Over the next few hours, Steven had kept wondering who could be behind the mysterious break-in. He didn’t really think Frau Schultheiss was capable of hiring someone to trash the place. Maybe her husband, though? And then, of course, there was yesterday evening’s stranger in the Bavarian-style suit. What was it he had said before leaving?
We’ll come back to you.
Whom had he meant by we? The same people who had turned his shop upside down? Searching for something that was still, apparently, in his possession? Were these people after the little treasure chest?
I am interested in eyewitness accounts from the time of King Ludwig the Second. Do you have anything of that nature?
Steven sneezed as the dust he had raised went up his nose. When he had blown his nose thoroughly, he looked up. The woman was still standing outside the broken display window, smiling like a diva.
“Gesundheit.”
In spite of the circumstances, Steven couldn’t help grinning. “Sorry I snapped at you like that, but all this”—he pointed to the pile of wrecked and damaged books and loose pages on the table—“has been a bit too much for me.”
Audrey Hepburn nodded. “No need to apologize. I just have one very simple question, and then I’ll be off.” She took something out of her purse, which was bright green like her headscarf, and handed it to Steven through the open doorway. “Do you know this man?” she asked seriously. “He’s my uncle. Did he by any chance visit your shop?”
Steven looked at the photo and gave a start. No doubt about it, it was the elderly man who had been in the bookshop yesterday—the man with the bundle done up in wrapping paper and the hunted look in his eyes who had disappeared so suddenly. It was not a good picture, but all the same it was easy to recognize the amiable old gentleman with the gray blazer and the nickel-framed glasses.
Steven nodded and gave the photo back to the woman. “Yes, in fact he was here yesterday morning,” he said. “We talked a bit, and then he left.”
“About what?” The young woman’s voice suddenly had a hard edge. “What did you talk about?”
“Oh, this and that. Mainly literature. He was interested in the diaries of Samuel Pepys, and . . .”
“You didn’t by any chance talk about King Ludwig the Second?”
Steven froze. He straightened up and gave the young woman with the black sunglasses a dark look. “Listen, if you have anything to do with the guy who turned up here yesterday evening, then . . .”
“What guy?”
“The guy who asked me the same thing. If I have any books about King Ludwig the Second.”
“Who asked you that?”
At that moment Steven saw something flash behind the woman’s back; it was a brief flicker behind the side window of a black Chrysler just pulling up to the deserted sidewalk. Two powerful-looking men in dark green tracksuit jackets got out and slowly came toward the bookshop in the twilight. When the woman saw them, her face behind her sunglasses suddenly went white as a sheet. She came into the shop and looked around the still-untidy room in a harried way. “Can you lock the door?” she whispered.
“Er . . . that wouldn’t be much use.” Steven pointed to the broken glass. “The window’s done for. And anyway, what . . .”
“For God’s sweet sake, do it! And quickly.” The woman’s voice was nothing like Audrey Hepburn’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s now. Only at this point did he catch the faint touch of a Berlin accent in it. “Lock the door, then help me push that bookcase in front of the window. That ought to hold them up for a little while, anyway.” She was already tugging at the bookcase, while Steven, in total confusion, locked the door.
“I’m afraid you owe me an explanation,” he said. “Did those men do something to you? Are they after you?”
“Not after me, you idiot. They’re after you. Now, push this hard, will you?”
Too baffled to say anything, Steven helped her push the bookcase over to the broken window. Only a moment later someone was hammering at the door.
“Herr Lukas,” called a deep, hoarse voice. “We know you’re in there. Don’t be stupid. We won’t hurt you. We just want to have a little talk. You have something that belongs to us. Unfortunately, we didn’t find it last night. Herr Lukas, can you hear me?” The voice sounded like it was running out of patience. “We’re ready to pay you a hefty sum for the book. How much do you want? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand?”
Steven was about to say something, but the woman beside him put a finger to her lips.
“Do you have it?” she whispered.