it. Surely there are enough accessible objects, in museurns and collections, to occupy your time, without resorting to excavation.’
‘Mr Jonsson’s pasture may prove more productive than you think,’ Max said. ‘However, you are quite right in your assessment. Under normal circumstances our organization deals only with products that are already on the market, so to speak. However, there are times when even a hard-headed businessman may be moved by personal motives.’
The muscles of his neck stretched to a degree I had thought possible only in certain reptiles. His eyes focused on John.
John was expecting it. His hand was quite steady as he reached for his coffee cup. ‘Max, old chum – ’
‘You have annoyed us for a long time,’ Max said softly. ‘We expect and tolerate a certain amount of competition, but your methods go beyond the level of tolerance. This last affair – you made a fatal error, my friend. Now you have compounded it. Why did you not heed my warning?’
Over the rim of John’s cup a pair of cornflower-blue eyes gazed soulfully at me. Before I could protest, Max murmured, ‘I wondered if that might not be the case.’
‘There is no reason for us to be at odds,’ John said. ‘I don’t know what Albert told you – ’
‘Everything,’ said Max, closing his lips with a snap on the last syllable.
John went a shade paler. ‘I see.’
‘You mean you – ’ I began.
‘Please, Dr Bliss. Let us not dwell on distasteful subjects.’
‘Poor old Al,’ John muttered. ‘I knew him well . . .