On Her Majesty's Frightfully Secret Service Read online

  He grabbed me as soon as I reached him. “Are you all right? I’ve been hanging around as close as I dared to the house all day, hoping to find out more.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Although all of our nerves are on edge. It’s like waiting for doom to fall. We are not supposed to leave the house.”

  “So they haven’t found out who shot Rudolf yet?”

  “No. There’s a highly inept policeman from Stresa. I think we’re all under suspicion although the gun that shot him belonged to my mother.”

  “Your mother? Surely the policeman can see that she had no motive. Why would she want to shoot Rudolf?”

  I decided to tell him the truth, or at least part of the truth. “Actually he was blackmailing her.”

  Now he really looked surprised. “Blackmailing her? About what?”

  “He had got his hands on a rather revealing photograph he threatened to send to Max,” I said, deciding to skirt around the whole story. “He was blackmailing at least one other person in the house.”

  “Was he really? I always knew he wasn’t quite straight, but I never thought he’d sink to blackmail. No wonder he lived so well. Ah well, that’s okay if someone he was blackmailing decided to kill him.” He looked relieved. I stared at him, confused.

  “Why is that okay? Is one justified in shooting a man who is blackmailing?”

  He gave an uneasy chuckle. “No, I didn’t mean that.” He glanced around, although we were quite alone. “Look, I really shouldn’t tell you this, and you are not to repeat it to anyone, but Rudolf was one of ours.”

  “What do you mean? You told me he was Hitler’s spy.”

  He nodded. “He was. He was also a double agent.”

  “Crikey,” I said. “He was working for the British government?”

  He nodded again. “He was very useful to us, reporting what was going on in Berlin. That’s how we heard that something was going to happen in Stresa and why I was sent here.”

  I stared at him. “So someone found out he was a double agent and got rid of him.”

  “Highly possible.”

  “Especially as he was present at that meeting,” I said, my brain now putting thoughts into order. “Then that would be either the general or Klinker, I suppose. But how on earth did either of them know that my mother carried a small pistol with her?”

  “She might have mentioned it?”

  I shook my head. “No. She had completely forgotten it was in her luggage. Apparently she had never used it, but Max made her carry it to protect herself when he wasn’t around.”

  “Max did?” Darcy paused and I read his train of thought.

  “You think Max is the real German agent here?”

  “Why else would he be invited to take part? Or did he get himself invited because Herr Hitler wanted him to get rid of Rudi?”

  “Oh golly,” I said. It made all too much sense. Persuading Mummy that she needed the pistol to protect herself. Easygoing, amiable Max. Was that a cover for a ruthless man? I knew he owned factories and had made millions. A man does not achieve that kind of wealth without being ruthless. Poor Mummy, I thought. Would he save her if she was arrested for the murder?

  “I’ll ask London what they know about Max,” Darcy said. “And the general and Klinker. Are there other Germans in the house?”

  “No, only the two army chaps and Max,” I said. Then I added, “Camilla’s horribly efficient maid comes across to me as more German than Austrian. Aren’t Austrians supposed to be fun-loving and friendly? She is stiff and rigid, although of course she is a maid.”

  Again his eyebrows went up. “German-speaking maid, eh? What’s her name and where did she come from?”

  “Her name is Gerda. Let me think. What did she say her last name was? Oh yes. I believe it was Stretzl. Gerda Stretzl. Yes, that was it.”

  “Faithful retainer? With the family for years?”

  “No, actually, she only came to Camilla a couple of months ago. But she comes with impeccable credentials,” I added hastily. “She was formerly with the wife of a cabinet minister. She didn’t say which one, but the woman committed suicide, I gather. And Camilla’s maid had just walked under a bus, so it was ideal for both of them. She’s rather frightening, Darcy. Horribly efficient. Actually makes me long for Queenie.”

  Darcy chuckled. The chickens squawked again, still hoping to be fed, and I glanced toward the villa, horribly conscious of the passing of time.

