Chapter 15

Fifteen

Alex was no better in the morning, but also no worse. Except for the fever. That had me worried. According to Mr. Brimley it was a sign of infection and even more critical that Munro at least get him back to Paris as soon as possible.

Failing that and any assistance Sir Avery might be able to provide with those he knew, Munro was to take him back to London straight away and to Mr. Brimley.

"Dinna worry, miss," Munro assured me as I again placed a hand on Alex's forehead.

"I'll see that he gets back safely."

"I'm certain you will." If not Brodie, there was no one else I would have trusted more.

We said our farewells at the rail station, even as it was not lost on me that Brodie kept a continual eye on our surroundings, those who arrived and those who departed.

"Ye have a weapon?" he asked Munro.

There was that smile, slow, and yet not precisely a smile. It was more what I might have expected of Rupert the hound when he came upon someone he didn't like. Except for the teeth.

"Always, as ye know."

Brodie nodded as the call went out for their departure. There was no shaking of the hand, no last-minute word of advice. They merely nodded to each other as I had seen dozens of times—silent messages passed along that each understood.

I laid a hand on Alex's arm, and thanked him for attempting to aid me the day before, at the cost to himself

"Not at all, Miss Forsythe," he replied with a game smile.

Farewells were said and Brodie helped Munro get him aboard their compartment. I did think that they looked a bit like three friends who had stayed at the local tavern until the wee hours of the morning as they supported Alex between them.

"He will be all right, lass," Brodie said when he returned, his watchful look surveying others at the station who waited to board or see others on their way.

"He could not be in better hands than Munro."

I nodded. "I know. It's just that…"

"It wasna yer fault. There was no way to know wot would happen, and Alex did what came natural, which was to protect ye."

"I could have handled that wee bugger," I replied as anger took the place of other emotions.

"Aye, and perhaps in that, the ‘wee bugger' was fortunate...this time. Next time, perhaps."

I could have sworn there was a smile there. I looked over at him. " When, not if, there is a next time, I will see the matter done to the wretched creature."

"Ah, no longer a wee bugger?"

He was teasing, and I supposed that was the only way to look at the situation. For now. But there would be payback. I silently promised myself.

"Ye perhaps understand wot it is to see someone ye care about injured or worse."

I did understand. However…

"Come along, now," he said then, as the train began to move, slowly at first as it pulled from the station, then gathering more speed as it left the rail yard.

"We need to see if there is any word from Miss Lucy."

There were two telegrams waiting for us. One from Lucy, the second from my great-aunt. Brodie opened Aunt Antonia's telegram first. He read it to himself, a slight frown forming.

"For heaven's sake. What does she have to say?" I asked.

I expected what would have been the usual, informing us that Lucy would be in contact, a reminder to be careful. That foreigners could not be trusted. Perhaps an update on the wedding plans, and then the usual question about when we might be returning regarding said wedding plans.

However, this was my great-aunt, someone I loved dearly, who had lived her life so far quite outside the usual constraints of society. Someone, I had learned quite young, who was predictably unpredictable.

At Brodie's prolonged silence, I became quite anxious. Had she taken a fall? Had she been out and about in her motor carriage again and suffered an accident? Or was it about Lily? Some mishap? Had she run away, as she had recently threatened over her lessons? Something I could sympathize with, though I would never say it.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." I grabbed the telegram from him.

"Greetings, my dears. ‘L' will be replying directly with info ."

Info?

Good heavens, an abbreviation and referring to Lucy as "L," no doubt my great-aunt's version of using code words.

If the situation wasn't so dire, I would have laughed as I continued to read.

"Sir Laughton was most helpful and have added Herr Johannes Wagner, Kaiserstrasse, Frankfurt, to the guest list. Have wired intro if you should call on him. Regards.

She had not added her name. I did notice that the telegram had been sent under another name.

"Sir Laughton, her attorney," I commented as I folded the telegram and put it in my travel bag. And a contact we now had in Frankfurt through him.

"What does Lucy have to say about the inquiries she was to make?"

" The Times, one year ago; person you mentioned-S; substantial criminal record; charged with murder, escaped, last seen in Frankfurt, Germany, June this year; known associate S. Bruhl leader of criminal group responsible for kidnapping, robbery, smuggling, extortion. Said to keep company with an actress from the theater."

"Bruhl appears to be a well-rounded fellow," I sarcastically commented. I could only assume that the ‘actress' Lucy mentioned, might be Angeline Cotillard.

"And verra dangerous with those activities," Brodie replied.

"I should respond to Lucy's telegram," I said then. "She deserves to know about Alex, and reassure her that he will be all right."

"It is best we don't communicate more than absolutely necessary," Brodie replied. "If we're to have a chance of finding Szábo."

I knew that he was right. We had considerably more than when we set out that morning. We now had information on both Szábo and Bruhl, as well as someone who might be able to provide additional information.

I shook my head. There was another worry.

"Wot is it?"

"Except for that first case that involved Linnie, I have always tried to keep my family out of what we do."

"Her ladyship?"

I nodded. "She is, after all, eighty-six years old."

He looked at me and I could have sworn there was amusement in that dark gaze.

"And ye thought to protect her."

"It was a simple request to contact Lucy Penworth, nothing more, and now she's involved in this...What are you looking at?"

"Lady Antonia Montgomery," he replied. "And ye forget I have had some experience working with her in the past. She does exactly as she pleases…"

I understood his meaning quite well.

"Ye are exactly alike."

It was just like him to get the last word in.

We returned to our hotel. I had the clothes I had worn the day before out to be cleaned, and had hand-washed my shirtwaist and what was left of my slip, then hung them to dry on hooks.

