Read Online Hard Case Crime: Passport To Peril by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert B. Parker
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whatever to get mixed up with Herr Doktor Wolfgang Schmidt, a German who sat under a portrait of Adolf Hitler in a Budapest warehouse. Whatever his racket, he was just as much afoul of the authorities as I was. A good deal more, because he’d murdered a Russian officer. The killer could only have been Schmidt looking for that damned envelope.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what this is all about and I’m not interested. If you’re worried about that list of watchmakers, I hid it on the train.”
Schmidt leaned across the desk. The ugly dueling scar stood out on his cheek.
“So.” He picked up the revolver by the barrel and smashed the butt on the desk. “You take me for a fool. You want me to believe you left that envelope on the train? Ah, no, Monsieur, you will have to tell a better story than that.”
“It’s true,” I said.
Schmidt said, “You will find we have ways of getting the facts.”
Otto giggled.
“All in due time, Otto, all in due time,” the doctor said.
He stared at me a minute or so. “I must confess, Monsieur, that up to now I had a certain admiration for you. I put you down as a clever man. Frankly, I did not suspect your existence until I saw you with Mademoiselle Torres on the Orient Express.”
“There wasn’t any reason for you to know about me,” I said. “I’d never heard of you, either.”
Dr. Schmidt laughed. “I suggest you dispense with the comedy.”
I told you my nerves were ragged. I blurted out the story of my brother, the story I’d told Maria the night before in the snow, out under the stars. I told why the Russians refused me a Hungarian visa for my American passport and how I’d purchased what I thought was a forgery from Herr Figl in Vienna.
“How amusing,” Schmidt said. “You do have a talent for storytelling. But you cannot suppose I am fool enough to believe such a fabrication.”
He removed his glasses once more and wiped them.
“Just so that we understand each other, Monsieur, let me tell you what you’ve been up to. Ah, yes, I think it is all very clear.”
He pounded his fat fist on the desk. “Six weeks ago, Monsieur, you succeeded in planting Mademoiselle Torres in Marcel Blaye’s Geneva office.”
“That’s a lie,” Maria said. “I never saw him in my life before yesterday.”
It was the first time she’d spoken to Schmidt, but all he said was, “Please watch your language.
“I’m sure Mademoiselle Torres must have learned a great deal in that office,” the doctor continued. “You see, Blaye was a fool as well as a traitor. I told him Mademoiselle Torres’s father had been a Spanish Communist.”
“He wasn’t any more a Communist than you are,” Maria said. She was sitting on the edge of her chair.
Schmidt didn’t answer. He didn’t even bother to look at her.
“I do not know whether you followed Blaye and Mademoiselle Torres to Vienna,” Schmidt continued. “At any rate, you were there when they arrived. I must admit I thought I was rather clever in disposing of the late Monsieur Blaye. I do not hide the fact that I killed him. He was a traitor and he deserved to die. But I think now that I should have taken his passport before you found him.”
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you,” I said. I thought how fitting it was for Schmidt to invent such a story in front of the portrait of the Fuehrer, the biggest liar of all time. “I tell you I never saw Marcel Blaye, dead or alive. I bought that passport from Herr Figl.”
The doctor pretended he hadn’t heard me. “Along with the passport, you took Blaye’s reservation for the Orient Express and you stole his traveler’s checks. Mademoiselle Torres already possessed the Manila envelope. It was very clever of you to leave Vienna immediately for Budapest. You almost succeeded in covering your tracks by jumping off the train. You might have escaped me, you might have returned to Vienna, if Otto hadn’t found you.”
Otto clicked his
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what this is all about and I’m not interested. If you’re worried about that list of watchmakers, I hid it on the train.”
Schmidt leaned across the desk. The ugly dueling scar stood out on his cheek.
“So.” He picked up the revolver by the barrel and smashed the butt on the desk. “You take me for a fool. You want me to believe you left that envelope on the train? Ah, no, Monsieur, you will have to tell a better story than that.”
“It’s true,” I said.
Schmidt said, “You will find we have ways of getting the facts.”
Otto giggled.
“All in due time, Otto, all in due time,” the doctor said.
He stared at me a minute or so. “I must confess, Monsieur, that up to now I had a certain admiration for you. I put you down as a clever man. Frankly, I did not suspect your existence until I saw you with Mademoiselle Torres on the Orient Express.”
“There wasn’t any reason for you to know about me,” I said. “I’d never heard of you, either.”
Dr. Schmidt laughed. “I suggest you dispense with the comedy.”
I told you my nerves were ragged. I blurted out the story of my brother, the story I’d told Maria the night before in the snow, out under the stars. I told why the Russians refused me a Hungarian visa for my American passport and how I’d purchased what I thought was a forgery from Herr Figl in Vienna.
“How amusing,” Schmidt said. “You do have a talent for storytelling. But you cannot suppose I am fool enough to believe such a fabrication.”
He removed his glasses once more and wiped them.
“Just so that we understand each other, Monsieur, let me tell you what you’ve been up to. Ah, yes, I think it is all very clear.”
He pounded his fat fist on the desk. “Six weeks ago, Monsieur, you succeeded in planting Mademoiselle Torres in Marcel Blaye’s Geneva office.”
“That’s a lie,” Maria said. “I never saw him in my life before yesterday.”
It was the first time she’d spoken to Schmidt, but all he said was, “Please watch your language.
“I’m sure Mademoiselle Torres must have learned a great deal in that office,” the doctor continued. “You see, Blaye was a fool as well as a traitor. I told him Mademoiselle Torres’s father had been a Spanish Communist.”
“He wasn’t any more a Communist than you are,” Maria said. She was sitting on the edge of her chair.
Schmidt didn’t answer. He didn’t even bother to look at her.
“I do not know whether you followed Blaye and Mademoiselle Torres to Vienna,” Schmidt continued. “At any rate, you were there when they arrived. I must admit I thought I was rather clever in disposing of the late Monsieur Blaye. I do not hide the fact that I killed him. He was a traitor and he deserved to die. But I think now that I should have taken his passport before you found him.”
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you,” I said. I thought how fitting it was for Schmidt to invent such a story in front of the portrait of the Fuehrer, the biggest liar of all time. “I tell you I never saw Marcel Blaye, dead or alive. I bought that passport from Herr Figl.”
The doctor pretended he hadn’t heard me. “Along with the passport, you took Blaye’s reservation for the Orient Express and you stole his traveler’s checks. Mademoiselle Torres already possessed the Manila envelope. It was very clever of you to leave Vienna immediately for Budapest. You almost succeeded in covering your tracks by jumping off the train. You might have escaped me, you might have returned to Vienna, if Otto hadn’t found you.”
Otto clicked his
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