The Copenhagen Connection Part 21

"Can't trust you now," Schmidt went on. "Too bad. With your connections we could have emptied all the museums in Europe. But we'll get by."

Christian took a step to one side, away from the others.

"Where do you think you're going?" Schmidt demanded.

"Broadening your target area." Christian continued to sidle sideways.

"You want it first, I guess," Schmidt said, taking aim.

Christian told him what he could do with the gun. "Why, Christian," Margaret exclaimed in shocked tones. "Shame on you."

Schmidt turned toward her. Christian took another step. Schmidt turned toward him. "Don't shoot," Margaret shrieked. Schmidt turned toward her.

"I think that should do it," Christian said.

"Right," Margaret replied, as the weapon wavered between them. Simultaneously she and Christian threw themselves to the floor.

The gun went off. Bullets bounced madly around the domed roof. Schmidt's foot slipped on the greasy floor, and Christian, whose dive downward had taken him close to his goal, put out a long arm and grabbed Schmidt's ankle. Schmidt toppled backward. His head hit the curved ceiling with a ripe crunch. The gun went flying off into s.p.a.ce.

The Rosenbergs rose to their respective feet and eyed one another over Schmidt's unconscious figure with identical grins of self-congratulation.

"Very nice," Margaret said breathlessly. "Now, then, we seem to have two guns. You take one and I-"

Christian stopped her with a bone-cracking hug, lifting her clean off her feet. "You are the slickest, trickiest schemer I ever met," he told her. "But I'll be d.a.m.ned if I am going to turn you loose on an unsuspecting world with a gun in your hand. Relax and let the hired help clean up the mess." He set her down. "Come on, Grundtvig, we'll cut 'em off at the pa.s.s!"

"Well!" Margaret said, when the men had departed, dragging Schmidt's body with them, "how that boy has changed! Shall we go, Elizabeth?"

"Please, Margaret. Let him handle this."

"I couldn't agree more, my dear. But there is no reason why we have to wait here. Such a dank, damp, dismal place. Most unhealthy."

Hoisting up her skirts, she bent over and entered the pa.s.sageway. Elizabeth followed closely, ready to wrestle Margaret to the ground if the latter's pugnacious instinct overcame her common sense.

The clouds had blown away. The sky was a dazzle of stars, with a serene silver moon as a centerpiece. Elizabeth breathed deeply of the sweet night air. What a wonderful mechanism was the human lung! She rendered sincere thanks that hers were still operating.

Her suspicions of Margaret had been unfounded. The older woman sat down on a convenient stone and motioned Elizabeth to join her. From that vantage point they could see the glimmering path of the truck's headlights. They had barely seated themselves when a shot broke the peace of the night. Elizabeth started to her feet.

"It's quite all right," Margaret said. "That, I believe, was a warning shot. A fusillade would have followed had the criminals determined to resist. Niels is quite good at this sort of thing, you know. And Mr. Radsky is not the man to risk his neck for a hopeless cause."

Elizabeth returned to her seat. Margaret threw a warm, plump arm around her.

"My dear Elizabeth! How can I thank you? The change you have wrought in Christian is little short of miraculous. I always knew he had it in him, but-"

"You did?" Elizabeth was just beginning to realize how tired she was. Her reactions, mental and physical alike, were slowed by fatigue.

"Of course. He's just like his father, my dear. Theodore was a prim, proper young aristocrat in his early days; it took the war to bring out his better side. I tried to encourage Christian, but I ought to have known it was not a mother's influence he needed."

The dark horizon blossomed with bright stars that soon resolved themselves into automobile headlights. A full-scale procession seemed to be approaching. The lights converged and stopped near the truck.

"That must be Frederick," Margaret said. "No doubt he made the best possible time, but I must say that if we had depended on him, we would be in a pretty pickle."

"Are you talking about Dr. Leinsdorf?"

"He was my back-up man," Margaret said complacently. "I got in touch with him before I went to the farm. He is quite abnormally imaginative for a Ph.D.; he knew of the vandalism at Sor0, of course, and when Christian told him what he knew, clever Frederick put two and two together. I had to insist that he refrain from interfering until I had succeeded in freeing you and Christian. His was, of course, the telephone number I gave Eric."

A murmur of conversation floated up to them from the group gathered around the truck.

"They seem to be having quite a nice time," Margaret said. "Let's just let them congratulate one another, shall we? Men have such frail little egos, poor dears; it would be cruel of us to deflate them."

Her warm, motherly embrace felt marvelous. Elizabeth leaned against her shoulder. Margaret patted her. "Poor child, you must be exhausted. You've done awfully well, you know. And after all my unfair, cruel suspicions. I'll make it up to you, dear. Trust me."

THE GUNS of Kronberg Castle still menace the narrow strait between Denmark and Sweden, just as they did four hundred years ago, when Frederick the Second built the fortress to extract tolls from s.h.i.+ps entering the Baltic. Modern visitors pay homage, not to the spirit of the mercantile monarch, but to a more antique and possibly apocryphal ghost. Kronberg is also known as the castle at Elsinore. The only Hamlet who has ever prowled the dim corridors is a modern actor; Kronberg was not finished until centuries after the death of the Viking prince Amleth, on whose adventures Shakespeare is reputed to have based his play."

