“I’m still listening, Elaine.”
“Then everything seemed to happen very fast, except no one rushed. The man wasn’t in a hurry. One minute we were there, in the doorway, Luther with his arms about me, and then the man was there—no farther away than you are now. And it was almost as if I were no one, as if I didn’t exist. Luther was about to say something. He opened his mouth to draw breath, and then the man seemed to jam something into his ear. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. My voice had gone, so I went to hit the man to try to get him to stop hurting Luther, but he drew back his hand and knocked me hard, really hard, against the wall. Everything seemed to move before my eyes. I tried to come to my feet, but my legs had buckled under me and I just couldn’t get up, I was so dizzy. But I could still see them. I could see everything, because the headlamps on the motor car were pointed right at the man and Luther. I couldn’t move my arm, it hurt so much, but I kept trying to lever myself up to help Luther. That’s when I saw him, the man, holding Luther’s nose and mouth at the same time, pressing his lips together, sealing his nostrils, so he . . . until he . . . suffocated to death, I suppose. I saw him shudder, and his eyes, which were really wide, looking at the man as if he knew him, and then he stopped moving. Then the man let go, and I must have gone spark out. I came to eventually. It was still dark. Luther was gone, the motor car was nowhere to be seen, and there was no sign of the man. A couple of drunks passed, calling me names and trying to grab me, but I managed to get to my feet. I didn’t know what to do, so I came back to my room and discovered it completely turned over. I covered myself with my coat and ran out. I waited for a long time in a small park near here, hiding until I could come to find you. I guessed you would be at that hotel. I don’t know how—I just guessed. I mean, it’s one of the best in Munich.”
Maisie’s tone was soft when she spoke. “Elaine, finish washing yourself and pick out some plain clothing—nothing bright, nothing to attract attention.”
“How did he die?”
“I suspect an initial tight clasp to the neck weakened him, even though he was a young man and robust. Then a sharp object—something akin to a metal knitting needle—was pushed into his ear. You need a strong man to do that, but I believe either the shock killed Luther, or after rendering him useless and you unconscious, the killer disabled him enough to hold his nose and mouth closed, so he suffocated. I doubt there was much blood.”
Maisie could hear Elaine pulling out fresh clothing, each movement marked by sobbing. She heard items being dropped. The young woman was losing control of her hands, the shock once more taking hold in waves. But Maisie was looking around the room, wondering why Luther Gramm, a young officer of the feared Schutzstaffel, might be a target. Perhaps it was not the man but the woman who had been in the crosshairs: the woman who was now heaving great sobs, gasping for air as if her lungs were compromised. If that was so, then time was even more limited than she might have imagined; Elaine could be framed for a crime she did not commit. Or did she? The words seemed to ricochet into Maisie’s mind, but she brushed them aside. For now.
“Elaine, we must get out of here immediately.”
“Why? Who do you think knows?”
“I think there is some connection here that I cannot quite see, and it’s possible that you were the intended victim, but not in the way either of us might imagine. I have to get you out of here. Are you dressed?”
Elaine stepped out from behind the screen. She wore a plain dark green costume: a jacket and a skirt with a hemline between ankle and knee. A silk scarf was knotted at her neck; her blond hair was brushed back and topped with a hat, its brim somewhat wider than presently fashionable. Her polished black shoes were simple, and she carried a black handbag and a dull maroon and green paisley carpet bag, as if she were an office girl going to spend an evening with a friend.
“You have your passport and identification documents?”
“Yes, Maisie.”
“Now, then, I want you to write a note to whichever of these friends is your favorite pal, with yesterday’s date, and slip it under her door. Tell her you decided to go away for a few days, and to tell anyone who might come to the house to visit you that you are not at home. When you’ve done that, we leave.”
Maisie checked her reflection in the mirror on the back of the door and took one more glance toward Elaine. Her head down, the young woman was finishing the letter as Maisie instructed.
“Right—now lock the door and let’s get away from this house. We cannot delay. I want you on an aeroplane bound for London as soon as possible.”
Elaine slid the letter under Pamela’s door, and they made their way downstairs, tiptoeing past the landlady’s rooms, and out into the chill Bavarian air.