The Curse of the Singing Wolf (24 page)

“You said Sarazan springs to
mind in connection to her martyrdom?”

“Yes, don’t you see, it might
have been Sarazan in her room making love to her unto death, not
any of our fellow inmates.”

“How would he have gained
entry?”

“She let him in.”

The doctor stopped walking
while he processed the idea. “You mean she simply waited until
everyone had gone to bed and then opened the door?”

“Yes.”

“And the gate and the
portcullis?”

“That too.”

“Good grief! Sarazan could have
murdered us in our beds!”

“Except he didn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She had him under her
control.”

“But what about the attack on
us as we travelled?”

“He didn’t realise who we were
until it was too late. She normally came alone. She was a recluse.
We were a large party. He attacked us before he realised his
mistake. She couldn’t very well wave to him and call out his name.
Remember he stood up on the rock and waved at someone. I think he
was waving to her. He signalled his mistake and backed off.”

“But the attack this morning
outside the gate?”

“She is now dead. We are now
fair game.”

He began walking again. “I need
time to absorb this information.”

They walked without talking
until they reached her bedroom door.

“What about von Gunn,” he said,
“in that oubliette?”

“He fell and hit his head on
the stones – just as Moriarty suggested.”

“What about the singing?”

“It could have been Inez or
Desi down in the scullery. Sound travels up the spiral staircase
and we think it is someone on the stairs. Same with von Gunn. He
hears singing and follows the sound down to the dungeon but it
might have been coming from somewhere else. There may be hollows
between the walls. The guards might have wanted to hear what the
prisoners were saying amongst themselves. Or there may be secret
tunnels that carry the sound.”

“But the sound of someone
running?”

“We were all on edge. Our
imaginations were running rampant. We were tired too. None were
thinking clearly. It might have been a cat or several cats. Who
knows how many cats live here inside the castle. I’ve seen at least
six. Or perhaps a small flock of birds which came in through the
lancet window in the garderobe in the south tower and flew down the
stairs and ended up in the kitchen.”

He nodded. “Yes, yes, it makes
sense. You’ve clearly thought this through. The only thing we need
to worry about is Sarazan.”

“Hopefully his group of
brigands has been seriously depleted.”

“Hopefully. Well, I’ll see you
at dinner. I’m going to have a lie down and think about what we
just discussed. I can’t rid myself of the suspicion the four men
were invited for a reason we know nothing about. It just seems too
much of a coincidence that they all have some sort of military
connection. I agree the fire was deliberately lit.”

Fedir and Xenia were waiting
for the Countess in her bedchamber. The bath was ready, the water
scented with herbs, the towels warming by the fire. Her maid and
manservant had been busy while the others were being interrogated.
Fedir spoke first while the Countess went behind the screen to
remove her many layers of clothes with Xenia’s help.

“I think the four men are up to
something,” he said in his native tongue, lowering his voice just
in case.

The Countess almost groaned -
just when she thought she had thought everything through here was
something else. “What makes you say that?”

“I heard the old man tell his
wife he saw the German sneaking down to the dungeon when he went
into the cellar to get a bottle of red wine for the pot. He said
the German lied about the singing. The German was searching for
something.”

“He used the word:
sneaking?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say what he thought the
German was looking for?”

“No, but he told his wife he
went down to take a look and the German called out to him: What are
doing, old man. Get out of here…So he left.”

“Is that all?”

Fedir shook his head. “This
morning when the men said they were having a sleep. I went to take
them some fresh water for washing and I could hear them inside
their rooms. They were moving furniture. When I knocked, the
Prussian told me to leave the water jug on the floor outside the
door. He didn’t want to open the door to me.”

“I see.”

“The Prince opened the door but
just wide enough for me to pass the jug of water through the gap.
He didn’t want me to go into his room.”

“Mmm, what about the
Irishman?”

“He was with you in the tower
at first and then he was in the great hall. He didn’t go to his
room for a rest. He was studying the bible in the chapel when I
first saw him and when I came back that way he was checking the
books on the shelf in the library. As soon as he spotted me he
moved quickly to the cabinet to look at the vase. He didn’t want me
to think he was looking for something in the books. He told me to
leave the jug of water in his room and to bolt the door on my way
out.”

Well, this was an unwelcome
piece of news. It appeared the four men were looking for something
other than a dead body. Cathar treasure was the obvious conclusion
to jump to. But then why search the bookshelf and the bible?
Perhaps they had heard about a secret map? Did the men engineer the
fire so as to come to Chanteloup to search for that legendary
Cathar treasure the Singing Wolf was reputed to have discovered?
Did they kill her after all? Were the four of them in it
together?

If so, it would explain why the
body had not been found. The men could easily pretend to have
searched and found nothing. She and Dr Watson would have no way of
knowing.

Dr Watson might be right after
all, or at least half right. The four men were up to something but
it had nothing to do with military conspiracy. Whatever the truth,
there was more to discover. The conclusion she had reached earlier
did not take into account the men having an ulterior motive. It put
the death of the Singing Wolf in a different light. It put the
testimony of the servants back in the spotlight. She had thought at
the time of the interrogations that one or more of them had been
lying.

The Countess came out from
behind her screen wrapped in a white velvet dressing gown edged in
ermine. She addressed both servants.

“I want you to find out all you
can about the servants. Chat to them about their backgrounds. Where
they were born? Where they came from? Do not make it seem as if you
are questioning them. Talk about yourselves and then ask them a
question or two so that it sounds natural. Show sympathy. The boy
lost his sister to bandits. The Negress is always tired and
over-worked. Inez was once a dancer. I think she was the lover of
Velazquez but she doesn’t want to admit it. Why? What is she
ashamed of? What can they tell you about their mistress? You can
make things up about me if it helps you to gain their trust. Most
of all, what were they really doing during that first night? Let me
know anything you learn as soon as you learn it. I will take my
bath now. I will bolt the door after you go. Xenia, you can return
to help me dress for dinner in one hour. I will be safe until your
return. Five knocks and I will open the door.”

