The Line Between

And so we did wait, well into the fall, and we did trap them, inevitably: not like Aphrodite and Ares, in a golden net of a celestial cuckold's designing, but in the tangled, sweated sheets of their own foolishness. Lyudmilla Plaschka and her doctor never once suspected that they were under constant observation, if not by Sigerson and myself, what time we could spare from music, then by a gaggle of grimy urchins, children of local transients. Sigerson said that he had often employed such unbuttoned, foul–mouthed waifs in a similar capacity in other situations. I never doubted him. These proved, not only punctual and loyal, but small fiends for detail. Dr. Nastase's preferred hour for visiting his mistress (married himself, there were certain constraints on his mobility); Frau Andrichev's regular bedtime routine, which involved a Belgian liqueur and a platter of marzipan; even Volodya's customary practice schedule, and the remarks that he grumbled to himself as he tuned his cello — they had it all, not merely the gestures and the words, but the expression with which the words were pronounced. They could have gathered evidence for the Recording Angel, those revolting brats.

«I have discovered the time and destination of their flight," Sigerson told me one morning when I relieved him as sentinel — as spy, rather; I dislike euphemism. He had gained entrance into the house on several occasions since the first, knowing the occupants' habits so well by now that he was never surprised again. «They are interesting conspirators — I discovered the trunks and valises stored in a vacant, crumbling out–building easily enough, but it took me longer than I had expected to find the two first–class railway tickets from Bucharest through to Naples, and the boat vouchers for New York City. Do you know where those were hidden?» I shook my head blankly. «At the very bottom of the wood–pile, wrapped quite tidily in oilcloth. Obviously, our friends will be taking their leave within the next two or three weeks, before the nights turn cold enough for a fire to be necessary.»

«Impressive logic," I said. Sigerson allowed himself one of his distant smiles. I asked, «What about the money they've swindled out of poor Andrichev? They'll have hidden it in some bank account, surely — in Italy, perhaps, or Switzerland, or even America. How will we ever recover it for him?»

If only Sigerson could have seen his own eyes at that moment, he might have understood what I meant by the impossibility of masking their natural lofty expression. «I think we need have no concern on that score," he replied. «Those two are hardly the sort to trust such liquid assets to a bank, and I would venture that Lyudmilla Plaschka knows men too well ever to allow her spoils out of her sight. No, the money will be where she can quickly put her hands on it at any moment. I would expect to find it in her bedroom, most probably in a small leather traveling case under the far window. Though, to be candid — " here he rubbed his nose meditatively " — there are one or two other possible locations, unfortunately beyond my angle of vision. We shall learn the truth soon.»

We learned it a bit sooner than either of us expected; not from our unwashed sentries, but from the owner of the livery stable from which we always hired our traveling wagons. He and I were haggling amiably enough over feed costs for our customary autumn tour of the provinces, when he mentioned that his good humor arose from a recent arrangement personally to deliver two passengers to the Bucharest railway station in his one caleche, behind his best team. It took remarkably few Serbian dinars to buy the names of his new clients from him, along with the time — eleven o'clock, tomorrow night! — and only a few more to get him to agree to take us with him when he went to collect them. Treachery is, I fear, the Selmiri national sport. It requires fewer people than football, and no uniforms at all.

I wanted to bring the whole matter before the police at this point, but Sigerson assured me that there would be no need for this. «From what I have seen of the St. Radomir constabulary, they are even more thickwitted than those of — " did he stumble momentarily? " — the gendarmes of Oslo, which I never thought possible. Trust me, our quarry will not slip the net now.» He did preen himself slightly then. «Should Dr. Nastase offer physical resistance, I happen to be a practitioner of the ancient art of baritsu —and you should be well able to cope with any skirmish with

Frau Andrichev.» I honestly think that was not meant as condescension, though with Sigerson it was hard to tell. A month of surveillance had made it clear to us both that Lyudmilla Plaschka, when not on her death–bed, was certainly a spirited woman.