“Came to you for help?” Sara’s mouth twisted in a mocking smile. “Why would my uncle have done that?”
“Your . . . uncle?” For a moment the leader of the Cowled Men seemed genuinely bewildered, but quickly recovered. “We wondered what part you are playing in this game,” he said. “But to return to your question: among our ranks we have several of the leading experts on Ludwig. Where finding lost files from that time is concerned, we can do it faster than anyone. Professor Liebermann knew that, and so he contacted us. He even came to Munich on purpose to see us. But then he broke contact.”
“Why?” Steven asked, torn between fear and curiosity. He was still staring as if spellbound at the self-styled steersman in his wide-skirted coat. The Cowled Man looked like someone out of a different era, like a sepia picture in an otherwise brightly colored catalog. In addition, he radiated natural authority—but did that mean he could be trusted? Suppose this was a trap? Suppose all these men wanted was to get their hands on Marot’s diary?
“We suspect that someone else got wind of the book and put the professor under pressure,” Herr Huber said. “Maybe Liebermann thought we had something to do with this unknown person. At any rate, he did not get in touch with us again, and we began shadowing him to find out why. And during one of these shadowing operations of ours, it finally happened.”
“What finally happened?” Sara asked impatiently. “This is like pulling teeth.”
“Liebermann left his hotel carrying a package and went straight to Herr Lukas’s antiquarian bookshop. When he came out, a black Chrysler was waiting, and two men dragged him into the car. The book seemed to have disappeared.” The steersman rose from his throne and went over to the white marble statue of Ludwig in the other corner of the room. He gently ran one finger over the king’s stone cloak. “At first we were baffled. But on the evening of the same day, I visited Herr Lukas myself. We had to make sure that he had nothing to do with the professor’s abduction.”
“And chasing me, wearing cowls, across the Theresienwiese?” the bookseller asked. “What was the point of that? You scared me half to death.”
Herr Huber smiled. “That was exactly the point. We wanted to show you that we are not to be trifled with. We were going to increase the pressure on you gradually. If you had really known anything about the abduction, you’d soon have cracked.”
“Thanks a lot,” Steven muttered. “Next time why not wear grim reaper masks and swing a scythe?”
“The fight down in the cellar storeroom of the bookshop wasn’t part of this planned terror scenario, then?” Sara asked.
The steersman shook his head and pointed to the silent lieutenant standing on his left. “That was Herr Schmidt. He went to take another look around your stockroom. And suddenly he came upon that other man . . .” He sighed deeply. “You know the rest. Herr Schmidt owes his life to the two of you. We Cowled Men, therefore, are in your debt.” The man who called himself Schmidt again bowed silently.
“Oh, and that’s why you tried to scare me to death again in Linderhof?” replied Steven. “My heart all but stopped when I recognized you dressed as a magician.”
“What was I to do?” The leader of the Cowled Men turned away from the marble statue. “We knew that some unknown power was after both of you. Fortunately, one of our informants at the ticket office recognized you. I had to make contact with you at Linderhof while remaining incognito, or I would have put myself in danger.” He briefly smiled. “After hunting, my other great passion is for doing magic tricks. None of the security staff noticed that no magician had been hired to perform at the party. And as for the trick with the hood . . .” Herr Huber bowed like a cheap variety artiste. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. We Cowled Men have always been inclined toward the theatrical, a quality that, as it happens, we share with the king.”
“You weren’t exactly inconspicuous here on the island either,” Sara said. “I saw all three of you in the monastery. And there was no missing that green Bentley in which you followed us from Albert Zöller’s house.”
The elderly gentleman looked at her in surprise. “Green Bentley? We don’t drive any green Bentley.” He set off with his silent lieutenants into the next dimly lit room. “Your friend Albert Zöller isn’t the only one who knows members of staff here. Two of the security guards are our people, and so are several of the gardeners and the man down at the harbor ticket office. He informed us of your arrival. Unfortunately, we lost track of you for a while, Herr Lukas, and picked up your trail again only outside the castle. Now, follow me this way, please. I want to show you something interesting.”