The University of Texas at Austin

Law in Popular Culture collection

 
 
 

THE BEAUTIFUL RED DANUBE

A Paul and Alice Prye Mystery
 
 
 

Danube River
 
 
 
 
 
 

by Albert Borowitz©


Prologue   Ch. 1    Ch. 2   Ch. 3   Ch. 4   Ch. 5    Ch. 6    Ch. 7    Ch. 8    Ch. 9   Ch. 10   Ch. 11    Ch. 12   Ch. 13   Epilogue

Prologue

     Charles Boyer fastened his gleaming eyes on the young girl's face and said: "You haven't told me your wish." 
     Without a pause Danielle Darrieux answered him, firmly meeting his glance: "It is a simple one. I wish to be the first of us to die." 
     There was silence in the room. "Paul," Alice Prye asked, "are you awake?" She turned off the VCR and came back to the sofa. 
     "Sure, I'm awake; I guess my mind must have wandered for a minute." 
     "Then you missed the best scene, when Mary Vetsera tells Crown Prince Rudolph she loves him so much she doesn't want to survive him. When I first saw Mayerling at a film festival I thought those were about the most romantic words a woman had ever spoken. It's nonsense, I know that now, but it's hard to break old attachments. What do you think?" 
     "You're right now, it's nonsense, and dangerous nonsense at that; the man murdered her, and we've been wallowing in hearts and flowers for over a century." 
     Alice wouldn't turn her back on Charles Boyer without a struggle. "Is a suicide pact between desperate lovers a murder?" She propped her head against one of the sofa pillows that was formed of Laurel and Hardy heads; the Pryes were among the early crops of "couch potatoes." 
     "If one of two lovers shoots both, there's a murder involved, isn't there? But your adored Rudolph was a particularly unpleasant killer; he picked as his victim an inexperienced 17 year old girl whose head was easily turned by the vision of being found dead in the hunting lodge of the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. She was nothing but a royalty 'groupie"'. 
     Alice laughed at him. "Mary wasn't as inexperienced as you're pretending - I've peeked at your Mayerling books - I'd call her sexually precocious. And I don't know why you put her down as a 'groupie' just because she wanted to meet the most glamorous man in Vienna. If you want to continue with this crime-history folly of yours, you must keep your jealousy under control. It's blunting your objectivity." 
     Paul, in fact, did not find Rudolph particularly appealing, but was trying to balance his harsh judgment of the prince with pretended disapproval of Mary (whose photographs he found perfectly charming). 
     "Many young girls wanted to meet the prince, husband and father though he was; I grant you that. But Baroness Mary Vetsera literally stalked him down allover the capital, just as her mother had unsuccessfully done before her. Mary was more persistent, though; she wangled an introduction to Rudolph at the races and when that led nowhere, she got her good friend Countess Larisch to arrange a meeting with the prince in adjacent boxes at the new Court Theatre. After that things went swimmingly." 
     Alice frowned. "You're much too hard on feminine wiles. It doesn't matter who took the first step. They fell in love, didn't they? It all ended in a beautiful tragedy at Mayerling, and Rudolph eventually turned into Charles Boyer, which is a fate even you can't seriously deplore." 
     "The point you refuse to see," said Paul, "is that Mary was chasing after a man who was bent on murder - or on a suicide pact, as you may prefer to call it; and that he didn't much care whether his victim was Mary or some other woman. A month before your Mayerling 'tragedy', Rudolph proposed a joint suicide to another girlfriend, Mitzi Caspar. Fortunately, she had the good sense to laugh in his face. By the way, it was Mitzi, not Baroness Mary with whom Rudolph spent his last night before leaving for Mayerling." 
     "He was a passionate man, no doubt about it," Alice said, undefeated. "And I wouldn't stress that Mitzi Caspar business too much on the cruise, Paul, you'll only annoy your audience. Some of them were probably sucking lollipops at their neighborhood theatres when the Mayerlinq movie was first released." 
     The Pryes were scheduled to fly the next evening to Bucharest, the rallying point for a cruise of the Danube River sponsored by East-Europa Tours, an educational travel company based in New York and San Francisco. In return for a modest reduction in his fare, Paul had been invited to lecture on the Mayerling case when the cruise ship reached Vienna. The centenary of the suicide had been celebrated in 1989 with an exhibition at the Hermesvilla in Vienna and a torrent of books proposing new solutions (most of them preposterous) of the mysterious events at the Mayerling lodge. During the 1989 Danube cruise, passengers deluged bewildered political science and art lecturers with questions about Prince Rudolph's death, and East-Europa's management decided that this year they would be prepared. Professor Paul Prye's interest in crime history was well known to many colleagues who lectured for the tour company, and recently some successful amateur sleuthing in London and New York had given him a certain notoriety. He was therefore tapped as East-Europa's Mayerling expert. 
     Art historian Alice Prye had an independent reason for returning to vienna; she planned to visit a great private collection of the expressionist paintings and drawings of Egon Schiele. Let Paul, as he seemed ready to do, debunk the Mayerling affair to his heart's content, but nothing could dampen Alice's enthusiasm for Schiele's tormented images. She held clearly in her acute visual memory all the details of the masterworks she would see for the first time in the original, the Reclining Woman with her wantonly inviting posture but impenetrable gaze, and the Self-Seer of 1911, where death appears as man's pale double, lurking unseen behind his back. 
     Alice had a sudden insight, which she decided not to risk mentioning to Paul for the moment given his iconoclastic mood. Still she felt strongly she was on to something true: the themes of Schiele were the same as those of Mayerling, closely intertwined, eternally Viennese themes. 
     Love and Death. 
Chapter 1

Bucharest

     The tour had started badly for the Pryes. In the first place, one of Alice's suitcases hadn't arrived with their flight and it was the one with the long evening gowns she planned to wear for their opera-going in Vienna. 
     Aurora Gabriel, the East-Europa "group coordinator," collected the widowed baggage checks and promised the nervous travelers that all missing luggage would be safely delivered to the cruise ship by the time they boarded tomorrow at Giurgiu. 
     Alice couldn't make up her mind whether to believe her. 
     Then too their day in Bucharest was a disappointment. Perhaps they had not seen the city at its best since little time had passed from the overthrow of Ceausescu and it wasn't all that clear how much had changed. In the morning the main attraction had been an open-air museum displaying village architecture from allover the country; it was swarming with moneychangers who had designs on American travelers' checks. Later in the day the Pryes had broken free of the group to visit the National Art Museum, which was housed in a wing of the former royal palace. The museum walls were bullet-pocked in testimony to the recent uprising, and the many artworks that had been damaged in the fighting had not yet been restored. On the other hand, Alice observed that the giant double portrait of the unsmiling Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu, which the curators had been forced by the former regime to exhibit, was mercifully gone. It was when they emerged from the museum, however, that the Pryes began to wonder whether the ghosts of the executed dictators still haunted the capital. As they turned to walk past the front of the main palace structure where government offices were located, a plainclothesman, who looked very much like an heir of the Securitate if he was not in fact a holdover from their ranks, stopped them with an unmistakable police gesture and motioned them to take the long way around the square which the palace faced. As they looked back, the Pryes observed that a crowd of Romanian pedestrians was streaming unimpeded past the palace entrance. Although they considered themselves no match for the armed sentry who guarded the gateway, the Pryes clearly had impressed the security man (clad in the obligatory khaki raincoat despite the unthreatening skies) as dangerous aliens. 
     When they returned to the Hotel Inter-Continental to change for the orientation dinner, they found that a message from East-Europa had been placed under their door. In addition to announcing the schedule for the following day, the bulletin notified them of a last-minute change in the tour faculty. Their art lecturer was indisposed, and at the last minute Dr. Oswald Parsons had been flown in from Frankfurt to take his place. 
     Alice couldn't believe her eyes. "That just about puts the icing on the cake, two weeks with Oswald Parsons." 
     "Who's he?", Paul asked. 
     "Who he was is more interesting. He used to be an art museum curator, but just about everywhere Oswald's gone controversy hasn't been far behind. Now he's cursed the entire u.s. art establishment and swears never to see New York again; he keeps body and soul together by lecturing for any cruise lines that will have him. It looks like he'll sail on forever without revisiting his native shores. That's why he's called the Man Without a Museum." 
     "Isn't cruising something of a comedown for him?" 
     "Not really," Alice answered. "When he was a curator he did more traveling than anything else; he just showed 'up for an occasional opening to greet his public. Now he's into full-time travel, and it doesn't make that much difference in his schedule." 
     "Is he a great lecturer?" Paul hoped for the best. 
     "Just you wait," Alice replied, venturing a perfunctory imitation of Eliza Doolittle. 
     Alice slipped an orange silk pocketed vest over her purple shirt and pants. After an expert application of cosmetics, she consoled herself for the discouraging day by perusing the passenger list. 
     The Pryes had found that in organized tours (particularly where the group was small) sightseeing, lectures and the often dreadful entertainment were far from the main attractions. Instead, from"the first moment they assembled, the tourists became investigators of their fellow-travelers' social and sexual relationships, inherited wealth, and stock market prowess. Everyone had ears cocked for revealing fragments of conversation, while their practiced eyes appraised the cost and label of ball gowns. The Pryes themselves were not immune from the plague of inquisitiveness that was as unavoidable in group travel as stomach ills in Mexico; Alice's specialty was ingenious interpretation of stateroom assignments to disclose interesting sleeping arrangements. 
     "Anything noteworthy?" Paul asked, catching sight of her in the mirror as he tightened the knot of his tie. 
     "Very little to report," Alice said, "it's quite a monogamous cruise. I don't think the romantically inclined go in for all this heavy lecturing. For the sake of completeness, however, I point out that cabin 7 is shared by James Rito and Arlene Bennett. Who knows? It may turn out that they've been blissfully married for years, and that she just insists on retaining her own name. It wreaks havoc with my research when couples play games like that." 
     "I think Rito and Bennett are at our table on the ship," Paul told her. 
     "Good," Alice said, throwing the tour roster aside and taking Paul's arm as he led her off to the party. "By the time we've reached Belgrade, they'll have no secrets left." 
     The initiation dinner party was lost in the echoing spaces of the Madrigal Room, advertised in the hotel brochure as possessing a "distinguished classical atmosphere". The ceiling blazed with elbowed glass chandeliers and the slip-covered Louis XV chairs were a nightmare in pink and purple. As they crossed the threshold the Pryes were swiftly separated; Aurora Gabriel, representing East-Europa in navy linen and brass buttons, linked an arm with Paul's and Alice was escorted by a fair-haired young man, who introduced himself as Kurt Lange, their tour leader from vienna. The Pryes were firmly steered in the direction of Dan Eggleston, the cruise photographer, who snapped them in the affectionate clutches of the two tour officials. As soon as the camera flashed, Aurora directed the Pryes to the hors d'oeuvres table and she and Kurt rushed back to the door to snare the next tourists.
     About 60 travelers were gathering in the hotel for tomorrow's Danube trip on the Anton Bruckner, a newly refitted Austrian cruise ship, and the Pryes, not the most gregarious of East-Europa's clients, had no intention of meeting them all. Setting themselves a more modest task, they sought out the passengers who would share their table. Their first finds were an attractive couple in their sixties, Bert and Kitty James. Kitty, a lively blonde in a twenties-type sailor dress with pleated skirt, said that their choice of the tour was a compromise. 
     "Mr. Wonderful here was shot down over Ploesti in World War II and put in a Romanian prison camp. out of nostalgia he wanted to drive allover the backroads of Transylvania for a couple of weeks, can you believe it? I told him to forget it, I'd give him one day in Bucharest, but the rest of our trip would have to be due west with a strong following wind." 
     "The winds blow east," Bert commented in a New England accent, but Kitty wasn't listening. "Have you met our newlyweds?" she asked the Pryes. When they confessed that they had fallen behind in socializing, Kitty led them to the far end of the hors d'oeuvres table where a trim young woman was selecting a caviar canape in defiance of the reproachful stare of her husband. "It's your fourth," the Pryes heard him say before Kitty interrupted and made the introductions. "Paul and Alice Frye of New York, meet Andy and Elizabeth Szabo of Detroit. The Szabos work on a Hungarian-language newspaper but have never been to Budapest before. She's travel editor and Andy's into ethnic news. They were married only two days ago, isn't that fantastic?" 
     Andrew Szabo stonily watched his wife devour her appetizer whole, and only then bent slightly from his height of six and a half feet to acknowledge Kitty's words. "We're pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Prye. I speak for Liz as well, since she has her mouth full as usual. I don't know what it'll be like when we get all those midnight buffets." 
     "Give me a break," Kitty said. "It's not that kind of cruise. We get briefings for breakfast and lectures for lunch." 
     Before the Pryes moved off, Liz Szabo, having swallowed hard to dispose of the last of the caviar, put in a word for herself. "Don't listen to Andy anyway. This is definitely the last time I'm marrying a Nautilus freak." 
     "Really?" Bert James asked, eyeing Andy with new interest. "What's your routine?" Dapper Bert looked fit enough, in his lightweight madras jacket and narrow blue slacks, to be on the exercise machines himself, but Alice Prye doubted that was the case. More likely he was one of the tour's inevitable "people-persons", who would something fascinating about everyone he met. 
     As they searched for the bar Paul was surprised when a small bald man waved in their direction; he was flanked by a powerfully built, waistless woman sporting a patchwork quilted vest, and on his other side by the only man in the room dressed in a dark suit. Since the day's crowded agenda left little time for changing, the party had been announced as informal. 
     "Is he waving at us?" Paul asked, slowing his pace so that Alice could fill him in before they reached the little 
group. He had a dread of forgetting faces and names, and hoped the wave was for someone behind them. 
     "The wave's for me, I'm afraid. That's Oswald and Claudia Parsons, I don't think you've met them. She's a retired army officer." 
     Paul walked even more slowly. "He's married to that rather imposing woman?" he asked. 
     Alice smiled. "I don't think he really had any alternative; people say it was a military order." 
     As they came within closer range, Oswald Parsons shouted, ignoring Paul: "Alice, come meet one of our extraordinary colleagues. This is Arkady Grigoriev, he's a retired art history professor. Arkady tells me old art historians never die; they just lose their perspective." 
     The quiet man in dark gray winced at Oswald's words and gave Alice a melancholy smile. Grigoriev. She remembered the name from the roster. The cities in which the other passengers resided were listed after their names but in his case the entry had read: "A. Grigoriev, Soviet Union." Whatever part of his country he came from, it was unusual to meet a solitary Russian tourist on a U.S. sponsored cruise. In fact, only once before had 
the Pryes encountered vacationing Soviet travelers in Europe. It was in Rouen that they found themselves, much to their amazement, lost amid a boisterous Russian-speaking group making a pilgrimage to the local sites associated with Joan of Arc. 
     Alice introduced Paul to the Parsonses. Oswald feigned amusement as he said, "Oh, you're you. I understand that you're going to tell us more than we ever wanted to know about Mayerling." 
     For the first time Arkady Grigoriev broke his silence and, as if compelled to make amends for Oswald's rudeness, said quietly: "But I have always found the Mayerling affair most fascinating, Mr. Parsons. It was truly the end of an era." After a moment of reflection he added, "Unless we can say that the imperial era ended only in 1989, with the death of Zita, last empress of the Hapsburgs." 
     What Paul had first taken as politeness in Grigoriev he now attributed to a special historical interest that seemed to guarantee him at least one listener when it came time for him to deliver his Mayerling lecture. 
     Paul nodded to acknowledge this unexpected show of support and turned to exchange a few polite phrases with Claudia Parsons. Claudia, however, was a generous woman who preferred to bestow words rather than to exchange them. She told him in a rich baritone that she was a amateur organist and was looking forward to the private concert to be presented to the group on Bruckner's organ at st. Florian's Abbey near Linz. It was her ambition, now that she was retired, to hear all the great organs of Europe. The Passau organ they would also hear was the largest, but Anton Bruckner's association with St. Florian made its instrument much more exciting, didn't Professor Prye agree? Before he could reply, Claudia turned her back to him and boomed across the room to Dan Eggleston, who was chatting with Kitty James near the doorway. "Dan, could you photograph me again? I think I was blocked by Andy Szabo when you flashed me at the entrance. No surprise is it? Andy could blot out the sun." 
     Eggleston can't have missed all of her, Paul thought, appraising her massive shoulders. He left Alice chatting with Oswald and the Russian art professor and continued his hunt for their remaining tablemates, Arlene Bennett and James Rito. Having had no luck after a survey of the room, he walked back to the reception desk: he found that the name tags of the two travelers were still unclaimed. Aurora Gabriel stood nearby, posing for Dan Eggleston's camera with her arm draped incongruously around the back of a wheelchair in which an elderly man hunched forward, shivering strongly despite his heavy blankets. "Professor Prye, have you met Basil Drewry and his nephew Mark?" The invalid stared straight ahead, but Paul received a nod from a young man whom he had not noticed waiting patiently behind Aurora for Dan's flash to be triggered. 
     After the picture was taken, Paul shook hands with Mark and approached the wheelchair tentatively, wondering whether he should extend his hand to the uncle as well. Basil Drewry made the decision for him; he removed his right hand from the blanket and seized Paul's hand with a remarkably strong grip. He then began to lecture Paul on Balkan politics, obviously mistaking him for Kenneth Mestnik, who would be speaking to the group on communism in Eastern Europe: 
    "I hope you're not one of those 'containment' die-hards. If so, your time has long since gone by. For years I fought against Kennan at the state Department, and I'm glad he's lived long enough to see the whole house of Marxist-Leninist cards falling, just as I always told him it would, and that he can also read about Muscovites enjoying beauty contests and decent American hamburgers. My nephew Mark here is new to the investment banking game, and before he's over the hill like me he'll probably be gossiping about the first Russian insider trading scandal." 
     As his tirade thundered on, Basil Drewry continued to stare into space. Paul now realized that the old man was blind. It was remarkable how avid travelers never seemed to let disabilities get in their way; the Pryes had once watched a devoted middle-aged husband carry his beautiful wife, stricken with polio in the first year of their marriage, up to the heights of Delphi. 
     Paul asked Aurora Gabriel about Arlene Bennett and Jim Rito. Aurora told him they were arriving late but would join the group before the ship sailed tomorrow. She suggested that Paul and Alice choose their places for the dinner, which was about to begin after a few words of greeting from East-Europa. 
     The Pryes selected a table for two, their last haven before the enforced camaraderie of the cruise ship. They heard Aurora Gabriel confide to the assembled travelers that the average East-Europa group was one big happy family but that, on the basis of her observation of the cocktail hour, this group was even happier than most. After a few more remarks she turned the microphone over to Kurt Lange, who introduced the lecturers (even Paul had to stand to faint applause) and then launched into the "orientation" address. 
     After years of haranguing their classes and their own compulsory attendance at faculty meetings, the Pryes were not the most attentive listeners, so it didn't take them more than a few minutes to tune Kurt Lange out. The last comments Paul heard went something like this: 
     "* * * the only predictable thing about a Balkan tour is that it is unpredictable. So, please, if the buses aren't there when we arrive or the border officials seem to read your passports very slowly, don't blame East-Europa." 
Here Lange paused for his punchline: "Blame it on Eastern Europe." 
     He continued: "You may not remember everything our lecturers tell you about the politics of the Warsaw Pact, or the painting of the Danube School, but we always hope that our group members will learn two things: patience and flexibility." 
     Alice didn't allow the implied warning to chasten her holiday mood. She leaned across the table: 
    "I think the so-called Russian professor's a fraud." 
     "And how have you arrived at that lightning conclusion?" Paul asked. 
     "Whatever or whoever he may be, he's not an art historian. He thinks Caravaggio was born in Rome." 
     "Is that a terrible blunder? I might have made the same error myself. I seem to remember your parading me around half the churches in Rome to show me his paintings." 
     Alice remembered the occasion all too well. "Don't remind me, you complained all along the way. The only time you've behaved on any of our church tours was in Canterbury, and that was only because there was a mark on the floor where Becket was assassinated. But don't compare yourself with our friend Grigoriev, if that's his real name; you're not pretending to be an art historian. If he were what he claims to be, he'd know Caravaggio was born in a small town in Lombardy." 
     "Isn't that in the realm of little-known facts?" 
     "It could have been," Alice said condescendingly, "but the town's name happened to be Caravaggio." 
     The Pryes chatted on during dinner, which featured an unidentifiable part of a deer. After coffee, their conversation was interrupted by the noisy entrance of the hotel's small troupe of folk dancers. Their maneuvers were urged on by bagpipers and were climaxed by a solo performance of their leader, who brandished a long pole, surmounted by a goat's head, with which he threatened to whack the guests who sat at the front tables. 
     On the way back to the elevator the Pryes met a very young woman with curly red hair and a short skirt; Paul liked her at once but Alice kept her wits about her. 
     "Oh, you're on the Danube cruise," the woman said, spotting their name tags. "I'm in the group too. My name's 
Arlene Bennett; I'm afraid I've arrived too late for the dinner. Did I miss anything?" 
     Paul volunteered to be the spokesman. "Not much. We're a big happy family and nothing's going to work out right, that's what we've been told. You'll be sitting at our table on the boat, Table 5, isn't it?" He didn't know whether it was proper to ask whether her cabin-mate Jim Rito had also arrived. Social protocol was getting beyond him. 

*     *     *
     Alice, though, never tired of her explorations of the secrets that might be gleaned from a tour roster. 
Her bags were repacked and labeled and she was now free to take a closer look at the passenger list; after the cocktail hour she could now match many names and faces. 
     "Mark Drewry's rooming with Uncle Basil. That can't be much fun," she said. 
     "I don't know, it's probably quite instructive," Paul commented, recalling the diplomat's fervent words on the Decline of the East. "Arlene Bennett is quite attractive." 
     This was a kind of nonsequitur that Alice understood only too well, and she rose to the bait. "I suppose she's all right if you like a woman with a 'prow'." This was slim Alice's technical term for prominent breasts, which, in Arlene's case, had been displayed to good advantage by a low-cut satin blouse. 
     Moving to less disputable ground Alice asked: 
      "What do you think of our cruising honeymooners? I think 
they're rather sweet, that is, when they're not watching her weight." 
     Paul was in a contrary mood. "Frankly, I don't think we'll ever see them as guest stars on The Love Boat." 
     "Paul?" Alice asked him later when they were in bed. 
     "Mmrn," he murmured as he kissed a favorite place in the nape of her long neck. 
     "If Emperor Franz Joseph had let Rudolph marry Mary Vetsera, do you think they would have quarreled on their honeymoon?" 
     Paul had no answer for her. 
     "Who knows," he said. 
     "You're not at all quarrelsome tonight," she observed.

Chapter 2

Giurgiu

     During the afternoon ride to the Danube Bert James, who was dressed as impeccably as he had been last night in the Madrigal Room, acted as if he were running for mayor of Bus No. 2. It was Bert who volunteered to distribute the bottles of Evian water when the passengers became thirsty in the stuffy coach. As he passed down the aisle he had a handshake and a cordial word for everyone that went along with the refreshment, and he made a conscientious effort to memorize names, hometowns and even occupations, so that he would be well prepared for the next group party. 
     While Bert delivered his bottles, Kitty James entertained the Pryes with tireless observations on everything under the sun. For more than three decades she had anchored a local TV news broadcast, fighting off waves of would-be successors with her good looks, awesome energy, and an engaging patter that was spiced by what sounded to her like youthful slang. Although much of her jargon seemed outdated, and some of it was her personal invention, Kitty achieved her goal: she didn't sound her age any more than she looked it. 
     As they waited for passport clearance in the river port of Giurgiu, Kitty leaned across the aisle of the bus and said to Paul: "Did you notice how our Russian friend's been coming on to Arlene Bennett; the old guy's noticed she's got some pair o' stroikas. If Jim Rito doesn't arrive on the scene pretty soon, he's gonna be out of business." 
     Paul smiled, admiring her imagination. Grigoriev had been the last on their bus and had apologetically taken the last remaining seat next to Arlene; they had hardly spoken during the two-hour drive. But Kitty had a point: Where was Jim Rito? 
     The answer, the Pryes discovered after the immigration authorities finally permitted them to leave the buses, was that Rito was waiting for Arlene in the customs hall, having transferred to Giurgiu directly from the Bucharest airport where his flight had arrived at noon. Jim Rito, it turned out, was a New York lawyer, and since both the Pryes were children of stockbrokers with many friends in the legal profession, Paul asked him what firm he was with. 
     "I'm a partner with Hill and Martin." It was an eminent Wall street firm with a large underwriting clientele. Alice's father had been a close friend of its co-founder, Buzz Martin. 
     "And Arlene," Alice interposed, "I don't believe we've asked you about your work." 
     "I'm a lawyer too." She didn't offer any details, but Alice, determined to show that the Pryes were equal-opportunity questioners, persisted: "What's your firm?" 
     Arlene shrugged. "It's a small firm by New York standards. I don't think you would have heard of it." 
     The Pryes exchanged a look that they had perfected at many cocktail parties, a look that meant they had something to discuss when they got home. 
     Claiming their carry-on luggage, the Pryes walked to the pier where their ship was docked. Their first impression of the Anton Bruckner was favorable; it was freshly painted though not as long as the symphonies of the composer for which it was named. Despite the efforts of Kurt Lange and Aurora Gabriel to shepherd their flock, the Pryes found a great crush around the gangplank. One source of the problem was the ubiquitous Dan Eggleston, who stood at the ship's entrance photographing the passengers as they came aboard. 
Snapping the Pryes, he repeated a phrase with which he was welcoming all the tourists: "Last night's photos are on the bulletin board in the main lobby." 
     Another reason for the disorderly embarkation was an uprising by a group of early boarders who had found to their dismay that some of the missing bags had not been delivered to the Bruckner as promised. As they besieged Aurora Gabriel with their angry complaints, she found that a renewed protestation of faith in the air carrier would not carry the day, so she tried an appeal to sympathy. "I can well understand your annoyance," she told the, "since one of my suitcases has not yet been located." 
     The Pryes followed the instructions given at the orientation dinner, turning in their passports at the reception desk on the main deck and picking up their cabin key. As they turned down the corridor to find their cabin, which was located aft on the same deck, they were blocked by Mark Drewry who was exhibiting his uncle's wheelchair to a ship's officer. The officer seemed very polite, but the bad news was that he was shaking his head. Mark would not take no for an answer: 
     "It's collapsible, at least partially, that's true, but even so, we'll never be able to fit it in our cabin. And we can't put it in storage. I don't want to have to call for it constantly when my uncle needs it on the ship or when he goes ashore." 
     The ship's officer, who had obviously run out of arguments, surrendered. "All right, Mr. Drewry. You can keep the chair here in the lobby, so long as you don't obstruct the exit to the deck. And I would request that you collapse the chair and push it up as close to the wall as possible. Then it won't get in the way of people passing through, and at the same time it will be conveniently placed for your uncle's use." 
     The Pryes watched Mark Drewry hand a twenty-dollar bill to the officer. The young man was obviously taking no chances that the agreement just concluded might come unstuck. 
     Paul stepped aside to let Mark Drewry roll the wheelchair into the lobby. As he did so he saw the Szabos waiting at the desk for their keys. standing slightly behind Andy, Liz was running her fingers through his thick glossy hair, but he took no more notice of her than if she had been his barber. 
     The Pryes' cabin was surprisingly commodious, with a large picture window encased in the hull that would give them a fine view of the shoreline. Too bad there was no way of opening it to let in a river breeze if the weather should turn out to be mild, but at least they wouldn't have to find a deck chair or seek out one of the public rooms every time they wanted to see a passing landmark. Alice inspected the river in the dying sunlight. "The Danube isn't blue, it's green," she said. 
     A knock on the door announced the porter bringing their bags. Alice's eyes widened in triumph as she greeted her lost suitcase, now restored by the airline, that would enable her to shine in a form-fitting red gown at a Viennese performance of The Magic Flute. She was so radiant that Paul decided to be brave: 
     "Oswald Parson's lecturing in the lounge at 5:30 on the icons of Ruse. Are you game?" 
     Before she knew what she was saying, Alice agreed, but she first exacted her price in gossip: 
     "What do you make of Rito and Bennett? They seem to prefer solo flights across the Atlantic. You don't suppose they're Lindbergh fans?" 
     Paul proposed a boring explanation: "Maybe he was detained by work. They're in different law firms so there's no reason for their schedules to have been the same." 
     Alice was cross. "Don't be so damn high-minded. I'm sure you're as ready as I am to guess that they didn't want to run the risk of being seen together at Kennedy Airport." 
     "Then why are they willing to cruise together?" 
     Alice decided to humor him. "The odds of bumping into friends in a group of 60 Danube tourists aren't exactly stupefying. And maybe the two of them were able to arrange an advance look at the roster. Aren't lawyers supposed to be good at inspecting documents? In any event, I'll bet you a Bloomingdale's gift certificate that they don't fly home together." 
     "O.K. They don't want to be seen together in New York. Why is that?" 
     It was quiz time: Paul was treating Alice to one of his Socratic seminars, but she met the challenge. 
"He's married, she's married, or they're both married, but not to each other. Don't tell me the thought didn't cross your mind or you wouldn't have semaphored your best conspiratorial message to me when we met Rito." 
     "It's possible, I suppose," Paul conceded. 
     "If you're going to be agreeable now, I have an even better idea," Alice said, her mind speeding on. "Neither of them is married, but they're lawyers in different firms. Did you notice how reluctant she was to tell us where she worked? Maybe they're on opposite sides of a pending page-one securities trial, but a whole lot friendlier to each other out of court. It could be even worse than that. Bennett's several years younger than Rito, I can trust you to have noticed that. What if he sat as an arbitrator in one of her cases, and has just handed her a multimillion dollar award. Wouldn't that be a reason for them to keep their joint travel plans out of the Daily News?" 
     "If your last theory's right, they'd certainly be able to afford East-Europa's prices, I'll grant you that." Paul never ceased to marvel at her inventive readings of the social scene. 
     On their way to the interior stairway that led up to the lecture room, the Pryes stopped at the bulletin board to which the orientation party photos were tacked. "What do you think?" Alice asked as they examined the picture. 
Dan Eggleston had recorded their dubious expressions bracketed by the smiling faces of Aurora Gabriel and Kurt Lange. 
     "Gorgeous," Paul said. 
     "Professor Prye, one could hope for more precision. Me or Aurora? She seems to have quite a strong hold on your arm." 
     "You, of course; we'll buy it." Alice was remarkably photogenic, but Paul took no chances; he always purchased her cruise pictures. 
     The talk had just begun when the Pryes took their seats at the back of the lounge. Alice flashed an embarrassed smile to their boyish history professor Ken Mestnik, who sat at the next table, as if to assure him that they would arrive more promptly for his lectures. 
     Parsons was talking about the Bulgarian port of Ruse across the river, where they were to dock for the night. In the morning there would be a city tour, and the afternoon was at leisure before the ship cruised westward towards the Danube's Iron Gates. Oswald was ecstatic about the marvels that awaited them ashore: 
     "Indeed, Ruse is far more than Bulgaria's fourth city; it is blessed with some of the most extraordinary structures in the region, the remarkable sunken churches. The occupying Turks did not permit church spires to be higher than their mosques; the Bulgarians therefore laid the church floors far below ground so that they could construct lofty vaults without offending the Turks. Most extraordinary, indeed." 
     Paul turned his head towards Alice and saw to his amazement that she appeared to be taking notes. Looking more closely, he saw she had divided a sheet of cruise stationery into two columns and was alternately making marks in each. 
     "Learning a lot?" Paul whispered. 
     "Not really. I'm keeping score to see which word he’ll use more often, 'extraordinary' or 'indeed." 
     "How's the game going?" 
     "'Extraordinary' has taken an early lead." 
     As Paul continued to listened to Parsons, he was reminded of the Italian guide who many years before had led them through a palazzo on Isola 'Bella. Advertised as trilingual, the guide would stop at the threshold of each room to deliver a flowing discourse in Italian and a shorter explanation in French. His English comments were always the same five words: "Lovely furniture there, beautiful design." Oswald Parsons seemed to draw his adjectives from the same small pool. 
     When the lights went up, a small group of enthusiasts led by Kitty and Bert James clustered around Parsons, offering praise and questions. Arkady Grigoriev, however, remained seated at a table in front of the Pryes. 
     Leaning forward, Paul showed his gratitude for Grigoriev's defense of his Mayerling assignment by inquiring politely: 
     "What did you think of the lecture?" 
     "Most interesting," Grigoriev said, without turning around. "The Turks and the Bulgarians have never learned to live together in harmony." 
     Before dismissing Parson's audience, Kurt Lange told them that the ship library had a fine collection of travel books, including Danube Mile bv Mile, which was an exhaustive survey of their route along the waterway, describing all the settlements and monuments along the shore and charting the depths and navigation channels of the river. 
     Returning to their cabin to get ready for dinner, the Pryes heard a crackling noise on the second radio channel, to which Kurt Lange had instructed the group to stay tuned for cruise announcements and news summaries. One of the ship's staff read the evening's news bulletins in a strong Austrian accent. 
     "Ruse, Bulgaria. Tomorrow the deputy prime minister will arrive from Sofia to deliver a major address on democratization policies. A large crowd is expected to hear the speech outside communist Party headquarters in the main square." 
     Alice turned down the volume to reduce the static and said to Paul: "They're doing their best -- I know you'll tell me that -- but I wish we could find a Herald Tribune." 

