‘That’s what happened,’ I said. ‘I saw the whole thing.’
Tony gaped at me. George said calmly,
‘I thought maybe you were the one who slugged him.’
‘Well, of all the – You think I was in that armour?’
‘You’re too tall,’ George said, with the same maddening coolness. ‘So am I,’ he added.
‘Hah, that is right.’ Blankenhagen looked relieved as the conversation took a rational turn. ‘I have noticed, with old suits of armour, how small these ancestors of ours were. Diet, of course, and unhealthy living . . .’
Poor Tony collapsed again. He hit the back of his head, groaned, and swore.
‘While you’re standing around arguing about medieval diet I’m slowly bleeding to death, and Schmidt is getting away. I know you don’t care about me, but – ’
‘Schmidt, of course!’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘He is not here.’
‘Oh, damn,’ said Tony.
‘Come on, get up.’ I lent him a strong right arm. ‘You can’t be much hurt or you wouldn’t be so talkative. Schmidt is the only one of us who could fit into that armour. Let’s go get him.’
George was already halfway up the stairs.
Blankenhagen followed, leaving me to support Tony’s tottering footsteps. When we reached Schmidt’s room we found another crisis in process. The fat little man was lying on his bed and the doctor was bending over him.
‘I found him in the doorway,’ George said. ‘Looks like a heart attack.’
‘He said he had a bad heart,’ I said.
‘Maybe we were wrong about him,’ Tony said, leaning heavily on my shoulder. ‘A man with a weak ticker couldn’t go tearing around in armour. If he heard that racket Vicky made and came running out . . .’
Schmidt’s eyes opened. Involuntarily I stepped back and Tony, deprived of my support, swayed wildly. Schmidt’s face was transformed by the most vivid expression of terror I have ever seen.
‘
‘But he . . .’ Schmidt mumbled, ‘Herr Lawrence. He is not . . . dead.’
Tony was not a reassuring sight; the cut, though shallow, had bled copiously, and his shirt front was a bloody mess. With his hair standing on end and his face white under the dust that smeared one side of it, he was enough to alarm anyone, much less a man who had just had a heart attack. George stepped in front of him.
‘Of course he isn’t dead, he’s in great shape. You’re the one we’re concerned about, Schmidt; did you hear something that alarmed you?’
Schmidt’s shrivelled eyelids drooped.
‘A scream,’ he said with difficulty. ‘Someone screamed . . .’
His eyes followed George, who was wandering around the room.
‘That will do,’ Blankenhagen said. ‘He must rest now.’
The doctor followed us to the door.
‘It is not serious,’ he said in a low voice. ‘A faint, shock – not his heart. He will be recovered in the morning. Lawrence, go to bed. A bit of plaster on that cut, that is all you need.’
George and I escorted Tony to his room and put him to bed. The doctor’s diagnosis was correct; once I had mopped off the blood I could see the cut was nothing to worry about. I slapped some Mercurochrome and a couple of Band-Aids on it.
George had settled himself in a chair with a cigarette and Tony’s bottle of bourbon. When I had finished being Florence Nightingale he offered me a drink, which I was glad to accept. Tony demanded his share, pointing out that it was his bottle.
George shook his head.
‘Can’t risk it. Concussion and alcohol – very dangerous, old man. That was quite a crack on the head.’
He helped himself to a second drink and smiled cheerfully at Tony.
‘If it wasn’t Schmidt in the armour, who was it?’ I asked, sensing that the conversation was about to deteriorate into an exchange of pejorative comments.
‘Who says it wasn’t Schmidt?’ Tony grumbled.
‘If it was, what did he do with the armour? It wasn’t under the bed or in the closet. I looked.’
‘Who else could have squeezed into that hardware?’
‘It wasn’t me, old son. I’d stick out both ends.’
‘Blankenhagen?’ I suggested. ‘He’s muscular, but not tall. How big was the armour, anyhow?’
‘I don’t remember. I’d have noticed if it had been unusually outsized, but a few inches more or less . . . How long does it take to get out of a suit of armour? I never tried.’
‘More to the point, how long does it take to get
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if he did,’ Tony grumbled. ‘Maybe he likes dressing up in armour. Some people think they are Napoleon or Jesus Christ. Some people think they are pineapples.’
‘Pineapples?’ I repeated. ‘That’s a weird one. I never heard of that. Where did you – ’
‘Will you stick to the subject?’ Tony shouted. ‘I gather that in your incoherent fashion you are trying to ascertain whether the comedian had time to climb into his armour after I left my room. I don’t think he did. So he was down there waiting for me – or for somebody . . .’
‘You,’ I said hastily. ‘I’d rather have him waiting for you . . . When you went creeping off to bed at ten o’clock, I knew you were planning to prowl tonight.’
‘He could safely assume one or the other of us would be along,’ Tony said, eyeing me malevolently. ‘We haven’t missed a night so far.’
‘You’ve gotten him into the armour,’ remarked George, who had been following this exchange with a broad grin. ‘What about getting him out of it? Would Schmidt have time – ’
‘Forget about time,’ I said wearily. ‘I lost track completely. Nobody has a respectable alibi.’
‘I can’t understand why you’re so vague,’ Tony said critically. ‘You must have been on the gallery, if you were following me. Why didn’t you pay attention? Wasn’t the action exciting enough to hold your interest?’
I felt myself blushing.
‘All right, so I lost my head. When you backed up into the area under the stairs I couldn’t see you any more. What did happen down there? I heard a funny clanking sound. You didn’t hit that thing with your bare fist, did you?’
It was Tony’s turn to redden.
‘I wasn’t thinking straight either,’ he admitted, trying to hide his scraped knuckles.
‘Left hook or right jab?’ George asked with interest.
‘Oh, shut up,’ Tony growled. ‘The whole thing was confusing. I guess I can’t blame you for not seeing what happened. I don’t remember myself. I did swing at the damned thing. Felt like I broke my arm. After that everything went black.’
‘We’ll forget the whole thing,’ I said magnanimously. ‘You’d better get some sleep, Tony. We’ll all be more sensible in the morning.’
‘Right.’ George got to his feet. ‘Tony, old boy, I’ll be sitting up the rest of the night, with my door open. Don’t worry about a thing. I won’t let anyone get to you.’
I pushed George bodily out of the door.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I guess Tony didn’t either; he was up early. I had been sort of hanging around. I figured he might need some help, and that he would be as reluctant to ask for it as I was to offer it directly. As soon as I heard his door open I stepped casually into the hall. He had gotten into his clothes without assistance, but he looked as if he had not enjoyed the process; he held his left arm at an awkward angle, and his face was all bony points and grey hollows.
He gave me a look of solid dislike, and I dropped the arm I was about to offer him.
‘Where’s Nolan?’ he asked brusquely.
‘In his room, I guess. Why?’
‘I want to talk to him.’
