Trojan Gold - Elizabeth Peters [57]
Why did I give in? Not because I thought there was the slightest possibility that John’s vile hints had a basis in fact. I knew Tony. He was so damned honest it hurt. Even during the Rothenburg incident, he hadn’t wanted the treasure for himself; he just wanted the fun and the prestige of finding it.
“And suppose,” said a small evil voice inside my head, “that is what he wants now?”
The voice had a pronounced English accent. I countered, “So badly that he would shoot out the tires of Schmidt’s car and endanger me?”
“I thought we agreed that was an impetuous, unpremeditated gesture. There are obviously several malefactors.”
“Not Tony.”
“What’s his annual salary? The amount of money involved might weaken anyone’s moral fibers. Even if he’s too good for that sort of thing, consider the temptation of being hailed as the discoverer of the Trojan gold. Headlines, television interviews, a book, a film based on the book—and, under certain circumstances, a strong claim to the treasure for his museum.”
I gave up the argument, not because I was convinced but because I seemed to be losing.
Short of picking a fight with Tony in the hope that he would storm out of the house and bid me farewell forever, there was no way of getting rid of him. Anyhow, he was just as likely to go on to Bad Steinbach by himself. I didn’t want to postpone my own trip. For one thing, I was worried about Herr Müller. I should have taken steps to warn him earlier, but with a wounded, starving Schmidt on my hands early in the evening, and John later…Nothing had happened to him as yet, but then nothing had happened to me, either, until after I had paid him a visit. I’d be a lot easier in my mind if I could persuade him to get out of town for a few days.
Besides, Friedl might be on the level. I might indeed be as innocent (translation: stupid) as a new-laid egg, but John had a cocksure, arrogant way of stating theories as facts and of assuming his inter-pretation was the only logical one. I could think of others that made equal sense. Friedl could be hopeless but harmless; Freddy could be repulsive but right-minded. The villains could have been four other people.
So I said, fine, that sounds like a great idea, and I called Carl the janitor, who became incoherent with pleasure at the idea of baby-sitting Caesar for a few days. I said I’d bring him over right away, since we wanted to get an early start. This added concession almost reduced Carl to tears. De gustibus non est disputandum.
After we had dropped the dog off, we went out to dinner at a little place the tourists haven’t discovered, where the food is good and the prices are reasonable. Tony’s capacity for food is almost as great as Schmidt’s, though it doesn’t show. As he stuffed himself with Schweinebraten mit Knödel, he kept mumbling about how good it was to be back in Germany, and recalling some of our past experiences. Usually I’m a sucker for sentiment and “remember when,” but it irritated me that evening, and not only because Ann was hovering over the table like Banquo’s ghost. It was almost as if Tony were deliberately avoiding certain subjects. Whenever I casually introduced the subject of crank mail and unusual letters, Tony went off onto another spate of nostalgia.
Much later, in what are termed the wee small hours of the night, I was awakened by soft sounds at my door—light scratching, the squeak of a turning doorknob. There was no further action because I had propped a chair under the knob. Sauce for the gander…
Six
SAINT EMMERAM’S BEARD WAS STILL ICE-FRINGED; he had a long icicle on his nose as well. It had turned fiercely cold overnight; the world glittered with a cold, hard shine, like a diamond. Sunlight reflected from the snow-covered fields with a shimmer that stung the eyes. It was, as Tony said, a perfect day for skiing.
I had my skis strapped to the rack on top of the car, primarily as camouflage; I had a feeling I wasn’t going to have much time for sport. Tony was planning to rent. Tony has this