Having traveled in some uncertain areas on my adventures had prepared me to take care of many things myself. I had also hand-laundered Brodie's shirt from the day before.

As yesterday, Brodie had placed a piece of paper in at the door against any unwanted visitors. It was still there when we returned.

Whoever that little man was who had attacked Alex, it did not seem that he had followed us back to our hotel.

With the information I had from Templeton, that Angeline traveled in the company of a small man, it seemed possible that, whoever he was, he might very well have taken himself off to Frankfurt.

What was he to her? Bodyguard? Lover? Fellow thief? And now murderer?

It was possible, given the weapon he had used against Alex, that he might very well have murdered Sir Collingwood. But for what reason?

As part of the scheme to obtain those highly secret drawings of the air ship as Sir Avery had learned? And then eliminate anyone along the way who might be able to identify them?

"I know that frown," Brodie commented as he returned from a walk about the street where the hotel was located, and a conversation with the manager for a substantial amount of compensation. He had been gone an extremely long time.

However, that gave me the opportunity to make the latest notes, and I had then destroyed both telegrams, the paper smoldering in the ash dish on the table before the hearth in the sitting room. No need to leave them lying about for someone else to read.

I went back over everything we'd learned, including that information that Alex had brought with him, along with the information Munro had learned from Schmidt. His brother-in-law worked in one of the outer districts of Frankfurt. It was a city he knew well. There had also been the name of an inn. Cober Haus Inn, very near Kaiserstrasse in the main part of the city.

"Based on the information Munro brought from Herr Schmidt, it would seem that his brother-in-law might be quite motivated to assist us."

"Aye."

"And with the name we now have from Sir Laughton, we have someone else we can contact." I thought of the attorney in Frankfurt

"Perhaps."

I heard the hesitation in his voice. "You are doubtful."

"We will see. We will call on the man. It could be useful. While he may be an associate by profession, it would be good to remember that he may very well have interests of his own that lie elsewhere. We are foreigners, asking his assistance. We need to be careful."

I had learned that, even in the East End of London, it was often those in positions less fortunate who could be trusted over others.

There was a train departing Brussels for Frankfurt at eight o'clock in the morning.

My skirt and jacket along with a pair of Brodie's trousers had been returned late that afternoon.

I had done the best I could with his jacket and the substantial amount of dried blood from Alex's encounter with his attacker. Our other clothes had to be hand-washed. So I proceeded to soak them in the basin in the bathroom.

Brodie watched with an expression that was a cross between doubt and amazement.

"I still canna believe that ye know how to wash yer own clothes!"

"And yours as well, Mr. Brodie," I replied. "Water, soap, a good scrubbing. Swirl things about in a basin, apply soap, bath soap in this case, scrub well, then rinse, wring out the water, and hang to dry." I demonstrated.

"A lady who does her own laundry. I'm verra impressed."

That comment along with the expression on his face was taking things a bit far. I threw his wadded-up but still soggy shirt at him, hitting him square in the middle of that smug expression.

"What do you think our chances are finding those documents that went missing at Sandringham?" We had brought a meal to our room as our laundry dried before the hearth.

Dinner included a fare of beef and potatoes, with sliced fresh-baked bread, and a bottle of wine.

He frowned over his glass, then set it on the table.

"Considering the amount of time that's passed since Sir Collingwood was murdered, it is possible it has already been sold off to the highest bidder."

"Or not?" I suggested. It did seem possible that the documents had not been sold to anyone as yet, particularly after the encounter with the little man who was a known companion of Angeline Cotillard.

"If not," Brodie continued, "after that encounter at the museum, there will be every attempt to sell them. The only hope we have is the amount demanded.

"For those like Szábo and Bruhl, it is all about the highest price the documents can bring on the open market, ‘foreign actors,' who would be interested in purchasing them."

Foreign actors—I thought that an interesting choice of words considering Angeline Cotillard's profession.

"That drives the cost up to the highest bidder," he continued. "It could be any one of a half-dozen possible buyers."

"Like an auction," I replied.

"Aye. Because of that, my guess would be that Bruhl does not yet have the documents. It is possible that Szábo either might have yet to make contact with Bruhl, or is holding onto them for his own purposes while putting out the word to others."

"He would double-cross Bruhl?"

"Cross, double-cross," Brodie replied.

That was interesting. No doubt something he'd learned living on the streets as a boy.

"I thought there was honor among thieves."

"Only so far, lass. Then it is every man, or woman, for themselves."

"Angeline Cotillard?" Was it possible that she still had the documents?

"It would depend on whose bed she's sleeping in now."

Cross, double-cross.

We rose early in order to depart Brussels on that morning train. In spite of my clean skirt and jacket, I chose to wear my walking skirt, boots, and freshly washed shirtwaist.

I had a reason, of course, for wearing the walking skirt. Brodie would have thought it very amusing.

One must always be prepared.

To that end, I had secured the blade in my boot, and the revolver into the deep pocket I had the dressmaker include when she made the skirt, in the style of one my friend Templeton had given me after the return from her American tour.

Most handy, as she described the style, which had become quite popular the past few years across London for women who participated in lawn sports, tennis, equestrian events, and shooting sports.

There was still a long way to go before they would be allowed to compete in official competitions, of course. I suspected personally that it had more to do with men being concerned over those sports with a mallet, or the shooting sports.

We boarded our train without incident, both of us watchful for any sign of that little man. However, there was none. It was possible that he had already left Brussels to join Angeline Cotillard?

We settled back in our compartment for the five-hour trip that would take us to Frankfurt and our search for those stolen secret documents.