Herr Hellweg came forward and took my arm. “You had better sit down, my dear, and permit me to explain.”
I followed him, confused and rather dazed. He led me to the chair he had been using, then took a seat himself beside me. It was deathly quiet in here. Perhaps the porter was trying to listen, but with the swing doors closed he’d hear nothing unless we spoke too loudly.
Leopold Hellweg kept his voice low. “Ilse and I are most concerned about you.”
I stayed silent and waited for him to commit himself further. It astonished me that he should have acted so quickly. Richard, I knew, had anticipated that it might take several weeks of patient trail-laying, of mixing freely with old acquaintances and generally playing the part of my husband’s confidante in all things, before these shy contacts of Max’s would come forward and declare themselves.
And here it was, only my second day in Vienna, and they had already made a move!
I felt nervous. Perhaps I was just afraid that having come so far so quickly, I might by some foolish false step scare them off again.
After a pause, Leopold was continuing, “When you spoke this evening about that terrible accident of yours, and how in fact it was no accident at all, it occurred to us that our . . . our adversaries might well make a second attempt to dispose of you.”
“But it was Max they were after,” I protested without thinking. “They succeeded in what they set out to do.”
His brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “But you told us they must have intended to kill you, also.”
“Yes,” I agreed hastily. “I’m sure that’s true. . . .”
He leaned forward in his chair, his almost black eyes searching my face. “You were Max’s wife. Would it not be too dangerous for them to allow you to go on living—knowing what you must know?”
It seemed as if events were suddenly running away with me, and I could feel my confidence ebbing fast. I just wasn’t cut out for this devious world of undercover agents at all. I hated all the necessary lying and pretending—even to friends. But that was no excuse. Somehow I’d got to force myself to act out the role I’d come here to play.
I said, trying to inject the proper degree of fear into my voice, “Of course, you’re quite right, Herr Hellweg. I am in danger.”
“So,” He smiled at me questioningly. “Then why did you return to Vienna, Frau Varley? Why deliberately come back to face such a risk?”
The time had come, I realized. Right now I had to give a clear go-ahead signal to this man I’d met only a few short hours ago. I tried to keep calm as I looked at him.
“I had to come,” I said in a flat voice. “There was no other way. I was the only person who could complete what Max had begun.”
His dark eyes were needle-sharp now, piercing me through, so that I felt pinned to the chair. I was painfully aware of my quick, shallow breathing. I heard the porter at the desk cough twice, and a car drove past in the street outside. And then it was quiet again except for the pulse that pounded in my ears.
It seemed a very long time before Leopold Hellweg spoke again and snapped the tight-stretched tension. “You have acted most sensibly, my dear. Most sensibly.” His understanding smile confirmed the message of his words.
I felt giddy and light in the head. It was so much easier than I had dared hope. Scarcely thirty-six hours in Vienna, and already my job was done. From now on it would be downhill all the way. How pleased Richard was going to be when I told him!
And Steve! Didn’t this mean that now I could be honest with Steve? But what was honest, my thoughts went running on. What did I truly think of Steve Elliott, and what did I want from him?
Leopold’s voice, returning to his original theme, took me unawares. “We cannot allow you to take any further risks, Frau Varley. We must find some way to protect you.”
I jerked out of my dream and stammered, “Protect me ... ?”
“You have admitted that you are in danger of your life. Naturally, we must protect you.”
In my surge of relief, I’d overlooked this aspect. It was understandable that he should be concerned about my danger. On the other hand, if I explained that Richard Wilson was giving me all the protection I needed, with men watching over me every minute of the day, it might scare Herr Hellweg off altogether.
I hedged. “Perhaps it is not quite as dangerous as we imagine.”
“It surprises me that you should underestimate these people!” Leopold rose to his feet and stood over me. “Remember what they did to your husband! They will stop at nothing. Nothing!”
I looked up at him, having no idea what to say, and hoping that he would provide an answer himself. He did—a totally unexpected answer.
“My wife and I think you had better come and Stay with us for the time being.”
“Stay with you? I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand.”
He waved a hand vaguely. “We have a house in the Vienna Woods in the direction of Pressbaum. It is very quiet, and you will be safe with us.”
“But . . . but I can’t come, Herr Hellweg. It’s just not possible.”
His eyes were sharp again, pricking at me. “Why is it not possible?”
“Well ...” I had to search around for a plausible reason. “People will wonder where I’ve got to. I mean, lots of my friends know I am in Vienna, and if I just disappear . . .”
“But you need not disappear. We are isolated, it is true, but we are not uncivilized. We have the telephone. You will be able to speak with whomever you please.”
