A cold fall wind blew around Steven. They were on the northern side of the castle, not far from the gateway through which they had entered Neuschwanstein what felt like an eternity ago. Steven had lost all sense of time. He assumed it must be just before sunrise; he thought he saw the first faint hint of the light of dawn in the sky.
“Where . . . where are you taking us?” he gasped, still breathless after going down all those steps and corridors. The men had driven them like cattle going to the slaughter.
“You’ll soon see, dear cousin.” Luise pointed the Derringer to the left, where a small path ran along beside the castle walls. “There’s no better viewing place in all Neuschwanstein.”
She switched on a long flashlight to show them the way through the dark wood. Luise’s henchmen also carried flashlights, and thin beams of light flitted over the well-trodden path that finally brought them to a wider road. After a few minutes, they left this road and stumbled over a small, tree-grown rise in the ground. They heard the rushing of a mountain stream in the distance.
At last Luise stopped, pointing her flashlight straight ahead, and Steven saw a narrow bridge leading through the night ahead of them. In the darkness, it looked like the entrance to hell.
“The Marie Bridge over the Pöllat Gorge,” she said with awe. “See for yourself; the view is astounding.” She gave Steven a push, and with Sara he staggered toward the bridge, while two of their guards got into position in front of them and two behind them. Now the sound of water was very close.
The panorama was indeed incomparable.
Below them lay the Pöllat Gorge. A giant waterfall roared down into a rocky basin, flowing on and down to the valley as a rushing mountain stream. Mighty rocks stood to the right and left. Toward the east, Neuschwanstein rose like a white fairy castle among the trees in their fall colors. At exactly this moment, the first faint red glow of the morning sun showed behind the castle.
“Well, did I promise you too much?” Luise leaned dreamily against the chest-high metal railing, looking at the sunrise. She made a wide gesture over the misty mountain world of the Alps. “A beautiful place to die, don’t you think, Frau Lengfeld? We are entirely alone; the first hikers won’t be around for a few hours. And then an unfortunate tourist woman will be found at the bottom of the Pöllat Gorge, a victim of her own stupidity.” Shaking her head, she looked at Sara’s high-heeled shoes. “You really shouldn’t walk in the mountains in pumps like those. Didn’t you read the warning notices?”
Sara tried to fling herself on Luise, but Lancelot held her back by the shoulder with his huge paws.
“You crazy viper!” Sara yelled. “You won’t get away with this. Questions will be asked. I left a message behind at home. If anything should happen to me, then . . .”
“Oh, Frau Lengfeld, do stop,” Luise interrupted. “Don’t you think you’ve told enough lies? That naïve idiot beside you may have swallowed all your stories, but you won’t get anywhere with me.”
“Lies? What . . . what do you mean?” Steven asked.
“What do I mean?” Luise raised her right eyebrow. “Well, dear cousin, we have gathered information not only about you but also, of course, about your charming companion here. And do you know what’s so funny about it?” She paused for a moment and then winked at Steven. “Professor Liebermann has no niece.”
Steven’s jaw dropped, and his legs threatened to give way. What kind of game was she playing?
“Sara . . .” He looked at the art detective, who was standing by the bars of the bridge and was unusually silent, with her lips narrowed. “Is that true?”
“Steven, let me explain . . .”
“I want to know whether it’s true!” When Sara nodded, he had to hold on to the handrail of the bridge to keep from crumpling.
“And it gets even better, Steven,” Luise said. “Has Sara ever told you about her dear papa? No? Then I will.” She paused for dramatic effect before she went on, relishing the situation. “Peter Lengfeld is an art thief, the terror of museums, with an unfortunate tendency to steal objets d’art. He has about a dozen break-ins to his name. At the moment, he’s serving his third term in prison, waiting to get therapy. We’ve made inquiries, Steven. While you were at Linderhof, Sara Lengfeld visited her father at Stadelheim Prison in Munich. Ask her what she was doing there. Well?”
Sara was silent. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply and heavily. But Luise Manstein wouldn’t let the subject drop.
“This woman is a liar, Steven,” she repeated. “A liar and a criminal. I’ve seen her file on the police computer. Sara Lengfeld has a criminal record for breaking and entering. She has helped her father more than once in his thefts from museums. And she is not the niece of Professor Paul Liebermann.”