The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace

1

“Only nobody in the cast,” Simon continued to himself, in the same mournful vein, “ever seemed to wear a hat.”

That line of reflection was mercifully terminated by the appearance on the landing above of Frankie and Leopold in their dressing-gowns.

“You can come down,” said the Saint. “Everything’s safe for now. But I’m afraid you missed all the fun.”

The most perfunctory examination was enough to confirm that Erich would never take part in another crime, on his own or anyone else’s behalf. It was the kind of permanent and incontestable reformation which the Saint found it easiest to believe in.

He tucked his gun away and picked up the necklace as Frankie and Leopold joined him.

“What has been going on?” Leopold demanded.

“And where did that come from?” Frankie demanded.

Simon handed the necklace to her with a bow.

“Max gave it to me. He asked me to pass it on to you with his love and a farewell kiss.”

“Max?” She was completely bewildered. “How on earth...? Where is he?”

“Probably on his way to the North Pole,” said the Saint. “I expect he’ll set up an igloo there, with a sign offering reindeer for hire and Christmas presents delivered. And God help your presents once they’re in his sack.”

The girl literally stamped her foot.

“Simon, if you don’t stop your stupid jokes I shall kill you. What has happened?”

“Well, it’s a bit long for a bedtime story,” said the Saint. “But I suppose you’ll never sleep if I don’t tell it.”

He made the telling as brief and concise as it could be without leaving any of their inevitable questions unanswered.

“And so,” he concluded, “apart from the great Annellatt himself, the opposition seems to have been disposed of. The ghosts of our three other playmates, wherever they are, can only be comparing notes on how they got there. Which leaves us in the clear, so long as nobody connects us with that little misunderstanding at the frontier.”

“But there are three dead men here,” Leopold uttered, almost in disbelief.

“That’s nothing compared with the last act of most of Shakespeare’s plays,” the Saint reassured him. “Anyhow, with a little rearrangement I think I can make it look as if they perished in a friendly shoot-out between themselves. At least convincingly enough to give the local polizei a reasonable excuse for not working themselves into exhaustion over it. Or it might even be amusing to pin the rap on this two-timing Jeeves.”

Leopold dragged his eyes away from Erich’s uninterested body.

“We shall have to call the police,” he said conventionally.

“Not just yet,” said the Saint. “I don’t want to get involved. Let the Gestapo and the Austrian Sherlock-holmes-gesellschaft sweat it out between them.”

Frankie looked again, somewhat blankly, at the necklace which she was holding as if she was still in a trance that had come on when the Saint gave it to her.

“And this?” she said. “If it is really an imitation—”

“I’m not interested in your family skeletons, whatever dungeons you keep them in,” said the Saint curtly. “But even at this unearthly hour, I think we should be heading back to Vienna as soon as we can get organised, to set up any alibis that we might inconceivably need. As for the Hapsburg Necklace, the Keeper has it, or what’s left to keep now. So I hope that closes the book.”

“You are forgetting,” Frankie said, “I gave my real name when I went to Schloss Este.”

“That was an impostor,” said the Saint. “Like the man in SS uniform who sprung her. It must all have been part of some fiendish Jewish plot, maybe to steal the necklace. But you never left Vienna. So let’s pack up and hustle back there. This place is beginning to feel like a morgue.”

2

They met that evening for a farewell supper at the Kursalon by Vienna’s Stadtpark.

It was the Saint’s idea. For one thing he liked the place, which was oldfashioned, romantically dusted with the atmosphere of the Hapsburg Empire, when it had been the scene of many an illicit amatory rendezvous. It still was, although its manner was less ostentatious and it seemed slightly anachronistic in the rather brutal climate of the times. Nevertheless, discreet waiters served one expertly and then left one alone, which made it just the place for a quiet talk in one of the cubicles it considerately provided for dallying couples.

Secondly, it was not an establishment frequented by high society. They could dine there, surrounded by chomping Viennese petite bourgeoisie, without the likelihood of being recognised. Not that the Saint was expecting trouble, but he did want them to be by themselves. At Sachers, Demmels, or any of the other smart restaurants or cafés, some friend of Frankie’s or Leopold’s might come up and, Viennese fashion, stay for a long gossip.

When they were seated in the secluded alcove and their orders had been taken by a waiter who gave the impression that he regarded culinary dishes as state secrets the Saint raised his cocktail glass.

“Here’s to us, we three musketeers. All for one and one for all — and all for the Queen’s Necklace that wasn’t.”

Frankie was looking marvellous in a dark blue dress shot with silver which did wonderful things for her figure and vice versa. The colour was a perfect foil for her raven hair and matched the brilliant blue of her eyes.

The Saint smiled at her.

“You look good enough to eat or something. Mostly something.”

Leopold yawned involuntarily and seemed slightly guilty at having done so.

“Still tired?” asked the Saint. “I’ve been asleep all day in my hotel.”

“So have I been asleep all day,” said Leopold, “but I think I need at least a week.”

“I only had a little sleep,” said Frankie, “and I’m not tired at all. I had something to attend to — and then I bought this dress. Do you like it? I thought of you, Simon, when I chose it.”

The Saint raised an eyebrow. The warning system which every confirmed bachelor always keeps switched on gave a faint signal.

“You’d better not think of me too often or you’ll go broke.”