He was talking good sense. If I were genuinely in any sort of danger—and there seemed little doubt that I was—I’d surely be safer in a private residence outside Vienna than I would be wandering alone around the city. And of course this offered a chance in a million to dig myself in with the Hellwegs and expedite the whole wretched business. As long as I occasionally made myself “contactable” for Richard to give me further instructions, the outlook could hardly be bettered.
And yet I wasn’t happy. I felt strongly averse to the idea of staying at the Hellwegs’ home. I didn’t like either the man or his wife.
I sensed that Leopold Hellweg was growing suspicious of my silence. I had to say something quickly, something positive and enthusiastic.
“It’s really awfully kind of you. When do you suggest I come?”
He spread his hands. “But now, naturally “
“You mean tonight?”
“Jawohl! Go up and pack your things. I will wait for you here.”
“But. . . The hotel—what do I tell them?”
“You tell them nothing—it is none of their business as long as you pay your bill.”
Tonight! Steve was coming in the morning, but I supposed I could leave a note for him. And the Hut-yens’ dinner party tomorrow evening? I’d have to ring Klara and beg off, but I knew she wouldn’t really mind. Still I hesitated.
“I hardly like to impose on you, Herr Hellweg.”
“You will not be imposing. It is a pleasure.” He smiled. “And anyway, I am here already to fetch you. It is the simplest thing that you should come.”
“Well, thank you. . . . Thank you very much. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
He came to the door of the lounge and held it open for me, and I felt his eyes watching as I went over to the desk. I told the porter that owing to something unexpected cropping up I was leaving immediately, and asked to have my bill made out. He scratched his head, bewildered by such a request after midnight. It turned out that it would not be possible, unless he were to wake the manager, who did indeed sleep on the premises. . . .
I agreed that such an inconsiderate step wasn’t necessary. Instead I gave the porter two one-hundred-schilling notes, plenty to cover the amount of my bill, and said I would call in sometime for the refund. He was obviously fascinated by the various possibilities of the situation. I asked him for writing paper and an envelope and scribbled a note to Steve, to be handed over when he called in the morning. Then I hurried up to my room, taking the stairs rather than the ancient lift.
About a quarter of an hour later I left the Mahlerhof. The porter carried out my luggage and received a tip from Herr Hellweg that made him touch his forehead.
The car we got into was the same as thousands of others to be seen in the streets of Vienna—a German Ford, I think. I remembered how Steve had spoken of the Hellwegs’ car as a “fantastic red Maserati,” and wondered what had happened to that. But I didn’t inquire, not wanting to admit to Leopold that I’d discussed him and his wife with Steve. As we slipped quietly through the sleeping city, the very streetlights seemed dimmer, and the occasional pedestrian had a furtive, hurrying air.
Earlier, up in the hills with Steve, there had been a sort of magic in the night, in spite of all the tension and those bitter words between us. But now the magic had gone, though the stars were still there, and the thin crescent moon.
Leopold said, “I telephoned Ilse while you were packing. She was most glad to hear that you had agreed to stay with us.”
I made a vague sound to indicate that I was grateful. There was no doubt about it, this man intimidated me. And so did his wife.
From the passenger seat I couldn’t see into the rear-view mirror. I was anxious to know if Richard’s man was on our tail. It would have been reassuring, somehow. Once, pretending to shift my position, I managed to turn enough to glance back. Some way off I thought I saw the lights of a car rounding the bend we had taken a moment before, but there were still a few other cars about, and it might have been anyone. I could only hope.
Soon we had left the last outskirts of the city behind us, and our speed mounted on the motorway that curved away into the darkness ahead. Leopold was making an effort to be pleasant, I realized that. He was solicitous for my comfort and assured me that I would be able to go straight to bed as soon as we reached the house.
“It is very late. I expect you are tired.”
“I am, rather,” I admitted. “It’s been a long day.”
“And what have you been up to?”
I was startled by his question, and showed it by my hesitation. He added apologetically, “I just meant, did you go shopping, or sightseeing?”
“Oh, I see! A little of both, actually.”
“You ladies!” He gave a gentle chuckle. “You can never resist buying new clothes.”
I considered the role I was playing, and said regretfully, “Window shopping, really. I can’t afford all those lovely things in the smart shops anymore.”
There was a tiny pause, filled, it seemed to me, with significance. Then he said almost under his breath, “A sad state of affairs which will soon be remedied.”
Was it a question, or not?
The note of the engine was deep, the song of a car let off the city leash. The speedometer needle surged up toward the hundred-and-thirty-kilometer mark.