“Herr Doctor, a message.”
He motioned her over and received the envelope. “Ick danke Ihnen”. He didn’t read it.
“Hans, how was your day, my friend?”
“It was productive. I selected three possible candidates, though I must admit, even the most highly regarded one has an air of seediness about him. If there were more time, I might reject them all, but as it stands, Mr. Henry Wood seems our best choice. I am to meet his associates at noon, day after tomorrow.”
“Did he strike you as the sort who can keep a secret?”
“Yes, I believe he can. I am going to reserve final judgment until after the meeting. Tomorrow, I will visit the other two candidates, as neither was available today.”
“That is excellent, Hans. I’m quite pleased. Now, let's see what the padre has to say.” Dr. Schaeffer stood up and went to the sideboard, opened the top drawer, and removed a silver letter opener. With surgical precision, he sliced the envelope open. Removing the letter, he sat back down. From his jacket pocket, he retrieved his reading glasses, set them on his nose, and began to read aloud.
Doctor,
This letter is a courtesy. There is a rumor that someone is looking into the people interested in the wares I offer. Anonymity is of the utmost concern for all of my clients, so I felt obligated to make you aware of this situation. The upcoming auction date has not been set. I am inclined to put it on ice until this is resolved. I will not tolerate anyone messing about in my, or my clients’, affairs.
Sincerely,
The Curator
Dr. Schaeffer returned the letter to the envelope. “This is an interesting turn. I wonder who might have…” He faded off at the end. A brief silence followed.
“Shall I keep our meeting with Mr. Wood?”
There was another long silence. Dr. Schaeffer, standing up, walked slowly around the room, thinking. The needle on the Wagner was lifted. He bit the tip off of a cigar, lit it, and continued to pace back and forth.
Hans knew his routine and sat quietly, drinking his beer. The next move would come to his boss shortly.
“I believe you should,” Dr Schaeffer said and added, “If the meeting goes well, pay him the retainer, and explain that he will be receiving further instructions at a later date, but to be ready at a moment’s notice.”
“Very good. Are there any other tasks for me?”
“Not right now, my friend. Do you have time for a game of chess?”
“I do, if you let me play white, and agree not to play the French Defense. I'm tired of losing to that opening.”
“Agreed. I shall start with c4.“
They played the first eight moves verbally while they walked to the study. Hans then considered whether he should try something new. He chose bishop to c4, not knowing if the doctor knew the variation.
Across the city, envelopes were being delivered to four other homes and one hotel.
Chapter Sixteen
Father Patrick enjoyed his sea bass, and indulged his sweet tooth with a piece of cheesecake. He sipped coffee for a while after his meal, left a generous tip, and then parted, grabbing a cab to a building where three of his more elderly parishioners lived.
Rose Webber, seventy-two and widowed, lived on the fifth floor and baked cookies, daily. She would often bring them down to the church, and for this, Patrick would visit her and play cribbage at least once per week. Her husband had been a hard worker his whole life, saved his pennies, and invested in Coca Cola stock when he and Rose were young. Eventually, he was able to retire and buy her the beautiful home she had always wanted.
On the third floor, Ginny and Doug, both seventy-five, lived among their collection of china that they had bought over a lifetime. Patrick liked visiting them, and even salivated over a few of the majolica pieces, which dated to 14th century Italy. If he had met them fifteen years ago, he would have robbed them blind – now they were just bobbles. Plus, he liked them both.
Patrick considered this affection for Rose, Ginny, and Doug as a personal character flaw. He assumed he must be getting old. They served their purpose, though.
It was not uncommon for Father Patrick to visit them, usually early in the morning or later in the evening. Everyone knew his face and was not at all surprised to see him in the halls. He never took the elevator, as he told everyone the exercise was good for spirit and body. In truth, Patrick hated taking the stairs, but it was a small sacrifice to maintain believability.
Unit 429, on the fourth floor, right next to the stairwell, was owned by a man nobody knew. The name on the box wasn't familiar to the residents. Everyone assumed the occupant just liked to keep to himself. The name, actually another alias for Father Patrick, wasn't known this side of the Atlantic. Whenever Patrick needed to tear off his collar and just have a nice cup of tea, as himself, he would simply pay a visit to Rose on floor five and then sneak back downstairs into his apartment.