Borrower of the Night

gargled and clutched at his Adam’s apple. I laughed.

Maybe it was the laugh, or maybe I overdid my attempt to boost his ego. Anyhow, Tony got very defensive and mean. He had not suggested going out because he wanted to walk in the rain with me. He had an errand. It led us to the telephone-telegraph office, and the rat wouldn’t tell me what he intended to do there.

In view of the rain he consented to let me enter the office, but he sat me in a corner and I couldn’t hear a word of his conversation with the girl behind the counter. The conference took some time and ended with the dispatch of several cables. When we left the office together the rain had stopped, although the skies were still grey. Naturally I didn’t ask any questions. I have my pride.

We found a Bierstube on a back street, and ordered beer.

‘Look,’ said Tony abruptly. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

I made encouraging noises. More ego boosting was obviously in order if I wanted to get anything out of him.

‘You were saying the other day that we seem to be obsessed with ancient history instead of concentrating on the shrine. It’s true. I can’t get these people out of my mind – Burckhardt, Nicolas, Konstanze. But there’s some method in this particular madness. Our reconstruction of what happened in the crypt that night in fifteen twenty-five is not just antiquarian hobbying. It has helped us in our search. We know now that the shrine was in Count Harald’s tomb at one time. We don’t know whether it was Burckhardt or the steward who put it there, but that’s not important. What matters is who took it out. And we know it wasn’t Nicolas.’

I was inclined to agree with that.

‘Burckhardt was on the loose that night; it’s almost certain that he murdered Nicolas. So he must have been the one who disposed of the shrine. Therefore we can make a few deductions as to where he may have hidden it.’

Tony summoned the waitress and ordered more beer.

‘The hiding place can’t be too obscure,’ he continued. ‘Burckhardt wasn’t a man of great subtlety, and I don’t imagine he intended to find a permanent hiding place. Only his sudden death prevented him from disposing of the shrine.’

‘I’ll bet he didn’t plan to give it to the church.’

‘It’s a safe bet. Why hide it, if that was his intention? Now there aren’t that many places where it could have been hidden. I’ve made a list. Maybe you can think of some more.’

Tony pulled out his notebook.

‘The crypt is one place. I don’t see why the old boy should have removed the treasure from one tomb only to put it in another, but it won’t take long to check. I’ll examine the other tombs this afternoon. The chapel was remodelled in the eighteenth century, so that’s out. You’ve looked at the library, and didn’t find anything. Burckhardt wouldn’t choose his wife’s room, or the servants’ quarters, or any of the public rooms such as the kitchen, scullery, etcetera. It seems to me that the best possibilities are Burckhardt’s room and the cellars. I’m going to check the cellars first because of the fact that the plan of that part of the Schloss is missing. Does this make any sense to you?’

‘It does. But I can think of one other place.’

‘Where?’

‘The Wachtturm.’

We looked there.’

‘Not thoroughly. Another point. The Schloss seems to be riddled with secret passages. Maybe there is one from the crypt to the tower. Or the crypt to – almost anywhere. I can’t see Burckhardt carrying an object the size of the shrine through the public corridors on that fateful night.’

‘It’s a point. Well, we won’t find anything sitting here dinking beer.’

He stood up and the waitress swooped down on him with the bill. I stayed put.

‘Do I understand you are inviting me to join you in your investigations?’ I inquired.

‘Understand whatever you like.’ Tony hesitated. Then he blurted, ‘I don’t want you poking around in those lonesome places by yourself. You’re dumb enough to go exploring on your own, even after what has been happening. If I have to take you with me to keep you out of mischief, that’s what I’m prepared to do.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You’re so sweet to little helpless me. I don’t know how to thank you. I’m just all a-twitter . . .’

‘I’ll even put up with your smart-aleck remarks,’ Tony said shortly. ‘Come on.’

I had been trying to decide whether to tell him about the secret passage and my discovery of the missing armour. I decided not to.

A little later, dressed in working clothes and equipped with flashlights, we descended into the crypt. After an hour of eyestrain and general wear and tear, Tony rose stiffly to his feet.

‘If any other stone has been moved within the past five hundred years I’ll – well, I don’t think it has. Have you got a cigarette?’

We sat against the pillar and rested for a short time. But before his cigarette was half finished, Tony stood up.

‘I can’t sit, I’m too restless.’

‘I know what you mean.’ I followed as he headed for the far end of the long, shadowy chamber. ‘Like the clouds overhead, a feeling of impending doom . . .’

‘Stop that.’

The beam of his flashlight darted frivolously around the room, glancing off ponderous stone pillars, illuminating a carved face or two bronze hands clasped around the hilt of a sword.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘There ought to be a door down here somewhere. For workmen, repair materials – they wouldn’t drag lumber through the chapel . . . Ah, I thought so.’

The north end of the crypt was made of brick instead of the stone prevalent elsewhere. Set into the wall was a low door fashioned of heavy wooden beams bound with iron. One of the keys on the Grafin’s ring fitted the massive keyhole, but in addition there was a modern padlock and a series of bolts and chains. When these had been dealt with the door opened into a corridor with a number of rooms leading off it. The first was typical of all the others – a vaulted stone chamber, poorly lit by a grating high in the wall. It contained nothing but some scraps of wood and a broken pottery bowl.

‘Storage room,’ said Tony, after an inspection had yielded nothing of interest. ‘We must be under the far end of our own wing now. My God, this place is big.’

‘Too big. All we need to do is miss one stone, in one wall or floor.’

‘It isn’t as bad as that. These are public rooms – places the servants had access to. It’s unlikely that the count would have a secret wall safe down here.’

We gave the other storerooms only a cursory search. Finally we reached a big room lit by several windows at ground level, but still dark and dismal. On one wall was a flat stone slab like a table. In the corner was a hooded fireplace big enough to roast a couple of oxen.

‘Kitchen,’ Tony announced unnecessarily. ‘How would you like to whip up a meal in this mausoleum? We’re under the Great Hall – I’ll bet that stair goes up to it. Here’s where the banquets were cooked.’

‘We won’t have to thump on these walls, then. I haven’t got any skin left on my knuckles.’

‘Here’s your well.’

Tony tugged at a stone which was equipped with a rusted iron ring. The stone slid aside with a screech, leaving a gaping hole. Peering into it I saw, far below, the glimmer of water.

‘Cover it up,’ I said suddenly, glancing over my shoulder.

Tony heaved the stone back into place.

‘You can see,’ he said, ‘why I don’t recommend solitary exploring. If something went down there, it wouldn’t come up.’

He led the way along the corridor outside the kitchen, dismissing a series of closed doors with the comment, ‘More storerooms.’

At the end of the corridor we found something that couldn’t be dismissed so casually.

Stairs led down into Stygian darkness, far below ground level. Below was a short corridor with three doors opening onto it. The doors were of iron, with bolts as thick as Tony’s arm. In the upper half of each door was a