*     *     *
     When the Pryes finished dressing, they found that they had 20 minutes to spare before dinner and set out to explore the ship. The Bruckner (about 300 feet long and 60 wide) had a crew of 40 Austrians. It had three principal decks: a lower deck (inevitably called Neptune), the main deck housing the restaurant and most of the cabins and ship offices, and an upper deck (Phoenix) with "penthouse suites", the lounge that doubled as lecture room and open deck space for sunning and sightseeing. Recent renovations had added a half-deck above the sun deck that was reserved for joggers. 
     The Pryes, following their own priorities, visited the restaurant first, daring to open the curtained doors for an introductory glance. The room was large enough to accommodate all guests at a single sitting. Most of the tables were set for six, but for the unsociable there were a few tables for two; and the clannish, if they made arrangements with the maitre d', could be seated in an alcove beyond the main dining room where they could laugh at their own inside jokes. 
     The sun deck above was empty. The light in the sky was fading, and there was nothing much to see anyway. God knows, Giurgiu wasn't exactly a beauty spot. The Pryes walked around the deck and found an outside stairway that led up to the jogging track. When they emerged from the stairs, they were startled to find that two couples were already loping around the half-deck. Grimly dedicated to their exercise, the joggers paid no attention to the Pryes, who stopped to let them pass. Paul wondered whether they would bother to come down for dinner. 
     Returning to the sun deck, the Pryes passed through the lounge, which had all its lights restored now that Oswald Parsons and his slides had departed. The lounge was about the same size as the restaurant below. On the dais the screen on which Oswald had projected his Ruse slides remained fully extended, and nearby was a blackboard for the difficult Balkan names that Mestnik would mention in his modern history talks. outside the lounge was a small library. 
     The Pryes opened the library door and found nobody there. Together they skimmed a few volumes from the meager display of fiction and then concerted a preemptive strike on the travel guides. 
     "What was the name of the jumbo river guide?" Paul asked. 
     "It was rather discouraging," Alice reminded him, "something like Every Inch of the Danube." 
     They searched the shelves twice but without success. If Kurt Lange was right that the volume had been in the library when the cruise began, someone had already borrowed it. Paul consulted the library register. "Nobody's signed it out," he said. 
     Alice pocketed their novels and made quickly for the door as she commented, "We must be traveling with a bunch of book thieves." 

Chapter 3 

Ruse 

     At a cocktail party before dinner (in which the appearance of schnitzel and Viennese pastries mit schlag seemed a bit premature since they were still tied up in a Romanian port), the captain and his officers were introduced.  The event was described in the East-Europa brochure as the "captain's welcome," but most of the tourists probably assumed it was included in the price. Captain Franz Wahl, bearded and well-banqueted, looked more like an orchestra conductor than a sea dog; the Pryes suspected that he left the steering and care of the engines to others. They didn't catch the ship doctor's name, but hoped that  their hoard of antibiotics would make more than a nodding  acquaintance unnecessary. The officer whom Mark Drewry had tipped  was Hugo Preger.  Paul Frye made a mental note of his name. The ship's complement of Kammerfraulein were also presented. The Pryes' blonde chambermaid, Brigitte, was a vision right out of Richard Wagner's Venusberg ballet, but Paul tried his best to look nonchalant. Brigitte did not go into the Pryes' scrapbook because their only memento of the party was Dan Eggleston's photo catching their acknowledgment of the captain's bored greeting.
     Neither Jim Rito nor Arlene Bennett appeared for dinner, but Bert and Kitty James more than compensated for their absence. Bert was enthusiastic about everyone he had met: 
     "The Szabos are a nice young couple, don't you think? And that Mark Drewry, he must be doing very well with his uncle's portfolio, he's certainly got some great investment ideas. As soon as we get to Budapest I'm going to call my broker. Also it's awfully nice of Mark to come on this trip with the old man. There can't be much in it for him, pushing that wheelchair around when he could be with people his own age." Bert beamed at the thought of Mark's altruism. 
     Paul Prye looked over at a table in the alcove where the Drewrys sat alone. Basil was swathed in blankets as on the previous evening and he was shivering as his nephew spoke to him. Unaware that he had lost Paul's attention, Bert continued: 
     "Have you met the Westovers?" 
     Paul's mind clicked back into place just in time: "No, I don't think so." 
     Delighted, Bert pointed to a distant table. 
     "There they are, Charles and Selma. Don't you remember her face from television? They own the Healthy Heart fast-food chain, and Selma always appears in the TV ads as the hostess who shows you the menu with a low cholesterol count." Here he lowered his voice though the Westovers were hardly within earshot. "The Wall Street Journal reports that the Westovers are being investigated by the IRS. It's something about deducting renovations to their summer place." 
     "And what did you think of Oswald Parsons' talk? He seems to be quite an expert on icons." 
     Alice threw herself into the spirit of the evening. 
     "He's practically an icon himself," she said. 

*     *     *
     During the visit to Ruse on the next morning the Pryes and the Jameses trailed closely behind a young, sweet-tempered Bulgarian guide named Ljudmila. She had a small voice and apologetically told the group when she introduced herself that this was her very first foreign-language tour and she was far from fluent in English. If she hoped for sympathy she was disappointed. A derisive chant, "Louder, Ljudmila," directed by Oswald Parsons, overwhelmed her words as she stood at the foot of a tall monument in the center of the square. 
Aurora Gabriel's efforts to silence the hecklers were unavailing; but Claudia Parsons, reddening with embarrassment, snatched away her husband's black beret which he was waving in the air to lead the chorus of his supporters. In the brief period of quiet that ensued, Ljudmila explained that Ruse had been an important site in the nineteenth-century struggle against Turkish domination; Bulgarian exiles had masterminded the uprising from Bucharest. 
     Ken Mestnik, trying to put some distance between himself and his fellow lecturer Parsons, had moved away from the monument with Arkady Grigoriev at his heels, trotting comically as he tried to keep pace with Ken's long stride. Ken's destination was a news kiosk plastered with an advertisement for a local theatre. Bending close to examine the Cyrillic letters, he remarked to Arkady: "I believe they're doing The Good Soldier Schweik. The winds of change must be blowing here. I can almost read the language; it looks like misspelled Russian." 
     As the tourists rejoined them with the Pryes in the lead, Grigorievanswered: "Bulgarian is an old language related to early Slavonic. I fear that the people here regard the Russian language as misspelled Bulgarian." 
     Ljudmila led the restive group to the Church of the Holy Trinity, one of the sunken churches of which Oswald Parsons had spoken. After inspecting the church interior, they were guided into the cramped space of the treasury where the collection of icons was displayed. The line moved very slowly, and the view of the small paintings was often obstructed, so the Pryes mixed their art appreciation with a bit of eavesdropping. 
     In front of them the Westovers were embroiled in a debate that had nothing to do with Bulgarian saints: 
     "It was you that hired the accountant, let's remember that," Selma was saying. 
     "O.K., then it's my fault. But how did I know the guy would be so uncreative. If I just wanted a bookkeeper, I wouldn't have had to pay such a fancy salary.” 
     "It isn't lack of imagination I'm complaining about," Selma retorted. "Of all the people we interviewed, you had to pick the loudmouth." Selma turned her back on her husband but silence didn't relieve her anger. In a few minutes she began her recriminations allover again, as if she and Charles were completely alone in the church treasury. Just before the Pryes stopped listening, she was saying. "What I can't stand is that we really overpaid. They owe us a refund and they know it." 
     Selma's ongoing grievances were matched in volume by Andy Szabo, who was talking past his wife's shoulder to Dan Eggleston: "I have a friend who's working on a new potion that will make a woman hate jewelry and furs but fall passionately in love with the man she's with." 
     "Yuppie," Alice murmured to Paul. "He's groping for something to believe in since the downfall of bottled water." 
     Jim Rito and Arlene Bennett were behind the Pryes. Since they had not joined the Pryes and Jameses for dinner, this was the first time Paul had had a chance to talk with Rito. Alice was right, of course, he must have been close to a decade older than Arlene, but there was not a trace of gray in his meticulously coiffed black hair, and he was close to beardless. Somewhere, perhaps it was at law school, Jim had been taught to be ingratiating.
     "Haven't we met before, Professor Prye? You are not by any chance a member of the Alumni Club of New York?" 
     Paul acknowledged that he did not belong to that elite company but recalled that he had spoken there in an evening program on crime literature. 
     Jim turned up the voltage of his perfect smile. "That must be what I was thinking of. I remember your remarks and how I agreed with everything you said, even when you took issue with the other panelists." 
     Alice had a strong allergy to flattery. "Are you sure it wasn't somewhere else we met?" she suggested. "My father used to take us to Buzz Martin's New Year's Day parties. Maybe we saw you there."
     Rito winced at the mention of Martin's name, and the conversation flagged. Arlene Bennett had listened silently,looking unhappy. As the Pryes moved into the next room, Alice thought she heard Arlene say: "This trip was your idea, Jim."
     When the church visit was over, the Pryes noticed that a crowd was beginning to gather in the main square. "They're coming to hear the deputy prime minister," Ljudmila told them, pointing to a platform that had been erected in front of Communist Party headquarters, constructed in stalinist monolithic style at its ugliest. 
     "This is no place for a picturesque lunch," Alice quickly decided. 
Waving goodbye to the Jameses, the Pryes hailed a taxicab and, trusting implicitly in their Fodor guidebook, drove off to inspect the river gorge to the south of the city. 
     En route Paul seemed lost in thought. Borrowing a favorite phrase her father had used in the family travels of her childhood, Alice said, "Goddam it, Paul, enjoy the scenery."
     Paul apologized for the monomania that always afflicted him when he had a forthcoming lecture on his mind. "I know I'm supposed to be looking at the Bulgarian countryside, but I keep seeing Mayerling." 
     Recognizing that she could not make him shift mental gears, Alice asked him: "Who knew that Rudolph and Mary had arranged a rendezvous at the hunting lodge?" 
     "Well, in the first place there were Loschek and Bratfisch." 
     "Who were they, or have you just made them up? They sound like minor characters from operetta." 
     "They were Rudolph's valet and coachman, the Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern of the Mayerling affair. Bratfisch picked up Mary in a fiacre at a remote gate of the palace and drove into the Vienna Woods where Rudolph's phaeton was waiting at the Red Barn Inn. The Crown Prince adroitly jumped into Mary's carriage and eluded his father's police spies, who followed the phaeton back to Vienna." 
     "Where did Loschek fit into the arrangements?" 
     "He was waiting at Mayerling to serve hot coffee. You don't suppose, do you, that a Viennese couple can do without coffee on a cold winter night, or that royalty can dispense with household service just because they've entered into a suicide pact?" 
     "Who else knew about the flight to Mayerling?" Alice asked, overriding his social commentary with the romantic lingo of the Charles Boyer film. 
     "Of course, the hyperactive go-between, Countess Larisch, had her hand in as usual. She helped Mary sneak away from home on the pretext that they were going shopping. And any number of servants had to be involved, someone to hide Mary at the palace gate, the driver of Rudolph's phaeton, and God knows who else." 
     "Was anyone else at the lodge?" 
     "Yes, the prince had two guests for shooting game, can you believe the coldbloodedness of the man? Count Hoyos was one of the invited hunters and Rudolph's brother-in-law, the Prince of Coburg, was the other. We're expected to believe that while they were dining on roast beef and venison and discussing the day's shoot, they didn't know that Rudolph had Mary hidden away in the bedroom. 
     "The next morning Rudolph and Mary were dead. It was Loschek who axed down the bedroom door and found them." 
     Alice listened attentively, her eyes scanting the rough-hewn beauty of the river gorge. 
     "And yet all those people knew something about those last days," she" said, acknowledging the trend of his thought. 
     "Yes," Paul said and he determined to put Mayerling out of his mind for the day, "that's a problem inherent in every conspiracy. Too many people know something." 

*     *     *
     Manuela Perez and her cousin Carlota took their seats in the last harbor shuttle bus. They were both disgusted that East-Europa had left so little time for shopping, and hoped that the schedule would be more sensible in the bigger cities. 
     The bus was just about to leave when Kurt Lange stepped aboard and took the microphone. He tapped it once or twice and then began to speak in the most comforting tones he could muster: 38 "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I have some rather disturbing local news to report, but I can assure you that there is no cause for concern and that our ship will sail on schedule." 
     Manuela and Carlota exchanged puzzled looks as Lange proceeded. 
     "It seems that this afternoon there has been an attempt on the life of the deputy prime minister during his speech on the main square of Ruse. He was fired on from the crowd and seriously wounded. The assailant apparently escaped, and there is talk that he (or she) may have been a dissident ethnic Turk. Nevertheless, the police are searching all persons leaving the city in hopes of finding the weapon." 
     Manuela comforted her rather faint-hearted cousin: "Don't worry, we'll soon be back on the boat and out of Bulgaria. Thank God East-Europa keeps us moving." Her complaints about limited shopping time now forgotten, Manuela concentrated on Lange's instructions. 
     "All the other buses have gone through the procedures without a hitch - and this will surprise you greatly after yesterday's wait in Giurgiu - without a delay. Let me explain the procedures. When we leave the bus at the port I'll lead you into the immigration shed. You'll find a long trestle table before you as you enter. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to empty all your purses, shopping bags, packages, everything onto the table. The 39 port security guards - most likely unsmiling, but don't let that alarm you - will pass along the table and inspect your possessions. 
     "This is the good news. We've arranged that I can be alongside the guards as they make their inspection, to deal with any misunderstandings that may arise. My Bulgarian is not wonderful, you'll notice that without my having told you, but discreet use of la-leva notes works wonders in this country. That's why East-Europa has given me a most generous allowance." 
     Lange's words seemed to have calmed most of the tourists, because very few questions were asked. 
     The bus reentered Ruse's main square. All seemed quiet, and there was no sign of the recent violence except that Communist Party headquarters were patrolled by a military detachment in combat gear. 
     The gate to the harbor was also heavily guarded. The bus discharged its passengers near a long metallic shed where a reinforced staff of inspectors awaited them. Neither Manuela nor Carlota had any difficulty with the young soldiers who probed their packages. It seemed to them that the young men hadn't the slightest interest in tablecloths and shawls. 

*     *     *
     Before dinner the Pryes joined Bert and Kitty James at the main deck bar. When they arrived they found that the Jameses were at least a couple of rounds ahead of them. Bert introduced Charles and Selma Westover; both had drooping eyelids suggesting that they might have been occupying their stools for quite a while. From what he had heard of the Westovers' quarrel in the church treasury, Paul concluded that their patronage of the barroom was probably not a bad idea. The Drewrys were also at the bar; Basil was sipping a scotch without ice while Mark listened to Bert James. The Drewrys hadn't been ashore at Ruse. 
     Bert was delighted that his audience had grown. "You're just in time, Pryes, I'll start over again. Have you heard about Oswald Parsons?" 
     Alice, guessing he had something new in mind, shook her head. 
     Bert wanted further confirmation. "You didn't come back on the first shuttle bus, did you? I don't think we saw you." 
     "We didn't come back on the bus at all," Paul reminded him. "We took a cab to see the river gorge." 
     Bert was not upset about his absentmindedness. It gave him all the more reason to be grateful to other people for setting him straight. "Oh, yes, of course, you waved goodbye in the square. Well, anyway, Oswald and Claudia - you met her, I think, at the orientation party - were with us on the first bus back to the port. Kurt Lange came along to help us clear the inspection at the immigration shed. And the whole thing went as smooth as silk, except, I should say, for Oswald Parsons." 
     "What in the world had he bought in Ruse, a used revolver with one bullet spent?" Alice liked the image. 
     "No," said Bert, welcoming the interruption since it allowed him to spin out his story a little longer. "The joke is that he hadn't bought anything at all. You see, what the Bulgarians were really interested in was his beret." 
     "His beret?" chorused the drinkers, including several newcomers who had taken places at the bar. Among them were Dan Eggleston, without his camera for the moment, accompanied by Ken Mestnik and Aurora Gabriel. Uninhibited by the presence of East-Europa staffers, Bert James savored the approaching payoff of his narrative: 
     "It seems that the assailant who escaped was described by many onlookers as a little man wearing a black beret. 
     "Parsons showed the police his passport but they were unimpressed. Two of them took him into a side room and started barking questions at him. They left the door open because they figured we wouldn't understand a word. Lange told us they were questioning him in Turkish." 
     "How did he get away?" Dan Eggleston asked. 
     "Search me," Bert said, and then laughed at his unintended pun, "I think he finally convinced them he didn't know a word of Turkish. Quite a story, isn't it?" 
     Alice agreed. "Extraordinary, indeed." 

Chapter 4 

The Iron Gates 

     After the Pryes returned to the ship on the second afternoon of the cruise, they were a little footweary. The port of call was Drobeta-Turnu Severin. A local guide had trooped them around the Roman camp of ancient Drobeta, which was located on a plateau formed by a terrace of the Danube. From there they surveyed the remaining pillars of Emperor Trajan's bridge, which the guide told them had been erected shortly after 100 A.D. by the architect Apollodorus of Damascus. Alice remarked to Arkady Gregoriev that public art had always been risky; Apollodorus seemed to have gotten small credit for his engineering triumph, since Trajan's successor Hadrian banished the great architect and later put him to death. The Russian nodded and responded with an aphorism that seemed designed to foreclose further conversation: "Political favor is a delicate blossom." 
     After paying respects to the Roman camp, the group inspected ruins of the invaders' thermal baths and were then marched at a vigorous pace to the forecourt of the Iron Gates Museum, named after the famous passage their ship would soon make through a gorge of the Carpathian mountains. 
     As the guide went ahead to collect the entrance tickets, Dan Eggleston turned back to photograph Trajan's bridge from above. A uniformed guard rushed forward to block his lens. Pointing towards military installations on the riverbank, the guard shook his index finger to give the well-established international signal of prohibition. Even though the dictatorship had fallen, the old restrictions to which the Pryes had already been introduced at the Bucharest palace were alive and well. Who was to say that the Romanians were entirely wrong? The Roman conquerors had crossed the Danube to vanquish the indigenous Dacian tribes, and the guards at the Drobeta museum were taking no chances with the unknown passengers on the Anton Bruckner. 
     The tour of the museum had begun promisingly. The Pryes lingered over a miniature reconstruction of the Roman bridge and metal replicas of the "Dacian wolves", animal-headed wind instruments that the ancient Romanians had blown in a vain attempt to frighten the enemy legions away. After being shown these highlights, the group threatened mutiny against the guide's deliberate rate of progress through the museum's other exhibits, including typical peasant rooms from the surrounding county and a basement aquarium. "East-Europa's bribed the guide," Charles Westover complained. "She's not going to let us back to the ship before it's time to herd us into the dining room." 
     Westover's prophecy turned out to be inaccurate. The Pryes now sat at a table in the ship's lounge, with at least an hour to spare before dinner. At the next table, Bert James was entertaining Dan Eggleston and Ken Mestnik with new variations on Oswald Parsons' misadventures at Ruse. Ken, giving his words an exuberant stress that made them sound like blank verse, countered with his own Danube tale: "I guess none of us who've worked the Danube can match Oswald's little drama. But the governments always seem to be a little edgy around here. This is the fourth time I've given my lectures on Balkan politics. Whenever I've talked ashore, whether in Bucharest, Belgrade or Bratislava, there always seems to be a fair sprinkling of secret police in the audience. I suppose I shouldn't complain though. It's actually a professor's secret dream to talk to people who not only have to come to his lectures but are obligated to listen to what he has to say." 
     Mestnik's next contribution was even more disturbing: "If you think the Bulgarians are bad, wait till you meet our friends the Yugoslavs. 
     "When we pass through the Iron Gates we'll soon be into territorial waters of Yugoslavia. Their river guards have a nasty habit of boarding tourist boats in the wee hours of the morning. If they're not offered enough to drink, or just got up on the wrong side of the bed, we can be in for an ordeal. They've been known to order all the tourists to assemble in the lounge so that their faces can be compared - as slowly as possible - to their passport photos." 
     "And then they let you go back to sleep?", asked Bert James hopefully. 
     "Sometimes, but that's when you're lucky. More often than not they will pick out a few cabins at random for searches that may be entirely pointless but are certainly thorough. Ithink you better keep your bathrobes close at hand tonight. Friend Lange will probably give everybody warning from the management on Channel 2." 
     "Those SS guys better stay out of my cabin, or they'll find they've got their hands full." These muscular words were spoken by Claudia Parsons, who brought her bottle of Schweppe's ginger ale over from the bar. 
     Ken Mestnik blushed to the hue of his university's famous beet. He was worried that Claudia might have overheard him joining in the gossip about Oswald's mishap. Paul Prye thought that Ken had no cause for alarm. It seemed to him that Claudia was well aware of her husband's gauche behavior and the hostile sentiments it could quickly evoke. As evidence, there was her deft seizure of Oswald's beret when he was heckling the Bulgarian guide. Then, there was Claudia's attachment to ginger ale. Paul had suspected from the time he first met her at the Bucharest party that she was a teetotaler -- at least at social gatherings, where it had become her bitter lot to keep a vigilant eye on her unpredictable husband. 
     The negativism of the conversation was getting to be too much for Kitty James. "Lighten up," she counseled, "let's be happy campers." Singling out Alice, she asked: "Well, was Mr. Strauss right when he called it the 'beautiful blue Danube', or was he just picking a title that would do well in 3/4 time?" 
     "The river may not be blue, but it is beautiful," Alice answered. In less than two days of cruising, she had been persuaded of that. The river was terribly polluted, they'd read that before corning, but that didn't affect sightseeing. Long before ecology had become fashionable, the peoples of the Danube, warring about everything else, had concurred in providing an unbroken screen of trees for the riverbanks. The lower part of the Danube was not thickly settled, and river traffic was light. Prospering forests, sometimes exploited for logging operations, shielded farmlands beyond, but even where industrial installations could be seen, the unending line of trees intervened to guard the waterway. 
     The Pryes, though, were distinctly let down by the Iron Gates. They had visualized a gauntlet of mighty mountains surging from torrential waters to eclipse their memories of Hong Kong and Rio de Janeiro. Instead, at intervals a range of hills rose to a modest height above the river. 
     At dinner, Jim Rito explained the change in the river; although he had arrived late in Romania, he clearly had done his Danube homework. "These gorges were once very deep, but in the 1970s Yugoslavia and Romania raised the river level to power the hydro-electric works we passed near Drobeta. It was all in the name of progress and the fraternal cooperation of the Socialist countries, but it certainly has cut the Iron Gates down a peg or two." 
     Alice was appeased. "The Yugoslavs can drown the Iron Gates without a peep out of me. All I ask is that they let me sleep tonight." 
     Ken Mestnik's lecture that evening was hardly an inducement to sweet dreams. Combining a broad historical vision and a dignified, melancholy style (more poignant because of his usual high spirits), he told of the ages-old tragedy of the Romanian people, situated in the pathway of marauding enemies. An ancient chronicler, Mestnik said, had written that Romanian territory, forever open to invaders, lay "on the road to evil." 
     When his head hit the unresisting pillow of the stateroom bed, Paul was still thinking about Mestnik's speech. Without prelude he commented to Alice, who was still doing her hair: "The history of this river is a lot gloomier than Die Fledermaus, that's been made clear." 
     "Forget about Romania and think about our future," Alice advised him, "it's Mestnik's old tour-stories about Yugoslavia that are giving me premature nightmares. I don't look forward to dealing with hostile Serbs in the early morning hours. Are you prepared to defend my honor?" 
     Paul gave her his best assurances. But the Yugoslav border guards let the Anton Bruckner pass without incident. 

