The Ludwig Conspiracy(155)
For some time there was nothing to be heard but the crackling of the fire and the shouted orders of the firefighters. Finally, Sara cleared her throat.
“It was the Wittelsbachs who hired me to find out more about the diary, Steven,” she said quietly. “I admit I was lying when I told you I was Professor Paul Liebermann’s niece. But no more lies now. My name is Sara Lengfeld, I am an art detective, and I love you.”
“And incidentally, one of the best art detectives who has ever worked for us,” the nameless man said. “Frau Lengfeld has often been extremely ingenious in tracking down valuable items from our widely dispersed family possessions. We value her experience and her . . . well, rather unusual methods. She was to get hold of the diary for us in her capacity as a go-between.”
“Unfortunately, Professor Liebermann was stubborn,” Sara went on. Shivering, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “Even when the Wittelsbachs offered him half a million euros for it, the idiot refused. And the next I heard, he had been abducted and murdered.” She smiled wearily at Steven. “You were my only link with him and the book. So I pretended to be his niece. You know the rest.”
“You used me,” Steven said reproachfully. “All your warnings about the police and dangerous strangers were only to get me to decode the book for you.”
“Please understand, Steven,” Sara said. “It was my job to find out what was behind all those puzzles. But that could be done only with your help. I couldn’t decode the book on my own. And I did think, at least at first, that we were safe.”
“We have been in constant contact with Frau Lengfeld,” said the elderly man. “In Munich, in Linderhof . . . although after what happened at Herrenchiemsee, we were on the point of calling the whole thing off. However, at a meeting in Prien, Frau Lengfeld convinced us that we should continue.” He sighed deeply. “If we’d guessed what dangers awaited you both at Herrenchiemsee and later at Neuschwanstein, we’d have brought the police in at once.”
“The green Bentley down at the harbor in Prien,” Steven groaned. “It wasn’t the Cowled Men, or Luise’s bodyguards; it was you.”
“I didn’t know that myself at first.” Sara smiled. “We didn’t meet until the next morning, when you were still asleep. I’ll admit that for a long time I still suspected Zöller.” She pointed to the ruins of Falkenstein Castle and the scene of the fire below it, which was now only smoking. “I wanted to know who was behind it. Do you understand, Steven? We might have laid hands on Lancelot and the other men, but we wouldn’t have had any evidence at all that Luise Manstein was responsible for everything here. So I kept my mouth shut, and I asked the Wittelsbachs to give me a free hand.”
“But why all this?” Steven asked, staring angrily at the bearded man. “Granted, Luise Manstein was out of her mind. But why were you willing to pay so much money for an old book? Half a million!” He hesitated. “You wanted to destroy it, right? You wanted to make sure that no stain on Ludwig’s reputation would ever be in the public domain.” Steven had worked himself up into a fury. “You haven’t let anyone see the files since Ludwig’s death. The archive isn’t open to the public. The coffin in St. Michael’s Church in Munich isn’t allowed to be opened for forensic investigation. You don’t want anyone to find out that the king may have been homosexual, that the prince regent, Luitpold, may have known of his murder, that the Wittelsbach family itself has Ludwig on its conscience. Isn’t that so?”
The man smiled. “Oh my goodness, Herr Lukas, all these wild conspiracy theories. The Wittelsbachs at the center of a diabolical intrigue. Could we make it any more melodramatic if we tried?” He chuckled. “Do you really think that it would bother anyone these days if my forebears, more than a hundred years ago, were involved in a murder plot? And a homosexual can get to be foreign minister now.” He waved the subject away. “No one is interested, not anymore.”
“But if that’s so,” Steven pointed out, “why don’t you open up the archive and the grave? Why did you try to steal the diary?”
“Steal it? We didn’t want to steal it.” The man lit himself a cigarillo and began puffing on it with relish. “We only wanted to know what was in it. If real evidence of the murder of Ludwig had emerged, in all probability we would have bought the book from you. Could you have resisted half a million euros, Herr Lukas?” He threw his match on the wet asphalt. “But that’s an idle question now. Or do you still have the book?”