Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [66]
I found him in the kitchen scrambling eggs, and I am not ashamed to admit that I was relieved to see him. On the counter beside him was the cat, eating bacon with the insolence of a creature who knows he is under official protection. I might have known John’s attempt to woo the cat with kidneys had an ulterior motive. He had used it, quite cold-bloodedly, to complete the distraction of Hans, but it really hadn’t been in danger; a big, stupid man is no match for an angry feline, especially when the big, stupid man knows his boss has a weakness for pussycats. Hans was still nursing a grudge. He fingered the scratches on his cheek as he glowered at the cat.
They were all there, even Georg and Leif – sitting at the table waiting for breakfast The condemned man was not eating a hearty meal, he was cooking it for the executioners.
I said, ‘Good morning,’ and John turned. I examined him critically.
‘You got off easier than I expected,’ I said.
‘Most of the bruises are in places that don’t show,’ John explained. ‘How about slicing some bacon?’
I took the knife. His wrist was swollen to twice normal size, and turning a pretty shade of purple.
‘Let me do that,’ Leif said, as I leaned into the slab of bacon. I handed over the knife. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked tenderly.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’ John glared at me. I went on, ‘I take it you have arrived at an agreement.’
‘Oh, right,’ John said. ‘I’ve agreed to show them where the loot is buried and they have agreed to cut my throat. Amiable arrangement, isn’t it?’
‘I will keep my promise, Dr Bliss,’ Max said. ‘In a few hours you will be free of us.’
The stench of burning eggs filled the kitchen. John dumped them onto a platter with such vigour that fragments flew all around. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, Max, my lad,’ he said. ‘As I told you, I’m no surveyor. The calculations are going to take a little time.’
‘As much time as you can manage,’ Max said with a sneer. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, my friend. Dr Hasseltine will be happy to assist you in your calculations.’
Georg, devouring burned eggs with the relish of a man whose taste buds are dead and buried, looked up. Apparently he had not been present during the interrogation after all, for he asked, ‘You know the bearings?’
‘Rough ones,’ John replied. ‘My informant didn’t have equipment with him; he had to estimate.’
‘Naturally,’ Georg said. ‘To obtain accurate measurements on such uneven terrain, one would need levels, transit and tripod, plumb bob . . . I can perhaps rig some sort of makeshift substitute.’
‘That would be most accommodating of you,’ Max said. ‘And the sooner we begin, the sooner we will be finished.’
‘Why don’t you just kill him now and get it over with?’ I said angrily. ‘This cat-and-mouse nonsense – ’
‘Keep your suggestions to yourself,’ John said.
‘We must make sure he has not tricked us,’ Max explained. ‘I promised him a pleasant death if he would cooperate. I will keep my word, but if he has deceived me . . .’
‘That does it,’ John announced. Picking up the heavy frying pan, he tossed it into the sink with a theatrical gesture. ‘I’ve had it. No more Mr Nice Guy. No more cooking, no more delectable dishes – ’
‘Thank heaven for that,’ Max said, poking at the shreds of burned egg. ‘Come. To work.’
Chapter Nine
THERE WAS A purposefuless to Max’s procedures that morning that had been lacking before. Until I saw what he could do in the way of organization. I did not fully realize how uncharacteristically indecisive his earlier actions had been. For the past twenty-four hours he had just been marking time. If he hadn’t known it before, one look at the pasture would have told him that random digging was no use. I could think of several reasons why he had been willing to waste time, and I didn’t like any of them. I disliked his brisk, angry efficiency even more. Today was the day. If John’s revelations turned