Chapter 5

Belgrade 

     At the threshold of the French impressionist galleries on the second floor of Belgrade's National Museum Aurora Gabriel had a surprise announcement. 
     "I have a special treat in store for you. Kurt Lange was able to persuade the museum guides to allow our own Dr. Parsons to show us the French paintings. It wasn't easy, I can tell you that; Kurt would make a great labor negotiator. Now I'll turn you over to Dr. Parsons." 
     Oswald, standing beside a group of canvases by Camille and Lucien Pissarro, began to rock back and forth on his little feet before he spoke. 
     "Let me tell you the most important thing you'll ever learn about visiting art museums: don't put your weight on your heels. That's the reason most people wear themselves out before they've been through as many as two or three galleries. You must do as I am doing, put a spring in your step and keep your weight well forward, on the balls of your feet." 
     "Balls," Alice repeated dutifully in Paul's ear. 
     "Well," Oswald continued, "that's about all I have to say here. Let's move on to the next room." 
     For lunch the tourists who had come ashore were divided into three groups so that they could sample the charm of the city's small restaurants instead of being steered to a modern hotel. The Pryes' group were taken to Belgrade's oldest cafe, founded by a nineteenth-century physician who had given it a name that was little more than an address, "Cafe beside the Cathedral of the Holy Synod." The clergy, however, were outraged that the cathedral's name had been borrowed by a secular establishment. Forced to remove his signboard, the restaurateur gave vent to anti-authoritarian protest by substituting a new sign that bore only a question mark. To the present day the restaurant was known as the "Question Mark," not an inappropriate trademark for the mid-day meal of an amateur criminologist named Paul Prye. 
     The Pryes sat with Arkady Grigoriev at a sidewalk table. Dan Eggleston, after taking the mandatory photographs of the smiling tourists and another (perhaps for his own collection) of the famous signboard, joined them. 
     "Where do you live in Russia?" Dan asked Arkady casually, as if his query were a routine social ice-breaker. The Pryes had wanted to know more about Grigoriev from the moment they had met in Bucharest but they had been put off by the Russian's laconic conversation and by the vague identification of his address in the tour roster. They now hung on his answer to Dan, but it was disappointing: 
     "I have in my time lived allover the Soviet Union." His 
     country's name, as he pronounced it quickly, seemed to have two syllables at most. 
     Alice was emboldened to pitch in. "But Oswald Parsons mentioned that you've taught art history. Where have you done that?" 
     For the first time Arkady's tongue seemed to loosen a bit. Perhaps it was the effect of the Yugoslav white wine that he had begun to taste: 
     "Oh, you mustn't make too much of what Dr. Parsons told you. I am not an art historian, as you scholarly Americans understand the term. I have taught at the middle-school level and cannot boast any permanent appointment. I've taught wherever the Ministry of Education has found a need. Mrs. Prye, that word may not be appropriate, my English is not strong. I suppose the 'need' for art teachers in the Soviet Union is not great given our more pressing problems. But our country is, of course, vast and therefore my career has taken me to many places from Moscow to eastern Siberia." 
     The Pryes exchanged a marital signal. Grigoriev had detected from Alice's reaction to their Bucharest conversation about Caravaggio that he must have made a blunder and had been waiting for an opportunity to explain, however obliquely. He was obviously a careful man who did not like to be found in error. 
     Dan Eggleston's expression showed plainly that he was not satisfied by the explanation. He was the kind of companion that the Pryes often liked to meet at parties but would not have considered safe to invite to their house. Dan evidently felt that if he asked too many questions it was not his problem; Arkady was perfectly free to tell him off or to refuse to answer. It wasn't a matter of good manners but of playing the odds. Sometimes you got an answer and sometimes you didn't. 
     Dan put his next question in the form of a comment. "It's interesting to have you aboard with us. We don't see too many Russians on the American-sponsored tours." 
     The question did not overshoot Arkady's limits, whatever they were. 
     "That is correct, Mr. Eggleston, but I am convinced that you will see more of us in the future. We used to travel on trade missions, or in professional groups, but now we come to admire the European culture in which we are, to a large degree, participants. Perhaps, as we withdraw our troops from Eastern Europe, we will send you Soviet tourists instead. This will be the new parity of the 1990's." 
     Dan Eggleston warmed to the idea. "I hope you're right, we can always use the business. But, frankly, what really surprised me is that we see you here traveling alone. Is it hard to get permission?" 
     Grigoriev smiled. "Not as hard as you Americans might think. You see, a middle-school art teacher is not commonly the bearer of state secrets." 
     The Pryes could almost hear the veil of concealment (or was it privacy?) being drawn. There would be no more questions. 
*     *     *
     Paul and Alice had signed up for the second of the ship's kitchen tour groups. The first tour, which began shortly after the return from the Belgrade shore excursion, was running overtime and the Pryes waited in the restaurant for someone to guide them. Paul was the only man in the group and felt a little out of place, but Alice would not let him escape. Instead, she tried to include him in her conversation with Liz Szabo. Liz explained her husband's absence: 
     "Andy's got this thing about food. His mother was a beautiful woman who got enormously fat, and he's scared to death I'm going to suffer the same horrible fate. He knew there would be a lot of food on an Austrian cruise ship. I don't know to this day why he picked this tour." 
     "Kitty James mentioned something about your wanting to visit Budapest on your honeymoon." Paul remembered their introduction at the orientation dinner. 
     "That's right, but I'm sure we could have found a low-cal trip, without all that -- what do you call the poppyseed dumplings we get for every other dessert?" 
     "According to the chef, they're Waldviertler," Paul said. He had been struggling for years to master German. "But if Andy's complaining now, wait until we get to Budapest. We've got 
     a Hungarian banquet scheduled for Gundel's restaurant." 
     Alice tried to cheer Liz. "Actually, I've heard that the gypsy music cuts down on the calories, or maybe it just reduces the appetite." Paul suddenly brightened when he saw Ken Mestnik enter the restaurant to add to the token male representation. Ken, exuberant as ever, told them that he was a gourmet cook and always regarded the kitchen tour as a highlight of the Danube cruise. Like an industrial spy, he had brought along a notebook. Paul suspected that Ken was planning to make a list of the chef's secret ingredients. When Liz Szabo congratulated him on his Romanian lecture, the faintness of Ken's acknowledgment was not a sign of modesty. All his passion was bent on their admission into the chef's magic domain. 
     At last Aurora Gabriel arrived to serve as their escort, but when she ushered them into the kitchen, the Pryes were surprised to find that the prior group had not fully vacated the premises. The scene looked like a comic nightmare from a Marx Brothers movie that was too insane to have been released; Alice could even imagine its title on an art-deco marquee, Too Many Cooks. While the chef stood aside in helpless fury, visitors swarmed allover the kitchen, hefting cooking utensils, sniffing at spice jars, even poking into cabinets and freezers. It was clear from the direction of his stare that the chef blamed Aurora for the disorder. 
     The new group seemed unaware of the chaos. Most of their talk seemed to focus on the utilitarian stainless steel that covered almost all surfaces. Kitty James confessed that she'd never replaced her formica counter tops. Selma Westover had corian in her townhouse, but had just installed granite in her country kitchen. A haughty Spanish woman whom the Pryes had not met let it be known above the din that she had not visited her kitchen recently and could not describe it. 
     While crosscurrents of house and garden repartee swirled about him, Ken Mestnik solemnly admired slabs of beef that had been placed on the cutting boards to be sliced for the evening's entree of Tafelspitz. He flared his nostrils to inhale the fumes of a chive sauce that was brewing in a huge kettle. As Aurora finally motioned her charges to the door, Ken floated out as if in a trance. 
     It was a half hour after the kitchen had returned to normal that the chef said to the pastry cook: 
     "Haben Sie mein Messer gesehen?" 
     The chef was right to have been suspicious of the unruly Americans. He could not find his boning knife. After the pastry cook and he had searched the kitchen without success, the chef stalked off to complain to Hugo Preger. Amused but only too familiar with the chef's fiery temperament, the first officer promised to talk to the tour leader, Kurt Lange. 
     In the late afternoon the second channel came on. Kurt Lange spoke with all the insouciance at his command. 
     "We hope you've all enjoyed the kitchen tours. It's fire drill at 5:00 and Professor Mestnik at 5:30, then two nights and a day to relax on the Danube before we reach Budapest. 
     "I have a little message for you from the chef. No, it's not a change in the menu. You'll still have your choice of veal strips in cream sauce or prime boiled beef, followed by 'Gundel' pancakes to prepare you for our night in Budapest. It's a more personal matter the chef has asked me to bring up. It seems that during the kitchen tours the chef's favorite boning knife has been -- mislaid. It's a sharp knife, nothing to touch carelessly, with the name of the ship burned into the handle. Now it does not seem likely to me, despite the sensitivity of our chef, that one of you could have taken it as a souvenir. In any case, I would remind you that mementos of the cruise can be purchased at the gift shop near the reception desk on main deck. 
     "That's more than enough said, and I add the following only at the insistence of the chef. He's requested me to say that the return of the knife will be gratefully accepted, no questions asked. There, I've now done my duty, except to repeat that the chef, like all great artists, is a sensitive man. We'd all hate to see his cuisine deteriorate." 
     Alice was not at all pleased to be told that she was cruising the Danube with a kleptomaniac or a moody chef, or both, and she was not much happier to have to don her life jacket and rally near the life boats on the sun deck for the abruptly announced drill. 
     "This is ridiculous," she fumed to Paul as she took her station. "Have you ever heard of a fire-drill on a river boat? I guess we were lucky they didn't hand out parachutes on our Burgundy barge." Kitty James, overhearing Alice, offered an explanation: 
     "You don't see the point, shame on you; it's another photo opportunity. Hide your face, here comes Dan Eggleston." 
     Alice would have followed her advice if there had been anywhere to hide because she'd never looked her best in orange "Mae Wests." 
     Ken Mestnik, his mind probably on his next lecture, produced another justification for the drill that was uncharacteristically pedantic: 
     "It's probably a ritual in honor of St. Florian, the patron saint of Upper Austria. He was drowned in the Danube." 
     "That may be wonderful old-time religion," said Claudia Parsons, looking like a monument in her straining life-jacket, "but nowadays we can all swim." 
     Not everyone in the group agreed with her. A few passengers, nervously identifying their lifeboats, remarked that, left to their own devices, they'd never make it to the nearest shore. 
     While fire drillers waited for Captain Wahl to inspect their ranks, Bert James told the Pryes the results of his two days' study of social life on the Anton Bruckner. 
     "They claim we're near full capacity, but I don't believe it. We must be a lot closer to 40 aboard than 60. It must be all the political upheavals of the last year. Nobody wants to be caught in the middle of a - - -." He groped for a sufficiently melodramatic example. 
     "How about an assassination attempt in Ruse, for instance?" Kitty suggested to her vague husband. 
     "Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten that for a moment." He lost his train of thought, and before he could rediscover it, Captain Wahl, speaking through a bullhorn, congratulated all the passengers on their jacket lacings and dismissed them. 
     At dinner, however, Bert had once again taken up the thread of the Anton Bruckner's social labyrinth. He told his tablemates: 
     "The ship doctor, Walther Hoppe, is a nice fellow, he's a graduate of the Vienna medical school. He seems to be traveling with his wife. At least I think he said she's his wife, but I may have lost something in translation. He's got some accent. Her name's Gisela; you must have noticed her, a real knockout with ashblond hair. 
     "By the way, Gisela's some kidder. She speaks flawless English, and when I asked where she had learned to speak so well, guess what .she told me." 
     "We wouldn't dare," Alice said. 
     "Well, without batting an eye, she said, 'I learned my English in bed. That's where I've picked up all my foreign languages; it's the one place you never have to use the subjunctive. '" 
     "She sounds like a dear," Kitty suggested. 
     Bert treasured his recollection before proceeding with his shipboard.survey. 
     "Anyway, where was I? It's a amazingly cliquish tour. There are the Spanish, of course, or maybe they're Venezuelans. They pretty much keep to themselves and spend a lot of time in the gift shop. Most of them seem to be down below on Neptune deck. 
     "Then we have the penthouse bunch. They've got the large cabins on the sun deck and seem to know each other from back home. They're the folks who keep the bartenders busy and don't seem all that keen on land excursions." 
     "Are the Westovers part of the penthouse set?" Alice asked. 
     "They live up there and probably have the biggest suite of all. But they seem to be treated like social outcasts; maybe it's because of all the publicity about their tax problem. Whatever the reason, the penthouse dwellers don't like them, and the result seems. to be that Charles and Selma -- when they're not cursing their accountant -- seem to be a tad more sociable to the mere mortals below. 
     "That brings me to the good guys, the salt of the earth, the folks in the main deck cabins. Us for example," he explained, circling the table with his benevolent look. Arlene Bennett smiled back wanly. 
     "By the way, Pryes and Ritos, you seem to be missing half the fun on board." 
     "That's Rito and Bennett," Jim reminded him. Paul did not think that Bert had intended more than a clumsy shorthand. 
     Before Bert could continue his report Aurora Gabriel drew up a chair. 
     "How are things going?" she asked their table. Alice thought Aurora wasn't making much of an effort to disguise the fact that she was "coordinating" them. The East-Europa training handbook must have ordered her to make her rounds of the tables on the first night out of Belgrade. 
     But Bert took her question as a spontaneous burst of friendly interest. "Well, it depends whether you're talking about the tour or the poker. Kitty and I are planning to get our revenge tonight. with pigeons like us aboard, I bet East-Europa doesn't have to pay you and the doc more than your fares." 
     Aurora's smile faded and she was hunting for a reply when Kitty came to her rescue. "Get over it," she told Bert irritably. "Don't blame Aurora and Hoppe; when it comes to cards, you just can't keep your heels out of the egg yolk. Sometimes I think you must be color blind." 
     Paul thought it best to ask Aurora about their next stop, Budapest. 
     "It's my first visit," she said in a confessional tone. "I'm afraid it's going to be a hectic day. We dock on the Pest side, and by the time we get back to the ship we'll barely have time to change for the dinner at Gundel's. Have you seen the brochure? The garden looks like it hasn't changed at all from the nineteenth century." She left them a pamphlet about the restaurant and moved on to talk to the Westovers and Mark and Basil Drewry. 
     "Which one's Hoppe?" asked Alice when Aurora had left. 
     Bert figured that Alice was more impressed with his anecdote about Gisela than she had let on. "He's sitting opposite the captain and Gisela's at his left." He leered at Paul, hoping for confirmation of his high opinion of Gisela, whose backless piquet dress was very flattering. 
     "She's lovely," Alice said, and Bert, who was satisfied, continued: 
     "Well anyway Walther and Gisela are great friends of the main deckers. After dinner we gather in the starlight Lounge for drinks and the night owls stay for poker. By the way, how is it Table 5 never joins us? You're missing the best part of the cruise. We can forgive Jim and Arlene for - what did Gilbert and Sullivan say? - 'seeking the seclusion that a cabin grants'. They're young and foolish. But what's your excuse, Pryes? People are beginning to talk." 
     Kitty was speechless, not her usual state, but nobody else took offense; the naivete of Bert's good humor was open for all to see. To reassure Kitty, the Pryes agreed to have their coffee with them in the Starlight Lounge. Jim Rito and Arlene Bennett, after a discreet and amicable conference, came along. 
     Table 5 was the first to arrive in the cocktail lounge. Waiting for their coffee to be brought, Bert maintained his shameless conviviality. 
     "This is the place where everybody lets their hair down. If you know your way around, it's a different woman every night." 
     The Pryes wondered what in the world he could be talking about, but judged from Kitty's bored reaction that it must be something pretty harmless. They were right. 
     Bert reached into his wallet for souvenirs of his first three nights on the rlver. with a pride that was only partly charade, he showed them photographs of his card table at the Starlight Lounge. The subject matter and pose were always the same. The focus was on Bert, his cards spread fan-like in his hands, a broad smile on his face that left only a few teeth concealed, and a woman's arms encircling his neck. One night it was Aurora Gabriel who embraced him and then her place was taken by Claudia Parsons, whose clasp seemed tighter. A third woman seemed embarrassed by the pose and quite out of place, as if she had been forced to poke her stylish head through a photographer's cardboard Calamity Jane in a wild-west amusement park: it was Gisela Hoppe, the ship doctor's wife. 
     One by one the Starlight regulars began to trickle in. Bert James greeted them all, determined to play host. The Westovers came in with Aurora Gabriel, and Claudia Parsons followed, her arm around Andy Szabo's waist. Paul and Alice were surprised to see Mark Drewry wheel his uncle up to the bar. 
     "The old man keeps late hours," Alice said to Paul. "There seems to be a lot of strength left in his elbow." 
     Believing they had now done their duty, the Pryes said goodnight to Bert and Kitty James. They noticed that Jim Rito and Arlene Bennett had already beaten them to the door. 

*     *     * 
     A little after 2:00 a.m. Captain Wahl, leaning over the railing as he enjoyed the night's last cigar, looked down on the main deck below. The deck was quiet, except that when he craned his neck to the right the captain caught sight of young Drewry pushing the wheelchair aft at a gentle pace. The old gentleman was completely covered with blankets to protect him against the early morning chill. "What a dutiful young man," Wahl thought as he gazed at the receding back of the figure pushing the chair, "just like children used to be." He threw his cigar into the Danube, and retired for the night. 
     About an hour later a sailor mopping the main deck saw a bulky rectangular object silhouetted against the railing thirty feet ahead of him. At first he thought it was a deck chair but when he approached he realized that its back and seat were not of canvas; it 'was the wheelchair that the elderly passenger used. The wheelchair was empty. Odd that it should be here. The invalid's young male nurse or companion, whatever he was, was accustomed to wheel the old man in the fresh air but why would he leave the chair here? Could the old man walk, at least with assistance? The sailor did not give the question much thought. He knew that First Officer preger had given his permission for the wheelchair to be kept in the lobby, and he had half a mind to collapse it and carry it back to its usual storage place. He thought better of the idea, though, and decided to mind his own business.

Chapter 6

On the Danube

     As the Pryes passed through the lobby on the way to breakfast, they witnessed what seemed at first like a replay of a scene on the afternoon they had boarded. At least the characters were the same, Mark Drewry and First Officer Preger. Mark's mood, however, was much more truculent: 
     "It's easy for you to tell me not to get excited. You don't have to worry about getting my 200 pound uncle to the restaurant. It's got to be somewhere on the ship, and I want it found now, even if it takes the whole crew." 
     The wheelchair, usually propped against the lobby wall was missing. The Pryes, not wanting to intrude, quickened their steps, but not before they caught Preger's words: 
     "It's probably out on deck somewhere. We stacked the deck chairs last night because it looked like rain; somebody must have borrowed the wheelchair and forgotten to return it." 
     Alice had another theory when they brought their breakfast diet of muesli and raspberry yogurt to a table for two next to the partition that divided the main restaurant, hung with viennese art nouveau wallpaper, from the more modestly decorated alcove that adjoined it. 
     "I'll bet it's two of our tippling friends from the starlight Lounge. After a few too many Mozart liqueurs, they probably swiped the wheelchair for a joy ride around the sun deck. Talk about poor taste!" 
     Before Alice offered her explanation Hugo Preger had found the empty wheelchair on the main afterdeck. 

*     *     *
     Brigitte was very knowing and tolerant despite her young years. She had a busy life of her own and during the Danube cruise was having a difficult time allotting her favors between two sailors she particularly liked. still she did her cabin work conscientiously, but without snooping (like some of the other chambermaids she could mention) to see what she could learn about the tastes or vices of the passengers. 
     It was not a shock to her to find blood on the bedsheets in Cabin 12 on the main deck. This was far from the first time that she had made such a discovery, and people said that cruises were themselves a kind of sexual stimulant. If anything surprised her it was that the women had waited so long to begin, but of course (and here Brigitte's usual tolerance momentarily failed her) Americans were so prudish. 
     She removed the bottom sheet and then found that she had to take the top sheet as well, for the blood had soaked through. Her superior (who also ran the laundry) would really be cross with Brigitte if she brought her such a difficult cleaning chore; it would be best to sneak into the laundry room when Frau Müller wasn't there and to intermingle the sheets with the other soiled linen. 
     After cleaning the bathroom, Brigitte emerged to pick up the bedlinen from the cabin floor where she had thrown it in a tangle. For the first time her eye was drawn to the wall behind the head of the bed. Radiating in starlike points were three large stains amid a galaxy of spatter that could have been left by a careless painter if they had not been of the same reddish color. 
     Brigitte did not take the bedsheets from the floor and left the cabin in search of Frau Müller. She prided herself on her ability to look calm under any circumstances. When she found Frau Müller and showed her the disturbing scene in Cabin 12, her supervisor gave her a stern instruction. Under pain of immediate dismissal Brigitte was not to mention her discovery to anyone; Frau Müller would herself bring the matter to the attention of Doctor Hoppe. 
     Brigitte swore to Frau Müller that she would remain silent. 
     Any promises of secrecy she made, however, were always subject to one undisclosed reservation. She never kept anything, not even a lover's name and qualifications, from her good friend Liesl. 

*     *     *
          When they had finished breakfast, the Pryes moved out onto the sun deck. After yesterday's unsettled weather, the sun had returned but ever since the day in Ruse it had been unseasonably cold. Despite all the talk about the greenhouse effect Paul and Alice were pessimistic travelers and were glad to be bundled up in sweaters and scarves. While Alice immersed herself in a biography of Egon Schiele in preparation for the exhibition she planned to attend in Vienna, Paul reviewed the draft of his Mayerling speech: 
Just as the English never tire of unmasking the definitive Jack the Ripper, so the Austrians show an inexhaustible power to invent new solutions for the Mayerling tragedy. Last year's centenary WLS marked not only by a flood of new books but by a major television documentary in Communist Hungary. In light of all the new theories, only a confessed fuddy-duddy can espouse the tradition that, in a suicide pact, Rudolph killed Baroness Mary Vetsera first and then shot himself. This seems like pretty dull stuff, when we are now told to believe that the prussians had Rudolph and Mary assassinated because they did not like Rudolph's liberal politics, or that Vienna's own sharpshooters polished off the prince when he couldn't bring himself to commit suicide. For people who love their Verdi, we have the new theory of Clemens Gruber, appropriately an opera archivist in Vienna, that the lovers were shot by vengeful relatives of Mary Vetsera who broke into their room at the hunting lodge after a drinking party. And for those who are determined to rid the Mayerling story of all its romance, Gerd Holler, a physician, theorizes that Rudolph had procured an abortion for Mary and shot himself after she bled to death. 

Before you sneer at our Austrian hosts, I should confide that books on Kennedy assassination conspiracies now fill three shelves in my library. 

In any event, there you have the theories. Before we take them up one by one, I will give a warning. I find that the more complicated the solution, the more likely it is to be wrong. 
     Paul's pencil hovered over this last sentence. It was an effective attention-grabber with which to cap an introduction to a lecture, but he was not certain it reflected his views as a historian. 
     As he was poised to strike it out, Kurt Lange gave them his peculiar Viennese greeting: 
     "Good morning, Professors Prye. You are both hard at work, I see, and I therefore regret having to disturb you, but the captain would like to see you in his quarters." 
     "Both of us?" Alice asked optimistically. 
     Lange found it hard to extricate himself from the ambiguity of his statement, and found it easier to agree. "Of course, why not." 
     The Pryes followed him up the exterior stairway to the sun deck and then to the captain's quarters which were located close to the starlight Lounge. Kurt knocked sharply on the door, and they were quickly admitted by Captain Wahl. The captain's stiff greeting did not vary much from the perfunctory welcome recorded on Dan Eggleston's photo at the first night's cocktail party. 
     The only other person in the room was Dr. Hoppe, who rose from his chair to shake their hands with a vigorous downward thrust that made him resemble a bellringer. 
     When they were all seated, Kurt Lange acted as spokesman. 
     "Professor Prye," he began, turning to Paul, "we've invited you here for a distressing reason." 
     Paul said nothing, so Lange, having little to show for his dramatic beginning, had to continue: 
     "Miss Gabriel is missing." 
     "Missing from the ship?" Paul asked, realizing immediately how foolish his question must have sounded. He had spoken only to give himself time to recover from his surprise. 
     Lange nodded almost imperceptibly. "We think she is missing from the ship." 
     These preliminaries exasperated Alice, who was far less patient than her husband. "When did you first miss her? I remember seeing her last night at dinner and I think afterwards as well." 
     Kurt Lange shrank before her comment. "We don't know exactly when she disappeared or how it happened, but we had best let Dr. Hoppe tell you what he found in her cabin. Mrs. Prye, you are welcome to stay, but I warn you that you may find what the doctor has to tell us quite unsettling." 
     Paul spoke for her. "Don't worry about Alice, Kurt. She's a lot tougher than she looks." 
     Dr. Hoppe was evidently persuaded, because his description of Cabin 12 was clinically detailed. When he had finished, Paul asked him: 
     "What did you make of the bloodstains?" 
     "Forensic science is not my field, Dr. Prye, but I have worked with emergency medical groups during my years of training. I believe that the volume of bleeding and particularly the stains on the wall indicate the use of a striking or cutting instrument." 
     "And does the volume of blood loss suggest to you that the wounds must have been fatal?" 
     At this point Dr. Hoppe paused for a moment's reflection and was guarded in his response. "I have, of course, thought about that" question but have reached no definite conclusion. There was, however, a great deal of blood spilled." 
     "This is dreadful news," Paul said, when it became apparent that Dr. Hoppe had nothing further to add. It seemed clear to Paul that their hosts had carefully allocated their respective roles for the meeting, and he looked expectantly at Kurt Lange and Captain Wahl to see which had been appointed as the next speaker. The choice fell on Lange, who gave Hoppe an approving glance and then explained the captain's invitation: 
     "You know, Professor Prye, this event leaves East-Europa in a very embarrassing position. Needless to say, we have no experience in dealing with emergencies of this kind. Tomorrow we dock in Budapest and, although the politics of that country seem to be taking a turn for the better, we have no wish to become embroiled with the Hungarian police authorities. In any event, we would hardly know what to tell them except that some act of . violence seems to have been committed in Cabin 12 and our group coordinator has disappeared. We are especially concerned because Miss Gabriel is one of your compatriots; we do not wish our American clients to become involved in European investigative procedures which may, at best, not resemble your own. Therefore we feel fortunate to have on board an American criminologist. It is the captain's wish, and ours, that you might be of some assistance to us in our difficulty." 
     Paul decided that he could do with a lot less vagueness. "What is it that you think I could do for you?" 
     Kurt Lange's response was much briefer than his introduction. "We hoped that you might find out whether the English-speaking passengers can shed any light on the disappearance." 
     At this point, the captain intervened abruptly like an anxious actor anticipating his cue. "Mr. Lange, we must not forget the - how do you say it? - Grundregeln." 
     "Ground rules," Lange explained, without pausing to inquire about the state of the Pryes' command of German. 
     "Yes," Captain Wahl resumed. "That is it exactly. The ground rules must, we regret, be very severe. In the first place, we have agreed this morning with the Vienna police that Cabin 12 is to be sealed until we disembark at the capital. Therefore, Professor Prye, we can unfortunately not permit you to view the cabin. This is perhaps no great loss to you since Dr. Hoppe has given you a very accurate description of the scene." 
     Alice was surprised when Paul answered promptly, "I can live with that." 
     Encouraged by his compliance, the captain went on. "It is also necessary that you not repeat to anyone outside these quarters what we have told you about Miss Gabriel's disappearance." Disappearance. There was that word again, Alice noticed; their hosts seemed to have reached firm agreement on the safest term to describe what had befallen Aurora Gabriel.      Irked by their solidarity, she asked mischievously: 
     "Is this also a ground rule laid down by the Vienna police?" 
     Captain Wahl took her on. "It is just common sense that we do not want to discuss the details. It is not wise to alarm the passengers without good reason." 
     Alice wondered whether the captain was speaking for East-Europa rather than in behalf of the police. The company obviously didn't want passengers to bailout in a panic and claim refunds. 
     Paul, intrigued by the prospect of another investigation, preferred to play along with Wahl's restrictions. "The passengers will soon notice Miss Gabriel's absence if they have not done so already. What will you tell them about her?" 
     Kurt Lange, master of the ship's public relations, swung back into the dialogue. "I suppose that I have been chosen to head the 'white lies' department. To any inquiries that may be made today we shall answer that she is indisposed. Tomorrow morning I will announce on the ship's information channel that she has had to leave us in Budapest because of a family emergency." 
     "But will they believe you?" Alice asked. 
     Lange's reply was confident. "They are on vacation. Ithink they will accept whatever I tell them." 
     Paul had not thought for a moment of turning down the assignment, however constricted it would be. "Who do I report to?" he asked cheerfully. 
     "To me," said Lange, with no disagreement on the part of Wahl or Hoppe. 
     "That will be fine," Paul said, and sensing that decisive action was necessary to prevent the captain from dismissing them, he began firing questions before Wahl had time to rise from his desk. "Has Miss Gabriel been on the Anton Bruckner before?" 
     Lange had obviously been deputed to field requests for information. 
     "No, this is her first trip with us." 
     "And is it also her very first cruise of the Danube?" 
     Lange looked to the captain for information, or perhaps for an instruction, but neither was forthcoming. Finally, the tour leader said: "I am afraid that we do not know." 
     "How long has she worked for East-Europa?" 
     This time Lange replied quickly without looking at the captain. "We do not know that either. I can tell you I have never worked with her before." 
     Paul was not satisfied. "This may be quite important. Would it be possible for you, without violating the 'ground rules', to ask East-Europa's offices to tell us the date of her hiring, background and previous employment, whatever they may have on record?" 
     Once again Lange looked over at captain Wahl, who nodded slightly. "We will do that," Kurt said, as the captain stood up to end the interview. 
     During their walk back to the lounge where Oswald Parsons was to lecture on the "abiding beauties of Budapest", Alice warned Paul: "If I were you, I wouldn't forget The Redheaded League." 
     "What do you mean by that?" Paul asked, grateful that for a change she was drawing a homily from Sherlock Holmes instead of Agatha Christie. 
     "You'll recall that the poor carrot top is given a completely imaginary assignment, while beneath his feet the villains are tunneling into the bank vault." 
     "I take it that despite my gray hairs, you're casting me as the gullible redhead and the trio we've just left as the conspirators." 
     "Not quite," Alice answered, "as I recall, Doyle's redhead didn't have the advantage of a perceptive wife." 

