Chapter 19

Nineteen

We had finished supper in the common room of the Cober Haus, and continued to wait.

I was not good at waiting, although I had improved at that during our past inquiry cases. Brodie, however, gave no indication that he was impatient or frustrated.

The man I saw now was the one with over ten years' experience with the MET and several more in the cases he took for others—that almost unreadable expression, the way he went about our room as he carefully packed his valise and then suggested I do the same. It was obvious he was certain we would not be returning.

Then, as it grew later, that last trip back to the hotel to check for the message we were waiting for while I made certain I had packed everything into my travel bag, then paced about the room as thoughts crowded into my head.

Who would be there? Undoubtedly Szábo. Unless he sent someone on his behalf.

Why the delay? Certainly, everyone who was to participate had arrived during the day, if not days earlier as word was sent out.

Had the auction been cancelled for some reason? Surely not with the potential for such high stakes.

Or, was it possible that we had been excluded after all?

When Brodie returned, I saw the answer to at least one of those questions in that dark gaze.

"It will begin in one hour," he told me, as Karl Schneider listened intently. "I have the location." Brodie showed the message from Wagner to him.

Karl nodded. "I know this place. It is not far, the old opera house that is to be torn down."

They had spoken at great length earlier after supper. Brodie had explained as much as he could, and made it clear that Karl's only opportunity depended on all of us getting on that last train tonight out of Frankfurt. If we failed in our efforts, so too would his chances to reach London.

" What is worth taking so much risk?" he had asked.

"Stolen documents, and two people have already been killed over the matter. More than that would be too dangerous for ye to know."

Karl nodded. "It is enough that you have come all this way. I do not need to know more. But I am going with you," he declared.

There was that infectious grin. "So that you do not come to harm."

Arrangements were then made for him to meet us at the Frankfurt Main rail station at midnight for the last departing train for the night.

Now, he watched as Brodie checked the revolver he always carried. I did the same with the smaller revolver that he insisted I carry.

"Ach!" Karl exclaimed, and then as if I was not in the room. "A woman with a gun? Does she know how to use it?"

"Of course," I replied, without going into the details of that first inquiry case. I then proceeded to open the breech, checked the cylinder of the five-shot pocket revolver, then snapped it shut.

"Aye," Brodie replied. "To prevent her taking mine."

Karl eyed me warily. "I will remember to stay behind you."

Brodie looked at me. "Ye have the weapon Munro gave ye?"

I lifted the hem of my skirt and showed him the blade I kept down the side of my boot.

"And she carries a knife?"

"I've only had to use it once," I explained. At the time it was for cutting away rope. I'd never had to use it on someone, and hoped I never would. The idea of being that close to someone threatening me was not a pleasant one.

Still, if necessary, I had learned some time ago that I had what Brodie called survivor instinct.

Brodie nodded, satisfied, as I returned the revolver to my travel bag.

"This could be verra dangerous," he told Karl. "There will be those there who are determined to have those documents."

Karl opened his bag and took out a butcher's cleaver. He proceeded to demonstrate, wielding it with amazing speed, then slamming it down on the table, the blade embedded in the wood.

"I prefer this."

"Good enough," Brodie told him. "I will remember to keep to your back as well."

Karl Schneider, the butcher, grinned.

As Karl had indicated, the theater was in the older part of the city, yet not far from the center of Frankfurt. The building looked to be at least three hundred years old with parapets, and I thought of William Shakespeare.

Before leaving the residenschloss , we had also rehearsed the roles we were to play during the forthcoming auction.

Obviously, I was to be the participant in the auction.

As for Brodie? It was safe to assume that those present would very well be aware of his role in attempting to retrieve the documents, and perhaps his former profession as a police detective with the MET. That might present a problem, although Herr Wagner hadn't mentioned anything of that sort.

The unknown part of it was whether any of them were aware that we'd been sent by Sir Avery of the Special Services after the murder of Sir Collingwood.

Angeline Cotillard was involved in that part of it. As was his way, Brodie chose to assume those there might be well informed regarding that, which would only increase the risk.

Then, there was Karl Schneider. It was very likely that no one present at the auction would know him. Brodie wanted him to remain behind yet close by, if possible.

If not...

Expect the unexpected.

I had learned that from him. It was something he had learned on the streets, and I knew from stories Munro had shared that it had kept them both alive in the past.

Brodie found a driver and the three of us entered the coach. He then gave him the destination of the old opera house.