"I know all that," Elizabeth said irritably, as Christian paused in his reading from the guidebook. "Just shut up for five minutes and let me absorb the atmosphere."

They were standing near the spot where the ghost of Hamlet's father had not appeared-despite the claims of some of the guides who now haunt the castle. Margaret was a tactful twenty feet away, pretending not to watch them. Her costume had been carefully designed as a tribute to the spirit of Hamlet. It consisted of tight black slacks (not even Margaret had the effrontery to appear in hose) and a black tunic over a white blouse whose sleeves were so full they hung down over her hands when the air was still, and billowed like sails when the breezes blew. Her hair was now blond. Atop her head was a black velvet beret to which she had fixed, somewhat insecurely, a long feather. The profile contemplating the battlements reminded Elizabeth of a photo she had once seen, of John Gielgud in the role; but even Gielgud's nose was not the equal of Margaret's.

Christian closed his guidebook and glanced at his mother. "I still don't she how she got away with it," he muttered.

Elizabeth knew what he was referring to. They had discussed the subject a number of times, but Christian remained incredulous.

"n.o.body wanted a scandal, including the police," she said. "One of their best men, cracking up after years of faithful service . . . And with Margaret lying like a trooper, contradicting everything Schmidt and Radsky said-it was her word and Grundtvig's against a pair of known criminals."

"She's told so many lies it's a wonder G.o.d hasn't struck her dumb," her son remarked admiringly. "The way she got Wolf and Eric off-"

"Same principle," Elizabeth interrupted. She was getting bored with the subject. "Schmidt's and Radsky's word against Margaret's and Grundtvig's. Wolf may even get a reward for saving a national treasure. And Leinsdorf will get the gems for the museum, so he's happy. They should be quite a tourist attraction."

Christian hunched his shoulders, as if a cool breeze had struck through his jacket. "I'll never forget the sight of Margaret cradling that awful mummified head. I thought for a minute she was going to talk to it. 'Now, dear, everything is just fine, and we'll soon get you back into your nice coffin.' Brrr!"

"It was nasty looking," Elizabeth admitted. "I wish I hadn't seen it; I'd rather think of the queen as Margaret conjured her up that night at Tivoli-young and lovely and courageous. But, Christian . . . Did you happen to notice-well-a certain resemblance?"

"Especially around the nose," Christian agreed. The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. He put his arm around Elizabeth. "Brace yourself, darling, she's reading her guidebook again."

Elizabeth sagged against him. "I can't take much more," she moaned. "I wish I'd never mentioned sightseeing. Christian, she's going through the book page by page, checking things off."

"She's trying to be nice."

"I know. That's what makes it so awful."

"I thought you wanted to see the sights. There wouldn't be anything else you would prefer doing, would there?"

"Since you ask, we haven't had five minutes alone!"

"That's all I wanted to know. You helpless women always need a man to get you out of trouble. Get ready to be rescued again."

Margaret trotted toward them. The feather in her hat jerked awkwardly up and down with each step. She pushed several yards of billowing white sleeve out of the way and pointed to her wrist.w.a.tch.

"We must hurry, darlings, if we are to reach Fredensborg Slot. Since Her Majesty was kind enough to give us permission to see the royal apartments, I do not think it would be courteous to be late."

"We certainly mustn't keep the queen waiting," Christian said. "But that's it, Margaret. No more sightseeing. In fact, I want you to leave. Go home. Tomorrow, if possible."

"Go home?" Margaret's eyes widened. "You want me to-"

Christian tried to take her hands, but was foiled by flowing white silk. "You're only doing this as a favor to Elizabeth. You've seen every sight in Denmark a dozen times, and you're dying to get back to your book. We don't need a chaperone, Mother. We're both over the age of consent."

Margaret was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Are you proposing to turn me loose on an unsuspecting world, unsupervised and uncontrolled?"

"It's high time I did, isn't it?" Christian said gravely.

Margaret stood on tiptoe and flung both arms around Christian's neck, smothering him in yards of silk. He clawed at the folds and freed his mouth.

"Fredensborg Slot, remember? We don't want to be late."

Elizabeth discreetly fell behind as the Rosenbergs, moving as one, walked toward the exit. They did not link arms, or even look at one another, but they obviously enjoyed complete accord and understanding. After a while Christian said, "One stipulation-"

"Yes, dear, I will. You can count on it."

"Will what?"

"Let you in on any new and interesting ... I think 'caper' is an appropriate word in this context."

Smiling, Christian turned his head and looked down at her. The feather swept across his face. He sneezed violently.

Elizabeth watched them affectionately, but there was a degree of apprehension in her mind. Once she had thought that being Margaret's daughter-in-law might prove to be a less than peaceful occupation. With both Rosenbergs on the warpath, flexing their muscles and looking for excitement. . . .

An invisible tendril of anxiety must have tickled Margaret's mind-reading equipment. She glanced over her shoulder, all thirty-two teeth on display.

"Don't worry, darling. Everything is going to be wonderful. Trust me!"

end