  “I must get back. They’ll be looking for me,” I said. “I wish you were in the house with me.”

  “That might not be a bad idea,” he said. “I’d feel happier knowing I was on the spot, should anything happen.”

  “What do you mean, should anything happen?” I asked uneasily.

  “I mean that you overheard that conversation.”

  “But nobody knows.”

  “You think nobody knows. What if somebody suspected?”

  “Nobody suspected,” I said uneasily. “And whoever killed Rudi would have no reason to fear me.”

  “All the same,” he said, “I think I’d be happier if I was in the house with you. I think I’ll make an unexpected appearance. I’ll say I had business in Milan and decided to pay a surprise call upon my beloved.”

  “Oh yes,” I said, my spirits rising at the thought of Darcy in the house with me. “What a lovely idea. Maybe you’ll be able to work out which one of them shot Rudi. I’m certainly in the dark so far.”

  “I have to go into Stresa and send a couple of telegrams first,” he said. “So I may be a while. I might not even get any answers before the morning.”

  “How are you going to get out if they won’t let anyone leave?”

  He grinned. “The way I got in to begin with. Climb from the wall onto the roof of the gardeners’ cottages. Simple. Then when I’m ready to make my appearance I’ll go around to the main gate and demand to be admitted.”

  “Surely they won’t deliver replies to your telegrams to the gardeners’ quarters?”

  He smiled as he shook his head. “No, I’ll have to go to the post office to collect them. So I may not put in an appearance here until tomorrow morning. You should be safe with all the policemen in the house at the moment. I’ve been watching them coming and going.”

  “Unless the assistant chief makes an arrest and leaves in triumph.”

  “Stay with the others,” Darcy said, “and lock your door when you go to bed.”

  “I will. Although I really don’t fear for myself,” I said.

  “I’ll try to take you away from here as soon as possible.” He touched my cheek.

  “I have to go back to Belinda,” I said. “I just received a message from her. She did a bolt from the clinic where she was staying and is now back in her own little house and wants me to look after her.”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow. “You’re too good to that girl,” he said. “She takes advantage of you.”

  “Yes, I think she does,” I said, “but I do feel for her. It must be awful to be in her position right now.”

  “She did bring it upon herself,” he said. “She was very free with her favors.”

  “Which I believe you took advantage of once,” I pointed out.

  “Did I? I’ve quite forgotten. It can’t have been memorable.” He managed a little grin.

  “I have to go,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He blew me a kiss, then slipped between the trees and was gone.

  Chapter 27

  TUESDAY, APRIL 23

  EVENING AT VILLA FIORI

  Darcy is going to come and join us at the villa. I feel so much better!

  I let myself in through the French door. All was quiet. As I made my way down the hall again I glanced back and was horrified to see a trail of muddy footprints behind me. Oh Lord! When I had spotted Darcy I hadn’t
stopped to think that the ground was sodden from that rain. I looked down at the shoes that Gerda had so beautifully polished and saw they were now caked with mud again. What’s more, there were a few chicken feathers stuck to them. Oh, I’m going to be in deep trouble this time, I thought. I found the nearest chair, sat down and took off the shoes. Talk about leaving clues behind me, I thought grimly as I stared at the telltale footprints. Now everyone will know I’ve been outside. Unless I act quickly! I sprinted up the stairs and into the nearest bathroom. I grabbed a towel, ran down again and started wiping up the mud. Unfortunately this just had the effect of smearing mud across the white marble. Hopeless. I was just praying that one of the servants would appear to clean this up before Signor Stratiacelli saw it, when I heard a voice.

  “Lady Georgiana Rannoch, what are you doing?”

  I looked up to see Stratiacelli looming over me. Oh golly. My mind went blank. What was I doing?

  “What am I doing?” I repeated, as I sank down onto the marble, trying to hide the muddy smear and the dirty towel beneath my skirt.

