“How right,” I agreed. “What about the Count? Is he married? I’ve been away so many years that it’s hard to keep track of that kind of thing. Wives, children and such.” Without being obvious I was watching him when I asked this, and he gave a little start.
“Well … yes, you might say. I mean the Count was married, but there was an accident, he’s not married now. …” His voice tapered away and he drew my attention to something else, happy to leave the topic.
Now if there is one thing that always marks Angelina’s trail it is a corpse or two. It took no great amount of inspiration to connect her with the “accidental” death of the Count’s wife. If the death had been natural Kurt would not have been afraid to talk about it. He didn’t mention the topic again and I made no attempt to pump him. I had my lead. Angelina may not have been in sight—but her spoor was around me on all sides. It was just a matter of time now. As soon as I was able to, I would shake Kurt and hunt up the bullyboys who had spirited me out of the jail. Buy them a few drinks to assure them that there were no hard feelings about the beating they had given me. Then pump them adroitly about the man who had led them.
Angelina made her move first. One of the coal-burning robots came hissing and clanking around with a message. The Count would like to see me. I slicked my hair, tucked in my shirt and reported for duty.
I was pleased to see that the Count was a steady and solitary daytime drinker. In addition, there was very little tobacco in his cigarette; the sweet smoke filled the room. All this meant he was due for early dissolution, and I would not be numbered among his mourners. None of this showed in my expression or attitude of course. I was all flashing eye and hell-cracking attention.
“Is it action, sir? Is that why you sent for me?” I asked.
“Sit down, sit down,” he mumbled, waving me towards a chair. “Relax. Want a cigarette?” He pushed the box towards me and I eyed the thin brown cylinders with distaste.
“Not today, sir. I’m laying off smoking for awhile. Sharpening up the old eye. Keeping the old trigger finger limber and ready for action.”
The Count’s mind was occupied elsewhere and I doubt if he heard a word I said. He chewed abstractedly at the inside of his cheek while he looked me up and down. A decision finally struggled up through his half-clotted brain.
“What do you know about the Radebrechen family?” he asked, which is about as exotic a question as I have ever had thrown at me.
“Absolutely nothing,” I answered truthfully. “Should I?”
“No … no. …” he answered vaguely, and went back to chewing his cheek. I was getting high just from breathing the air in the room and I wondered how he was feeling.
“Come with me,” he said, pushing over his chair and almost falling on top of it. We plodded through a number of halls deeper into the building, until we came to a door, no different from the ones we had passed, except this one had a guard in front of it—a rough-looking brawny type with his arms casually crossed. Just casual enough to let his fingers hang over his pistol grip. He didn’t budge when we came up.
“It’s all right,” the Duke of Rdenrundt said, with what I swear was a peevish tone. “He’s with me.”
“Gotta search him anyway,” the guard said. “Orders.”
More and more interesting. Who issued orders the Count couldn’t change—in his own castle? As if I didn’t know. And I recognized the guard’s voice, he was one of the men who had taken me from my prison cell. He searched me quickly and efficiently, then stepped aside. The Count opened the door and I followed him in, trying not to tread on his heels.
One thing about reality—it is always so much superior to theory. I had every reason to believe that Angelina would be here, yet it was still a healthy shock to see her sitting at the table. A kind of electric charge in my spine tingled right up to the roots of my hair. This was a moment I had waited for for a very long time. It took a positive effort to relax and appear indifferent. At least as indifferent as any healthy young male is in front of an attractive package of femininity.
Of course this girl didn’t resemble Angelina very much. Yet I still had no doubt. The face was changed as was the color of the hair. And though the face was a new one it still held the same sweet, angelic quality as the old. Her figure was much the way I remembered it, with perhaps a few slight improvements. Hers was a surface transformation, with no attempt at being as complete as the one I had had done to me.
“This is Grav Bent Diebstall,” the Count said, fixing his hot and smoky little eyes on her. “The man you wanted to see, Engela.” So she was still an angel, though under a different name. That was a bad habit she should watch, only I wasn’t going to tell her. A lot of people have been caught by taking an alias too similar to their old one.
“Why thank you, Cassitor,” she said. Cassitor indeed! I’d look unhappy too if I had to go through life with a handle like Cassitor Rdenrundt. “It was very nice of you to bring Grav Bent here,” she added in the same light and empty voice.
Cassi must have been expecting a warmer welcome because he stood first on one foot and then another and mumbled something which neither of
