Then, as it grew later, that last trip back to the hotel to check for the message we were waiting for while I made certain I had packed everything into my travel bag, then paced about the room as thoughts crowded into my head.
Who would be there? Undoubtedly Szábo. Unless he sent someone on his behalf.
Why the delay? Certainly, everyone who was to participate had arrived during the day, if not days earlier as word was sent out.
Had the auction been cancelled for some reason? Surely not with the potential for such high stakes.
Or, was it possible that we had been excluded after all?
When Brodie returned, I saw the answer to at least one of those questions in that dark gaze.
“It will begin in one hour,” he told me, as Karl Schneider listened intently. “I have the location.” Brodie showed the message from Wagner to him.
Karl nodded. “I know this place. It is not far, the old opera house that is to be torn down.”
They had spoken at great length earlier after supper. Brodie had explained as much as he could, and made it clear that Karl’s only opportunity depended on all of us getting on that last train tonight out of Frankfurt. If we failed in our efforts, so too would his chances to reach London.
“What is worth taking so much risk?”he had asked.
“Stolen documents, and two people have already been killed over the matter. More than that would be too dangerous for ye to know.”
Karl nodded. “It is enough that you have come all this way. I do not need to know more. But I am going with you,” he declared.
There was that infectious grin. “So that you do not come to harm.”
Arrangements were then made for him to meet us at the Frankfurt Main rail station at midnight for the last departing train for the night.
Now, he watched as Brodie checked the revolver he always carried. I did the same with the smaller revolver that he insisted I carry.
“Ach!” Karl exclaimed, and then as if I was not in the room. “A woman with a gun? Does she know how to use it?”
“Of course,” I replied, without going into the details of that first inquiry case. I then proceeded to open the breech, checked the cylinder of the five-shot pocket revolver, then snapped it shut.
“Aye,” Brodie replied. “To prevent her taking mine.”
Karl eyed me warily. “I will remember to stay behind you.”
Brodie looked at me. “Ye have the weapon Munro gave ye?”
I lifted the hem of my skirt and showed him the blade I kept down the side of my boot.
“And she carries a knife?”
“I’ve only had to use it once,” I explained. At the time it was for cutting away rope. I’d never had to use it on someone, and hoped I never would. The idea of being that close to someone threatening me was not a pleasant one.
Still, if necessary, I had learned some time ago that I had what Brodie called survivor instinct.
Brodie nodded, satisfied, as I returned the revolver to my travel bag.
“This could be verra dangerous,” he told Karl. “There will be those there who are determined to have those documents.”
Karl opened his bag and took out a butcher’s cleaver. He proceeded to demonstrate, wielding it with amazing speed, then slamming it down on the table, the blade embedded in the wood.
“I prefer this.”
“Good enough,” Brodie told him. “I will remember to keep to your back as well.”
Karl Schneider, the butcher, grinned.
