he had seen Saint-Germain do, and then opened the door just wide enough to be able to slip inside. He was dumbfounded at the sight of the valise sitting on the floor amid the other trunks and broken chairs stored there, and was about to call out when he sensed more than felt another presence in the room.
“Not a sound, Herr Tree,” Madame Kunst said softly as she brought up a Smith & Wesson .38 pistol. Her hands were expertly steady as she took aim at his head. “I will use this if I must.”
Saint-Germain’s warning flashed through James’ mind—if his nervous system were damaged, if his spine or skull were broken, he would die the true death, and his resurrection would have lasted merely a week—and he stood without moving. He began to dread what might happen if Saint-Germain should come into the room.
“You have been curious about the valise, haven’t you? You have all been curious.” She no longer looked high-strung and helpless; that part of her had been peeled away, leaving a determined woman of well-honed ruthlessness. “I have promised to see that it is left in working order, and you will not interfere.” She nodded toward the valise, her aim never wavering. “Open the valise, Herr Tree.”
Slowly, James did as she ordered. He dropped to his knees and pulled open the top of the old leather bag. He stared down at the contraption in it.
“It is a beacon, Herr Tree. Take it out—very, very gently—and put it on that brass trunk by the wall, the one under the window. If you trip or jolt the beacon, I will shoot you. Do you understand?”
With more care than he had ever known he possessed, James lifted the beacon. As he carried it toward the trunk she had indicated, he thought to himself that she had told him. Trip or jolt? Not with Madame Kunst’s close observation; he put the beacon in place and hoped it was well-balanced.
“Turn around, Herr Tree,” she said, softly, venomously.
James obeyed, hoping that she would not shoot in this little narrow room. “I’m not alone.”
“Herr Comte?” she asked quickly.
“Yes.”
She walked up to him, just far enough to be out of reach. “And the servant?”
“I don’t know,” James lied, praying she would believe him. “He … he was told to get the car ready.” He forced himself to speak in an undervoice though he wanted to shout.
“How helpful,” she muttered. She glared at him, apparently wanting to make up her mind, and finally, she cocked her head toward the door. “You will have to come with me, I think. You and I.”
James all but ground his teeth. He wanted to rush at her, to yell so loudly that she would drop the .38 and flee from him. “Where are we going?” he forced himself to ask.
“Out. After that, we’ll see.” She was wearing her salmon-colored knit dress that in the muted light of the room looked more the shade of diseased roses. “Walk past me, Herr Tree. Hands joined behind your head.” She came nearer to him. “What you feel at the base of your skull is the barrel of my pistol. If you move suddenly or try to grapple with me in any way, I will shoot. If you move your hands, I will shoot. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very.”
“You will reach with your left hand, slowly and deliberately, for the door. You will open it as wide as possible and you will release it.”
James did as she ordered, and when she told him to walk out onto the landing, he did that, too, as the muzzle of the .38 lay like a cold kiss on the nape of his neck.
“Now, down the stairs. One at a time. Carefully.” She was speaking softly still, but the sound of her voice rang down the stones, mocking her.
On the fourth step down, James heard a sound behind him that did not come from Madame Kunst’s steps. Apparently she was unaware of it, for she never faltered nor turned. He wondered if she were so confident of her mastery of the situation that she paid no attention to such things. He moved a little faster, trying to remember where the trip stair was.
“Not so fast,” Madame Kunst insisted. “It’s dark in here.”
Obediently, James slowed. He heard the whisper-light tread behind her, and wished he dared to turn. The trip stair was only a few treads below him. He made his way carefully.
Then, just as he passed the