“You are leaving tomorrow?” Leopold inquired pleasantly — but somewhat pointedly, the Saint thought.

“Yes — with much regret. It’s been great fun, kids, but I must get back to real life. It’s a bit hard to find it here in Austria.”

“You cannot believe that,” Frankie said.

Her eyes were big and full of meaning. Her perfume smelled expensive and expensively exciting, which just about summed up Frankie. It struck Simon that it might have been very pleasant to linger awhile in this opera bouffe country where dreams and reality were hard to distinguish and often were the same thing.

“Oh, I know we’ve seen some real death,” he said. “But that isn’t exactly what I meant.”

“You really did risk your life,” said the girl softly, “and I want to thank you for saving mine.”

“Think nothing of it,” Simon replied with careful lightness. “I’m always rescuing beautiful damsels in distress. I’m only sorry I’m not so good at saving necklaces.”

“But you are!”

The Saint frowned.

“I must be a bit dense,” he said. “But you’ll have to explain that.”

“You did save the Hapsburg Necklace. The real one.”

Simon felt that if Frankie hadn’t lost her mind, he must be losing his. And Leopold’s face testified that he was in the same condition.

“When was that?” Simon asked, with the kind of patience one employs to humour a maniac.

“Ever since you got me out of Schloss Este.”

“And where is it now?”

“In a vault at Schöllers Bank. I put it there today.”

“Do you mind telling us how, when and where you got it?” asked the Saint, with superhuman restraint.

“In Schloss Este, where I told you it was.”

“But how?” demanded Leopold, almost frothing at the mouth.

“Very simple. It was in the dungeon where it was supposed to be.”

“And the fake necklace?” asked the Saint. “Was that there too?”

She made a moue.

“Don’t be silly. I took that with me, to be stolen, as I knew it might be.”

The Saint inhaled long and deeply.

“Where did you hide the real one?”

“Attached to a cord around my waist, under my last petticoat”

At last he could only laugh.

“Well, we almost got down to it, didn’t we?”

Leopold was shaking and his face had gone from red to white.

“You made a fool of me. That is one thing we Denksdorffs never permit.”

Frankie’s smile was wicked.

“Perhaps your family motto should be ‘We only make fools of ourselves.’ ”

The Saint felt sorry for the young man. Frankie was being unnecessarily cruel.

The arrival of their first course, and the opening and tasting of a bottle of Willm Gewurztraminer, made a sorely needed interlude.

Frankie herself must have realised that she risked going too far. As soon as the waiters had dispersed again, she said: “Darling Leopold! You are behaving like a hero in a romantic novel.”

He gave her a look which was filled with both love and hate.

“And you are behaving like a spoiled child!”

“I do think it’s time you stopped tormenting us,” Simon intervened peaceably. “So you were smart enough not to trust anybody. I can’t say I blame you. But I’m sure it wasn’t Leopold you were afraid of.”

“I knew all along that Max was out to get the Necklace,” she said.

“But it was you who introduced him to me,” Leopold said.

She shrugged.

“Everyone in Austria knows he’s a crook. Everyone but you, mein Liebchen. You are the original pure knight on a white charger. You do no evil and see no evil. But Max is a showpiece. That is why he is so popular in Austria. We like amusing rogues.”

“But why did you allow him to become our partner then?”

“He was just the man I wanted. ‘Set a thief to catch a thief’ is an old proverb. But that works in another way too. You could say ‘Set a thief to steal something!’ Max had all the skills, crookedness, money and organisation that I needed. He lent us all of them — nicht wahr?”

The Saint could not help admiring this girl. She had caused him a lot of trouble but she certainly had what it took. It might indeed be pleasant to find out what it did take with her, just so long as he gave away nothing himself.

“You could have told me,” Leopold said angrily.

“Yes, and I was afraid that if I did, my dear cousin, you might let the cat out of the bag. You are so impetuous.”

“But what made you so sure that in the end you would be more clever than Max?”

“I was not altogether sure at first.” Frankie’s smile was shamelessly gamine. “But after I had the Saint on my side, I was sure.”

Simon’s admiration for this girl deepened. She was confirming much of what he had guessed, but he did not know many women who would have had the nerve and the gambler’s instinct to act in the almost Saint-like way that she had all along.

He raised his glass to her again.

“I’m glad I was around,” he murmured. “Well, so we go our various ways. And what’s yours?”

“I’m going to the Semmering for a bit of skiing,” she replied. “Wouldn’t you like to come?” she added, batting her eyelashes at him provocatively.

“I’d love to, but with Schicklgruber in the saddle there may be more serious things to think about.” He turned to Leopold. “And what are your plans?”

The young man’s eyes were wide and almost desperate.

“I am going to marry Frankie,” he announced thunderously, as if he were an archduke declaring a bazaar open. “She needs to be settled down.”

“I hope you can do it for her,” said the Saint. “I can’t imagine a better match. The fact that she is twenty years older than you shouldn’t be any handicap at all.”

Leopold looked at him in amazement.

“What do you mean? We are practically the same age.”

“All women are twenty years older than any man.”

Frankie blew Simon a kiss.

“Except you.” Her eyes met the Saint’s steadily. “I wonder if you will meet Max Annellatt again one day. He would certainly be disguised.”

“I’ll still recognise him,” said the Saint, “if he’s wearing his old school Thai.”