Borrower of the Night: The First Vicky Bliss Mystery by Elizabeth Peters Page A

of marauding peasants and men at arms marauding after the marauding peasants—”
    “Don’t be cute,” I said. “I’m not one of your giggly girl students.”
    “Then you tell me what happened next.”
    “I take it you found no further references to the shrine? Neither did I. But, assuming the caravan started on schedule, there are only two possibilities.”
    Tony nodded. “Either the shrine arrived in Rothenburg as planned—no reason why not; a group of armed men, on their guard, with their precious burden a secret, had a good chance of getting through—or else they were attacked along the way and the shrine was stolen.”
    “No reason why not?” I echoed. “But is there any reason to suppose the reverse? If the shrine was stolen, that would explain why it hasn’t been heard of since.”
    “Obviously. But if thieves seized and burned the shrine, what happened to the jewels? Such stones are virtually indestructible, and they have a habit of reappearing. Look at the great historic gems; you can trace them through the centuries, usually by the trail of blood they leave behind them. The fact that the jewels, as well as the shrine, have not been heard of since fifteen hundred twenty-five is suggestive. They must have been hidden—hidden so well that all memory of the hiding place was lost.”
    “Suppose your hypothetical peasants did the hiding, after they robbed the caravan. The cache could be anywhere in West Germany.”
    “Or farther. But that isn’t likely. A single thief couldn’t overpower six armed men. And if there were several thieves, the chance of all of them being killed before they could pass on the secret of the hiding place is remote. Besides, where could they hide it, a group of homeless peasants, so that the hiding place remained undisturbed for four hundred and fifty years? Now this castle…”
    The massive walls seemed to close in around us. Tony’s reasoning wasn’t new to me; I had reached the same conclusions, not because we were en rapport , but because they were logical conclusions. There were plenty of holes, and weak links, in the chain of reasoning, but at the end of it lay a solid fact: even on the evidence we had, Schloss Drachenstein was worth searching.
    I said as much. Tony snorted vulgarly. Like all men, he likes to have his lectures received with little feminine squeals of admiration. So I added tactfully,
    “But that’s as far as logic took me, Tony. Suppose the shrine is here. Where do we look? The castle is enormous. You’re so clever at this sort of thing; can’t you narrow it down?”
    Tony is very susceptible to the grosser forms of flattery. He beamed.
    “Obviously the shrine wasn’t left out on a shelf, in plain sight. Rothenburg was a real hotbed of radicalism, and although the revolt was officially suppressed before Burckhardt got home, I would think he’d prefer to tuck his valuables away till things were back to normal. Now here’s an interesting point that maybe you didn’t know. The count and his wife both died that same year, leaving an infant daughter. I don’t know how Burckhardt and Konstanze died, but it must have been suddenly. They had no opportunity to pass on the secret. The child was too young to know anything.”
    “It’s plausible. If the shrine exists, it is hidden somewhere in the older section of the Schloss .
    “I wish I knew the layout of the place a little better. Where do Irma and the old Gräfin live? It would be mildly embarrassing to meet one of them while we were ripping up the floor.”
    “The dowager’s rooms are in the tower at the end of our wing.” Tony gestured. “I think Irma’s room is under the old lady’s.”
    “Nuts. I hoped I was alone in the old wing.”
    “You’re surrounded,” Tony said, with mean satisfaction. “Nolan’s room is down the hall. I’m next to you, and on your other side is Dr. Blankenhagen, our conversational tablemate. The little fat guy is next to me. That’s about all…. Oh,