As the Countess soaked in the
copper bath she cursed the mystery she found herself unable to
unravel. In the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, according to the
chronicles of Dr Watson, a series of problems presented themselves
which Sherlock then methodically deduced and solved.
Voila!
If Dr Watson were ever to chronicle her sleuthing adventures he
would present to the reader a set of problems and then just when
she looked set to solve them turn everything on its head, forcing
her to start again, and then when she felt she was making headway
he would throw in some new information that had nothing to do with
the original mystery, forcing her to revise all her deductions, and
then he would pile on yet more unforeseen problems until it was
impossible to make head or tail of anything!

She dried herself, slipped back
into her dressing gown and sat by the fire to dry a cascade of
brunette hair while she pondered all the facts. Was this a simple
treasure hunt? Was it a military conspiracy? Was it a case of
religious mania? Was the singing phantom merely a figment of their
over-worked imaginations? Were the servants lying because they
feared they might be in trouble for helping themselves to extra
food? The facts could be made to fit any one of those theories
except for several minor points. Firstly, the doll - who had taken
it from her room and where was it now? Secondly, the bed of the
Singing Wolf – who had mussed it up between the first time she saw
it and such time as she returned with Moriarty? And thirdly, the
dead body – where was it? If Sarazan had carried it away how did he
clamber over the fallen rocks in the dark with a body in his arms
without setting off a further rockslide? More to the point, who
lowered the portcullis and barred the gate after him?

Xenia returned after one hour
and already she had news. Fedir had just spoken to Milo. The boy
was supposed to be filling baskets with kindling, ready for
re-starting the fires in the morning, but he wasn’t in the wood
shed, he was throwing a knife at a hitching post near the main
gate. The thing Fedir found interesting was that the boy with
bandaged hands could hit the post at twenty paces with astonishing
accuracy. He spoke to the boy about where he had picked up such
skill. The boy told him he had learned it from his father.
Vendettas were rife in his homeland and everyone carried a dagger
from a young age. Then the boy let slip he had stabbed the man who
murdered his sister. His own mother had turned him out of the house
before the entire family was murdered to avenge the man he had
murdered to avenge his sister. That’s how he ended up starving on
the streets of Biarritz.

The Countess immediately
wondered if it was Milo who had thrown the knife that killed the
bandit and not Velazquez. Velazquez had shaky hands, after all. It
was not really relevant, it merely underscored not to jump to
conclusions.

Moriarty was dressed less
formally than social dictate allowed. He was wearing a dark green
velvet smoking jacket which the Countess found extremely becoming.
He was smoking a cigarette and appeared to be studying the ikons in
the chapel.

“Do you know what this says? I
think it’s in Greek.”

The Countess was not fluent in
Greek but the Cyrillic alphabet was enough of a likeness to be able
to guess. “It says: Pantocrator. They’ve made it into two words:
Panto-crator, either side of the saint’s image.”

“What about this ikon of the
Virgin and Child?”

She peered closer. “It says:
Krym. That refers to the Crimea. Are you interested in ikons?”

“I’m thinking of purchasing
some for the chapel at Ballyfolly,” he replied briskly, grabbing
the nearest candelabra and moving to the front door where a recent
inscription could be seen carved into the stone lintel. “This is
Latin. What do you make of it?”

“Homo homini lupus est – that
translates as: Man to men a wolf is.”

“Man is a wolf to other
men?”

She nodded. “I thought Latin
was on the syllabus at Eton and Oxford?”

“My two brothers attended
Oxford and were fluent in Latin but my education was not on a par.
The family fortune had seriously dwindled by the time I came along
and I was pretty much left to educate myself. There was no money
for tutors and the brave few who took up the paltry offer of room
and board didn’t stay long. Fortunately, the old pile had a
well-stocked library, albeit moth-eaten and mildewed. I taught
myself to read.”

“You mentioned your first
brother was a mathematician?”

“And an astronomer. You may
have heard of his book:
The Dynamics of an Asteroid.
”

She had actually read it and
found it rather obtuse and rambling. “And the second was a musical
composer?”

“Yes, his magnum opus is
titled:
The Seven Spheres of Heaven.
”

“And you entered the
military?”

“Yes, it was the making of me.
I took to killing with natural born flair.”

“Indeed. Speaking of killing, I
have something you can help me with.”

“What makes you assume I
undertake private commissions?” His tone was dry.

“I never assume anything.”

“Very wise - has Dr Watson
outgrown his charm?”

“Certainly not, besides, if I
wanted to bump him off I would do it myself.”

“Indeed. It might be the making
of you.”

This sort of banter was jolly
fun but she was conscious they didn’t have much time before the
others joined them in the great hall, and Xenia had just entered to
set the table for dinner, which made the timing perfect.

“What I have in mind is a
little experiment. It seems that the Singing Wolf was entertaining
someone in her bedchamber the night she disappeared. Velazquez
claimed to have heard panting and heavy breathing from the doorway
that leads to the spiral – ”

Moriarty threw back his head
and laughed loudly. “How on earth did you manage to squeeze that
out of the toreador?”

“Not with the threat of
torture,” she returned flatly. “Anyhow, I just want to see if it is
possible to hear heavy breathing from behind the tapestry. I see my
maid is setting the table. We can enlist her help. She will remain
here and we will slip upstairs and engage in some heavy
breathing.”

“Must I limit myself to heavy
breathing?”

“Panting is allowed.”

“Groaning?”

“I will do the groaning.”

“I presume thrusting is out of
the question?”