Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [57]
‘What a charming idea. We will all be entertained. Rudi, sit at the table and call out the words as they are played.’
Apparently undisturbed by this suggestion, John poured the tiles out onto the table. I helped him turn them over and watched approvingly as he gave them a very perfunctory shuffle. I palmed the pieces I wanted – not very expertly, but nobody saw me. All eyes were glued on John.
I moved first. That was fine with me. I had only one question, but it was an important question, and I wasn’t sure when, if ever, I would have an opportunity to talk privately with John.
I spelled out ‘boss’ and rolled my eyes in Max’s direction as Rudi intoned the word like a bingo announcer.
‘No, no,’ John said. There was a brief but perceptible pause before he added, ‘You’ll have to do better than that, my girl.’
The confirmation came as no surprise. Directors of big criminal organizations don’t go into the field; they sit in fancy offices in New York or Hamburg or Marseilles, and give generous donations to charity. I realized there was another question I needed to ask, and cheated shamelessly as I collected my next tiles. Rudi didn’t notice; he was watching John.
John spelled ‘distract,’ using the second 5 in ‘boss,’ then folded his hands and smiled at me. One thumb was folded across; the other jerked up, indicating . . . Not Rudi, as I had expected. Hans, who was leaning over Leif’s shoulder trying to see the board.
If I had planned a spot of nocturnal spying, I’d rather have had Hans on my trail than Rudi. The latter was much more intelligent. However, Hans was much bigger. It was a moot point, and I figured John had his reasons.
Rudi announced ‘distract,’ with a thick Viennese accent. He was getting into the swing of it, rolling his r’s with fine effect. Max’s brow furrowed. It was beginning to dawn on him that he might be missing some nuance or other.
I spelled ‘initiame,’ slapping down the tiles with reckless haste, before Max could call the game off. It was the best I could do. I couldn’t find two t’s. John stared at me in consternation, while I thought the word at him as hard as I could. I don’t know whether ESP worked, or whether his quick mind made the right connection. He said, ‘Nothing,’ with crisp emphasis, and looked at his tiles. ‘Nothing,’ he repeated sadly. ‘What a rotten collection of useless consonants.’
‘Initiame,’ Rudi said. ‘Wait – that is not a word. She is cheating.’
He sounded shocked.
‘Enough,’ Max said. ‘I am weary of your tricks, Smythe. Come here and sit for me. I am desirous of adding your portrait to my collection.’
Peter Lorre couldn’t have done it better – the long hiss of the sibilants, the faint, derisive smile. But the paper he finally selected was black. John didn’t appear to be visibly heartened by this; he gave me a very thoughtful look before moving to obey Max.
I collected the scattered tiles and folded the board. We had not had much time, but it had helped. Max was a subordinate, who had no authority to initiate action. Before calling off the dig, he would have to contact his boss. That meant we had a little more time.
As I finished packing up the game, the door burst open and Georg Hasseltine came in, carrying a wooden crate. He was alone; no guard for Georg. His gaze wandered over the room, ignoring his brother’s raised hand with unconscious cruelty, and focused on me.
‘There you are, Dr Bliss. I have been looking for you.’ He put the box on the table and pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. ‘You will appreciate what I have found.’
It took all my willpower to be civil to the little creep, but one never knows when civility will pay off. Besides, I was curious. Max wasn’t; he went on cutting. He knew that whatever Georg had found, it was not the treasure.
To an inexperienced eye – mine, in this case – the objects Georg