  “That is what I asked.”

  “I dropped my earring.” I tried to look nonchalant and unruffled as I sat on the damp towel. “I was looking for it.”

  It was too much to hope that he wouldn’t notice the rest of the footprints. He did. “And where have you been?”

  “Writing a note to my friend who lives nearby,” I said, giving him what I hoped was a breezy smile. “I had promised to visit her today, but of course I had to tell her I was not allowed to come.”

  He looked at the muddy shoes and the trail of footprints. “You had to go outside to write this note? Against my orders?”

  “Not to write the note,” I said. “The girl who brought me the message from my friend was waiting outside for my reply. I had to give it to her and I’m afraid I stepped into a muddy patch.” When he said nothing I added, “You can ask your agent at the gate, if you like. He will tell you that a little peasant girl came with a note for me, and left carrying a note from me.”

  He took a while to digest this rapid outburst in English, then said, “Please return to the sitting room with the other guests. I have an announcement to make.”

  “But my shoes . . .” I indicated them, looking muddy and forlorn on the shiny floor. Gerda was going to be so displeased.

  “Leave the shoes. This is more important.”

  “I can hardly come into the sitting room in my stockinged feet,” I pointed out. “It wouldn’t be correct.”

  “Very well,” he said. “You may change your shoes, but return immediately.”

  I swooped up the shoes and towel, fled up the stairs and looked around for a place to hide my muddy shoes where even Gerda wouldn’t find them. As I looked at them I noticed that the small feathers stuck to the mud were white, which was odd because the chickens I had seen had been rust colored. More white feathers. Could there be any connection? Did the white feather on Rudi’s floor mean that someone had actually come in from the outside and brought a feather stuck to the mud on his shoes as I had? An outsider after all? I remembered how hard it had been raining that night. Did that also mean that the carpet might be wet in places? And the butler was up and around until midnight. Might he not have heard an intruder?

  I knelt down and shoved the shoes as far as I could under the bed, then hastily put on my indoor shoes and came down to find everyone seated in the lake view room, eyes all focused on Stratiacelli. My mother had now joined them and looked decidedly hollow and frail.

  “My investigation has reached an impasse,” he said. “There were only the fingerprints of the dead man on the gun that was not fired. On the pistol of this lady”—he pointed to my mother—“there are no fingerprints at all. It was wiped clean.”

  “Except for your fingerprints, Assistant Chief,” Mrs. Simpson pointed out happily. “Remember you picked it up and showed it to us?”

  “Ah yes. Of course. My fingerprints,” he said, his face flushing. “But apart from mine . . .”

  “So how do we know that your prints didn’t cover any telltale hint of a print that might have been left?” Mrs. Simpson went on sweetly.

  I could tell he couldn’t quite master this amount of English.

  “Whoever committed this crime took great care,” he said. “The pistols were wiped clean. No fingerprints in the man’s room, except for those of the household, and of the young lady.” He turned to give me a hard stare, perhaps hoping that I would break down and confess.

  “The young lady?” my mother demanded. She frowned at me. “Georgie, you were in his room?” She was doing a good job of acting the indignant mother.

  “I’ve already explained this to the assistant chief,” Camilla said calmly. “We were in the room together when Georgie first arrived.”

  “So I have to ask myself,” Stratiacelli continued, “who wanted this man dead? So far none of you has told me anything. I believe you know more than you say. No matter, I have plenty of time. I shall keep you all here until one of you confesses.”

  “Now see here,” Mrs. Simpson said, standing up. “You can’t keep us here.”

  “If you prefer I could have you transferred to the jail in Verbania,” he said with a satisfied smile.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Paolo’s uncle said. “You cannot throw aristocrats in a common jail. Il Duce, Mussolini, will not be pleased when he hears of this and he most certainly will.”

  A hint of fear crossed Stratiacelli’s face. “I can tell that some of you are innocent of this crime,” he said.