*     *     *
    Oswald Parsons' ecstasies over Budapest did not hold Paul Prye very long. When the talk was no more than 15 minutes old, Alice noticed she was alone; at New York academic seminars, Paul was famous for taking a seat with an unobstructed path to the nearest exit, but Alice had not realized the extent to which he had perfected his silent retreats. This time he had escaped to freedom without her catching him in the act. 
     Before she had a chance to become angry, however, he returned, whispering in the semidarkness: "Did I miss anything?" 
     "Mainly adjectives, typical of the Wandering Wasp. Alice had decided that the Man without a Museum deserved a second nickname of her own making. 
     When the lights came up, the Pryes headed back for their cabin; they had not yet had a chance to talk about their meeting with Captain Wahl. At the head of stairway they came upon Bert and Kitty James. Bert asked them: "Is Aurora Gabriel in the lounge? We've been hunting for her all over the ship. She said something last night about organizing a shopping tour tomorrow in Pest." 
     It took a great effort for Paul to say only that he had not seen Aurora at the lecture. He would have liked nothing better than to begin picking Bert's sociable brain about Aurora, but it would have been premature. If he was to keep the secret about Aurora's "disappearance", he must show no special interest until Kurt Lange had time to broadcast his fictitious story about her leaving the ship at Budapest. 
     In their cabin Alice agreed with his plan to defer their investigation for a day, but was already full of enthusiasm: "You'll find me very helpful, I promise you that. You see, I've read Death on the Nile and seen the movie twice. Are there shipboard murders in real life?" 
     Her question was so broad Paul hardly knew where to begin. "I don't suppose you want me to tell you stories of pirates or their modern heirs, the terrorists. You surely remember the Achille Lauro." 
     Alice thought he was being difficult. "I don't think you believe we've got a terrorist aboard. Isn't it the terrorist's trademark to claim credit and scare the hell out of everybody else?" 
     "This cruise is, of course, still in its early days. We don't know what's to happen next." Paul, however, did not look particularly nervous, and Alice decided to take his answer as a quibble. "All right, you've made your point, Professor Prye. We can't predict the future, but humor this reader of old-fashioned mysteries. Let's rule out piracy, terrorism, and I'll even add mutiny for good measure. Are there other kinds of shipboard murders, or did Agatha Christie just make the whole thing up?" 
     Paul thought for a moment. "The most recent is the Roston case. In 1988 a honeymooner, Scott Roston, a chiropractor, choked his bride Karen and threw her from the deck of a luxury liner off the coast of southern California. She was discovered drowned in the sea 30 miles from San Diego." 
     "How'd he explain what happened?" Alice asked. 
     "He told many stories, each stranger than the last. At first he claimed that a strong wind blew her overboard while they were jogging. Later he blamed the crime on Israeli secret agents taking revenge for his publication of a vanity-press book exposing the alleged excesses of the Mossad. For one fleeting moment only I felt sympathy for the man, and that was when it was revealed that exactly one copy of his book had been sold." Paul's learned tomes on urban history were not on the bestseller lists. 
     "It's a bizarre case," Alice conceded, but it would be more relevant to our inquiry if the victim had been Liz Szabo instead of Aurora." 
     Paul agreed. "You're righter than you know. The people on the Roston cruise were just as gossipy as our bunch. What I found most interesting in the case was what fellow passengers told police about the honeymooners' shipboard behavior: Roston had seemed to lose patience with his wife over trifles, such as her propensity for sweets. True crime would be so much less puzzling if people always killed for legacies, the way they do in your Agatha Christies. Roston was a physical fitness nut and Karen had the misfortune to serve as his masseuse after he injured himself in a fall down a flight of stairs.” 
     Alice felt she had to remind him again. "Paul, it isn't Liz Szabo who's disappeared. Aurora's not been honeymooning.” 
     Paul did not let the point go by without comment. "You're right, of course, so far as we know. But I should point out to you that the game you play with the tour roster, matching up cabinmates, has its limits. It's entirely acceptable for any combination of consenting adults to share a cabin on a modern cruise, subject to one important qualification -- if they're not married, they have to be paying tourists. We still expect old-fashioned morality, or its appearance at least, on the part of the cruise staff. So Aurora couldn't list a sleep-in friend on the tour roster. That doesn't necessarily mean she's been leading a puritanical life on the Danube." 
     Alice brightened. "You're telling me she may have been done in by a secret lover. That's a whole lot better than a weight-watching honeymooner, but do you have anyone like that on your bookshelves?" 
     "Yes I do, and I think you will remember his name, James Camb, the 'Porthole Murderer. '" 
     A few years before the Pryes had been invited to the solemn proceedings of a London crime society peopled mainly by judges and barristers. Before dinner the Pryes met an elderly gentleman who had assisted the prosecution of Camb in 1948 and had an undimmed recall of the bizarre details of the case. A steward on the Durban Castle, a ship homeward bound from Cape Town to Southampton, Camb murdered Gay Gibson in her cabin and pushed her body through the porthole into the sea. The jury rejected the defendant's story that the young actress had suffered a fatal heart attack during their lovemaking, and that panic over the dubious circumstances of her death led him to dispose of her body.” 
     "Do you believe Camb's account?” Alice asked after he refreshed her memory of the evidence. 
     "I'm often left in doubt when I've read a trial transcript. It's my weak will, I suppose, but I seem to be persuaded in turn by each lawyer who speaks. In Camb's case, matters aren't made easier by the fact that Gay Gibson's body was never recovered from the ocean, and there was some evidence that she might have had a prior heart condition. When all is said and done, I'm' swayed by what the prosecutor told us in London. It's hard to persuade a jury - or me, for that matter - that a man who didn't murder a woman would stuff her body through a porthole.” 
     “But I assume you think Camb and Gay Gibson were having an affair.” 
     Paul took a customary step backwards in his analysis. “Perhaps, but there's no doubt he was flirting. Someone overheard him say to her, 'I have a bone to pick with you, and a big one at that.' At trial he claimed he was referring to her having left untouched a tray he had brought to her cabin. The explanation obviously didn't sell very well. I think there were at least the preliminaries of a shipboard romance stirring between them, and maybe he went a little faster or farther than she had in mind. any event, there's a good deal more glamor in the case than in In America's closest equivalent, Mate Bram; he was the male sex's answer to Lizzie Borden." 
     Paul told Alice how first mate Thomas Bram, on a voyage out of Boston on the three-master Herbert Fuller in 1896 axed to death on a single bloody night Captain Nash, the captain's wife and the second mate, August Blomberg. Bram persuaded the crew to back his story that Blomberg, lusting after Mrs. Nash, killed both her and her husband before turning his butcher's weapon against himself. In fact, Bram was probably attributing his own libidinous impulses to the second mate, who was no more than an inconvenient witness. 
     "Edmund Pearson has a wonderful line in his account of the case," Paul said in summation, "The crew wasn't especially gullible but was misled by a tendency we all share. People are inclined, Pearson writes, to blame everything on the dead and to 'go light-heartedly into the future.'" 
     Mate Bram didn't appeal to Alice. "I don't like what you're suggesting. If we're looking for a Bram-type it could be just about any loony on the crew. Maybe even the chef whq might have been searching all the cabins for his damn boning knife and found that Aurora was the guilty party. But I'll accept Pearson's moral. Whatever's happened, I won't blame Aurora." 
     Paul welcomed the diversion provided by Alice's allusion to the chef. "At least you've turned us away from love and lust. What did Noel Coward write? If love were all, some of us would be lonely. I think that's even true of shipboard murderers. Take California's gambling ship murder of 1933. A shot rings out, a man is found dead on the promenade deck, and before the passengers are released, another man confesses. Motive?" 
     Alice refused to guess. "It's not love or lust, you've given that away." 
     "Quite right, it was a quarrel over a kidnapping plan between two professional criminals. One of the men refused to go along with the idea, angry words followed, and the recalcitrant crook shot his companion. What do you say to that pattern? Perhaps we should look for a man who played Clyde to Aurora's Bonnie." 
     Decisively Alice selected Carob as her favorite among the criminals Paul had offered up. "After the secret lover theory, you've slumped badly. I think you had something there, and I was really rather proud of your progress for a moment, since I've never regarded you as a talented detective of scandal. Of crime, perhaps, but scandal seems to pass you by unnoticed. 
     "Let's suppose there is a secret lover of Aurora's aboard and that he wasn't a quick worker like your friend Mr. Carob. Very likely he knew Aurora before he came aboard, more than that, he decided to take this cruise with her. You've observed that he couldn't be listed as her cabinmate, it's not a brilliant point 80 but accurate all the same. But he wouldn't satisfy the cruise morality code just by taking quarters elsewhere; he'd need something more than that." 
     "What would that be?" Paul asked with the genuine interest she foresaw. 
     "Cover," she said. "The lover doesn't want to be spotted immediately so he joins the cruise in the company of another woman who diverts our attention. You'd know all about that if you'd read Women's Wear Daily instead of the Notable British Trials. When a female celeb wants to go to a hot party she brings along a harmless escort called a 'walker'. That's what we've got to find only in reverse, a man with a female 'walker.' And to start you off in the right direction, I've got a promising candidate." Alice paused to give him a sporting chance to come up with the name she had in mind. 
     "I'm not too good at 'walkers.' Who's your suspect?" 
     "Why not Arlene Bennett? We both thought her separate travel arrangements a little odd, but we seem to have been looking for the wrong kind of explanation. It appeared to us that Bennett and Rito didn't want to be seen together in New York, but what if Aurora's the key? Maybe Rito's the secret lover we're looking for. Aurora may have been the jealous type who would have insisted Jim fly to Romania alone so he wouldn't be tempted to fool around with the 'walker. '" 
     "It's a wonderful theory, quite up to your highest standards. How do you test it?" 
     "Nothing simpler. When we get to Budapest, I call Buzz Martin, Rito's senior partner, and ask a few questions about his colleagues." 
     "How do you explain the call?" 
     "No problem," Alice said with assurance. "He's a worse gossip than I am. Dad used to call him Louella." 
     When Paul made no further comment Alice assumed correctly that his thoughts were elsewhere. He was studying the deck plan of the Anton Bruckner. 
     "By the way," she said, "I assume you've noticed you can't open our cabin's porthole; it's set into the wall. Don't you suppose that Aurora's cabin is built the same way?" 
     "I don't know," Paul said without looking up, "but we're going to find out." 
     "How do we do that?" Alice asked, prepared to be impressed. 
     Paul rose. "You'll recall that I slipped away for a few minutes during Oswald's Budapest lecture. I went to see the accommodating First Officer Preger. For a remarkably small sum, he agreed to lend me a key to Aurora's cabin. We're going in there tomorrow night." 

Chapter 7

Budapest

     Kurt Lange was at his nonchalant best on the second channel. It was only after he outlined disembarkation plans for Budapest and warned of the continuing raw weather that he came to the report for which the Pryes were waiting.
     "My last bulletin I read with the greatest regret. Our group coordinator Aurora Gabriel had to leave the tour as soon as we arrived early this morning in Budapest. She told us that a close relative faces a medical emergency back home, but that she has reason to believe all will be well. Miss Gabriel was especially sad to part without saying goodbye, because, in the short time we have been together, she has grown extremely fond of all of you. I know that I spoke for the entire group when I wished her all the best." 
     Alice was disgusted. "That guy really lays it on with a trowel. Remind me never to play poker with him in the starlight Lounge. Do you suppose he's also lying about this rotten weather? I certainly hope so." 
     Paul had a somewhat higher opinion of Kurt Lange's strategy. The morning broadcast had been delayed for about a half Lange was obviously hoping that, in the rush to get the an hour. best seats on the buses, the tourists would have no time to give much thought to Aurora. 
     As it turned out, the strategy didn't work. When the Pryes went up to the lecture room after breakfast to await the disembarkation announcement, the Jameses, abetted by Charles and Selma Westover, were presiding over a hastily gathered caucus of the "main deckers." 
     "The announcement is pure bullshit," Bert told the group with a testiness the Pryes were surprised to encounter in a man whose politeness had never seemed to fail him. "I hunted for Aurora allover the ship for two nights and a day. I couldn't find her anywhere. And don't tell me she was secluding herself in her cabin worrying about her relative. Yesterday I knocked on her door on at least five occasions - well spaced - and there was no answer." 
     "Well, what's your explanation?" 
     Ken Mestnik and Dan Eggleston had spoken almost simultaneously and grinned at each other to signal that both were willing to yield the floor. 
     "What do you think, Oswald?" Eggleston at last ventured a follow-up question. "You've sailed with Lange before. Is he pulling our leg?" 
     Oswald Parsons, adjusting his beret in anticipation of the order to disembark, did not want to join the fray. "My expertise qualifies me to determine the authenticity of artworks, not of our morning P.A. announcements." 
     Selma Westover, looking over the rest of the assembled main deckers who continued to listen in silence, wanted the meeting to get down to business: "If none of you has anything useful to add, you'd better listen to Charlie." Her husband stared the group to attention and then spoke: 
     "I've already given my explanation to Bert James, and frankly it scares the hell out of me." 
     For the moment Westover seemed to have discovered a greater terror than the IRS. He continued: 
     "Of course Bert couldn't find Miss Gabriel in her cabin and you do know why?" 
     "Why?" Again Mestnik and Eggleston responded in chorus. 
     "Because she wasn't there. I think she was in the infirmary. I'll bet she's come down with a contagious disease, and East-Europa doesn't want us to stampede." 
     Marvelous, Paul thought, it's not only Alice who watches old thrillers on American Movie Classics. 
     "That's ridiculous," Arlene Bennett said to Charlie Westover with more assurance than the Pryes would have expected of her. "East-Europa wouldn't risk its reputation for 10 days of tour revenue." Despite her rebuttal, she shot an angry look at Jim Rito. To Alice it seemed that Arlene went in for heavy-duty blaming. 
     Andy Szabo had his arm around Liz's waist; a few days of honeymooning seemed to have done them a world of good. Calmly Andy addressed a comment to nobody in particular: 
     "I was up early in the morning jogging as usual with Liz. There was a good deal of coming and going along the gangway, but if there had been a stretcher I'm sure we would have seen it."
     "Did you see Aurora at all?" Selma asked, anxious to discredit the new challenge to her husband's theory. 
     "I'm not sure I'd remember. She's frequently been off the boat early to help with the shore excursions, and if she was leaving this morning under her own power it wouldn't have been anything unusual." Liz nodded her agreement. 
     At that moment the P.A. began to sputter. "Good morning again, ladies and gentlemen." They recognized Kurt Lange's soothing voice. "In about ten minutes our buses will be ready for us. Be sure to bring your sweaters." 
     Oswald Parsons moved his chair back from his table, and put on his Norfolk jacket. "I hope most of you will believe this message; it's almost time to go." 
     Bert asked him to wait. "We've not quite finished here. It's not surprising we haven't reached any conclusion in such a short meeting, because the whole business is awfully puzzling. But the Westovers and we have an idea. Aren't we lucky that we have with us an amateur investigator, Paul Prye? We suggest that he be appointed our representative to meet with the captain and Kurt Lange so we can get to the bottom of this thing as soon as possible."
     Just about everyone seemed to think Bert's suggestion was a pretty good one; everyone, that is,except Oswald Parsons, who said over his shoulder as he was leaving the room: "I think Paul would be much better off trying to solve the Mayerling mystery." 
     The Pryes could count on Arkady Grigoriev's support only if silence meant assent. He had arrived towards the end of the meeting and sat alone at a rear table. Paul noticed that the Drewrys were not present. 
     Alice congratulated Paul as they went below to the lobby. "I'm really proud of you. Long ago you persuaded me that you're a sleuth to be reckoned with, but, if I'm not sadly mistaken, this is the very first time you've agreed to act as a double agent." 

*     *     *
       Liesl waited for the tourists to go ashore before visiting Dr. Hoppe.
     "Is there anything I can do for you, Fraulein?" The doctor's manner was completely professional. There was no hint of flirtation in his words; he had not added, as so many of his predecessors would have done: "you look awfully healthy to me." Dr. Hoppe's wife was aboard, not much to look at unless you liked the washed-out type, but able to keep close watch on him. still Liesl hoped he was a serious man. If not, she ran the risk of getting herself and Brigitte into deep trouble. 
     "Oh, I have not corne to see you about myself, Doctor, it is about the American lady, Miss Gabriel." 
     "What about Miss Gabriel?" The doctor's look had become severe, but Liesl was far from timid. "You must not be angry but my friend Brigitte has told me what she found in the cabin. Do not think we will tell the others. Brigitte and I know how to keep a secret but we hide nothing from each other. We are like twin sisters." 
     "Brigitte has not followed her instructions, but I will not discuss the consequences with you." 
     Liesl tried charm. "There, you are becoming angry, which is most unreasonable since we are trying to help you. If Brigitte had followed her instructions, you would not have learned what I have come to tell you." 
     "And what is that?" 
     "I overheard a conversation of Miss Gabriel's on the night we left Belgrade." Liesl caught herself up sharply because she didn't want to be taken for an eavesdropper. "I made no special effort to hear, but I was passing nearby." 
     "Yes, yes," Dr. Hoppe said impatiently, "one can be sure of that. What did you hear?" 
     "After dinner I served drinks in the Skylight cocktail lounge. Miss Gabriel was there. I was picking up empty glasses from a table when I saw her go to the doorway. She stood there for a while talking to someone in the corridor. I heard her say, 'I'll be there at one o'clock.' A man's voice answered her: 'My cabin? I can't seem to get you to come up on the running deck, so if I'm to see you, I guess it will be in my cabin. Right, I'll be there.’”
     "The man spoke to her in English?" 
     "Yes," Liesl answered. "I remember very well what he said." 
     "Did he sound like an American?" 
     Liesl retreated. "Of that I am less certain." 
     "Did you see him?" 
     "Not at all. He was standing in the corridor, I think, and to the side of the doorway." 
     Since the doctor seemed to have no further questions for her, Liesl assumed she was free to go but wanted to take his approval with her. "Have I done well to bring you this story? Brigitte thought you would be so interested, and that is why we decided I should pay you this visit."
     Dr. Hoppe cheated her of the praise that she'd hoped for. "I think you meant well, but neither you nor Brigitte should talk about Miss Gabriel again - not even to each other - without my explicit permission. Is that clear? Your positions are at risk if I have to give either of you a similar instruction again." 
     Liesl was sorry that she had come. She should have gone to the captain or to that passenger who was so nice to Brigitte. But Liesl didn't speak English very well, and Brigitte couldn't say whether the passenger knew any German.

*     *     *
     The Budapest morning tour had been beautiful, as Oswald Parsons predicted, but it was overscheduled. The Pryes traversed most of the city's famous bridges, smiled for Dan Eggleston atop the Fishermen's Bastion and admired the statues of Hungary's kings in Heroes' Square. (Alice's personal favorite was scholarly King Konyves Kalman, who forbad the burning of witches.) After a visit to the art museum that faced the square, the Pryes, following the advice of Hungarian friends, departed for drinks at the Hilton in the afternoon. The hotel interior was a Central European variant of post-Montezuma, but the Pryes had been directed there for a better reason, the view of excavated Gothic ruins through the picture windows of the lobby. Another advantage was the Hilton's switchboard and smoothly operating telephone booths. After coffee Alice dialed Buzz Martin in New York. In no time at all he was on the line. "Buzz, sorry about the morning hour; this is Alice Frye calling from Budapest." 
     "The hell you are, Allie. More likely you were on Second Avenue last night and drank too many bottles of Egri Bikaver. How about taking Uncle Buzz along next time." Martin was referring to one of the last of Manhattan's Hungarian restaurants where he liked to wine and dine the Pryes and especially Alice, whom he had first met a week after her birth. 
     "No, Buzz, we're really in Budapest, right in the middle of our Danube cruise." 
     "No kidding. Tell me, Allie, is it really blue?" 
     Alice winced but she knew she had to get used to the quip, unless she was to hide from New York cocktail parties for a year. 
     "Let's call it an off-shade of blue, if you like. But Buzz, I hope you don't mind my getting to the point; it's my forint or whatever the local populace calls its money. Do you know a couple of lawyers named Jim Rito and Arlene Bennett?" 
     Buzz hooted into the phone. "So that's what you call business, Allie; are you running a gossip column you haven't told me about?" 
     Alice felt the conversation wasn't running as smoothly as she anticipated. Maybe she should have waited for Buzz's first martinis; he usually started before lunchtime. 
     "It's not gossip, Uncle Buzz, a woman on the cruise claims to be a friend of theirs, and mentioned your firm. I thought I'd check out her story." 
     Buzz laughed again. "You're calling about a 'friend', is that it? Come off it, Allie, I'm not running a birth control clinic; you're talking with your shrewd old Uncle Buzz, J.D. So Jim and Arlene are shacking up -- I'm not sure that landlubber term applies on a cruise -- and you're calling all the way to New York for biographical details. That's the girl I've come to love as if she were my own flesh and blood." 
     Her flimsy cover blown, Alice began to relax. "Just suppose you are right, and I firmly deny it. Why would they make a big deal about keeping their travel plans a secret?" 
     "Because they're a couple of fools, and I don't know which one is worse. I think everyone in the firm knew they were an item - including at least one startled nighttime cleaning woman - but they seem to have considered themselves models of discretion. Well, then one day the inevitable happened. Arlene came up for partnership and there was only one affirmative, no, let me say one ardently affirmative vote. You guessed it, her lone supporter was my litigation partner Jim Rito, who's never at a loss for words, no matter how weak his case. Now he lives in dread that his partners will discover that his vote was colored by what you might call 'personal' bias. I must talk to the poor guy when he gets home and tell him his life's an open book. There's no reason for him to have to vacation so far away from New York. I think it's cutting down on his chargeable time." 
     Alice added a few amenities and said goodbye. Reading her face when she came back to the table, Paul asked: "Tell me about your debut as an investigator." 
     "I am crestfallen," she said. "I don't know what or where my crest is exactly, but it has fallen." She told him the gloss Buzz Martin had put on the romance of their tablemates, and concluded: "So I guess that does it for our 'secret lover' theory, unless, of course, your James Camb is still alive. By the way, is he?" 
     "He could be, I guess; at least he was released from prison. I have the feeling, though, that we should be looking for somebody younger." 
     The entire afternoon was at leisure; many of the passengers walked into downtown Pest for the shopping tour that Aurora Gabriel had talked about leading. The Pryes, instead, returned to the ship because Paul had made an appointment to meet Kurt Lange in the Skylight Lounge; Alice had done quite enough detective work for one day and looked forward to a few peaceful hours with the Egon Schiele biography. At the foot of the gangway 92 they paused to wait for the Drewrys to disembark.in the brisk wind and his nephew bent over to tuck the blanket Basil shuddered under his shoulders. Two sailors followed with their bags. 
     In the cocktail lounge Kurt Lange greeted him cheerfully. "I've received some information for you from East-Europa." 
     "That can wait for a minute," Paul said. "Why are the Drewrys leaving?" 
     Kurt's reply was maddeningly bland. "I think that the long voyage and the unseasonable weather were more than his fragile health could withstand. I don't believe they should have come on the cruise, but Mark says that his uncle insisted; Basil complains that his relatives neglect him when he is in New York." 
     Paul was not distracted by Drewry family history. "Is everyone free to leave the cruise?" 
     Lange looked genuinely amazed. "Of course you are - I mean the passengers are, because you - need I remind you? - are a member of the cruise staff, just as I am." 
     "Is that the deal you've worked out with the Vienna police: seal the cabin but let all the passengers go? Do you think that, if what you call a disappearance turns out to be a murder, the killer is hiding under Aurora's bed, waiting to be arrested when the ship reaches its home port?" 
     "You've no cause for sarcasm, Professor Prye. The passengers are not our prisoners. Surely, you must have seen that our little 'mystification' about Aurora not only saves our passengers' vacations from ruin but gives our suspect, if there is one among us, less reason to run." 
     Kurt could not be that dense, Paul had seen too many proofs of his adroitness to believe that. "What about the Drewrys, how can we be certain they have not run?"
     "You are not seriously suggesting that an invalid and his constant companion had something to do with whatever it was happened to Aurora Gabriel." 
     "I am suggesting only that the Vienna police might take a greater interest in them than you apparently do." 
     "You mean because of the strange business about the wheelchair. The captain thinks it was a drunken prank. In fact he saw the chair being pushed around the main deck in the early morning hours and assumed it was the Drewrys taking some fresh air on a sleepless night. But when Mark complained so bitterly the next morning, Captain Wahl realized he must have witnessed two intoxicated passengers performing a rather heartless charade." 
     "My wife thought so too, but of course that was before we learned about the bloody scene in Aurora Gabriel's cabin. Hasn't it struck you as possible that Aurora's assailant put her body, wrapped in blankets, into the wheelchair, wheeled her to the deck railing and threw her into the Danube?" 
     Lange pretended to be amused: "And you think the man who did that was Mark Drewry?" Paul thought it best to wait for Lange's own inferences. Instead, the tour leader had another question. "But why would Mark or the assailant, whoever he may be, have left the wheelchair on the deck?"
     "He'd already run a terrible risk, probably one he had not foreseen, but he might have hoped that in the darkness the bundled figure in the chair would be taken for Basil. To return the chair to its storage place would have doubled the chances of discovery, and he might also have been observed re-entering the lobby. still worse, an observer would have seen that the wheelchair was empty." 
     "But if Mark's our man, why would he have made such an enormous fuss the next morning?" 
     "He had no choice. It was very likely that the wheelchair had already been spotted on deck." 
     Lange did not want to pursue the subject. "Most ingenious, but the Drewrys have not gone into hiding. Mark made quite a point of leaving me forwarding addresses along the route they will take back to New York. May I turn now to the information we have received from tour headquarters?" 
     Paul nodded, his anger moderated by the opportunity Kurt had given him for a maiden flight of his Drewry theory. He had been brooding about it silently since yesterday's meeting with the captain. 
     Lange handed Paul a telecopy from East-Europa: 
We're distressed to learn of Aurora Gabriel's disappearance. Please advise us as soon as you learn anything. 
Ms. Gabriel joined East-Europa only this March. This is her second tour after a fine job on the Adriatic. Most of her work is in our U.S. offices in New York and San Francisco. Her earlier employment history is unclear (family wealth?). We hired her on the strength of strong people skills and good academic credentials. 
Try not to frighten the passengers. 
Paul pocketed the message and said: "You can tell East-Europa for me that you've been following their instructions to a tee, even before their message arrived. The telecopy's fine, it's just what I asked for and, of course, it tells me nothing. What can you add as East-Europa's 'agent in place'?" 
     "I am not a spy, Professor Prye." 
     "You're right. I chose my words poorly but I meant to encourage you to be indiscreet. I think you've said this is your first cruise with Aurora Gabriel?" 
     "That is correct. I met her for the first time at the Bucharest airport when the group arrived." 
     "Did any of the other members of the staff know her previously: Eggleston, Mestnik or Parsons?" 
     "Not so far as I am aware." 
     "How about the crew?" 
     Lange looked amused. "I don't think Aurora's German was very good. You Americans have many skills, but I don't think mastery of foreign languages is among them." 
     The reply struck Paul as evasive but he passed on. "Did she seem to make any special friendships among the passengers?" 
     "Delicately put, Professor Prye, I salute you. East-Europa doesn't encourage 'special friendships,' I can assure you of that from my own experience. We don't have dancing gentlemen for unescorted females like the ocean cruises, and the Anton Bruckner is much too small for shipboard romances to be carried on with discretion, don't you agree? If you don't, please speak out, for I'd be glad to change my ways." 
     "Ingenuity and tolerance are a powerful combination," Paul replied. "These days I think you could set a sex farce in a rowboat. It may therefore be best to reserve judgment on the romantic possibilities of the Anton Bruckner. But did Aurora mention any attachments back home?" 
     Kurt thought for a while before he answered. "She did mention a friend once or twice, but the time reference was not clear or at least it is not clear to me now. Perhaps it was a relationship that no longer exists. In any case, I take these social revelations with a grain of salt. I generally find, Professor Prye, that my fellow staff members are quite anxious to tell me about their personal bonds, whether heterosexual or homosexual, long before I've asked because I am not an inquisitive man. The one condition that people find intolerable to confess is solitude. It's almost as if it were a shameful illness." 

*     *     *
      Kitty James leaned across the table and scolded her husband. "I mean, please! Can you go a little easier on Fodor's?" Bert had spent much of the late afternoon with his guidebooks and was instructing his dinner companions on the history of Gundel's Restaurant in the City Park. He had told them that by the early years of the century the place was so famous that it lost its capital letter and became a common noun; people would talk of having dinner at "the gundel". Bowing to Kitty's displeasure, Bert concluded quickly: 
     "Too bad it's so cold we couldn't eat in the garden as planned. That's where all the artists and writers used to gather." 
     He handed around a period photograph of Gundel's garden that he'd bought in downtown Pest. 
     Paul Prye was glad of the interruption. It was said of Karoly Gundel that, born in the Sahara, he "would have invented delicious ways of preparing camel's liver;" but the cuisine of his modern successors had sadly declined. Paul was wondering what to do with his dessert; announced as a "floating island," it was a wisp of souffle almost wholly submerged in a bowl of thin yellowish sauce. He stirred politely with his spoon and looked up to see that the headwaiter was making his way around the room, probably hoping to collect compliments. When he arrived at the Pryes' table, Paul managed to come up with a few polite words, but the man was not listening. With a smile frozen on his lips, he was closely inspecting the place cards. 
     Next on the program were the ethnic dancers. The Pryes could have sworn that, except for the addition of the gypsy violinist playing prestissimo but out of tune, the troupe was the same one that had entertained them at the Bucharest Inter-continental. During a short intermission to allow the middle-aged dancers to catch their breath, Bert pulled at Paul's sleeve. 
     "They didn't understand a word." 
     "Who didn't understand?" Paul liked Bert, but had found that much of the time he was inhabiting a planet of his own. 
     "The Venezuelans, of course." 
     "The Venezuelans?" 
     "I mean the people at our table. Didn't you notice they're all part of the Venezuelan group? You Pryes are really about the most self-centered people we've ever met. Why do you think I was holding forth about Gundel's history? It was just to test them; they didn't get a word of what I was saying, so we can talk safely." 
     Alice had been chatting with Kitty but stopped in mid-sentence to listen. The investigation craze was becoming contagious. 
     "Of course, some of the Venezuelans speak English very well. One of them is a lady named Perez we got to know shopping today in Pest. Senora Perez told us that the Venezuelans have their own doubts about East-Europa's explanation of Aurora's departure, and she's got some pretty melodramatic proof to support their position." 
     As in his account of Oswald Parsons' troubles in Ruse, Bert waited for the Pryes to coax the story from his lips. Alice was the first to comply. 
     "And what was the persuasive evidence?" 
     "She saw Aurora purchase a knife." 
     "Where?" 
     "It was in a cutlery department of a store in Ruse. Senora Perez was looking for a manicuring scissors and saw Aurora buy a really ugly-looking meat knife, or something of the sort. She doesn't think Aurora saw her." 
     Shopping stories of any kind were likely to hold Alice's interest. "And what did Senora Perez make of that? Maybe Aurora was going to sooth the chef's nerves by replacing his lost knife, or maybe I've got the chronology mixed up." 
     "I think you do," Paul said. "The chef lost his knife after we left Ruse." 
     Bert nodded. "You're right about that. Senora Perez thinks Aurora bought the knife to protect herself against some physical danger and that what she feared eventually happened." 
     Paul's head began to swim. Perhaps he had drunk too many glasses of Bull's Blood wine, but more likely it was the effect of too many sleuths. He was the chosen operative of both the captain and the main deckers, Bert James was obviously on an investigative frolic of his own, and now Paul learned that the Venezuelans of the Neptune deck had a new theory. He would not be surprised to discover that the super-rich who occupied the ship's penthouses had also launched a separate probe.
     At 10:30 Kurt Lange took the microphone from the violinist-master of ceremonies and announced that their buses were ready. As Paul neared the front door his path was barred by the headwaiter. "Mr. Prye, is it not?", he said, giving the name an unpredictable central European reading. 
     "Yes?" 
     "This is for you." He handed Paul a sealed envelope that was addressed to him in capital letters. This is no souvenir, Paul knew as he recalled the headwaiter's expedition around the dining room in an effort to match a face with the right place card. 
     In the dim reading light of the bus the Pryes read the note. It was from Mark Drewry. 
      "Please meet me in front of the Passau city hall at 11 p.m. on the evening of your arrival. The tour schedule calls for a church concert at 8 but that should leave you enough time to keep our rendezvous. The streets are safe.      "Bert James told me before we left that you are inquiring into the murder of Aurora Gabriel. There is much that I can tell you." 
     Alice watched Paul fold the note and place it in his wallet. "He's the first to call it murder," she said.

*     *     *
          The wall lamps in the ship's corridors were dim at night, probably furnishing just about the least illumination permitted by safety regulations. The Pryes were in no mood to complain; they didn't look their best in nondesigner jeans and portable bedroom slippers, and their expedition would be hard to explain. 
     Paul slowly turned the borrowed key in the lock of Aurora's cabin door. Once they were inside they flashed the penlights that they had packed for unobtrusive reading of theatre programs. The two narrow beams, as if by agreement, converged on the wall behind the bed: as in their cabin, there was no porthole but instead a picture window encased in the hull. On the same wall the telltale stains for which they had been hunting looked like black deposits made by the night. 
     Cabin 12 was remarkably neat. Good housekeeping, a habit hard to break, prevailed over the strange new duties to the Vienna police. The bedclothes had been removed and a clean, sharply creased face towel was centered on the bare mattress. Paul lifted a corner and saw the vast outline of a dark oblong blotch. He replaced the towel, which the maid must have left to guard the modesty of death. 
     The Pryes had subdivided the search in advance. Paul lay flat on the floor, exploring beneath the bed after freeing it from the twin catches that held it in place, and probing other niches similar to those that they had used for storage in their own cabin. For a while he'd forgotten that there would be a second retractable bunk. He swung it down from the side wall and examined both the bed and the recess it had vacated. It was no use. He could not find a weapon. 
     In deference to her expertise Alice was put in charge of the clothing. There were no suitcases in the cabin; Aurora must have had them stored by the porter when she came aboard. The closet rack held no surprises. Alice remembered the outfits all too well, chino trousers, a navy blazer, a row of pink button-down shirts as uniform as Little Orphan Annie's dresses and, for evening, linen jackets and flowered skirts. Burrowing in the closet drawers below, Alice thought at first that the lingerie was a perfect match, running heavily to pale blue cotton pyjamas. That was before she found what was folded beneath them: a black lace imitation-Victorian hourglass corset with red garters. 
     While Paul was in the bathroom, Alice advanced on Aurora's pocketbooks that were arrayed on a shelf above the foot of her bed. They were mostly empty, except for a white woven leather bag. Alice found Aurora's passport in a zippered compartment. She quickly turned the pages. The woman had been just about everywhere, the Adriatic was far from her first trip. She'd even had to have additional leaves inserted to accommodate all the visas. 
     It would be best to leave the passport, Paul would certainly agree. As she was putting it back in the compartment, Alice found that there was another booklet there. Drawing it out, she shone her light on the cover: "Address Book". Paul had finished his bathroom search and was signaling to her with his penlight, so she had only time for a quick look. Most of the names were of women, and their addresses seemed to span the world. By chance the first page she opened to listed a woman from Vienna; an asterisk marked her name. Alice put the book in her hip pocket and prepared to leave, following Paul's lead. They both froze before they reached the door. light from the direction of the corridor blinded them. A strong When the auras before their eyes cleared, they knew that the cabin door was open and that a flashlight, no mere toy like theirs, had panned their faces. A man explained with a hint of irony: 
     "Oh, Dr. and Mrs. Prye, of course. My cabin's across the hall; I noticed that the door was ajar and thought I saw a light. I knew that Miss Gabriel had left and came to look. I should have guessed it would be you after Professor Prye's election as our investigator." 
     It was Arkady Grigoriev, whose soft voice suited the dark. 
     Neither of the Pryes chose to answer. They stood their ground outside Aurora's door until Arkady had no choice but to cross the corridor, wishing them goodnight. 
     Paul shut the cabin door and double-locked it, while Alice mocked him quietly: "What a great detective I've picked to sleep with. I thought the first rule for burglars is to remember to close the door." 
     "The door wasn't open, Alice; don't believe it for a minute. Our friend Grigoriev's got a key." 
     "Do you think Hugo Preger's a wholesaler?" 
     "I doubt it. Somewhere Arkady's fitted himself out with a passkey or else he's just plain tricky with locks. In either case, not bad for a retired art historian."

