The Ludwig Conspiracy(156)

Steven felt a momentary pang. He could have done a lot with half a million euros.

A cruise around the world with Sara, for instance, a few really rare books, a new antiquarian bookshop . . .

“It . . . I’m afraid it was burned down in the hotel,” he hesitantly admitted. “Along with the little treasure chest that contained it, the photographs, and the lock of hair.” He sighed. “And of course the statutory declaration. The whole search was for nothing.”

“A pity,” the nameless man said. “We’d have been really interested in that declaration. A fascinating document for our archive, maybe even more so than Marot’s diary.”

“Why would that sheet of paper suddenly be worth so much to you?” Steven persisted. “Didn’t you yourself say that no one today cares how Ludwig died? Or are you afraid I might demand my inheritance?”

The man in the hunter’s coat drew deeply on his cigarillo and laughed out loud. “God forbid! Whether we Wittelsbachs were or were not involved in a murder really has no legal consequences now. And, of course, no kind of claim to an inheritance could be derived from that statutory declaration. All the same, it’s a case of keeping the secret.”

“The secret?” asked Steven, baffled. “What secret?”

Sara sighed and nestled close to him. “Oh, Steven, don’t you understand yet? Ludwig is Germany’s best-known advertisement. It’s not just the Wittelsbachs. He’s worth millions to the tourist industry, the hotels, the whole country. And why? Because he’s the mysterious Fairy-tale King, because there’s a secret attached to his life and his death. If there’s no secret any more, then Ludwig becomes just any old dead-and-gone monarch.”

Steven’s jaw dropped. “You mean the Wittelsbachs would have paid half a million euros to make sure that Ludwig’s death remained a mystery?”

The man nodded. “The Wittelsbachs, and presumably the state of Bavaria, too. The Ludwig trademark has to be protected, if only for economic reasons.”

“But that’s absurd.”

“Is it?” The nameless man looked curiously at Steven. “People pay millions for souvenirs, books, guided tours of the castles, and for the very reason that Ludwig was mysterious, and died even more mysteriously.” He ground out his cigarillo with the heel of his shoe. “That’s what people are like, Herr Lukas. They need secrets, and we ensure that those secrets are kept. Even secrets concerning Neuschwanstein Castle.” He turned to the parking lot. “Now, come along, I’ll take you to Munich with me. Unless you’d rather be taken home in a police car.”

As Steven stumbled after him, he saw a gleaming green Bentley on the rainy tarmac in front of the still-smoking hotel. A chauffeur touched his cap and, with a smile, held the door open for him and Sara.

For a moment the bookseller wondered what it would be like to be a recognized heir to the Wittelsbachs. With a handsome castle on Lake Starnberg, a butler, and a family tree as long as the way to the moon. But then Sara moved close to him, and he smelled a mixture of smoke, sweat, and rain.

It was time to go home.