The opera house was barely visible against the darkened skyline, except for the glow of lanterns at the entrance. As we left the coach, Karl departed, blending into the shadows along the front of the house.

The plan, as best we could make one, was for him to wait until the last coach arrived, then find his way inside and to the main part of the house where we presumed the auction was to take place.

A man waited just inside the entrance. He was a rough sort who spoke hardly any English, except to nod a vague acknowledgement as I gave my name. He then directed us to another man who escorted us to the main audience seating area. One of a set of double doors was opened and we entered the massive area.

I had seen other opera houses in Italy, with their elaborate seating, opera boxes that lined the walls, the stage hidden by massive, elegant velvet drapes with a double row of footlights and the orchestra pit just below. Not unlike the theater in London where my good friend Templeton performed.

Here the boxes were wrapped in darkness. No one would be listening to Verdi or Strauss as the players performed out their roles. No one would be waiting for those now-threadbare and torn velvet drapes to be drawn back as the first act began. As for the audience, there were barely enough chairs remaining, as it was perhaps the work of vandals.

There were, however, several chairs that had been arranged in a row much like at an auction house—a total of ten, I counted, with the orchestra director's stand placed before those rows. Not to conduct the orchestra, but to conduct the auction for those documents.

It was sad, I thought, that the grand old opera house should end this way, under the wrecking ball as I had once seen of an old building in London that stood in the midst of a newly planned roadway. Was this grand, sad old ‘house' to make way for someone else's vision of an opera house? Or to make way for perhaps another rail line or street?

Brodie's hand tightened around my arm as he escorted me through the audience area toward the front of the house.

"Lady Forsythe," a man, who had now taken his place at the conductor's stand, commented in accented English.

"Englander," he added with a brief nod in our direction as Brodie escorted me to the last row of the seating that had obviously been placed for the auction, the better to see everyone he had explained as part of the ‘plan,' and probably nearer the entrance.

A man stepped in front of Brodie and shook his head, his hand on Brodie's arm, in an unmistakable gesture that he was not to be allowed to remain for the auction.

I glanced at the others who had already arrived, each with at least one or two others who accompanied them, then caught the expression on Brodie's face.

He took hold of the man's wrist and I thought our efforts might end in the next moment.

To my surprise, the man let out a snarl then jerked his arm away, shaking his hand as he glared at Brodie.

I caught the nod from the auctioneer, and the man backed away.

"I thought certain he was going to force a confrontation and we were going to be sent away," I whispered. Or worse, I thought, considering what we knew about those present, and a great deal more we didn't know.

"It would have been difficult with no feeling in his hand," Brodie replied.

"How?"

"It's a simple thing if ye know the right place to apply pressure. I will show ye if we get out of here alive."

As it was, it hardly mattered, if we didn't. Not a pleasant thought.

It seemed we were the last to arrive of those who would be bidding in the auction. The auctioneer announced a handful of rules in German, and then in English, no doubt for my benefit.

However, I saw the acknowledgements from several of those present and then realized there were representatives from a handful of other countries.

He then described the item up for auction—documents recently acquired, and of great value, as described in the information each had previously received. A side door next to the orchestra pit opened and a wood chest was brought out by a statuesque woman with striking blonde hair and vivid lip color.

The resemblance to those paintings was unmistakable as was the lip color, found on that cigarette at Sandringham.

Angeline Cotillard made her entrance and deposited the carved wood chest on the table next to the auctioneer's stand. She then opened the lid and removed the thick roll of documents that had brought everyone here tonight.

The documents were authentic, the auctioneer assured everyone, acquired directly from the British Admiralty, revealing the development of an advanced weapon that could rain havoc down on other countries.

He then announced that surety deposits from all participants had been verified, and asked for the opening bid for the documents. Brodie's hand squeezed mine as it began.

Before we left Cober Haus I had explained the mechanics of an auction as well as the strategy.

"The strategy is to obtain the highest price," he had replied.

Yes, but there was more to it than that. It was very much like playing chess, I went onto explain. It was always best to wait, learn who your opponent or opponents were, and what they were willing to do. In this situation, what were they willing to bet in order to obtain the documents.

I thought of the telegram that I had sent before leaving the hotel for other accommodations and the response I had received, the message quite clear.

‘You must do whatever is necessary for you and Mr. Brodie to safely return. I do wish I was there, however must consider Lily. You now have what you need. Do make it back in time to help plan the wedding.'