Chapter 8

Bratislava and Passau

     The next morning the Pryes were up at an uncharacteristically early hour to watch the Anton Bruckner sail under Budapest's bridges en route to St. Stephen's Cathedral at Esztergom. Alice was the family photographer; after snapping the Gellert Hill and the Chain Bridge, she persuaded Paul to mug as the Parliament building glided by. It was a close question whether his face would appear in the shot because Bert James strode across Alice's field of vision, quite oblivious to the aim of her camera. 
     "Good morning, Pryes, making progress?" 
     "With what?" Alice asked, recognizing that they were approaching Margaret Island and that Budapest's photo opportunities were receding irretrievably in their wake. 
     "With the sleuthing, of course. Kitty and I sort of overdid it a little with the Westovers in the Starlight Lounge last night. This German Sekt is not quite champagne, but the price is right and the headaches are about the same. Well, we came back to our cabin a little late and saw a light under Aurora's door. You know our cabin's right next to hers. Find anything of interest?" 
     "How late did you return to your cabin?" 
     "It must have been about 2:30 at the earliest." 
     "Not that I'm questioning your sobriety but when do you usually call it a night?" Paul asked. 
     Bert, a man who liked to be accurate, reflected conscientiously. "You know, I think you're on to something there; I don't think we ever turn in much earlier. The old Starlight's giving us bad habits. For several nights running we've been dead to the world as soon as we hit the sack. We damn near would have slept through Budapest if it hadn't been for old faithful Channel 2." 
     Without pursuing his original question, Bert walked away at a moderate pace suggesting a lazy man's morning exercise. 
     "If it was 2:30 when the Jameses saw a light in Aurora's cabin, it wasn't us," Alice said. 
     "You're right. Grigoriev must have gone back after the coast was clear. I don't know what he can have been looking for, but he probably didn't find anything we hadn't already seen." 
     "Maybe he was looking for something he'd left there." 
     "It's a possibility and by far the most melodramatic, a 'return to the scene of the crime.' I think that happens more in the books you read than in my trial collection. But whether it was his first visit to Cabin 12 or only the most recent, your neat theft of the address book may have put us just a step ahead of him. " 
     "We don't know an awful lot ourselves." 
     "Well, let's see." Paul ticked off their discoveries on his fingers, a lecture-room habit he found hard to break. "Aurora's quite a globe-trotter. Did East-Europa know that when they hired her or did they really choose her for her personality, as we're told? We also know she's collected names of people mostly women - allover the world. Perhaps she's met them on her travels. Finally, the medicine cabinet contains enough tranquillizers to benumb a regiment. What do you make of all that?" 
     "A gregarious but high-strung social director." Alice was good at synthesizing. 
     "There is, of course, another fact of great interest." 
     Alice listened but refused to prod him. He was beginning to acquire Bert James' bad habits. 
     Paul continued. "It is odd that you found her passport in the purse. You know the routine. Each time we board the ship, we surrender our passports at the reception desk and when we disembark we reclaim them there. That's how the captain manages not to sail without us. Now why wasn't Aurora Gabriel complying with the rules?" 
     "Maybe they don't apply to the staff?" 
     "I'm staff," Paul said, thinking about Mayerling for the first time since his meeting with the captain. "Yet I've played the passport pickup-and-delivery game from the first day. But you may have a useful thought; perhaps I could have been excused if I'd asked. The question then becomes: why did Aurora ask to be permitted to keep her passport?" 
     "It would be easy to tire of the passport rigmarole if you sailed often." Alice hated waiting in line, except at promising post-holiday sales. 
     "Yes, you might want to keep your passport to avoid a lot of boring routine," Paul acknowledged, "or if you wanted to be free to leave the ship at a moment's notice." 
     "And I take it, man of mystery, that you figure Aurora expected she'd have some reason to bailout on us." 
     "It could be. I thought we were just cataloguing possibilities." 
     Alice pounced on his word. "Well, if it's just a matter of possibilities, what do we make of the undies from Victoria's Secret?" 
     "I yield to you there; it's in your fashion department." 
     "Well, let's see. It couldn't be for a costume party, could it. You know how weak my geography is, but I don't believe we'll celebrate the crossing of the Equator." Since Paul was obviously at the irritating stage of keeping his speculations to himself, Alice was not inclined to be helpful. 
     To finish the roll of film, Alice took her last pictures almost at random, and they went back to their cabin. 
     "Paul," Alice said with a largely successful effort to keep her voice calm, "someone's been in our stateroom." 
     "The maid?" Paul suggested in pleasant recollection. 
     "I very much doubt it; however pleased you may be with her work, I haven't noticed that she makes a habit of going through our drawers." To demonstrate her point, Alice called Paul's attention to the contents of the top drawer of the bureau which she had reserved for her evening bags and jewelry. "Not 108 only has someone been through our drawers but he wants us to know it." 
     Paul was skeptical. "That's not the way they do it in the movies. The heroes return - for you are heroic, don't you think? - to find their bureaus emptied out on the floor and the beds in disorder." 
     "Our guy's subtler than that. 'So you think you're detectives,' he's telling us; 'then detect you shall, and if you do it right, you'll find I've been searching your room.'" 
     "And how did you meet the challenge?" 
     "Nothing easier," Alice explained, "the intruder did not put my purses back in the right place." 
     Appraising the impressive array in the drawer, Paul was sympathetic. "I don't see how he could have, unless he had a photographic memory. But by the same token, I don't see how you can be so sure he's mixed the purses up." 
     "Nothing simpler," Alice said. She closed the top drawer and opened the drawer below; there sat a single beaded bag among her scarves. 
     "That's the clue I wasn't supposed to miss." 
     "Frustration-aggression, nothing less," Paul clucked. "What do you suppose he was hunting for? By the way, where are you keeping the address book?" 
     Alice patted her belly. 
     "Money belt. Nobody finds this unless I find him absolutely irresistible."
     Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Brigitte, with fresh towels for the bathroom. The bed was already made and whatever invisible dusting the girl did was apparently performed to her satisfaction; yet she seemed in no hurry to leave. After stacking the towels precariously on a rim of the sink, she stood with her back to the bathroom door and spoke to Paul as if Alice were not in the cabin. 
     "Sir, may I take a moment to speak to you? I still have difficulty with your name." 
     "Prye," Paul said, "it rhymes with frei." 
     Show-off, Alice thought, it also rhymes with Lorelei. 
     "I am Kammerfraulein for Mr. James also," Brigitte said. She paused long enough to make the comment seem newsworthy. 
     "Yes?" Paul gave her an encouraging smile. 
     "Mr. James tells me you are interested in Miss Gabriel. I did not say that right, you must excuse me; I meant you take an interest in what happened to Miss Gabriel. Mr. James says that the passengers have chosen you to find out." 
     "That is true." 
     Brigitte plucked up her courage. "Then I should tell you something I know. But you must promise to say nothing to Dr. Hoppe." 
     Paul gave her his word, and, much relieved, Brigitte told him what her friend Liesl had already reported to the ship doctor. It seemed apparent from her account that Brigitte did not want to talk about the evidence of violence she had been the first to discover in Cabin 12. The Pryes accepted the conspiracy of silence, which gave them reason to believe that Brigitte had also skirted the subject in her conversation with Bert. 
     "Why have you come to us?" Paul asked, hoping that he had put the right dose of sympathy lnto his voice.
     Brigitte took note of his use of the plural when she answered: "It is because you seem to be people I can trust. And there is another reason. Dr. Hoppe was very stern with Liesl and I am not certain he has taken the information she gave him to the proper authorities." 
     "What makes you doubt that?" 
     Brigitte furrowed her brow. "I have no experience of these matters, but since Liesl met with the doctor yesterday, nobody else has asked to speak with her, not even you who are the chief investigator. Of course, it may be that Dr. Hoppe has been busy, but I do not think Liesl's information is unimportant." 
     Paul nodded. "We agree with you and will see that what you have told us receives the attention it deserves. You can assure Liesl of that." 
     Brigitte was pleased, but before she left she insisted on the promise she had requested earlier: "And you will not mention this conversation to Dr. Hoppe?" 
     The undertaking was going to be hard to carry out but Paul agreed. There was another way to find out whether Brigitte's suspicion was well founded. At lunch he and Alice found Hoppe and Gisela sitting alone in the diningroom alcove as they often did. 
     "How are your inquiries progressing?" Hoppe asked. 
     "Pretty well, I suppose, considering the captain's ground rules. The only compensating factor I've found is that the Americans, at least the passengers who have cabins on the main deck - those are the ones we know best - have a pretty lively interest in Aurora themselves. I've talked to many of them about the events of the night we sailed from Belgrade. There was nothing out of the ordinary, the usual card party at the Skylight Lounge after dinner. Aurora was there, the Jameses, Szabos and Westovers, and Claudia Parsons -- I'm not sure about Oswald. None of them recalls anything of note. Jim Rito and Arlene Bennett paid a brief visit to the lounge, as did we, but none of us stayed long enough to make any memorable observations." 
     Alice stifled her astonishment. Rarely was Paul so talkative without a purpose. But in fact, he had one. 
     "By the way, were you and Frau Hoppe in the lounge that night? I don't remember seeing you." 
     Hoppe answered quickly. "We were not there, Professor Prye, and can therefore tell you nothing about the party." The doctor did not mention what he had learned from Liesl.

*     *     *
          The passengers of the Anton Bruckner spent the tenth day of the tour in Bratislava, Czechoslovakia; at the Palffy Palace, where the mayor held receptions, the group was offered local champagne in plastic glasses with the manufacturer's labels still affixed. The art collection was depressing and in poor condition, and the Pryes were glad to be led away to visit st. Martin's Cathedral, where Beethoven had conducted the Missa Solemnis, and Kapitulska Street whose fifteenth-century facades were being renovated for a five hundredth year celebration.
     When the Pryes heard the liberating words, "at leisure," they found a hotel near the Old Town Hall, where it was Paul's turn to make a long-distance telephone call, to his friend Lieutenant Dave Emmerich of the Manhattan Detective Command. Dave had been involved with the Pryes in the solution of the murders at New York's Alumni Club, and no longer regarded Paul as a bungling academic.
     "What's up?" Dave (a confirmed insomniac) asked when Paul reached him, "murder on the Danube? Can't you take up art for a change like your delightful wife? We have more than enough homicide in the Big Apple just waiting for your return."
     "As a matter of fact, homicide is very likely the matter we have on hand." Paul quickly briefed Dave on the Anton Bruckner mystery.
     "That's swell, Paul; they hire you for a Mayerling lecture and you come up with something thoroughly modern. Did you call just to entertain me, or am I supposed to do something about your Ms. Gabriel?"
     "I was hoping you could check to see whether she's been found."
     "How do you know she's dead?"
     "There was a lot of blood lost."
     "How do you know it was hers?" Dave was at his most argumentative early in the morning; he had more than once awakened Paul with a new theory about one of the classic unsolved murders they debated endlessly.
     "Of course, I don't know it's hers, but there's nobody else missing."
     "You'll pardon a drowsy cop, but I don't think you can be sure of that. You don't know the penthouse crowd, the Venezuelans don't speak English, and I doubt whether you've counted the crew recently."
     "You're right, but will you humor me?"
     "Certainly I will. I've been lying about all my hard work here. There hasn't been a murder in Manhattan for weeks and I don't want you to take this case to any of our competitors."
     "Wiseguy," Paul said and then corrected himself. "Sorry for that word; I guess it can no longer be applied to your side of the law. I know. you don't need another assignment - especially by long distance when you should be sleeping - but I have two requests. The first, as I say, is to find Aurora. I believe she was thrown overboard, probably already dead, in Yugoslav waters."
     "O.K. I'll try two different ways. We'll contact the Belgrade police. I have no idea how easy they are to work with, or whether they have anyone on the force who's not dealing fulltime with Albanian dissidents. That's why it may be better to rely on our contacts with Interpol. Recently its Secretary General Raymond Kendall invited some of us to inspect his new headquarters in Lyons. When our group left, Kendall suggested we call him if he could ever be helpful. Well, they were his words, not ours. You mentioned another task you want to lay on me."
     "The second one's easier. East-Europa claims to know very little about Aurora Gabriel; I can't believe you couldn't find out a good deal more. She's been quite a world traveler." Paul listed some of the countries whose visas and immigration stamps Alice had recalled from her quick look through Aurora's passport.
     "A piece of cake, you've got it." Dave hung up before Paul could come up with any more bright ideas to help him while away his days.
     By the time Paul returned to the table, the ice in his scotch had melted. He hoped that some day his sacrifices to law and order would be appreciated. "How did it go?" Alice asked, hoping that Dave had been more helpful than Buzz Martin.
     "He's hooked," Paul answered.
     Very early the next morning, the Pryes, strolling aft on the sun deck, found that a mutiny was in progress near the swimming pool. Paul's limited powers of conversational German would not have caught the drift of the angry words being exchanged, but the Pryes were fortunate to secure the translating services of the only other bystander, Ken Mestnik, who told them it was quite literally a mutiny. On the starboard end of the pool stood captain Wahl, his face deep crimson, while at his sides Dr. Hoppe and First Officer preger lent him their support. 
     Across the pool a delegation of half a dozen sailors and a couple of chambermaids opposed the officers.
     "The girl on the right is my Kammerfraulein Liesl," Ken said. "She's no shrinking violet. If she'd been on the Bounty, Captain Bligh would have been only too glad to lower his lifeboat."
     In fact, it seemed that, in terms of volubility and spirit, Liesl had assumed the leadership of the rebellious group. It was improper, she said, to expect them to sail on as if nothing had happened when there might be a homicidal maniac among them and no special steps were belng taken to protect the passengers or crew, or even to guard the ship's women, who appeared to be in greatest danger.
     "Do you know what the hell they're talking about?" the nonplussed Mestnik asked the Pryes.
     "It's my guess they haven't bought the party line on Aurora Gabriel's disappearance." Paul suggested.
     Alice had another idea. "Maybe they're still brooding about the Ruse assassination attempt. Perhaps they're not as easily satisfied as the Bulgarians that your colleague Oswald Parsons was not the Turk in the black beret."
     At length Liesl ran out of arguments and the mutineers fell silent. captain Wahl thought for a moment and then half turned his head to whisper in Preger's ear. Preger showed no strong reaction but Alice thought she detected the slightest of nods. The captain then spoke aloud, looking at Liesl mainly but surveying the faces of the other rebels. It was now time for the mutineers to confer, and they exchanged many vehement words and gestures before reaching a consensus. Liesl announced that they accepted the captain's proposal, and her group slowly drifted away from the pool.
     Ken Mestnik, still bewildered, explained the terms of the compromise. The Anton Bruckner would continue the cruise according to schedule, but the crew would receive increased compensation for each day that remained. Furthermore, none of the sailors or chambermaids would be discharged or disciplined for having taken part in the poolside negotiations or "for anything said or done by them because of the concerns they had expressed to the officers or anyone else." 
    "What do you suppose is meant by that odd condition the captain threw in at the end?"
     "I haven't the foggiest idea," Paul lied.
     As they completed their circuit of the deck, Paul said to Alice: 
     "I guess I was acting prematurely in suggesting that, in our survey of shipboard crimes, we could rule out mutiny. You've just observed one yourself, but the modern type of mutiny that ends not with walking the plank but with an award of time-and-a-half."
     "And a bundle of labor conditions as well," Alice added, referring to the ban on reprisals. 
     "Yes, that must have been Liesl's brainstorm. I think she's saved her job and Brigitte's too."

*     *     *
          The Pryes' minds were elsewhere during the day's visit to the Benedictine Abbey at Melk, Austria and the cruise through the wine-growing Wachau region. Paul was ruminating over 117 their appointment with Mark Drewry in Passau on the following night, and Alice, generally the most cheerful of tourists, complained that East-Europa's service had completely collapsed. As she glared with loathing at the poppyseed-Iaden dessert that the kitchen was serving up once again, she treated Table 5 to a diatribe:
     "Am I the only one to observe that East-Europa and the Anton Bruckner have agreed to treat us like lame ducks, as if they were regathering their energies for the next tour? The chef's quite given up on us; it's gotten to the point that I'm having poppyseed nightmares. Maybe he's sulking over his stolen knife, but couldn't our table give him our affidavits of innocence? 
     "The lectures have gone steadily downhill. Parsons, I grant you, didn't have far to slide, but Mestnik seems to have become more and more absentminded. At the same time Dan Eggleston's photos have become less and less flattering."
     This was too much for Paul. "What do you mean, less flattering? I've bought them all."
     "You would, because you are not only a devoted husband but a cautious one at that. still, to like these photos as you claim to do, you'd have to admire unfocused wives set against architectural detail. Did you notice how Dan loved the Question Mark restaurant sign in Belgrade?  The man obviously prefers buildings to people."
     Alice's indignation spared nobody. "But hardest to explain is what's gotten into Kurt Lange. At first, the land 118 excursions used to run like clockwork. Now we wait endlessly for our buses, and he damn near lost half of us at the Melk Abbey."
     "Maybe it was Aurora Gabriel who kept our excursions running smoothly," Arlene Bennett suggested.
     Jim Rito seconded her opinion. "You may well be right. In fact, she seems to have provided the glue that kept this whole operation together. After she left, everything's just come unstuck."
     When the Anton Bruckner arrived on the following morning at Passau, Bavaria, the westernmost port of call, the land arrangements against which Alice railed did not improve. The local guide to whom the Pryes were assigned arrived late and breathless. It seemed that she must have run all the way from the town's bureau of statistics, because figures were her passion: the number of pipes in the famous organ of st. Stephen's Cathedral, the annual flood levels of the Inn River, and the volume of Bavarian salt production in the 16th century. To give the energetic young woman her due, Paul would have admitted that his heart was not in her commentary. Everything reminded him of Aurora Gabriel: on their trek to the Danube promenade the guide led their group along what translated as "Knife Street", and on the way back to the dock she pointed out a wine cellar that had once been the home of the town's executioner.
     At lunch the Pryes sought out Kurt Lange. It was a relief to him that they were not going to complain about the Passau tour. His comfort was short-lived.
     "I don't suppose you've had any reports of Aurora," Paul inquired.
     Kurt Lange tried geniality. "You know that, if we had, Captain Wahl would inform you promptly. He is very grateful for your help."
     "That's reassuring," Paul said with a trace of sarcasm that would not be lost on a man who spoke English as fluently as Lange. "What do the crew say about Aurora? That was to be your part of the inquiry."
     "Nothing that we couldn't have told you in the captain's quarters or that you haven't observed for yourselves. She was a very charming woman and an efficient colleague."
     "And the chambermaids have no more to say than that?" Alice asked, fearing that Paul might bend over backwards to protect Brigitte and her friend.
     "The chambermaids have told us nothing that would interest you."
     Both the Pryes wondered whether Lange had caught sight of them as they observed the poolside mutiny, but neither pursued the question of the chambermaids' knowledge. "Do you think Captain Wahl would speak to us alone?" Paul asked without optimism.
     "I very much doubt it. He does not have full confidence in his English, and in any event, as you saw, he prefers that you consider me his representative."
     "And what about Dr. Hoppe? Can I also regard him as the captain's confidant?"
     Lange affected surprise. "Oh, you mustn't have heard yet. The Hoppes left us in Passau; the doctor will, of course, be replaced for the balance of the cruise."
     "Will he be replaced in Passau?" Alice asked.
     "Perhaps not, but I think we'll have a new doctor aboard by the time we leave Linz tomorrow. So you'd better not overeat tonight."
     The Pryes were not charmed by Kurt's attempt at humor. He had not, however, dampened their enthusiasm for their hobbled inquiry; perhaps the obstacles only heightened the challenge. The Pryes sought out the Szabos. Neither had touched their desserts; every day they were more clearly seeing the world eye to eye. 
     "Andy, can you stand another question about our first night out of Belgrade?" Paul was at his most ingratiating.
     "I thought we'd been over all that...Indeed, they had; Paul, beginning with the day in Budapest, had collared just about all the main deckers who were habitues of the Skylight Lounge or might for other reasons have information about Aurora Gabriel.
     "I don't remember whether you told me when you and Liz went back to your cabin."
     "I don't remember telling you, and frankly all this preoccupation with Aurora is getting to be a pain. I wish Charlie Westover and Bert James could find something else to talk about. This is quite a river we're on. 
     "Could I get you off our necks if I inform you that we go to bed pretty early? We're on our honeymoon, you know, and had only a brief courtship. Do I have to draw you pictures?"
     "Really," Liz protested, "you don't have to be so rude."
     The Pryes took the hint and moved away. Alice asked: 
     "Do you suppose Andy Szabo is trying to tell us he wouldn't have heard anything in the next cabin?"

*     *     *
     After an organ recital and the performance of a Mozart missa brevis at the Cathedral, the rain began to come down hard. cursing their luck (since they had no travel agent to blame), the Pryes buttoned their slickers and hoped that their five-dollar portable umbrellas would resist the strengthening wind. It was no longer any wonder to them that the Inn River kept setting flood records. 
     Mark Drewry was waiting for them in front of the Rathaus, which looked north across a square towards the Danube. Mark was not hard to spot, because the storm had cleared the streets of pedestrians. Luckily, the Pryes and Drewry found refuge in a little cafe in the Schustergasse.
     Mark ordered a bottle of Mosel and a bowl of fresh fruit. "You got my note at Gundel's," he remarked needlessly.
     "Yes," Paul said. "You have something to tell us about Aurora Gabriel?"
     Mark paused for the waiter to uncork the wine, fill their glasses and return to a card game near the kitchen. There were no other customers in the cafe. 
     "Aurora is dead," Mark said unemotionally, teaching them a fact it was important they should know.
     "How can you know that?" Paul's question was more accusatory than he had meant it to be, but Mark was not offended.
     "You've every right to ask. As I think my note mentioned, your friend Bert James told me you are investigating and I just had to see you. I should not have been so abrupt with you, but I'm not myself. You see, Aurora and I were lovers."
     "For long?"
     "We met only this April in New York. This was our first trip together. Yes, Mrs. Prye, I see the astonished look you are politely trying to hide. You wonder how I could tend my uncle and still find time for my private life. It is not that difficult to explain. Uncle Basil is not very demanding and was in his own time a bit of a lounge lizard. East-Europa - can you believe it? - has a morals clause in its employment contracts, so Uncle Basil was glad to provide Aurora and me a little diplomatic camouflage."
     Alice wondered about the logistics but was afraid to ask.
     Paul came to the rescue. "Weren't you afraid of being discovered by your neighbors on the main deck?"
     Mark smiled at the recollection of Aurora's ingenuity. 
     "We didn't use her cabin, if that's what you mean, and though my uncle's enough of an old roue not to have minded in the least, we certainly didn't use mine. But the cruise was far from sold out, as you know. Half the cabins on the Neptune deck are unoccupied, and Aurora found it easy to come up with the keys."
     Some romance, Alice thought. He thinks Aurora's dead but wants to impress us with the cleverness of their sleeping arrangements. Drewry must have sensed her reaction, because he apologized: 
     "I don't know how I can even talk about this now that everything's taken such an appalling turn, but otherwise you wouldn't have understood. You see, our love affair is only one of the reasons I came on the cruise. Aurora thought she was in some kind of danger and wanted me aboard in case she couldn't face her problem alone."
     "What kind of danger was she worried about?" Paul asked.
     "That's what bothers me most. She would never tell me; I keep thinking that if she had, or if I had insisted on an explanation, I could have found a way to save her."
     "When did Aurora first mention her fears?"
     "It was only about two weeks before the trip. I remember it very clearly. We were catching an early dinner at a Mexican restaurant at the Citicorp Center. Out of the blue she told me that there was a lot of space left on the cruise and that she wanted me to come along. I think it was her idea for me to bring Uncle Basil. At first she tried to pass off her request as an invitation to a spectacular vacation together. You should have heard her rave about the cruise; it sounded to me like she had memorized the East-Europa brochure. But I knew her too well by then to buy the Blue Danube business. Something was bothering her, and when I didn't immediately jump at her idea, she told me what was really on her mind. She said that she was in danger and might have to take action to protect herself. No matter how I quizzed her, I never got her to say more than that."
     "Did you have the impression she was talking about a physical danger?"
     "That was my feeling and it made sense. Aurora was no coward, I'd call her self-confident, perhaps to a fault. If there hadn't been some serious threat of physical injury, I don't think she'd have pressed me so hard to come. I may run the risk of sounding wise after the fact, but I believe she thought someone was planning to kill her. Even after I agreed to accompany her, she wasn't greatly relieved. When I called her in New York the night before we left, I could hardly get her to talk to me. I just had time to ask whether she had packed, when she hurried me off the phone. She sounded very tense."
     "Was she afraid, do you think, of someone who would be sailing on the Anton Bruckner?"
     Mark Drewry wouldn't speculate. "I had no idea, based on what little she told me. I thought at first she might be planning to visit someone dangerous in one of the port cities. But I believe she was killed on the ship, and unless it was possible for an outsider to board and leave the ship unnoticed, it seems likely that the murderer is one of the passengers or crew. Right?"
     Paul did not respond to the speculation. "When did you last see Aurora?"
     "She called my cabin shortly before we sailed from Belgrade. It was not a conversation, more like a message to which no answer was expected or welcomed. She said that she could not spend the night with me and would explain. 
     "I did not see her the next morning or ever again. I called her cabin several times without an answer and I hunted all over the ship. The captain would tell me nothing, and of course I didn't believe the family emergency announcement for a moment."
     "Why did you leave the ship?" Paul asked bluntly.
     "Haven't I already made that clear? Aurora had worried about a danger and she had been proved right, terribly right. How did I know that she hadn't told her killer that I was aboard to protect her? Even if she hadn't, he might have seen us together. He couldn't take the chance that Aurora had told me who he was or had given me grounds to suspect him. I'm not proud of my decision, but there was no more I could do for her. It seemed best to get the hell out of there." The explanation didn't make him look good, so he added: "Of course, I also had to worry about Uncle Basil. Someone had fooled around with his wheelchair the same night I lost Aurora, and I didn't know whether that was intended as some macabre warning that the killer had us on his agenda."
     "Did Aurora seem to know any of the passengers or staff?"
     "Not that I noticed. But you will understand I made a point of avoiding her when other people were around. I'm probably not your best witness of Aurora's socializing."
     "What did Aurora tell you she'd done before joining East-Europa?"
     Drewry was disconcerted by the question. 
     "It's going to be a strange confession but I don't really know. Our relationship got going pretty quickly and we agreed, without spelling it out, that we wouldn't talk about our pasts. My own past is not very interesting. Uncle Basil got me my first job and I'm still there, that is, if my firm hasn't closed my department while I've been away."
     "Where are you headed now?"
     "Paris. Uncle Basil has some old friends at the Embassy, and then it's back to New York."
     "Don't you think you should take your story to the Austrian police?"
     "I was rather hoping that you could do that for me," Mark said as he waved to their waiter. 
     Mark was obviously a young man who was used to having things done for him. It seemed to the Pryes that he was hoping to wash his hands of Aurora and her mystery at the modest price of a bottle of wine and a little chat in a deserted Bavarian cafe. 

Chapter 9

St. Florian and Grein

     When they switched on the overhead light in their cabin, the Pryes found that the intruder had returned. This time he had put subtlety aside and acted with all the extravagance of the B-movies. Both beds had been stripped and the bureau and clothes closet had been emptied onto the floor. The door of the bathroom cabinet was open and the contents of all their overnight kits had been shaken into the sink.
     "I think he wants to be sure he's got our attention," Paul said.
     Alice was defiant as she came to the rescue of her ravaged wardrobe. "Nonsense; it must have been obvious, if he knows me at all, that I would have uncovered his little game with the purses."
     "But we haven't stopped investigating, have we, and maybe we have something he wants, or he may just think we do."
     "How do we know it's the same guy?" Alice asked. "Suppose the well-behaved trespasser was the courtly Grigoriev, and if we assume for the moment that he's not the murderer, then maybe the ruffian who's treated my clothes closet so rudely is the same man who killed Aurora. You were guessing that Grigoriev might have a skeleton-key or a way with locks, but the killer may be no slouch either. I'm beginning to think these cabin locks didn't graduate from Yale."
     Paul reflected on her comments while putting his socks back in the single drawer that was allotted to him in the bureau. "Two intruders -- it's possible. But what would they be looking 128 for? All we have is Aurora's address book. Maybe that's what they want, or otherwise they think we've got something else, something that might be evidence of the crime. Why do two people want the same evidence?"
     By the time he spoke, Alice was on her way to a new speculation. "There is, of course, another explanation. Grigoriev wants us to believe there are two intruders, so that we'll feel surrounded."
     Paul took her in his arms. "And are you feeling surrounded, Alice?"
     "Yes. The intruder's unmade our bed, and we shall lie in it."

