Be Shot For Six Pence by Michael Gilbert

than to baccarat. The pillars of the portico were cracked and along the front stood orange trees in tubs. To the right the road runs up the foothills; to the left, down to the river (“To the Island of Pleasure” says a notice board. “Season tickets, or by the day”).
    An air of solid, contented, melancholy sits on the place, like a veil on the face of an elderly nun.
    I went into the nearest Espresso and ordered coffee. It took a long time to come. Nothing moves fast in Steinbruck. I looked again at my map. The castle was three or four miles from the town, and more than a thousand feet above it. I sought out a garage and hired myself a car.
    I have no recollection of the drive. My mind was ahead of me. Would Colin be there? What was it all about? Why had he stretched out this thread across Europe? It was a thin thread, tenuous and easily broken, but a twitch on it had been enough to bring me running.
    We ground up the final ascent, and pulled to a stop, steam jetting from our radiator, before an iron studded door let into the living rock.
    The driver hooted. A huge dog, lying in the sun, scratched itself. The driver climbed out and pulled at a bell.
    For a long time nothing happened. Then, quickly and surprisingly quietly, the door opened. A tiny man, in some sort of livery, peered politely out.
    The moment had arrived.
    I took a sealed envelope from my pocket – it contained the original cutting from The Times – and handed it without a word to the gnome.
    He looked me quickly up and down, then said, in German, “Would you like to wait inside?”
    I said yes to that, and paid off the car, which made a shuddering turn and started coasting down the hill. I reckoned he wouldn’t have to use his engine until he got back to the outskirts of the town.
    I turned and followed my guide up a sloping cobbled passage, and out into the courtyard at the end of it.

 
Chapter IV
LISA PRINZ AND MAJOR PIPER
     
    From the inner courtyard the size of the place became more apparent. Colin had been accurate in his description. It was a palace, not a castle.
    I am not good at buildings, but I shouldn’t have said that it was much more than a hundred or maybe a hundred and fifty years old. Something older may very likely have been pulled down to make room for it. The fortress-like outer keep suggested a more ancient past. The inner portion looked like a hotel designed by an architect with illusions of grandeur.
    I was shown into a small room on the left of the entrance portico, which might have been labelled “Reception”. When the door opened, I think I half expected a hall porter in uniform.
    Instead, it was Lisa!
    “Phee-leep,” she said. (‘Said’ is a most inadequate word. Lisa screams like a seagull when she is excited.) She came darting over and gave me a peck on the cheek.
    Considering that it was thirteen years since I had set eyes on her she was very little changed. Somewhat sharper, a bit more angular, less ingenuous, more experienced, but the same darting eyes and wide mouth.
    “This is a nice surprise,” I said sincerely. “Were you expecting me?”
    “The last man in the world.”
    “Lisa, be truthful.”
    “Quite, quite truthful. When August came and said to me, ‘There is a visitor – an Englishman, I think’ – I had no idea. It might have been Anthony Eden –it might have been General Montgomery—”
    “What a let-down,” I said. “When it was only me.”
    Lisa said: “Well, it was rather. But how nice that it should have been just you and no one else.”
    “Is Colin here?”
    “Well—no.”
    Something cold settled on my heart.
    “How long is it since you have seen him?”
    “Would you like to come and talk to the boss?”
    “In a minute. How long since you saw Colin?”
    “Philip! Two minutes and you start to bully.”
    “I’m not bullying. But I’ve come a long way to meet him, and I want to know.”
    “Today it is Monday. Last Monday was a week ago. Then another week. Then four days