  “At least the Prince of Wales must be allowed to return to Britain. He has official duties waiting for him.” Mrs. Simpson took a step toward him.

  “I do not believe that the prince is responsible for this death,” Stratiacelli went on. “But perhaps he knows something and remains silent. At this moment all of you are suspects.” He held up his hand when Mrs. Simpson tried to object again. “When I was a young agent, I was told to always start with the facts. What do we know? We know that the pistol that killed this man was owned by this lady.” He pointed to my mother. “It was found in her luggage. So I should conclude that she is responsible. The simple thing to do is arrest her now, take her to the jail.”

  “Max, don’t let him take me away.” Mummy grabbed at Max’s sleeve.

  “Of course not, mein Liebling,” Max said. “I shall send a telegram to Herr Hitler himself if you dare to threaten this lady. I have already told you that she and I were talking together until midnight. We were together every moment from ten thirty onward. So I have no idea how anyone managed to steal her pistol, but it must have been done when we were playing cards that evening.”

  “I do not think that the court would find you a reliable alibi for this lady’s actions,” the policeman said. “That is my problem. You say you all went to bed. The house was quiet. Nobody heard the shot, which I find very surprising. But nobody has an alibi that can be confirmed.”

  “Our butler is usually the last to bed. He checks the windows and locks the front door when we have all retired,” Paolo said. “He might well have heard something or seen something. Have you asked him?”

  “I have questioned this man,” Stratiacelli said. “And he tells me one interesting fact. He saw one of the gentlemen wandering around in his night attire.”

  “Which gentleman?” Paolo’s uncle demanded.

  “The young German officer.” Stratiacelli turned to stare at Klinker. Klinker looked to the general to translate what had been said. When he heard he didn’t appear to flinch. He replied in German to the general.

  “He can explain that easily,” the general said. “He tells me that he could not sleep so he came downstairs to see if anyone was still in the kitchen to make him some hot milk. When he found the kitchen in darkness he did not like to warm his own milk, but retreated back to his room.”

  “Wha
t time was this?” Stratiacelli asked.

  Again we paused for translation.

  “After midnight. He heard the clock chime.”

  “And he did not hear a shot or see anyone?”

  “Nobody.”

  I was watching Klinker intently. If someone had been sent from Berlin to get rid of Rudolf, he would be the most likely person. Going downstairs for a glass of milk was a lame excuse.

  “What we all seem to have forgotten,” Paolo said, interrupting my train of thought, “is that the door was locked. How could any of us have gained entry to Count Rudolf’s room?”

  Aha, I thought. That’s why Klinker was going to the kitchen. He had been looking for the passkey. But surely he couldn’t have found it. I glanced up to see Klinker watching me. I was not going to be stupid enough to share what I was thinking until Darcy was in the house. I would play the innocent but if the moment was right I would see if I could get Klinker to confess. I gave Klinker an encouraging sort of smile. He returned it with a half smile of his own. If only I was a vamping sort of girl I would know how to seduce Klinker and lure information out of him, I thought, and had to grin at the prospect of vamping anyone.

  Stratiacelli showed no sign of leaving. Neither did the men he had stationed around and outside the house. I wondered if they would even let Darcy in if he arrived on the doorstep. I wondered about the telegrams he had sent to London and what answers he might receive. There was no point in wondering to whom they had been sent. Darcy was annoyingly silent about for whom he actually worked and what he actually did. Of course I had my suspicions, but . . .

  Eventually we all went up to change for dinner. Stratiacelli thought this unnecessary and suspicious until Paolo’s mother told him in no uncertain terms that aristocrats always changed for dinner, no matter what the circumstances, and the mere matter of a murder was not going to shake her out of her routine. She was a force that even Stratiacelli could not withstand. He smiled weakly and said, “Very well, but do not think of trying to use the telephone. My man will guard it at all times. And do not think of escaping from the house.”