*     *     *
     At noon on Sunday the Pryes took a secluded table at the restaurant, waiting for Señora Perez to join them as the ubiquitous Bert James had arranged. They sat in the shadow of the pilgrims' church of Pöstlingberg, all pink and white with black spires; when the days were finer than this, there was a splendid view of the city of Linz below. 
     Since little could be seen in the mist, Alice was still thinking about Passau and Mark Drewry. "Can you believe him?"
     Paul twisted her question into slang. "As a human being, no, but as a witness, perhaps. What do you think?"
     "If he's being honest with us, he's terribly gullible. Of course, I shouldn't be too hard on him: young investment bankers probably don't have time to read much detective fiction."
     "Care to explain to the unaddicted?"
     "Mark tells us that Aurora Gabriel had two reasons for inviting him: romance under the Danube moon, and manly protection against an unnamed threat. Isn't there a third possibility? Suppose Aurora was in some kind of deep trouble involving one of our fellow passengers. She comes on the trip hoping to reason with him but she's not counting on success. If all else fails, she's prepared to solve her problem by violence. So she asks her current lover to come along with her, telling him that she's in terrible danger. And if she ultimately has to kill her enemy, boyfriend Mark is on hand to tell everyone she felt imperiled even before the trip began and must have acted in self-defense. Their affair is new, it got going quickly, weren't those Mark's words? Maybe it was Aurora's contingent murder plan, and not his charm, which largely escapes me, by the way - that gave him an easy conquest."
     "What do you make of Aurora's knife purchase in Ruse?"
     "Exactly, doesn't that support my theory?"
     "Not entirely. If Aurora was counting on killing someone before she left New York, why did she wait to purchase her weapon in Bulgaria?" 
     Alice was indomitable once she set out to defend a cherished idea. "Have you forgotten her problem with the airline's incompetent baggage handling? I think some of the bags have not yet arrived after two weeks. She could have packed her weapon in a missing suitcase and then just had to improvise."
     Before Paul could answer, Bert James smiled down at them, a tall platinum-haired woman at his side. She was wearing an orange and white polka-dot cotton suit and matching wedgies. After Bert made the introductions and returned to his own table, Manuela Perez took the vacant place between the Pryes and moved her chair a little closer to Paul's.
     "Call me Manuela," she suggested.
     Under Alice’s observant gaze, Paul was businesslike. After minimal pleasantries, he said: "Tell us what you know about Aurora Gabriel's buying a knife."
     Señora Perez repeated the story she had told Bert James.
     "How did Aurora act when she made her purchase?"
     "Furtiva. Do you have this word? She did not want to be seen, she kept looking around. That's what seemed so funny to us."
     "Someone was with you in the store?"
     "Yes, cousin Carlota. My cousin is a very suspicious woman. It was she who first noticed Miss Gabriel examining the knives."
     "Did you come back to the port in the same bus as Miss Gabriel?"
     "Yes, we did. My cousin Carlota wanted to look at more shops, but I was afraid weld have trouble finding a taxi."
     "Were you near Miss Gabriel during the inspection at the immigration shed?"
     "Only a few feet away. I can guess what you want to know. Miss Gabriel emptied her purse on the counter but the knife was not there. My cousin knows why."
     The Pryes gave her encouraging looks.
     "Carlota believes she had hidden the knife in her dress, just like a rater a de tiendas."
     "Shoplifter," Alice translated.
     "Yes, thank you. Well, you see, my cousin was walking behind Miss Gabriel as they went into the shed and she saw her throwaway the paper bag she brought from the store. She must have taken out the knife by then."
     "Your cousin Carlota is a very observant woman," Alice said.
     "We both have good eyes," Señora Perez sald, resenting the interruption. "And we used them well in the days that followed."
     "With what results?" Paul asked.
     "Miss Gabriel was a sly one. Her cabin was up on the main deck, that you know, but she entertained men on the Neptune in one of the staterooms that had not been booked."
     "How did you find out that she entertained men? Was your cabin nearby?"
     What stupid questions the man asked. For the first time Manuela gave Alice a sympathetic look, implying a knowing sisterhood. 
    "Of course not. I've told you we were keeping our eyes open after Ruse. We saw her enter and leave the cabin and twice we saw men at her door."
     "Who were they?"
     "We quarrel about that between ourselves. We were at the other end of the corridor and it was dark. I think the first man was our history lecturer, Mr. Mestnik. But Carlota says it was the young man who pushed the wheelchair."
     "Mark Drewry?"
     "I do not know his name. We were never introduced."
     "Do you remember when it was you saw the man?"
     "Oh, yes, it was on the night before we came to Belgrade."
     "Did Miss Gabriel use the cabin on the following night?"
     "We didn't see her, but I think we retired early that night. We had a busy day shopping in Belgrade." Alice flashed Señora Perez an understanding smile.
     Paul dispaired of being able to confirm Drewry's story but persisted. "When did you see the second man at the cabin door?"
     "About 2 o'clock in the morning we arrived at Budapest. On that point Carlota and I are in complete agreement. We saw him open the cabin door and walk in. He was a very little man, but that is all we could see."
     "Yes," Alice said, "how could you have done any better? Your stateroom was so very far away."
     Paul glared at Alice and was happy to see the waiter arrive with their wine.

*     *     *
     The visit to the Augustinian monastery at St. Florian checked momentarily the growing impatience of the tourists to arrive in Vienna. Claudia Parsons gave a standing ovation to the unseen performer on Bruckner's church organ, and confirmed her original opinion by proclaiming it vastly superior to Passau's. To Alice Prye, the richest treasures of the abbey were the undimmed colors and tense gestures of Albrecht Altdorfer's St. Sebastian Altarpiece. Trailing behind in the crypt, Paul took secret pleasure in the academic inscription on the tomb of the monastery's famed composer-organist, "Professor Anton Bruckner." It was comforting to discover that even a genius could put first things first.
     While Alice searched for Altdorfer slides at the abbey's souvenir shop, Paul walked out into the courtyard to take a closer look at the pilastered facade of the library hall. At first he thought he was alone but when he approached the Eagle Fountain he saw a man perched on its rim, trailing a hand in the water. Paul squinted in the bright cold sunlight and then recognized Arkady Grigoriev.
     "Hello, Professor Grigoriev." Paul leaned a little hard on the title, his doubts now allied with Alice's. "What did you think of the famous abbey?"
     Grigoriev nodded gravely and cited a detail. "The portal of the west wing is particularly fine. It was executed after Prandtauer's own design, you know."
     Hard put for a response, Paul was wondering how he could turn the conversation in a more profitable direction. Grigoriev seemed to have fitful moments of warmth, but Paul had never again seen him in as sociable a mood as came upon him during the lunch in Belgrade. Now it seemed that the comment on the abbey portal was intended in part to reassert Grigoriev's professional credentials but mainly to send Paul on his way.
     But Paul was wrong in the latter supposition. After a long silence, Grigoriev spoke again: "You know, you can call me Arkady. As I've said before, the Cold War is over and I thank God for that."
     "That is very kind of you, Arkady. I have trouble with this first-name business when we're abroad. I'm sure you realize that for us Americans, lack of ceremony is itself a required social form."
     Expendable words, Paul was embarrassed to admit to himself, anything to keep the flicker of communication alive. Perhaps it was better to dive right in. 
     "You gave us quite a start the other night in Aurora Gabriel's doorway."
     Arkady's eyes narrowed perceptibly. "I believe I explained that to you at the time. My cabin is right across the corridor and I could see the lights inside."
     Paul pursued the small opening. "And could you hear anything?"
     "Not a thing, you and your wife are to be congratulated. It must have been your carpet slippers."
     "We did not want to disturb your sleep," Paul replied pleasantly. "But was the room always so quiet?"
     "Could you be more precise?"
     If it was to be gameplaying, Paul was ready to compete. "I don't remember when you joined our little conclave before we went ashore at Budapest. Charlie Westover fears that Miss Gabriel took ill one or two nights before. Did you hear anything unusual then?"
     "No, and I should tell you that in general I found Miss Gabriel to be a most considerate neighbor. In any case, there are better people for you to consult. Mr. and Mrs. James and the young Szabo couple occupy the adjoining cabins, as I assume you know. I should also tell you, Paul - there, I have become truly American - that I go to bed very late and much could have happened without my having been aware."
     "Alice and I are just the opposite. We call it a night so early that we're not very popular with the Starlight Lounge set."
     "I would have to side with you. My aging head can't put up with too much drinking after dinner."
     Paul smiled to acknowledge Arkady's support. "When we do break our routine from time to time, our favorite night-time activity is very tame, nothing more than a few circuits of the deck, until the cold gets to us."
     Arkady stood up, dusted his trousers and did not look at Paul as he said: 
     "That is most interesting. Everyone must find what suits him best on a tour, don't you agree? The Mayerling lecture, for example, I'm certain you look forward to it with pleasure and I for one will find it most instructive.
     "This little assignment your fellow passengers have given you, that must also be a source of amusement to you. If you take care, you will do no harm and, who knows, perhaps you can persuade East-Europa to tell us more about Miss Gabriel, if there is more that can and should be told. 
     "But do not take your investigation too seriously, Paul. You are, after all, on holiday and you do not need unnecessary - - inconvenience."
     Arkady strode away without inviting Paul to accompany him. In his wake he left his oblique warning, palpable in the solitude of the courtyard.

*     *     *
     Before the Anton Bruckner reached Grein where it would dock for the night, Kurt Lange took once again to the public address sytem: 
     "Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Wahl has asked me to make an announcement. The Danube has known its share of tragedy. Today at St. Florian you heard much about the saint whom the Romans threw into the river weighed down with stones. We are now approaching the small town of Mauthausen and the infamous bridge that led to the main concentration camp of Nazi-occupied Austria. The captain believes you may want to take pictures. Mauthausen will be on your left. You will recognize it by the fifteenth-century church spire."
     The Pryes went out on the main deck where a sprinkling of tourists were gathering. Ahead of them were Dan Eggleston and Ken Mestniki. Ken readied his camera, following Dan's instructions. As the ship neared the town, Mestnik said, "There it is, the steeple. Lange didn't mention there's even an older building in Mauthausen, a thirteenth-century charnel house." 
     Ken snapped the shutter and was framing a second shot when Oswald Parsons walked towards him, cutting off his view. Oswald addressed a comment to nobody in particular: "I can understand why some people are interested in these things but I'm not one of them. There's no point living in the past."
     "Brave words for an art historian." His picture ruined, Ken Mestnik lowered his camera and took a step towards Parsons. Jim Rito deftly moved between them. 
     Mestnik flushed but said nothing more; he turned his back on Parsons and walked into the ship lobby. 
     Alice Prye did not think that any of the other passengers on deck had observed the brief scene, except Manuela Perez, who was standing on the foredeck beyond Parsons.
     "Isn't it odd? We'd never noticed Manuela before we met today, and now she turns up again before we can say Oswald Parsons."
     "It is strange," Paul agreed.

*     *     *
     A droll little woman, standing before them with her back to the stage, boasted that Grein's theatre, converted from a granary in 1791, was the oldest still operating in Austria. To the right of .the stage was a jail cell, where prisoners used to watch performances through a peep-hole and received food and drink from the patrons as a price for their silence. The town's detention facilities were modern now, but the cultural benefits for inmates sadly reduced.
     As Paul Prye made a note for his prison history files, someone in the row behind tapped him on his shoulder. Paul was reluctant to turn around because the lecturer, resenting any sign of inattention, stopped in mid-sentence and waited for decorum to be restored. Having won her point, she quickly brought her lecture to an end: 
     "Each of you in the front row is sitting in a Sperrsitz. In the old days these seats could be locked against their backs after the performance to prevent theft or unauthorized use. If a theatregoer had subscribed to his seat, he could carry it home with him. You have not subscribed, so please leave your seats here, but if you liked my little talk, there are other welcome uses for your money."
     Liberated by her words, Paul at last turned to see that it was Charlie Westover who had been trying to get his attention.
     "It's all arranged for tonight," he said.
     "That's excellent. When should we be there?"
     "Nine would be about right. That's when we should be in full swing."
     Apart from the Westovers, the travelers lodged in the penthouse suites on the sun deck (which they preferred to give its formal name Phoebus) shunned the Skylight Lounge poker parties but had begun to hold occasional "open houses" of their own. Two or three couples left their cabin doors open and guests moved from suite to suite, confident that they would find well-stocked bars and no party-crashers from the lower decks. There had been a single exception made: the Westovers were remarkably democratic and had, with little objection, brought Bert and Kitty James one evening. Everyone got along fine, although some of the women took exception to Kitty's breezy reference to their gathering as a "penthouse party." The Jameses were not exiled below because of that one small misstep. In fact, they were returning tonight; at their suggestion, the Westovers, providing one of the hospitality suites, were also inviting the Pryes to chat with the Phoebus deckers about Aurora Gabriel. As he walked with the Pryes into the square in front of the Grein theatre, Charlie told them that his neighbors were hugely amused by the investigation Westover had set in motion on the main deck. Most of them had been on "mystery weekends," and one man had won first prize on a "murder cruise."
     "Maybe that's the joker we should talk to first." Alice said. "He had a lot more success than we're having."
     In fact, it was only when the party was winding down that the Pryes met the murder-cruise champion at the Westovers' suite. His name was Roland Gildzen. If he had not won top honors as a detective in his mystery tour the other contestants could have fairly regarded him as a prime suspect. He was an enormously fat man with an uncanny resemblance to Sydney Greenstreet but at least two more chins. 
     The Pryes could not remember seeing Gildzen ashore since the bus ride to Giurgiu. Because of his weight, he walked with evident difficulty. However, many of the other passengers the Pryes met at the open house were circulating with the greatest ease but avoided the shore excursions just about as assiduously as Gildzen. Some of them had a playful interest in the Pryes' investigation but they had had almost no contact with Aurora since boarding the ship and did not seem to have much curiosity about her hasty departure. 
     Roland Gildzen shared this indifference except in one particular. "Miss Gabriel certainly left her mark on the social life of the good ship Anton Bruckner." He was squeezed into an armchair within self-service reach of the bar, and interrupted his words to cast admiring looks at his tall glass of bourbon without ice.
     The Pryes, who stood near Gildzen, each moved a little closer to his chair.
     "You see," he said savoring their interest, "I was on the Bruckner last year on the Rhine. What a well-behaved crowd we had on the main deck then. Every evening when dessert was served and they'd licked their platters clean they went right to their cabins -- that is, if there was no lecture they were told to go to first. But, of course, Aurora Gabriel was not on that cruise."
     "And how did Aurora go about breaking down our moral fiber?" Alice asked.
     Gildzen pronounced his judgment. "I think she's a compulsive gambler. No sooner were we aboard and through with the usual formalities of the captain's party than Miss Gabriel scurried around lining your people up for late-night poker parties in the Skylight Lounge. She must have made quite a pile."
     "As a matter of fact, I don't think she played much." This opinion was proffered by Bert James, who had come to the bar for a refill and was listening to Gildzen.
     "Then I guess she just liked to be near the action." Gildzen was unperturbed by Bert's objection; he was not a man who changed his opinions easily just because new facts crossed his path. It could have been this talent that won him the murder-party prize.
     The Pryes said goodnight to the Westovers and headed for the main deck. On the stairs they met First Officer Preger, who greeted them with a smile of duty done: 
     "I'm so glad to find you at last. The radio room has received an urgent message for you from New York." Preger handed them a small envelope which the Pryes read as soon as he disappeared from view. Emmerich, showing that he was now their committed ally, was cryptic: 
     "Found and shipped. Call me immediately." D.E.
     Reclaiming their passports from the reception desk, the Pryes walked back into Grein. Not far from the theatre they found a hotel, where a combination of fragmentary German and exhibition of a train of credit cards won them the right to place a long distance telephone call. Emmerich was at his desk waiting to hear from them.
     "They've found Aurora," Dave confirmed to Paul, who held the receiver far from his ear so Alice could hear. 
     "Where and when?" Paul asked, while Alice rocked her head to show him how close he had come to quoting one of their favorite songs. 
     "You were right in guessing it would be in Yugoslav waters. How did you know, by the way?" 
     "We didn't leave Belgrade much before 11 p.m. Some of the passengers had dinner in the old city, and the departure schedule gave them plenty of time to return."
     "I see. Well, her body was found floating near the mouth of the old Alexander Canal, to the east of Novi Sad." 
     "How do you know it was Aurora?" Paul asked. 
     "Let me try that one," Alice said, taking the phone. "name tapes?" 
     "That's right, Alice. Now it's time to confess. It's the Mrs. who has solved all the Prye murder cases." Dave liked to stir mischief between his two favorite academics. 
     "That's for history to record," Alice said modestly, "but for the moment let me say only that I've seen her closet and she had labels in everything. She must have been a camper." 
     "Or a world traveler," Paul reminded her, retrieving the phone. 
     Dave continued his report. "Multiple cuts in the throat and breasts. She must have died before she hit the water." 
     "When was she found?" Paul asked. 
     "Last Tuesday. 
     The local police had been alerted by Vienna, and apparently knew where to look. Within a day of the discovery, the body was sent off to Vienna's Security Bureau. The Yugoslavs seem to have been glad to get a murder off their blotters. Pretty efficient, don't you think? Do you suppose I could get Connecticut to relieve me of some of my surplus cases?" 
     Paul and Alice traded irritated looks. 
     "There seems to be silence on your end," Dave said. 
     "Vienna was in the picture early for only one reason," Paul explained. "The Anton Bruckner reported Aurora's murder as soon as the captain was told of Brigitte's discovery. We were told that at our odd little briefing. But isn't it reasonable to assume that the communications with Vienna didn't end there, that when the body was found, the Security Bureau must have notified the ship? If for no other reason, don't you think they'd want the captain to keep an eye on the passengers and crew until we reach home port?" 
     "I hear you, Paul, but I'm afraid you and Alice will have to figure that out for yourselves. Haven't you told me, though, that the Vienna police are pretty good at suppressing murder news when it's convenient? I thought that's what they supposedly did at Mayerling, resulting in a century of rumors and, to cap it all, your forthcoming lecture. Now, do you want to hear the rest of my news?" 
     Paul calmed down to listen. "Right." 
     "I drew pretty much of a blank at East-Europa. They had no prior-employment history when they hired her, but I came away with lists of passengers and staff on your ship and on the earlier cruise Aurora coordinated for them on the Adriatic. I don't find any overlap between the two rosters."
     "So we've put you to a lot of trouble there for nothing." 
     "Not quite. On her employment application, Aurora was required to identify next of kin to be notified in case of accident. She listed a sister Barbara in Rye. I called her yesterday. I wasn't as honest with her as I'd have liked to be, but we really don't see the whole picture yet, do we? Anyway, Barbara tells me that Aurora worked for other travel companies before East-Europa but she doesn't know their names." 
     "Did you get the impression Aurora had told her but she'd forgotten?" 
     "You are reading me right, Paul, even at long distance, and I think you know that. My impression was that Aurora told her sister as little as possible. Well, that's about it for now. Let's stay in touch." 
     When Paul hung up, Alice asked: "How late do you suppose Captain Wahl goes to bed? I wouldn't mind another one of our little fireside chats." 

Chapter 10

Dürnstein and Vienna

     The captain would not see the Pryes and Kurt Lange was less than delighted when they confronted him at a poker table in the starlight Lounge. "You look severe," he said to Paul, looking up from a bad hand, "do you have some problem?" 
     "When you can break, we'd appreciate your meeting us in the library." The Pryes did not have long to wait for Lange had seen the news of their discovery in their faces. As soon as he joined them in the library Paul said: 
     "We have learned they've found Aurora and have two questions: how long have you known, and why didn't you tell us?" 
     Lange sat down near the magazine table and stretched his legs at full length as if to ward off the Pryes, who stood near the bookshelves. "I'm the captain's spokesman, not his mentor. He thought it best to wait." 
     "He's still waiting, apparently, because he will not see us tonight. And that suggests my third question: when will the passengers be told?" 
     Lange bent forward and put his hands on his knees; he knit his brows as if Paul had raised a subtle question that merited careful study. 
     "You are right, of course. Everyone must be told. But it is not easy to decide who would best make the disconcerting announcement, Captain Wahl as commander of this vessel, East-Europa, or perhaps the matter had best be left to the Vienna Sicherheitsbüro, which has assumed responsibility for the investigation." 
     Paul was annoyed by the theoretical response. "Stating the alternatives won't do the trick, I'm afraid; you're leaving us out of the picture entirely. Alice and I have many shortcomings as house detectives, I'm sure of that, but maybe the worst from the captain's point of view is that we tend to become unhappy when we get the feeling that we're being used. You were perfectly contented to have us acting as harmless escape valves for the passengers' gossip about Aurora's disappearance, but it must have been agreed among you in advance that if there was ever anything significant to know, we wouldn't learn it from any of you." 
     The message had come through, for Kurt Lange dropped his previous guise of bemused reflection. "Hold on there, Professor Prye, I didn't say any final decision had been taken on the question you raise. I am also quite certain that Captain Wahl is not avoiding you. The ship is about to sail and he is undoubtedly busy with the last arrangements for departure. Why don't we agree on this? Tomorrow afternoon, we dock at Durnstein for our last night before Vienna. We're going to have a farewell dinner at a nice restaurant in town, and when we return I suggest we meet in the captain's quarters to discuss how best to advise the group about Aurora Gabriel's death." Hoping for sympathy, he added: "Nothing we do or say will make our duty any less awkward." 
     The Pryes agreed to the schedule, feeling that they had no other choice. Neither of them would have been willing to take on the chore of scurrying around the ship's corridors late at night to spread the news of the murder. Nobody would have thanked them and another day's delay would probably do no harm.
     In fact, to their surprise, they didn't mind a little respite from the Gabriel case. Alice wanted to give unclouded thought to the dress she should select for waltzing at Dürnstein, and for Paul, with his crime specialist's view of the world, the little village was the highlight of the cruise. It was in Dürnstein's twelfth-century castle that Richard the Lionhearted was imprisoned on the charge of murdering Conrad of Montferrat.
     The approach to Dürnstein on the following afternoon was obscured by a thick haze. Paul Prye, the one person determined to bring home a photograph of the fortress, squinted in vain for the ruins until Dan Eggleston came to his aid. Standing near the gangway talking with Ken Mestnik, Dan noticed Paul's difficulty and pointed him in the right direction. "It's up there on top of the hill; -I recognize the profile of the ruins from the guidebook."
     Not only did Dürnstein treasure its historic monument but it had turned King Richard into its major industry; shops sported primitive portraits of the English king who had once been an enemy, and the name of the hotel at which they were to dine turned him into a good Austrian, Richard Löwenherz. The tourists, most dressed in the best of their apparel that the airline had seen fit to deliver, was escorted to the hotel by a children's band playing recorders backed by accordions and drums. The boys' hats were adorned with dried grass from the surrounding hills. In the middle of the performance, the smallest of the musicians, a girl of four, was hustled home by her father; it was past bedtime. 
     Alice had drunk all the wines offered in celebration of the last night of the cruise, and the events at the restaurant blurred in her mind. She saw Kurt Lange take the microphone from a violinist who had conducted a hometown chorus, and was dimly aware that he was presenting again for their applause a lineup of the staff, Oswald Parsons, Mestnik, Eggleston, and -- had Paul been called up there? -- Alice didn't remember. And then the official parade ended and everyone was waltzing. The usual couples had dissolved; Claudia Parsons claimed Lange as her partner, whispering the invitation in his ear, and even Arkady Grigoriev was on the dance floor, tramping dangerously close to the feet of Arlene Bennett. As the first number ended, Dan Eggleston asked Claudia Parsons for the next dance. Alice heard her say: "It's so considerate of the cruise to have a really tall photographer. That's when the pictures spare the women's double chins." 
     "Claudia Parsons seems to be remarkably popular tonight," Alice said. 
     "Maybe it's her small-talk about Bruckner," Paul suggested. 
     When the third waltz was announced Alice's head had cleared sufficiently for her to tryout her equilibrium. The violinist gave an upbeat with his bow, and the little string orchestra began to play the Beautiful Blue Danube waltzes. Alice closed her eyes and went on automatic pilot as Paul set a fast tempo, also inspired by the heady Wachau wines; the ruffles of her peach dress swirled as they described conservatively small circles on the packed dance floor. As Paul looked at her, he quoted the words of her father: "Alice Prye looks like butter wouldn't melt 
in her mouth." His father-in-law knew that looks could be deceiving. 
     Alice's head cleared during the walk back to the ship but when she and Paul were admitted to Captain Wahl's quarters, she thought that she was seeing double or worse. No, the captain's office was really full; he had invited First Officer Preger and the entire East-Europa staff. Claudia Parsons was not there; Alice couldn't be sure, however, whether it was at her own wish or Oswald's. The captain probably could not have cared less, because the large turnout was a convenient screen against indignation or probing questions. Wahl had turned the requested interview into a kind of press conference. 
     At the captain's nod, Kurt Lange gave a highly expurgated version of the discovery of Aurora's body, omitting any reference to the bloodstains in Cabin 12. His listeners could have understood him to say that the Vienna police had been alerted because Aurora had disappeared from the ship without a trace. 
     "No questions will be taken," the captain said, but his expression conveyed hope rather than command. 
     "We're not your crew to be spoken to this way," Ken Mestnik complained. "Why did you spread the lie about Aurora's family emergency? I won't say you deceived us, because only an idiot would have believed you." 
     Oswald Parsons spoke before Wahl or Lange could respond: "Captain, I'd like to disassociate myself completely from Mestnik's outburst. I'm sure you had good reason to handle the matter as you did. If Mestnik doesn't like it, that's unfortunate, but since the cruise ends tomorrow, his problem's a little - can you forgive me for using against my own interest the word 'academic'?" 
     Paul was caught in a dilemma he had not foreseen, and the wine he'd drunk at Durnstein didn't make it easier to think out the best solution. He did his best to muddle through: 
     "I don't agree with you, Oswald. Ken has every right to disagree with the judgments that have been made without consulting him as a member of the East-Europa staff. The time may come when the past events in this case should be explored more closely." Here he stopped to give Lange a lingering glance that he intended to suggest a new-found capacity for blackmail. "For the moment, though, I think we have to address the future. The passengers must be told." 
     Dan Eggleston shook his head. "I can't buy that at all. Maybe nobody cares about my opinion because I don't exactly run East-Europa Tours." 
     "You're right about that," Oswald Parsons interrupted. "Unless you're going to tell us to say cheese, I don't think there's much you can contribute." 
     Eggleston ignored him. "The way I see the situation is that Paul may be right as a matter of principle, but haven't we all been completely discredited by Kurt Lange's phony announcement in Budapest? Who would believe any of us now?" 
     Paul replied to Dan but looked at Kurt Lange. "I don't think you are getting the point. The Vienna police have got this case. They're going to be swarming allover us when we arrive tomorrow. How in the world can the Bruckner or East-Europa want to transfer our P.R. function from Kurt to the police? Kurt does it all so much better." 
     Kurt Lange understood. "Excuse us for a moment." He and the captain retired to an adjoining bedroom and Kurt shortly returned alone. "What do you want us to do?" 
     Paul answered with assurance. "I want a bulletin under every cabin door when we're awakened tomorrow morning." 
     Oswald now vented his sarcasm on Paul. 
     "Mestnik and Prye make a fine pair. Lange, I want a formal warning before you ever again invite me to sail with two morbid historians." 
     "I can live with that," Paul said.

*     *     *
     Before breakfast the Pryes found the daily cruise bulletin under their stateroom door. After a guarded weather report and a review of disembarkation procedures, the notification that Paul had exacted was abruptly appended: 
With the permission of the Viennese police, we report to you distressing news of the death of Aurora Gabriel. Her body was found by Yugoslav searchers, acting in cooperation with Austrian authorities, last Tuesday evening, off the northern shore of the Danube near Novi Sad. Miss Gabriel had been stabbed to death, most probably in her stateroom. 
The bulletin provided more detail than the Pryes would have expected about the bloodstains found in Cabin 12 and the sealing of the room. A lame apology followed: 
We would have liked to inform you earlier but we kept silent on strict orders from the Schottenrinq. Perhaps, after all, you will think it was just as well, for we are satisfied that your safety was not compromised, and by our deferment of this communication your enjoyment of the cruise was preserved. 
One last comment is required. When we disembark, each of you will be briefly questioned by a Viennese policeman. Do not be alarmed. This is a mere formality. The police have told us there is no reason to suspect that the person responsible for the death of Aurora Gabriel is still among us.
         "Die Mörder sind nicht unter uns," said Alice, parodying the title of a postwar German film. "I guess we're not to worry; they must have deduced that the murderer is a long-distance swimmer. Agatha Christie did that once. By the way, what or who is the 'Scottish Ring'?" 
     "The Schottenring is the address of central police headquarters." 
     "A prestigious address, no doubt about it," Alice said. "Are they copycats of Scotland Yard?" 
     "No; it's pure coincidence; the Scottish Ring is a stretch of the Ringstrasse that runs toward the Danube Canal. It was named after a medieval monastery called the Scots Church - not the most appropriate name in the world, since the church was founded by Irish monks." 
     When the ship docked the passengers were divided into four groups for police interrogation. The Pryes drew a polite and somewhat nervous young man who identified himself as Gruppeninspektor Erich Holm. After shuddering inwardly at his title, the Pryes answered his perfunctory questions. He did not seem to be interested in much more than their names and home address. "He didn't even ask me what courses I teach," Alice complained when they boarded their bus. "He'd do terribly at a singles bar, not to mention a college reunion." 
     Paul counseled patience. "He's not running the show; Dave Emmerich is going to get us properly introduced to the Security Bureau. Let's enjoy a day in Vienna while we can." 
     Paul's hope turned out to be misplaced. Kurt Lange's land excursion arrangements, which steadily deteriorated after the first week of the cruise, as Alice had already observed, hit a new low during the first morning in Vienna. The principal goal of the morning's outing was evidently not to absorb the capital's culture but to kill enough time for the hotel rooms to be ready for the group's lunchtime arrival. The strategy became all too plain when the buses brought the tourists to the Belvedere palaces. The group was let off near the entrance to the Upper Belvedere, which housed collections of Egon Schiele and other modern Austrian painters that Alice was lusting to see. Her visit, though, was long postponed because Lange first headed a long march through the gardens that led to the Austrian Baroque Museum in the Lower Belvedere. After a slow circuit of its galleries, Lange made the tourists retrace their steps to their starting point for a frustratingly brief glimpse of the Schiele paintings in the upper palace. 
     Roland Gildzen, the corpulent murder-game champion, was in no condition for so much walking and refused to leave his bus. The driver explained, through the translation of a local tour representative, that parking was not permitted near the palaces and that the buses would have to return to their garage until the tourists were ready to be picked up. Gildzen, despite East-Europa's substantial prices, was quite willing to spend the entire morning at the garage, but the driver decided with some justification that the drowsy American would not make the best company and found him a taxi. 
     It was therefore Roland Gildzen who was the first of the East-Europa contingent to arrive at their hotel, a recent addition to one of the major international chains. It was located on the Parkring, across from the entrance to the City Park. The taxi driver, who spoke good English, told Gildzen that a short walk into the park would take him to the famous statue of Johann strauss. Roland, visions of comfortable lobby armchairs and sofas dancing in his head, thought the man should mind his own business; he measured out the tip with more than his customary deliberation. 
     In front of the hotel entrance a pair of military policemen stood guard. Gildzen passed between them without incident and found a low overstuffed armchair facing the door. It was just his style, Roland sighed as the leather cushion sank under his weight; he might have trouble rising but the future could take care of itself. 
     Within a few minutes Roland was asleep; it was not as long a nap as he would have wished because he was soon disturbed by a sense of bustling movements around him and male voices that carried to his ears at an inconsiderate high volume. He opened his eyes and saw that it was not his fellow passengers who had awakened him. A group of men, mainly dressed in trenchcoats, talked noisily as they streamed towards the elevators; they all seemed to be wearing armbands bearing a logo Roland could not decipher. 
     Just what he needed to wrap up this bizarre trip, a business convention; maybe they were selling trenchcoats like the ones they all had on. Using an imperious wave that he found accomplished wonders in European hotels, Gildzen summoned a bellman who was standing near the concierge's desk. When the man approached, Gildzen asked: "What are these fellows with the armbands here for?" 
     "The OPEC meeting is opening today. These gentlemen are security guards." 
     Gildzen tried out the skills that had brought him acclaim at the murder contest. "But don't they have to check in somewhere? Do you just let them walk in from the street and swarm allover the hotel?" 
     The bellman shrugged. "They have armbands," he said and walked away. "Amerikaner," he muttered under his breath.

