Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [62]
My path led eventually toward the belt of trees on the north. They were pines, high enough and thick enough to frustrate the growth of weeds and brambles. The ground was covered with needles that gave off a faint sweet smell as my feet pressed them. A spectral greenish light permeated the grove, and even the birds were still. I didn’t go far into the trees. I had the feeling that something was watching me, and that it wasn’t one of Max’s men. Though I still carried the stick, I did not probe the ground. If anybody was under there, I didn’t want to disturb him.
I had planned to pick up my pace at this point, but I must admit I moved faster than I had originally intended. The soft sighing sounds I heard were undoubtedly produced by the wind stirring the boughs. In that soft false twilight they conveyed quite another impression.
At a brisk trot, I followed the treeline westward. Before long the roof of the shack came into sight I headed straight for it, running.
He popped out from behind a tree, waving his rifle in an unprofessional manner. Max wasn’t the only one who was showing signs of strain in the rustic ambience.
‘Halt,’ he said breathlessly. It wasn’t Hans, it was the Austrian, a husky specimen with scant sandy hair.
‘I’ve halted. Had I but known you were here, I would not have ventured to intrude.’ It didn’t come out quite so smoothly; I was out of breath too. Seeing him frown, I went on in German. ‘I was looking at the site. Max asked me to help him.’
‘Go back now.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Drop the stick.’
‘Stick? It’s only a little – ’
‘Drop it. Schnell, schnell.’
I didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. I don’t mind being considered brave, but I was not stupid enough to go in swinging a stick against an opponent armed with a rifle. So I dropped the stick, schnell, and backed away.
I had seen all I needed to see. There was no building of any sort on the east side of the island. Though I had not explored the northern side thoroughly – and I was not about to, except in broad daylight – the hut was the only place I had found that might serve as a prison. It was small, perhaps a shelter for a herdsman or shepherd in the days when Gus’s ancestors had practised animal husbandry, and, like everything else Gus owned, it had been kept in good repair. A shiny new padlock hung from the hasp on the door. There was only one window, and it was covered by a wooden shutter.
When I got to the barnyard Pierre was still there. Max was with him; as I strolled up, he turned on me in visible exasperation. ‘Where have you been? It is late.’
‘I wanted to have a look at the site.’
‘Anything?’
‘Only what I expected.’
‘No more exploring,’ Max said, like a stern parent. ‘You should be in your bed.’
‘Okay,’ I said amiably.
Max followed me as I walked toward the house, shaking his finger and lecturing. ‘I expect you to stay inside tonight. In your own wing of the house.’
‘Okay.’
‘My men will be on guard, outside and in. No one is to leave.’
‘Okay, okay.’
‘Go straight to your room.’
‘Can I get a snack first?’
‘Oh, very well. But be quick about it.’
‘I’ll take it to my room.’
He trailed along. Maybe he was hoping I’d suggest a congenial chat over a cup of coffee. I didn’t. I piled a tray with bottles of beer, cheese, bread, and sausages. Max watched, eyes widening as the comestibles piled up, but he made no comment until I poured milk into a bowl and stooped to put in on the floor.
‘For the cat?’ he asked.
‘No, for the pixies.’
‘Perhaps it does not like milk,’ Max said seriously. ‘Marguerite will not touch it.’
‘Marguerite sounds like one damned spoiled cat.’
Max was offended. ‘Are you finished?’ he asked stiffly.
‘I guess so.’ I hefted the tray with the never-to-be-forgotten skill I had acquired one summer as a waitress at Joe’s Café and went out.
The wing in which our rooms were located was connected to the central block by a door from which a corridor led