The Devil's Opera(172)
A one horse light cart pulled up. The two detectives bounded up into it. “The new opera house, now, and schnell!”
* * *
Simon stared after the rapidly moving cart, jaw agape. What had that all been about, and what did the glove mean? Did it have anything to do with Hans?
Well, if they were in such a hurry to get to the opera house, maybe that’s where the answers were.
Simon started trotting down the street, headed for the nearest bridge into the Neustadt.
* * *
“Can’t this thing move any faster?” Byron demanded of the driver. He began cursing in a stream, seemingly without breathing.
“You going to tell me what is going on that has you so worked up?” Gotthilf asked.
Byron broke off the curses long enough to say, “That bastard Schardius has been stalking Marla. That’s what all those papers are about. They’re his collection on her. And this,” he held up the glove, “this is her glove. I recognize it. No one else in Magdeburg has anything like this, and there’s no way she would have been anywhere near his office to drop it. So he had it, a trophy, which is also part of a stalker’s pattern. Somehow he lost it outside his office, and we’re just lucky that Simon found it for us.”
“So why are we going to the opera hall?”
“Because Schardius bankrolled the opera production, according to Marla. He won’t miss the premiere performance. And if he’s stalking her, he for sure will be there tonight.”
“Point,” Gotthilf replied. “He will want to see what his money bought.”
“In more ways than one,” and Byron resumed cursing.
A horrible thought occurred to Gotthilf. “Peltzer’s dead streetwalker…”
The same thoughts ran through both their minds. Long dark hair…was asked to sing.…
Now the curses were being uttered antiphonally from both sides of the cart.
“Can’t your horse move any faster?” Gotthilf demanded of the driver.
Chapter 65
Friedrich and the others stood outside the Royal and Imperial Opera Hall for some time, making themselves visible to the incoming select premiere night crowd, posturing and engaging in what could only be called witty repartee. Their breath frosted as they spoke, and they laughed at that, accusing each other of being filled with nothing but hot air.
Before long the sun began to dip below the horizon, and the air definitely began to chill. The four friends looked at each other, and with nods they moved as one up the steps and through the central door of the opera hall.
The foyer area, what Friedrich had heard an up-timer call a lobby, ran the full width of the building. Foyer was not a grand enough word to him to describe the room. It seemed more of a gallery, with doors all along the west side into the various seating areas of the auditorium, high ceilings, and three large crystal chandeliers.
The four of them milled around a bit, until Franz Sylwester literally stumbled over Friedrich’s walking stick with an “Oof!”
“Steady, there,” Friedrich said as he grabbed Franz’s elbow to keep him from sprawling on the floor.
A moment later, Franz was stable again, brushing his hands down the front of his royal blue short-waisted jacket. “My thanks,” he said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in there?” Friedrich motioned to the auditorium with his head.
“In a few minutes, perhaps, but Frau Amber has me out here greeting all the big name guests,” he leaned over and lowered his voice, “especially those who gave money for the hall or the production.”
“Ah,” Friedrich said, as they all exchanged knowing smiles. The power of gold, indeed.
“But listen,” Franz said, “would you like to see behind the curtains for just a moment or two?”
Friedrich didn’t need to look at his friends. “Of course!”
Franz shared a conspiratorial grin. “Then come with me.”
* * *
Gotthilf threw a couple of bills to the driver and tumbled off the cart in Byron’s wake. He was surprised to see Honister walking toward them across the opera house plaza.
“Hey, Karl,” Byron said.
“Lieutenant,” Karl responded with a nod. “I was on my way to find you when I saw you pull up here. What’s to do?”
“According to our informant,” Byron said, walking fast, “our one-eyed dude is around here somewhere. Seems he’s been tailing Schardius, who we think is inside.” He jerked his head at the opera hall.
“Schardius? Why?” Honister seemed mystified by that revelation.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Gotthilf replied, trotting to keep up with his long-legged partner.
“I have no idea,” Honister said, “unless…”