*     *     *
     From their hotel room Paul dialled Anne Litz, the Viennese woman listed in Aurora's address book. A woman told him that Fraulein Litz was away but would return in two days.
     After lunch the Pryes went their separate ways; Alice was off to see the private Klimt and Schiele retrospective that would more than compensate for the abbreviated visit to the Upper Belvedere, and Paul scoured the city in search of the catalogue of the Mayerling centennial exhibition. He found the coveted volume at last in an art bookstore housed in the basement of the Augustiner Church and carried it back to the hotel in triumph. Leaving the elevator on the eighth floor where most of the East-Europa tourists were staying, Paul smiled unsuccessfully at the gauntlet of OPEC guards who sat at tables placed at every turning of the corridor; he pushed past the swinging fire doors that led to the rooms East-Europa had taken. 
     As soon as Paul was inside his room, he threw his coat on the bed, settled himself in the desk chair and unwrapped the catalogue, melodramatically titled Rudolph: A Life in Maverling's Shadow. Under the weak light in which hotels specialize, he scanned the illustrations, beginning with a touching photograph of the six-year old prince in a colonel's uniform and ending with a series of centennial prints showing the transfer of Rudolph's body from the hunting lodge to the Hofburg in Vienna. Paul turned back through the pages, but could not find the object he was looking for, the tilted mirror. Setting the catalogue aside, he consulted one of the reference works he had brought from New York. 
     In a book published in 1889 a doctor had reported that the Crown Prince had placed a Bulldog revolver 3 centimeters above his right ear and fired. "In front of the bed stood a cheval-glass which, normally used for dressing, had been specially moved there, and it is clear that the Crown Prince sat up in the bed and shot himself in front of the mirror, making sure he placed the lethal barrel to the right spot." The cheval-glass was listed as item 112 in the police inventory, but it had been too much for Paul to hope that the depressing reminder of tragedy had been preserved for the centennial exhibition. Many historians scoffed at the mirror-suicide theory but Paul had never been able to free himself from its suggestive power. 
     Alice returned from the art exhibit to find Paul preoccupied with the missing suicide evidence. "How very Viennese," she remarked when he mentioned the speculations about the role of the cheval-glass. "Egon Schiele kept the same kind of mirror in his studio and used its tilted plane for his self-portraits. I think his own image was by far his favorite subject. Do you remember my article?" She was about to treat him to a recapitulation, but he hurried her downstairs to catch a taxi. They were to overtake the group at 4 o'clock at the entrance to the Capuchin Crypt, where members of the Hapsburg royal family, some 140 strong, were buried. 
     At the entrance to the Capuchin Church, the East-Europa group was struggling to preserve its unity amid an enormous crush of visitors. "The Mayerling centenary has made this place even more popular," Kurt Lange said in defense of his inability to maintain any semblance of order in their ranks, "and, of course, there's been a good deal of publicity about our most recent arrival." 
     "Recent arrival?" Bert James asked, as if he were afraid he'd missed someone he should know. 
     "Empress Zita. She was brought here last year." 
     When they were finally admitted into the crypt, the Pryes decided that they had no choice to proceed on their own. Their first stop was at the gloomy iron tomb of Maria Theresa, topped by a sculptured royal couple sitting up in bed, surprised by death. In the designs of the tomb the imperial yielded to the macabre: on each side a headless man in armor rose, holding his helmet aloft with a club. At the rear of the monument a draped skull represented the destiny that the empress shared with commoners. Standing beside the Pryes was a group of Italian teenagers, among them a young girl with a sweatshirt reading Domani. Tomorrow. 
     Forced to work out circuitous routes because of the press of visitors and the babel of guides' commentaries, the Pryes took a detour to inspect the plaque that was installed in memory of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Duchess Sophie, assassinated at Sarajevo in 1914; they were described movingly as "the first victims of World War I." Down the side aisles, rows of modest coffins were laid out, as in a mortuary, for the poor relatives of Hapsburg history. The light was dim and Alice and Paul were far from sure of the layout of the crypt. Somehow they were able to slip through gaps in the crowd and pick their way to the chapel of Emperor Franz Joseph and his doom-stricken family. The emperor's shrine sat on a marble base and on either side were twin silvered-copper sepulchres of Empress Elizabeth, stabbed to death by an anarchist in 1898, and Crown Prince Rudolph, who had died at Mayerling. Rudolph's tomb was strewn with roses and at its foot lay a ribboned black wreath, the tribute of the "Union of Austrian Monarchists." 
     Alice knew Paul's habit of standing in revery before monuments associated with crime history so she did not rush him away.Paul bent low to examine Rudolph's tomb; the corners had been worn smooth by the touches of idolaters or curiosity-seekers. As he rose, a sound of tumult and indignant voices came to them from the adjoining corridor. Paul rushed out to see what was going on, but his timing was bad. A new influx of tourists were pushed backwards by others forcing their way to the exit. Paul found himself in the midst of the contending camps. Before he could retreat to the relative calm of the chapel he was struck violently in the shoulder by an unyielding object and almost fell to the stone floor of the hallway. In the darkness he could not tell who it was that had hit him, but it seemed that he had been met head-on by the vanguard of departing visitors. 
     Rubbing his shoulder, Paul returned to the chapel. Alice was glad she hadn't come along; "What's happening out there? It sounds like someone shouted 'fire' in a crowded theater." 
     "It's more like getting caught in two-way traffic on a one-way street. Someone must be in an awful rush to get out of here." 
     The Pryes waited until the noise subsided before venturing out into the corridor. Walking in the direction from which the exiting crowd had come, they entered a small side chapel, where a statue of a Hungarian woman stood in memory to Empress Elizabeth. To the right was a wooden coffin on a stone platform, surrounded by flowers and flowering plants. This was the temporary resting place of another empress, Zita, last of the Hapsburgs. Draped across the coffin was a streamer with a legend in red, "Leningrad October 2, 1988." 
     Alice furrowed her brow. "I don't get it. I thought Empress Zita died last March. And didn't she live in Switzerland? I remember seeing a picture of her at her 95th birthday party, surrounded by great grandchildren." 
     "You're right on all counts," Paul said. 
     "How could they make such a mistake, here of all places?" 
     "I don't know, but you're not the only person bothered by the date. I think this streamer also disturbed someone else, who wanted to get the hell out of here and just ran into me in the corridor. Something he was carrying smacked me in the shoulder." 

Chapter 11

Vienna

     Paul was silent during the bus transfer back to the hotel. Always quick to recognize the symptoms of his preoccupation with crime, modern or ancient, Alice did not break into his reverie until they found a table in the hotel cocktail lounge. She ordered her vodka and his scotch and decided she was owed a little conversation for her pains: "A schilling for your thoughts. My offer is made at the current bank rate." 
     When the drinks arrived Paul saluted her with his glass. "Sorry I've been such a bore. The bus just didn't seem like the right place for a discussion." 
     Alice's eyes glistened with an assist from a generous swallow of Absolut. "I hope you're not telling me that the murderer may have been seated close by. I know that Kurt Lange has lost his credibility, but haven't the Austrian police also told us we're not to worry? I say the hell with them all. Just as we've done in London and New York, we'll have to muddle through on our own. Shall I try guessing what's on your mind?" 
     "Why not, welcome inside my head. It's been such a lonely place the last half hour." 
     "All right then," Alice said. "You think, and I agree, that someone placed this banner on Zita's coffin to send a message to a member of the East-Europa group. Right so far?" 
     Paul sipped his scotch and let her continue. 
     "Using the streamer was a wonderful idea when you think about it. Most people wouldn't have given the legend more than a passing glance, since the streamer looked so much like a funeral tribute. If a casual observer were inclined to give the message even a second thought, she could have noticed that the time and place were wrong for zita's death but might suppose the empress had paid a state visit to Russia a year earlier. But to someone else who was in the know the message meant something terribly different. And that's the joker who led East-Europa's charge to the exit and trampled you en route." 
     "I'm with you almost all the way," Paul said, "but of course we can't be completely sure that the message was not intended for someone in one of the other groups. There's nothing in the legend that gives away the language of the intended reader." 
     "That's a perfectly defensible quibble," Alice said. Surprised how little was left in her glass, she made a preliminary survey of the room to see whether their waiter was within call. "The trouble is, I don't think you have the slightest doubt the message was for one of us. Could it be a warning of another murder?" 
     Paul was in one of his maddeningly noncommittal moods. "Possibly; someone took the message pretty seriously." 
     "Then what do you make of the place and date?"
     "Very little at the moment, but I have some suggestions: first we order our second round of drinks, and then we call Dave Emmerich." 
     "How about including me in the order?" Roland Gildzen pulled a chair over to their table and sat down without a welcome. The chair creaked in protest but sustained its monumental burden. "Glenfiddich!" he shouted in the direction of the bar, ending with a guttural "ch", which he assumed was necessary for translation. 
     "What do you think of the OPEC meeting?" Roland asked the Pryes. 
     "Economics is not my field," Paul answered, hardly bothering to conceal his lack of interest. "You tell us, will prices be up at the pump?" 
     "I couldn't care less. My chauffeur manages to rob me blind at any price. What I meant to ask was whether you've noticed these so-called security agents swarming allover the hotel without anyone bothering to check their credentials." Gildzen proceeded to describe the pell-mell invasion of the OPEC guards that he had observed from the vantage point of his lobby armchair. Paul and Alice had the distinct impression that they were far from the first with whom he had registered his complaint. 
     With some difficulty the Pryes broke away from the lounge fifteen minutes later, leaving Gildzen in possession of the table. There he sat, like a domineering bullfrog, waiting to snare other East-Europa tourists who might happen by. He had not yet exhausted his grievance against the hotel management. 
     "I hope we haven't missed Emmerich because of Gildzen's fascination with OPEC," Alice said as they rode up in the elevator. 
     "Don't worry," Paul reassured her. "The man's like clockwork until he gets his lunch." 
     When Paul's telephone call went through, Dave, who was in high spirits, seized control of the conversation: "You're in luck, Paul. I've got you an introduction at the security Bureau, which is looking into your latest holiday murder. By the way, you'll have to stop referring to these fellows as the Schottenring, because they're not located in police headquarters. They've got their own building in the 9th District, wherever that may be. The address is Rossauer Lande 5, telephone number 34 55 11."
     Paul scrawled a note on hotel stationery and asked: "Who's running the case?" 
     Dave had treasured this surprise. "It's the assistant director, Oberrat Ernst Reiner." 
     "That isn't our Ernst Reiner by any chance, is it, Dave?" Paul savored the bait that his friend had trailed before him. 
     "It is indeed. Even in central Europe virtue is rewarded." 
     For decades Reiner had figured as a detective in some of Austria's most sensational murder cases. He had first come to international attention in 1963 as a member of the investigative team that tracked down the unspeakable Josef Weinwurm, who stabbed a 10-year-old ballet student to death in Vienna's state Opera House. More recently Dave and Paul had encountered his work again in the case of serial murderer Harald Sassak, who strangled elderly women after entering their apartments disguised as a reader of gas meters. 
     When Paul recovered from his delight over the chance encounter of one of his favorite European detectives, he reverted to his current annoyance with the Austrian police. "I can't believe that a man of Reiner's caliber would take such a relaxed attitude towards a murder case, particularly where the victim is a foreign guest." 
     Dave's viewpoint was different. "I think the international angle is part of the problem. The Austrians have accepted the body because the Anton Bruckner flies their flag, but I'm not sure they're all that enthusiastic about spending a lot of time on the case. Maybe these Danube folks you and Alice find so romantic are doing some major league buck-passing. Yugoslavia's gotten rid of the body and, unless you can do a good job of salesmanship, our friend Reiner would like nothing better than to send it back to the u.s. as soon as he can put enough paper in his file. I'm sure you can bring him around, though. Just remind him how great he was with Weinwurm and Sassak. Anyway, he'll be expecting your call; he can see you tomorrow afternoon." 
     "Whatever reception I may get from Reiner, I'm grateful to you for clearing my way past the switchboard. Now may I change the subject?" 
     "You want my thoughts on Mayerling, I suppose. It was Charles Boyer who dunnit." 
     There was no point in wasting a pained expression Dave could not see, so Paul abbreviated a laugh and continued: "What do you remember about the nervous system?" 
     Dave had brought Paul to some lectures on forensic pathology a few years ago. It was a part of his campaign to introduce the professor to the facts of death. Paul had dutifully taken copious notes but was often at sea.
     To Emmerich it was a sign of progress that his theorizing friend was showing a new interest in science. "Do you have any particular nerve in mind?" 
     Listening casually from across the room, where she was copying addresses of fabric shops from the telephone book, Alice gave Paul an exasperated scowl. It was remarkable how easily he could become distracted when there was something important to say. Had he forgotten to tell Dave about zita's streamer? 
     She didn't have to wait long before she heard Paul switch direction again: "One last point for now, Dave. Can you find out what happened in Leningrad on October 2, 1988?" 
     Emmerich was used to verbal duels with Paul Prye and could tell from his excited tone that it wouldn't take much coaxing to find out what he was talking about. Just about any response would do the trick, so he made a mock plea for details: 
     "Do you mean at local party headquarters or at the Kirov Ballet?" 
     Satisfied that Emmerich was intrigued, Paul told him about their experience at the Hapsburg crypt. 
     "Can you give me a hint about what the date's supposed to mean to the guy who ran into you?" Emmerich asked when Paul came to a full stop. "You're never short of ideas, particularly when you're on vacation. I've noticed that before. Why don't you ever develop jet lag like other self-respecting people?" 
     "You're much too complimentary, at least on the present occasion," Paul replied. "I've thought about the message on the streamer ever since we left the crypt, and I have precious little to show for my trouble, except that I've irritated Alice by becoming bad company. About the best I can suggest is that we're looking for a crime or act of violence that took place in Leningrad on the date noted on the banner." 
     "That's not terribly helpful, you know," Dave observed with exaggerated politeness. 
     "It may be a little more so if I add two assumptions: first, that the Leningrad matter has remained unsolved or, at least, unpunished, and second, that it may bear some resemblance to the murder of Aurora Gabriel. What would you say then -- am I still being unhelpful?" 
     "I don't know. I guess it depends on the daily crime rate in Leningrad. Let me see what I can find out. I'm going to have to sign off for now, though." 
     Paul held him for a moment longer. "How can you find out quickly about a crime in Leningrad?" 
     Emmerich laughed at him. "We detectives are an international brotherhood, something like the Mafia but less efficient. We make friends in the most surprising places. If you think you can escape your Manhattan parking tickets these days by moving to Russia, forget it. I'll be back to you." He hung up. 
     Alice had put aside the telephone book and was listening more intently by the end of the conversation. "Have you seen Grigoriev recently?" she asked Paul. 
     "Not since we've been in Vienna. What makes you ask?" 
     "Come off it, Paul," she said testily. "Must I use Watson's formula? 'I know your methods.'" 
     Smiling, Paul dialled the telephone number of the Security Bureau.
     It was remarkable how easy it was to reach Oberrat Reiner and obtain an invitation to his office for the following day. The Pryes had learned from prior travels that very little could be accomplished easily in bureaucratic Vienna, even obtaining a dessert in Demel's famous coffee house. First, you pointed to the pastries of your choice in a display case and were given a numbered slip. Step two, you paid the cashier for your purchase after moving up a long queue. Finally, you returned to the display window to match your order numbers against the agonizingly slow pastry deliveries. The Pryes called this the "Demel method," a term they applied generically to any cumbersome business or administrative procedure. Fortunately, the Viennese dealt more efficiently with murder than with pastry; the Security Bureau was not run by the Demel method. 
     The address Emmerich had provided was on a street that was a northerly extension of the Franz Josef Quay, along the Danube Canal. After allowing time for the possibility of getting lost in the unfamiliar district, Paul arrived early but was escorted promptly to the assistant director's office.
     Oberrat Reiner did not rise from his desk when Paul was introduced. He was a portrait in black. A strong dye preserved or deepened the hair color of his long-departed youth, and in the breast pocket of his dark suit was a solid black handkerchief with three high peaks. Despite his dedication to law and order, Reiner's style announced his professional kinship to morticians. 
     "Mr. Prye, you are the friend of the New York police, am I correct? Welcome to Vienna." 
     Paul could have hoped for a more encouraging greeting. Reiner made it sound like he wanted a tour of the crime lab or, even worse, might be collecting police postcards. Could this be Dave Emmerich's long-distance joke? There was only one way to find out, so Paul decided to be unceremonious. 
     "My wife and I were on the Anton Bruckner when Aurora Gabriel was killed. I am a crime historian, so Captain Wahl asked me to question some of the English-speaking passengers." 
     Reiner flicked at the end of his moustache (in which he had retained traces of gray to introduce a dash of realism) with repeated downward strokes of his index finger. "How very interesting," he said. "It is always interesting for me to meet a colleague." 
     The irony was not lost on Paul, who was accustomed to the condescension of professional detectives. "And it is a great honor for me to meet you, Herr Aberrate I am familiar with your work, and the Weinwurm case has, of course, become a classic." 
     Reiner was not easily flattered. "I regard the case as a failure. If the Viennese authorities had entered Weinwurm's earlier crimes into the proper archives, he would have been under surveillance and little Dagmar would not have died. But that is all in the past, and it is my duty to look forward. I understand you wish to speak to me about our Gabriel investigation." 
     Reiner's assertion of proprietary rights couldn't have been plainer, but Paul was not deterred. Consulting notes he had made in the last days of the cruise, he reported the results of his shipboard inquiries. Only when he had completed his summary did he venture a mild complaint about the restrictions under which he had operated. "Frankly, the captain blamed all the secrecy on you, and I never knew how much I should believe him." 
     Assistant Director Reiner didn't care to enlighten him on the point. "I can see that must have been a problem for you," he said. 
     "It was a problem for both my wife and me, Herr Oberrat. We're not used to breaking into other people's staterooms, I can assure you of that, or having people break into ours. And even after undertaking our unauthorized inspection, Cabin 12 holds some mysteries which you have surely resolved and as to which we can only guess." 
     Reiner looked at him sharply. "And what are the questions to which you refer?" 
     "Well, I have assumed without confirmation that the bloodstains we saw indicate a sufficient loss of blood for Aurora Gabriel to have died in her cabin?" 
     "That is correct." It was no small accomplishment to have obtained the first factual concession, however self-evident, so Paul hurried on. "And I suspect that your laboratory may also have discovered that a second person shed blood in the stateroom?" 
     "The tests are not complete, but you may be correct on that account as well. And if you are, where does that lead you?" Reiner seemed to take a new interest in Paul without, however, dropping his guard. 
     "I suppose I should first tell you how I arrive at the hypothesis though it is already implicit in the report I've given you of our conversations with fellow passengers. According to Mark Drewry, Ms. Gabriel feared some sort of danger and we have reason to believe she made more than one attempt to provide herself with a knife. I think that her assailant may have ultimately killed her with her own weapon. But since she probably had it hidden somewhere in her cabin -- available for self-defense or perhaps some kind of preemptive attack of her own -- it's reasonable to surmise she may have struck the first blow." Paul paused for approval. "Does that make sense?" 
     Reiner moved his chin almost imperceptibly. Paul couldn't call it a nod. 
     Paul "Now you ask me where this leads me, Herr Oberrat. That's precisely where I run into a brick wall and need your help. You see, I could not interview the ship staff; even if our German had been up to the task, I don't think Captain Wahl and his spokesman, Kurt Lange, would have permitted it." 
     "You should not worry about this, Mr. Prye. Our detectives are speaking to the crew. The next sailing of the Anton Bruckner has been postponed for this purpose." 
     "Does the crew, in your definition, include Dr. Hoppe, who left us in Passau on short notice?" 
     Assistant Director Reiner gave a rare show of amusement. "So it is Dr. Hoppe who you believe shed his blood in Aurora Gabriel's cabin. You do not have a flattering view of our Austrian physicians." 
     Paul had not been aware of the construction that could be put upon his words, so he hastened to explain. "No, it's not that I suspect Dr. Hoppe of having had a hand in the crime, or of any impropriety, for that matter. To the contrary, I wonder whether he may not have followed the ethical credo of his profession too passionately, so as to exclude a recognition of broader responsibilities. 
     "I am a historian, so that you'll forgive a famous object lession from American history. After the assassination of President Lincoln, Dr. Samuel Mudd was tried for complicity in the murder plot. He had set the leg of the fleeing assassin John Wilkes Booth and the prosecution suggested that he also delayed reporting Booth's escape route to federal authorities. At the trial Mudd's lawyers denied that the doctor had any knowledge of Booth's crime' at the time he treated him. But they also asserted a more fundamental defense: that a physician has a broad right, perhaps an obligation, to assist a person in need of medical 173 attention, even if his services frustrate the interest of the public in the capture of a criminal. 
     "Is it possible that a dedicated physician, as I have no doubt Dr. Hoppe must be, might have been called on by a bleeding passenger in the middle of the night; that he treated his wounds with no questions asked, and then felt bound by medical ethics to remain silent even when subsequently confronted with evidence that his patient had murdered Aurora Gabriel?" 
     Reiner shook his head decisively. "I know the history of your Dr. Mudd and recall that he was convicted in spite of the defense that you describe. I can assure you that the ethical principle that you describe would not be recognized in Austria either by the medical profession or by public authorities. We cannot afford your generosity towards criminals; we are a small country and cannot comfort ourselves with the hope that if a criminal is released on the basis of some high-sounding doctrine, he will move far away and never be heard of again. This is a complicated way of saying that I doubt very much that Walther Hoppe will turn out to be an Austrian Dr. Mudd." 
     Paul noticed Reiner's use of Hoppe's first name. "Still, you expect to speak to him or have done so already?"
     "To a double question please accept an ambiguous 'yes'." Reiner's expression was more encouraging than his words, so Paul took heart as he embarked on the second part of his report. He detailed his conversations with Emmerich and his experiences in Vienna, focusing on the uproar among the Hapsburg tombs. 
     Reiner, no longer fencing with him, asked Paul to relay promptly any information Emmerich might receive from Leningrad. The Security Bureau would make its own inquiries there as well. Paul was pleased but had some additional requests. 
     "As you will not be surprised to learn after listening to my story of the cruise, we have had the feeling all along that the Soviet passenger Grigoriev fits into the puzzle somewhere. Yesterday the banner in the tomb persuaded us we must be right about this. Can you keep a close watch on him?" 
     Reiner looked embarrassed. 
     "You mean we've lost him?" 
     Paul tried to claim a share of the responsibility.
     "His name was not among those of the persons interviewed at the dock, and he did not register at your hotel. Have you seen him in Vienna? 
     "I don't think so. We were remarking on his absence yesterday when we returned from the tombs." With involuntary selfishness, Paul also recalled that he had counted on Arkady as the passenger most likely to attend his Mayerling lecture. 
     "I do have a last favor to ask," Paul said, feeling his hand was strengthened somewhat by the disappearance of Grigoriev. "In the interest of security, I request that you consider protecting our hotel corridor during the balance of our stay.”
     Reiner smiled as he reached across his desk to shake hands. "We are not so neglectful of your safety as you may think, Mr. Prye. Appropriate measures have been in place since your arrival." 

*     *     *
     Whenever the reclusive Paul Prye showed an interest in their social life, Alice suspected that he had something up his sleeve. A few weeks before her 40th birthday, Paul had suddenly brought up the subject of their experiences in New York suburbia. New York, he declared, was bum-rapped for its coldness; they had not made a host of friends in their decade in Riverdale, but they had formed several close attachments. Who would Alice say were their most intimate friends? "All right," Alice said, immediately smelling a rat, "who's planning my surprise party?" 
     On their second afternoon in Vienna, after his return from the Security Bureau, Paul was up to something again. He had told Alice they had scandalously neglected Bert and Kitty James. With her consent, he called their room to suggest that the two couples go together to a concert performance of The Magic Flute at the Konzerthaus. Alice couldn't believe her ears when Paul wangled an invitation to the Jameses' room for drinks before dinner. 
     After serving the Pryes from the considerable stores of Sekt he had purchased on the ship, Bert needled Paul about the failure of his investigation: 
     "It's too bad you couldn't turn the culprit in when we landed. But I guess Captain Wahl wasn't really playing fair. How were we to know that Aurora was dead before we got to Budapest?" 
     "Get over it," Kitty ordered him. "Here we are in old Vienna safe and sound." 
     "That's right," Paul said. "I suggest we leave the Gabriel case to the Austrian police. I know it will sound heartless but it really was a great cruise, and Aurora deserves a lot of the credit. Remember all the card parties she got going in the Skylight Lounge?" 
     Alice couldn't believe her ears. 
     "How could I, with all the hangovers I had to show for them?" Bert smiled like a naughty fraternity brother. 
     "I'm not surprised," Paul said, "since you were obviously the life of the party. Every night you had another woman's arms around your neck to bring you luck at the poker table. By the way, who was your mascot on the night we sailed from Belgrade?" 
     The question scored a double hit: on Bert's amour-propre and on his passion for detail. "Wait a minute, I'll tell you." He rushed to the top drawer of their bureau and searched his collection of ship photographs. 
     Closing the drawer, he turned to beam at the Pryes: "It was Liz Szabo." 

Chapter 12

Vienna

     At 5 o'clock the next morning Dave Emmerich's call woke the Pryes. Alice was closer to the phone but yielded possession with a lazy gesture. 
     "Is that you, Paul? I can hardly hear you." Dave was taking sweet revenge for many ill-timed calls he had received from the Pryes. 
     Paul mumbled a little more audibly. 
     "There's a bulletin from the eastern front," Dave said. Nothing more was required to clear Paul's mind. 
     "You were right, Paul, and you know how I hate to make your day by admitting it. Leningrad, October 2, 1988. There were the usual street muggings and drunken brawls, but also something you'd have to call extraordinary. Valentina Morozova, age 34, part-time Intourist agent, was strangled in her hotel room." 
     "Part-time?" Paul asked. 
     "Yes, she was a school teacher from the Moscow area, but when she was waiting for a new assignment or between terms, she worked for Intourist. Mrs. Morozova spoke a number of Western languages." 
     "English?" 
     "Of course." 
     "Was she guiding a Western group at the time of her murder?" 
     "That's not clear, but we've asked for more information. It seems that often a number of visiting groups were consolidated for Leningrad tours. Except in the winter when tourism is off, the Russians don't usually allow groups to stay in Leningrad for. more than a few days for fear of straining hotel facilities and available Intourist staff." 
     "They probably also worry about running out of spies," Paul suggested. "I heard you say Mrs. Morozova. Is there a husband?" 
     "Somewhere, I suppose. The report says they're separated. It adds that Mrs. Morozova had a fine reputation." 
     "The Russians take a very enlightened attitude towards professional women," Paul commented. "Divorce or separation never does any harm to the dossier; the great sin is for a woman to stay single past age 25. Do you have any details on the murder?" 
     "Very few; I'm sending FAXes to you and your new friend Reiner. Mrs. Morozova was manually strangled; and if we are correctly interpreting the roundabout wording of our source, she was bound hand and foot to the bed. Her body was found about 10 in the morning when the maid arrived to clean the room." 
     "Was October 2 the date on which the body was discovered?" 
     A silence indicated that Dave was consulting his data. "No, that was October 3." 
     "Was the time of death clearly pinpointed during the previous evening?" 
     "Paul, I'd say you're doing a pretty fair job of reading the police report even before it comes to you. As a matter of fact, the doctors disagreed as to whether the death occurred before or after midnight; they bracketed the possible time between 11 p.m. and 2 in the morning."
     "Did the police ultimately take a position on the date of death?" 
     "Yes, you'll see that in the FAX. The murder is described as probably committed before midnight on October 2." 
     Paul asked another question to which he thought he knew the answer. "You don't imagine, do you, that the murder would have been reported in the local newspaper?" 
     Dave chuckled. "Your voyage through the 'new democracies' of Eastern Europe must be getting to you. You know there's no serious crime in the soviet union -- at least none that's fit to print. Well, that's about all I have for you. Have I solved your case?" 
     "Ask me again in a couple of days," Paul answered. "This is a mysterious city."