I had taken certain measures with the instructions I had then put in place at the hotel. All the same, I chose not to discuss the telegram or those arrangements with Brodie. He did have a penchant for insisting on keeping my family out of our work.

The bidding proceeded, quietly with a raised hand, from a man who spoke with a thick German accent, then another with a somewhat different accent. Prussian, I thought. Then there was a bid from a dark-complexioned man in a set of long robes who might be from one of the eastern countries.

The bid was then raised by a lean, unshaven man who spoke with a French accent. He was plainly dressed and accompanied by another man in the same clothes of a common worker.

"He is not French," I whispered to Brodie. "Possibly Hungarian by the accent."

Was he perhaps with one of the anarchist groups that had spread attacks across Europe the past several years?

It was difficult to imagine that he had access to the amount of money the bids had now reached. But there were rumors that the money to fund their activities to spread unrest in fact came from sources in growing industries who hid their identities to protect themselves.

It was horrifying to think it might be true.

And the purpose of the documents for the design of that air ship that everyone in that theater was desperate to obtain?

The bidding had reached very near fifty thousand pounds sterling. Let us see what the response would now be, I thought. I raised my hand.

Instead of the increments of five thousand pounds that we had been acknowledged by the auctioneer, I announced my own bid.

"One hundred thousand pounds sterling."

I immediately felt that dark gaze on me, along with several others in that ancient opera house.

"Do ye know wot ye are doin'?" Brodie whispered.

"Of course."

"But that kind of money...Ye dinnae have that much. They will expect payment."

I glanced over at him. "Trust me."

"I do, but this is dangerous."

"Yes, it is, but more so for those I have just outbid. Let us see what they are prepared to do."

The auctioneer repeated my bid. "One hundred thousand pounds?"

I nodded.

"You are prepared to pay that for the documents."

"I have access to sufficient funds...and more," I added, to stir the pot as Mrs. Ryan, my housekeeper was fond of saying.

"The funds are in a Swiss account, verified by the president of Deutsch Bank. I have written confirmation. I am certain that you will recognize the signature of the same man who has no doubt verified the funds of others present."

Brodie made that sound I had heard quite often. I saw his hand slip inside the front of his jacket when there were no higher bids.

"You have a confirmation of the funds, Lady Forsythe?" The auctioneer called out.

I rose and approached the auctioneer's stand. I showed him the confirmation. When he would have taken it, I held it just out of reach.

"I'm certain you understand that my bank in Switzerland requires me to verify the final amount when the bank here in Frankfurt opens in the morning."

"I know her!" a voice cut through the tangle of conversations that had begun.

"They are working with the English authorities!"

I followed the sound of that voice and saw that short little man who had attacked me at the art exhibit in Brussels as he charged toward the auctioneer's stand.

It was no doubt a rash decision, not exactly part of the plan which had been for us to simply walk away with the documents at the conclusion of the auction. However, with that nasty little man charging toward me and Brodie at least twenty feet away…

I was not about to let that little man upend our case and the entire reason we were there. I had previously made the mistake of misjudging him because of his short height. I was not about to do that again and did what I should have done in Brussels.

I saw the blade he had in his hand, that he had used on Alex. Having encountered him before, I knew exactly what he would do when I swept his feet. As he reached me, I took a deep breath, swept his feet from under him. Only this time as he rolled and came to his feet, I had already pulled the revolver from my bag.

I pulled back the hammer as I had practiced hundreds of times at Brodie's insistence, and fired.

The shot caught the little man low at the shoulder as a scream came from the stage behind the auctioneer as a woman with blonde hair, and a glimpse of vivid red lip color ran down the steps with weapon in hand.

It could be none other than Angeline Cotillard.

I took advantage of that momentary shock that rippled through the bidders and grabbed the documents from the box at the table, stuffed the documents into my bag, then ran toward Brodie and the exit of the opera house.

"Ye might have told me wot ye were up to."

"I didn't know myself until that little fiend ran toward me."

He shoved me out the exit to the opera house where Karl Schneider suddenly appeared.

"Get her out of here. I'll meet ye at the rail station."

When I would have argued, he pulled me to him and kissed me hard.

"For once, do as yer told."

"What about you?" Shouts followed us from the opera house.

"I'll meet ye there."

"Brodie…!" I saw the look he gave Karl, and I suddenly knew exactly what was happening.

"I won't leave you!" I screamed at him.

He shook his head, and that dark gaze met mine.

"Go, now!"

He turned back and disappeared into the darkness as the light from a half dozen or more lanterns suddenly appeared and there was more gunfire.