As Karl had indicated, the theater was in the older part of the city, yet not far from the center of Frankfurt. The building looked to be at least three hundred years old with parapets, and I thought of William Shakespeare.
Before leaving theresidenschloss, we had also rehearsed the roles we were to play during the forthcoming auction.
Obviously, I was to be the participant in the auction.
As for Brodie? It was safe to assume that those present would very well be aware of his role in attempting to retrieve the documents, and perhaps his former profession as a police detective with the MET. That might present a problem, although Herr Wagner hadn’t mentioned anything of that sort.
The unknown part of it was whether any of them were aware that we’d been sent by Sir Avery of the Special Services after the murder of Sir Collingwood.
Angeline Cotillard was involved in that part of it. As was his way, Brodie chose to assume those there might be well informed regarding that, which would only increase the risk.
Then, there was Karl Schneider. It was very likely that no one present at the auction would know him. Brodie wanted him to remain behind yet close by, if possible.
If not...
Expect the unexpected.
I had learned that from him. It was something he had learned on the streets, and I knew from stories Munro had shared that it had kept them both alive in the past.
Brodie found a driver and the three of us entered the coach. He then gave him the destination of the old opera house.
The opera house was barely visible against the darkened skyline, except for the glow of lanterns at the entrance. As we left the coach, Karl departed, blending into the shadows along the front of the house.
The plan, as best we could make one, was for him to wait until the last coach arrived, then find his way inside and to the main part of the house where we presumed the auction was to take place.
A man waited just inside the entrance. He was a rough sort who spoke hardly any English, except to nod a vague acknowledgement as I gave my name. He then directed us to another man who escorted us to the main audience seating area. One of a set of double doors was opened and we entered the massive area.
I had seen other opera houses in Italy, with their elaborate seating, opera boxes that lined the walls, the stage hidden by massive, elegant velvet drapes with a double row of footlights and the orchestra pit just below. Not unlike the theater in London where my good friend Templeton performed.
Here the boxes were wrapped in darkness. No one would be listening to Verdi or Strauss as the players performed out their roles. No one would be waiting for those now-threadbare and torn velvet drapes to be drawn back as the first act began. As for the audience, there were barely enough chairs remaining, as it was perhaps the work of vandals.
There were, however, several chairs that had been arranged in a row much like at an auction house—a total of ten, I counted, with the orchestra director’s stand placed before those rows. Not to conduct the orchestra, but to conduct the auction for those documents.
It was sad, I thought, that the grand old opera house should end this way, under the wrecking ball as I had once seen of an old building in London that stood in the midst of a newly planned roadway. Was this grand, sad old ‘house’ to make way for someone else’s vision of an opera house? Or to make way for perhaps another rail line or street?
Brodie’s hand tightened around my arm as he escorted me through the audience area toward the front of the house.
“Lady Forsythe,” a man, who had now taken his place at the conductor’s stand, commented in accented English.
“Englander,” he added with a brief nod in our direction as Brodie escorted me to the last row of the seating that had obviously been placed for the auction, the better to see everyone he had explained as part of the ‘plan,’ and probably nearer the entrance.
A man stepped in front of Brodie and shook his head, his hand on Brodie’s arm, in an unmistakable gesture that he was not to be allowed to remain for the auction.
I glanced at the others who had already arrived, each with at least one or two others who accompanied them, then caught the expression on Brodie’s face.
He took hold of the man’s wrist and I thought our efforts might end in the next moment.
To my surprise, the man let out a snarl then jerked his arm away, shaking his hand as he glared at Brodie.
I caught the nod from the auctioneer, and the man backed away.
“I thought certain he was going to force a confrontation and we were going to be sent away,” I whispered. Or worse, I thought, considering what we knew about those present, and a great deal more we didn’t know.
“It would have been difficult with no feeling in his hand,” Brodie replied.
“How?”
“It’s a simple thing if ye know the right place to apply pressure. I will show ye if we get out of here alive.”