*     *     *
     Anne Litz lived in an old apartment building in the 7th Bezirk. The ancient female concierge, who seemed to date from the period of original construction, looked at the Pryes suspiciously but decided to let them pass. The open grillwork of the elevator cage did not look inviting, so they took the staircase. Alice ran an appreciative hand over the iron arabesques of the banister. When they reached the third floor, they paused for a moment before a window that looked down into an interior courtyard. A little child, unattended, circled the yard slowly on an unpainted hobbyhorse. 
     When the Pryes knocked, the apartment door was opened by a slim young woman, whose straight black hair was pulled back in a bun behind prominent ears. Paul guessed she was in her early thirties, but deep shadows had set in for good beneath her large eyes. 
     "Frau Litz?" he asked. 
     "It is 'Fräulein, '" she answered, looking appraisingly at Alice. Paul had arranged that both of them would visit but Anne Litz seemed to be having second thoughts about speaking to two strangers, or, indeed, to either of them. 
     "Won't you please be comfortable," she said, leading them into a small living room, which had been converted into an office; Anne Litz sat down at a desk and peered at them defensively over the barrier of a personal computer. The Pryes, obeying their hostess's unspoken warning to keep their distance, sat on a worn couch that sagged against the opposite wall. In the hope of keeping the interview mercifully short, Fraulein Litz did not offer them afternoon coffee. Instead, she asked them abruptly: 
     "You've come from him, I assume. I would not have imagined you as you are, nor would I have expected you to be accompanied by such a woman -- excuse me, I mean by your wife." 
     "What did they think we'd be like?" Paul asked. 
     Fräulein Litz found the right phrase. "A good deal less respectable, of course." She blushed as the personal consequences of her response dawned on her. 
     Paul came to her rescue, as he said gently: "I think you may have misunderstood our purpose in calling you. Mrs. Prye and I do not come from him, or from his associate. He is a criminal; we know that now as well as you do. We are working with the Viennese police and want to see him brought to justice. That is your wish as well, we are sure of that." 
     There was a tremor in her voice when she answered. "Please don't speak for me with such assurance. I do not entrust my name and my reputation to everyone who knocks on my door." 
     "We would not expect you to," Alice said, squeezing Paul's knee as a signal to slow his pace. "We've met with Oberrat Reiner, the Assistant Director of your Security Bureau. He is a very discreet man who will realize the importance of keeping your information in strictest confidence." 
     The Pryes waited for Anne Litz to consider Alice's words. At length she said, "Tell me what has brought you here." 
     With substantial omissions Paul told her about the murder of Aurora Gabriel and the discovery of her address book. When he had finished, she said quietly: "Her name means nothing to me."
      "I didn't think it would. She must have used another name." 
     "What have you done with her address book?" 
     "We've given it to Oberrat Reiner." 
     "Oh, my God!" Fraulein Litz cried, covering her face with her hands. After she regained her composure, she added: "What makes the whole business so unfair is that they made a terrible mistake in my case. I told the woman so when she called me afterwards. I thought that I'd heard the last of them." 
     Anne Litz's name had been entered in Aurora's book as a result of a Rhine cruise. "I was traveling with my boss, who was married at the time. He is since divorced, but that had nothing to do with us, because we were always very careful. So careful, in fact, that we traveled on the Rhine as a married couple, using my family name.
     "It was the first time we'd spent more than a weekend together, and the deception didn't sit well with me. We were both very tense and quarreled quite a lot. In the course of the cruise, I met a passenger traveling alone, a charming man closer to my own age. We found opportunities to be together in his cabin, and when I got back to Vienna I thought no more about it. You've seen my name in the address book, so you can guess what happened next." 
     "You heard from Aurora Gabriel," Alice said. 
     "That is not what she called herself," Anne Litz reminded her. "It must have been two months later that the woman called me. You gave me quite a start when you greeted me at the door as 'Frau Litz " for that is how she addressed me. She told me that my shipboard romance was known to her, and that she had some 'evidence' she would be willing to sell. I assumed she was acting in conspiracy with the young man; she didn't try very hard to persuade me otherwise." 
     "Did she visit you here?" Alice tried to visualize how the breezy Aurora Gabriel would have responded to the lonely apartment. 
     "No she did not, and I thanked God for that." Here a tone of caution sounded in Anne Litz's voice. "At least, until I heard from your husband." 
     "Did she ask to call on you?" 
     "No, Mrs. Prye, but I believe that was because I cut her short. She told me she was telephoning from a Vienna hotel and had the evening free. 'Is this your first visit to Vienna?', I asked but did not wait for her reply. It must be, I told her, because otherwise she would know from my modest address on the Kaiserstrasse that I was not the wealthy woman she had taken me for. I explained that the man I had been traveling with was not my husband and that our relationship had ended. The 'evidence' of which the caller spoke might be distressing to me, but I had no money to purchase it. The person who could well afford the cost of blackmail was now no more than my former employer but he would have had no incentive to spare me embarrassment. He is not that kind of man." Anne Litz was clarifying a fact, not passing a moral judgment. 
     "And that was the end of the matter?" Paul asked, recalling the asterisk that Aurora had marked opposite Anne Litz's name in the address book. 
     "Not quite. The next afternoon when I returned from work, the concierge told me that a foreign woman had stopped by to ask whether I lived in the building. When she was told that my apartment was on the third floor but that I was at the office, she went away without leaving a message or explaining her visit. I think she just wanted to look over the apartment house and the neighborhood to confirm that I was not a prize victim." 
     Satisfied that there was no more to learn about Aurora, Paul opened a new subject that he had patiently held in reserve: "And you never heard from the man you assume she was acting for?" 
     Neither the disguised transition nor Paul's casual manner caught Anne Litz off guard. Slumping in her chair so that her face was partly hidden by the computer screen, she answered curtly: "No. Why would he? He had turned me over to his woman." 
     "Can you describe the man?" 
     Anne Litz's eyes blazed as she sprang from the chair and crossed the room to stand before Paul at close range. "You say you have met with the Security Bureau but that does not make you a policeman. If the police need information about these blackmailers, they know where to find me and I shall do my duty, no more and no less." 
     Paul tried his last appeal. "Would it make any difference to you that the man may have murdered the woman you spoke to, the woman who believed your story and probably persuaded him to leave you alone?" 
     Fräulein Litz did not relent. Showing her visitors out, she said: "The man did not do enough in my opinion. He should have killed himself as well." 
     On their way down the stairs Paul commented to Alice: "Anne Litz has absorbed the spirit of the Mayerling centenary. Murder's nothing to her unless it's followed by suicide." 
     "Are you telling me at last that love was the motive?" 
     Paul couldn't bring himself to say "read my lips." He offered a professional substitute: "Listen to tomorrow's lecture." 

*     *     *
     The dinner at the hotel was not the triumph of gemütlichkeit that East-Europa had predicted in the tour brochure. A certain number of defections were only to be anticipated because of the lure of Vienna's restaurants, and the penthouse set were holding their own gala at the Imperial. still it was not the empty seats in the banquet room that overwhelmed the official program of good cheer. A spirit of rebelliousness was abroad; there was no reason left to please Kurt Lange who, since the group had left the ship, remained the sole voice of East-Europa authority. He had obtained their restaurant and concert reservations, given shopping advice, and reconfirmed seats on homeward-bound flights. The only purpose he still served was to stand up bravely to their accumulated grievances and gallows humor. 
     After the dessert wine was served, Lange took the microphone, urging everyone to fill out and return the comment forms that had been distributed to the tables. He acknowledged that the group had been presented with "unusual circumstances" but hoped that they would be as kind as possible in their appraisals of staff performance. 
     "Right!" Jim Rito called across the room and dictated aloud to Arlene Bennett, who had begun to write her remarks. "'Murder discreetly handled.' That's a compliment we can all pay without stretching. Arlene, shame on you, that's not the way to spell 'discreetly'." 
     Kurt Lange gave a labored smile and looked to the future. Next year's tours would be even better, he assured them, including a new cruise of the Black Sea.
     "What are you planning for that one," Kitty James asked, "a mutiny?" The Pryes had not told her about the poolside uprising. 
     Alice felt that the unscheduled roasting was little more than Kurt Lange deserved, but she felt uncomfortable witnessing the pretense of good humor that the tour leader was forced to maintain in the face of the group's sarcasm. Unlike a stand-up comedian, " Lange was not accorded a professional right to retort in kind to his hecklers; East-Europa insisted on a smile regardless of all provocations. Anxious for a brief escape from the scene of unequal combat, Alice went to find the ladies' room. 
     When she returned, she brought Paul a telephone message that had been pinned to the group activity bulletin board: Dave Emmerich had just phoned. 
     While Alice had been away, Kurt Lange had managed to bring his luckless remarks to an end and the waiters began to clear the tables. The Pryes said goodnight to the Jameses and Szabos, with whom they were sitting, and hurried upstairs to return Dave's call. 
     To Paul, Emmerich sounded apologetic. "I don't think I handled your question about nerves very well, so I looked at my books. I think I've found just the one to make you happy: nervus 
     medianus." 
     "Showoff," Paul complained, "your bad Latin doesn't come through too well on overseas long distance." 
     "O.K., professor, let's try 'median nerve.' It originates in lateral and medial cords of the brachial plexus." 
     "In the area of the shoulder or upper arm?" Paul asked, making a note on the hotel telephone pad.
     "Exactly, I told you that it suits you just fine." 
     Paul wanted further advice. "And have you confirmed the effect that is produced when the nerve is injured or severed?" 
     "You don't seem to be in a trusting mood tonight. The effect would be pretty much what you're looking for. Of course, don't ask me to tell you whether your theory makes any sense to begin with." 
     "I'm not worried about that," Paul assured him. "I couldn't have a better witness." 
     When he'd hung up, Alice was ready with a comment: "I don't think you're really as sure of your solution as you'd like Dave to believe. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so damn mysterious with me." 
     "You may just have something there," Paul said.

*     *     *

     By 1:00 a.m. the eighth floor of the hotel was quiet. There had been an outburst of noisy leave-takings and slamming 190 doors around midnight, when the penthousers returned from their party at the Imperial, but afterwards silence returned to the corridors. 
     There was nothing more for the OPEC security guards to do but to sit at their posts and wait to be relieved before the ministers awoke for their breakfast meeting; and it would go on like this night after night until the conference concluded at the weekend, probably with little decided. The routine was very boring, but in this kind of work boredom was what the guards hoped for. That meant that all was going well and that nothing unforeseen had happened. That's what they hated, the unexpected. Nobody worried about being entertained, you didn't look for that in this job.
     It wasn't easy to find a way to make the time go by faster. Reading was disapproved, because in principle the guards were supposed to remain on the alert at all times. If you became engrossed or distracted for even a moment, someone might slip by and then it could be too late to stop him. In any event, the dim light made it close to impossible to read for any length of time or to try a crossword puzzle. 
     So the guards sat in the hallways, doing nothing. Except one guard, who was stationed in a side passage near the fire door that led to the west wing where the East-Europa guests were lodged. A little after 1:00 he rose from his folding chair and walked softly towards the main corridor. A few feet from the intersection he paused, flattening himself against a wall of the 191 passage so that he could not be seen from the direction of the elevators. He waited patiently and listened. None of the elevators was operating, and he could not hear any sound of movement along the main hallway. When he had allowed a margin of safety, he darted out into the corridor and pushed past the leaves of the fire door. 
     Once inside the west wing he stopped for a moment, suddenly apprehensive. Something was wrong. It was the darkness; most of the hall lights were extinguished and he could not see more than a few paces ahead. It was not like this the night before when he'd made his explorations to locate the room. The power could not have failed in the wing, because a few fixtures remained lighted, enough for him to find his way, for he did not have far go to. 
     But there was not enough light for him to be sure that the hall was clear. His instincts sounded an alarm; there was someone waiting for him, it was certainty he felt, not fear. He turned back to the fire door; but before he could leave the wing, his path was blocked by two men. Behind him another pair, leaving the hiding places he'd sensed, ran up to pinion his arms. Someone, without even bothering to pat him down, neatly extracted his gun from the holster under his shoulder and he heard a voice saying "I've got his papers." 
     They won't find much in my papers, he thought. But he hated being parted from his gun. The silencer was a new design. 
 

Chapter 13

Vienna

     After their last bout with Austrian wines the tourists for the most part slept very soundly and only a few heard the commotion in the hallway. Paul Prye decided that something must be done about that. 
     In one of the suites that had been quietly assigned for police use, Paul argued his case to Oberrat Reiner; his vehemence was unaffected by the early hour. The police had intended to hold off seizing the would-be assassin until he had reached the room for which he was heading. The plan hadn't worked when the man, sensing danger, had turned back. As a result, the police had no direct evidence of the intended victim.
     Paul felt strongly that there had to be another means of confirming the solution of which he no longer had any doubt. 
     "Herr Oberrat, I understand your reluctance to disclose police evidence but perhaps you might bend your rules in light of the incomplete success of this morning's operations." 
     Reiner sniffed and adjusted a peak of his breast pocket handkerchief. "Most people would regard it a success to prevent a second murder." 
     "No question of that, but we have still not identified the killer of Aurora Gabriel, have we?" Paul meant once again to share in Reiner's failure, but he recognized after he spoke that the Oberrat might regard his words as presumptuous. "It was a supremely professional stake-out, I didn't mean to indicate otherwise. But it is necessary to follow through quickly, before the tour group breaks up at noon. And therefore I ask you to tell me in confidence, to the extent you can, what you have learned from Dr. Hoppe." 
     Reiner was a man who could remain silent without embarrassment. Paul thought at first that the Oberrat was stonewalling his question but he was wrong. There was, in fact, nothing substantive to reveal. 
     "Our interrogation of Dr. Hoppe has left much to be desired. We will see him again this afternoon." 
     "That could be too late," Paul burst out, oblivious of his own rudeness. "I have another idea. We don't need Dr. Hoppe for the moment. The murderer we're looking for is easily alarmed; I've seen that myself." 
     Dr. Reiner listened with obvious skepticism as Paul spun out his plan, but there was no disputing the principal point: the East-Europa group would leave Vienna in a matter of hours. After seeking the advice of some of his detectives, Reiner agreed. 
     By 6:30 in the morning two bulletins were slipped under the doors of all the East-Europa hotel guests. The first confirmed arrangements for baggage collection and transportation to the airport. The second was a leaflet that showed signs of hasty preparation and copying: 
This notice will remind you that at the conclusion of breakfast (8:30 a.m.) Professor Paul Prye will lecture on the Mayerling tragedy. He will also comment on the death of Aurora Gabriel. 
The leaflet was unsigned; Kurt Lange was consulted but refused to allow the East-Europa name to be subscribed. 
     Breakfast, presented in the same banquet room where last night's dinner was held, was very well attended. Paul was gratified by the heavy turnout of East-Europa tourists and staff (even Oswald Parsons had shown up) and by the appearance of several newcomers, favoring raincoats for early morning attire, who sat or stood near the doorways. 
     Even before breakfast began, Paul was besieged with questions; it was really flattering, because his lectures didn't usually spark so much interest. He dodged all the inquiries and guesses, even those of the persistent Bert James, who tugged at his sleeve and whispered knowingly: "It's got something to do with my sitting with Liz Szabo that night, doesn't it. You were awfully interested in that, you didn't fool me for a moment."
     When breakfast service was over, Kurt Lange gave Paul an icy introduction and the room quieted down at once. Paul flipped through the pages of his lecture notes to see that they were in proper sequence; it was a comforting habit he could not break after two decades of teaching. 
     At last he began to speak of Mayerling, the core of facts that could not be contested, the century's accretion of romantic legend, and the ever-expanding list of imaginative writers determined to prove that the "love-suicide" was a coverup for the murder of Rudolph and Mary by outsiders. Paul left them in no doubt of his view that the couple had died of the prince's own hand, but that the killing of Mary Vetsera was nonetheless as cold-blooded a murder as late nineteenth-century history had recorded. 
          Alice cringed as she heard Paul say this; he had ignored her warning against attacking the beautiful tradition that the movies and popular fiction had fostered. Just as Alice had predicted, there was an indignant protest, asserted by Claudia Parsons. 
     "Is it murder to die for love? One of the lovers has to pull the trigger or pour the poison, it doesn't matter which." 
     Paul was glad for her comment. "If they died for love, it was not for love of each other. I will not belittle Mary Vetsera's emotion; it would be disrespectful, and she must have thought she loved him." 
     There! Alice triumphed. He's listened to me after all. 
     Paul continued, "But Rudolph was not in love with her; he withheld himself from her, for his heart was filled with other loves. It has been recognized by many - I am not the first by any means - that the prince was in love with death. He was determined to embrace death in the company of a young woman - whether it was Mitzi Caspar or Mary Vetsera or someone else didn't matter very much. Mitzi Caspar knew that he was indifferent to her, but Mary was less experienced. 
     "A man in love with death simultaneously embraces a young woman: There's something repellent in the notion, a depersonalization of love. And yet I think the truth is even darker, for Rudolph had another passion that excluded Mary, his total absorption with himself.
     "The police found a cheval glass at Mayerling, the kind that tilts to reflect the viewer's image. The investigators thought the prince used the mirror to direct the gun to his temple. I don't know whether the position of the glass as they found it bore this theory out, but the idea is very suggestive to me. Suppose that the prince used the glass not to assure a successful suicide, but because his self-observation was every bit as important to him as the act of self-murder." 
     Paul swept his audience with a look that did not come to Nobody had stirred at his words; it was time to be braver. 
     "Is Prince Rudolph's obsession with self-observation all that uncommon? I don't think so. Not so long ago you probably read about a young woman in the American southwest who thought she was having a terrific romance. What she didn't know was that her lover had arranged for his fraternity mates to videotape their lovemaking." 
     "Let's take another example. There's a young man who's very successful with women, but none of them can compete with his passion for himself. He takes to making secret recordings of his sexual encounters, maybe for his own amusement at first. It turns out to be more fun viewing or listening afterwards than it seemed at the time he was making love. After a while, he thinks to himself, 'Why not combine business with pleasure?' So he becomes a specialist in married women, the kind that have wealthy husbands. He makes his tapes, just as in the past, still likes to watch them, but now he uses them to blackmail his sex partners. A woman helps him collect, and maybe also spots likely targets." 
     "The trouble is the man also goes in for rough sex; it's on his mind so much that he sometimes forgets the blackmail racket. Once things got out of hand, the woman protested, and he murdered her. That was in Leningrad two years ago. 
     "The murder didn't go down too well with his female accomplice. Maybe they were lovers as well or had been. In any event, she told a new boyfriend - without explaining why - that she felt threatened. That woman was Aurora Gabriel. 
     "We know Aurora tried to bring a weapon aboard. She was seen purchasing a knife in Ruse but threw it away when we faced inspection at the immigration shed; I think it was she who later stole the chef's boning knife as a replacement. Was the weapon for self-defense? Or had she made up her mind to kill him to prevent disclosure of the blackmail plot - and her own involvement - should the man commit further acts of violence? Maybe the latter, for we know that Aurora, though she had no previous interest in cardplaying, organized the nightly Skylight Lounge parties; these gatherings kept most of us off the main deck until very late and gave her a better chance to strike undetected." 
     Paul looked out over the audience again. There was still no sign of movement where it could be anticipated; he must show more of his hand and quickly. 
     "Some of the rest of the story you know. Aurora met her blackmailing companion in her stateroom early in the morning after we left Belgrade; if she planned from the start to murder him, she most likely expected their rendezvous to take place somewhere else, so she would not become the most obvious suspect. One of the chambermaids overheard her and her murderer planning to meet in his cabin. Somehow he was able to enter her cabin instead, probably surprising her just as she was leaving to go to his stateroom. Obviously he didn't trust her and felt safer altering without warning the setting she had chosen for their meeting. He stabbed her to death, probably with her own knife that he had wrested from her hand. Then he borrowed Basil Drewry's wheelchair, bundled Aurora's body so that she might be taken for the old man if he was observed, and threw her into the Danube." 
     Paul arrived at the final pause he had practiced so often this morning before the mirror. Was the habit contagious? 
     "But the man did not come away unscathed. That is why he wears a heavy bandage around his left upper arm." 
     By prearrangement the detectives slowly approached the table where Dan Eggleston sat alone. He sprang from his chair, his eyes darting instinctively in search of escape. But when he was closely surrounded, he stood still as Dr. Reiner did the honors, unbuttoning Dan's shirt to disclose the bandage where Paul had said it would be. 

*     *     *
     After Dan was led away, Kurt Lange recovered his good humor. "I've been told that Professor Prye will entertain a few questions - on either Mayerling or the Gabriel case. I'll start myself by asking the professor what he knows about the missing Arkady Grigoriev." 
     "Very little, I'm afraid," Paul said. "He obviously wasn't an art historian, laying no claim to the erudition of an Oswald Parsons. We wondered a lot about him from the start, but then again, I'll confess it, we wondered a lot about many of you, and I'm sure you've returned the favor. Isn't that one of the pleasures of going on a small tour?
     "After the murder we seemed to bump into Grigoriev everywhere we turned in our little investigation; he began to come into my thoughts more and more as I reflected on some other cruise murders I've studied. One of my favorites is the case of James Camb, a steward who was convicted for murdering a female passenger and thrusting her body through a porthole. Before his trial it became known to.the prosecution that Camb had been accused of other assaults on women in earlier cruises. It occurred to me that Aurora's murderer might have had a similar record of violence that Grigoriev was probing. 
     "Grigoriev took a strong interest in our investigation. He made a tidy little inspection of our stateroom looking for evidence we might have discovered in Aurora's cabin and to warn us off, and made a messier intrust ion later when we didn't seem to have gotten his message to leave the inquiry to him. 
     "The final confirmation of Grigoriev's role came at the Hapsburg tombs. Someone had draped a phony banner on Empress Zita's tomb. We checked out the date and found it corresponded to a Leningrad murder of an Intourist agent. I think that's the crime Grigoriev had come aboard to investigate." 
     By agreement with Dr. Reiner, Paul did not mention the foiled attempt of the false security agent employed by Grigoriev to assassinate Dan Eggleston the night before. 
     "It was the chaotic scene at the crypt that increased our interest in Eggleston; we'd already had our doubts about Dan, when we remembered how intensely he'd questioned Grigoriev about his background at a lunch in Belgrade. When Dan saw the banner on Zita's tomb he was scared to death and fled for the exit. I did not see his face in the darkness, but in the melee, he struck me in the shoulder - with his camera. 
     "Later Alice and I met with an Austrian victim of the extortion scheme. Out of embarrassment, she wouldn't describe him, but the racket she confirmed was a perfect one for a photographer. If you'll permit a crime historian a little exercise in irony, I should mention that in a recent cruise murder, Scott Roston falsely blamed the killing of his wife on two photographers. His myth has now become reality." 
     Jim Rito had the next question. "How did you figure the location of Dan's wound?" 
     "Dan was lucky that the weather was unseasonably cold because his sweaters and jackets, which he wore like the rest of us, enabled him to hide the bandage. Alice gets the credit for seeing through his concealment, although for a long time I didn't pay enough attention to her sharp eyes. She noticed that after Belgrade the candid photographs Eggleston took of her were fuzzy. I was finally sensible enough to examine them with the eyes of a 201 detective - not a husband's - and I found she was right, they were poorly focused. Eggleston's camera is not self-focusing; being right-handed, he snapped the shutter with his right hand and set the focus with a thumb and finger of the left hand. It occurred to me that a knife injury to a nerve controlling the left thumb could account for the deterioration in Alice's photos. Needless to say, I'll keep them anyway." 
     Alice smiled her approval. "And they're to go in the family album, not in your crime files." 
     "But what about my photo," Bert James broke in, "why was it important that Liz Szabo was watching me play cards on the night of the murder?" 
     Andy and Liz, startled, had no idea what Bert was talking about. 
     "That was a little deception," Paul replied, "another small piece of evidence in the case against Dan. Like the victim in the Camb case, Aurora was overheard making an appointment with her murderer; but nobody could see who she was talking to. I wasn't really interested in knowing who was embracing you at the card table that night, Bert, please forgive me. What I wanted to establish was that cruise photographs had been taken at the party that night, for that would show that Eggleston was there and could have been the man with whom Aurora made her rendezvous." 
     Kurt Lange took the microphone away from Paul. "I don't think we should keep Professor Prye longer. Bags are to be outside your doors at 11:00."

*     *     * 
     As they waited for their luggage to be taken, Alice regretted how the case had turned out. 
     "What are crimes coming to these days? Why couldn't Dan Eggleston and Aurora Gabriel have turned out to be star-crossed lovers, like the Mayerling couple - Yes, I've heard your views but I must hold on to my old prejudices. Dan's no match for any of the cruise murderers you cited. Scott Roston was at least a writer, like you, my darling. James Camb was far less clumsy about getting rid of the body, and even Mate Thomas Bram, whom you'll recall I never regarded highly, didn't have to steal his axe from a defenseless woman." 
     "Haven't you forgotten the California gambling ship murder?" Paul asked in self-defense. "I told you that the murderer might turn out to be Clyde to Aurora's Bonnie. Well, they didn't rob banks, or plan kidnappings like the California gambling ship victim, but they had a pretty unpleasant racket going." 
     Before the Pryes left the hotel Paul received a call from Dr. Reiner indicating that no incriminating evidence had been uncovered in the first search of Eggleston's room; after the warning in the Hapsburg tombs, he'd had an opportunity to clean house. However, Reiner thought that his prisoner seemed ready to confess both the Danube and Leningrad murders. A week later, a search of Dan's New York apartment, orchestrated by Dave Emmerich, uncovered an array of sophisticated video cameras and recording 203 devices, and a library of videotapes of sex scenes, all starring Eggleston. 

Epilogue

Riverdale

     It was always hard for the Pryes to adjust to the real world when they came home from a trip overseas. On this occasion, the real world presented them their son Jeff's irrevocable decision to give up the cello, and a fierce tenure battle that was shaping up in Alice's department.
     What made their return even more frustrating was that they were so cruelly and swiftly parted from the enjoyment of success in the Danube murder. East-Europa had been remarkably successful in suppressing American press coverage, causing the conspiratorially-minded Alice to speculate about the corrupting power of advertising dollars. When the Pryes mentioned the Gabriel case at. history department cocktail parties, Paul's colleagues would roll their eyes to convey the widely accepted judgment that the Pryes had long since lost the ability, never strong in either of them, to distinguish reality from self-flattering illusion. 
     Of course, some day Paul would be scheduled to lecture on the case to his book club, the Charles Lamb Society, despite the occasional objections of members (expressing a viewpoint precisely opposite to that of Paul's unbelieving departmental colleagues) that the Pryes' adventures were factual and therefore not literature. Paul would respond that his lectures were ipso facto literary because they were essays composed in the tradition of the club's namesake. At the clubhouse just about any quarrel could be settled by invoking the sacred name of Charles Lamb. 
     There was at least one friend who could be counted on to share their passion for the Danube case. This was Dave Emmerich with whom they had brunch in SoHo on the first Sunday after their return. When Paul had finished his account of the case, Emmerich's curiosity was not fully slaked. "There are still a couple of points that you haven't explained," he said. 
     "Yes, isn't he maddening?" Alice intervened. "He'd never have satisfied Marcel Proust, who'd make the same comment every time he heard a story that interested him, 'Please give me more details.' You have to prod him, Dave; I find it's most effective." 
     “Thanks for your support, Alice. The first question won't surprise either of you. Why was Dr. Hoppe so hostile to the shipboard investigation, and why in the world didn't he promptly tell the police, if not Captain Wahl, that he'd treated Dan Eggleston for a serious knife wound on the night of the murder?" 
     Paul beamed. “I thought that would have been obvious by now. I was off on the wrong track at first when I speculated that Hoppe might have been acting on an exaggerated notion of medical ethics; you'll remember how Dr. Reiner scoffed at that. 
     "The real reason was much more personal, according to Reiner, who got the truth out of Hoppe after Eggleston's arrest. When Eggleston came to see him, Hoppe had the horrifying experience of learning that his wife Gisela had succumbed to Dan's charms earlier during the voyage. Reiner wouldn't tell me all the particulars, but knowing what we do of Eggleston, I suspect he had videotaped their lovemaking and threatened to have the tape copied and publicized if Hoppe didn't remain silent." 
     "Disappointing, isn't it?" Alice appealed to Dave for concurrence. "I wish Paul had been right about the medical ethics theory; this case has left so few of my illusions intact." 
     Dave nodded before raising the second question Paul's narrative had left open. "And what do you make of Aurora's fears about Dan? Had he already made up his mind to kill her when you boarded the cruise ship?" 
     Paul consulted Alice to confirm that the point was finally resolved between them. "We've debated the point and have concluded that Aurora's worry was well founded. Her obvious disaffection as a blackmail accomplice was dangerous to him. We think he hoped to succeed where Scott Roston had failed; that he planned to entice Aurora up to the jogging deck and to throw her into the Danube where it runs deep. He must have known she couldn't swim. We suspect he took a Danube navigation guide out of the ship library to find the most favorable locale for the crime. But Aurora didn't trust him, and he couldn't get her to go jogging. I can't get lazy Alice to jog either, but she knows that my heart is pure." 
     Dave had a final query. "The last matter's less important but still of some interest. Who were the two men Manuela Perez told you she and her cousin Carlota saw hanging around Aurora's 'extra' cabin on the Neptune deck?" 
     Paul consulted his notes. "I think I mentioned Manuela's impression that the tall man was Ken Mestnik; she equivocated about the little man, but I think, heaven only knows why, she suspected Oswald Parsons. I think she must have been wrong in both cases. As Carlota thought, the taller visitor must have been Mark Drewry keeping a rendezvous, and the second man very likely was our old friend Arkady Grigoriev on his incessant rounds of snooping. Still Manuela's suspicions did their little share of mischief. Parsons was not predisposed to like Mestnik; that was clear when we passed Mauthausen." He quickly sketched the scene for Emmerich. "But the tempers of the two men would probably not have boiled over if Manuela had not been tormenting them both with hints about clandestine visits to Aurora Gabriel; at Mauthausen I saw her gloating over their discomfort. I guess we had too many sleuths aboard, and Manuela Perez couldn't resist trying her hand." 
     "You shouldn't be too hard on the other sleuths," Alice reminded him. "Don't forget it was Roland Gildzen who was the first to be uneasy about the security guards." 
     "True," Paul conceded. "You just can't compete with these mystery weekend veterans." 
     Emmerich's praise for their role in the Anton Bruckner mystery briefly revived the Pryes' drooping spirits, but another tribute arrived two weeks later from an unexpected quarter. 
     It was Alice who first opened the letter postmarked Prague. She called Paul at his office and had a devil of a time convincing him she wasn't pulling his leg. Of course, she probably could have improved her credibility if she had not started reading in a travesty of a Russian accent. When she persuaded Paul she was serious, he asked her to go back to the beginning: 
My Dear Colleagues:

This salutation would be inappropriate if I had to continue to pose as a teacher, because of course you both saw through my disguise almost at once. No, it is as a detective that I have the honor to claim collegial status, for you are both accomplished detectives, I see that now, and I congratulate you for your professionalism. I bear you no ill will for frustrating the execution of Dan Eggleston in Vienna for the Leningrad murder, but I believe he will be brought to justice for the killing of Aurora Gabriel and I am satisfied.

I would have preferred him to stand trial in Leningrad but that could not have been arranged. The Cold War is over, we are told, Europe is no longer split into two military blocs, and our two governments are negotiating one treaty after the other. But one treaty the u.s. does not grant us though it signed one with a Czarist Government it knew to be corrupt, and that is a treaty of extradition for nonpolitical criminal offenses. When you trust our courts to try a u.s. citizen for murder, then I will say that the Cold War is over. An extradition treaty is a long way off and that is why the man you knew as Arkady Grigoriev was sent to study in secret the personality and behavior of Dan Eggleston, and if persuaded of his responsibility for the sex murder in Leningrad, to do justice. 

Our activities in Vienna you either know or suspect. It was one of our agents who placed the banner on Empress Zita's tomb and observed Dan Eggleston's flight in panic, the final proof of his guilt. I should say nothing about the events at the hotel, since the matter is under negotiation with the Austrians. In my opinion, the man who was apprehended before he could reach Eggleston's room deserves to be released. He did no harm and we will accept his deportation. 

You have read all this patiently, and I can hear you asking each other, my dear Paul and Alice Prye: "Why doesn't he tell us why they've gone to all this trouble to punish the sex-murderer of an Intourist guide?" Well, I will tell you, my friends who have been such worthy 209 adversaries; indeed, that is the main reason I've written to you. The Leningrad victim was a part-time tour guide, that is true, but she was also the beloved daughter of a Politburo member. I do not expect you to keep this disclosure entirely to yourselves, but it does not matter. 

One last comment: I am not in Prague, which is regrettable, for it is a lovely city. As a matter of prudence, I've just had this letter posted from there. don't suppose we will ever meet again, which is another source of regret, along with my distress that my premature departure from the tour made it impossible for me to attend the Mayerling lecture. It is a most interesting case; the post-mortem was badly bungled by the Viennese. 
     When Paul reread the letter on his return home from Columbia, he found that Alice had overlooked a postscript on the back of the second sheet of stationery. 
Dear Paul and Alice:

Is it not surprising that I've been so candid with you? I'm surprised myself. 

Call it glasnost.

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