him; the British are also looking for him. Scotland Yard has confirmed the serial numbers on the gun. It’s registered to this person and our description of the intruder fits him like a glove.”
“What’s his name?” asked Felix.
Novak flicked over a page on the desk. “It’s, ah… here, it’s James Beaufort,” he announced proudly.
Felix felt faint and cold as the blood drained to his feet and he stared straight ahead. Novak, imagining him impressed with his proficiency, continued: “It stems from an equation of what he owed, what he owned, and what he would risk. A partnership gone wrong. That is the total sum of the matter.”
The inspector was convinced he had the complete solution, and with this new development Felix dazedly thought it best left that way for the time being.
They headed down Karlova Street; the fog had not yet lifted and the feeble sun struggled to shine through it. “We can expect a swift result, he says, and still none of this makes one iota of sense to me. And you – you look ill.” Etienne’s breath condensed in vaporous puffs in the freezing air as he spoke.
“Let’s walk down to the river and I’ll explain. I didn’t tell you last night for our protection – you couldn’t reveal what you didn’t know.”
“What didn’t I know?”
“Why he was killed.”
“Do you know?”
“Yes I do.”
Etienne’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you tell Novak?”
“To keep us alive and one step ahead. Novak’s right about Beaufort and Reinhardt. We know about them. But do they know about us? If we tell him, you might as well print it in the newspapers. Victor was killed for a map. A map that shows the location of the lost treasure of Ramses, a find to rival Carter’s discovery. But why Beaufort? It was his map; he already knew the location.”
“This map, you have seen it?”
“Yes. It’s in a safe hidden in the apartment.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Steady on, we haven’t got a key.”
. 3 .
THE POLITICAL CENTRIFUGE created new countries from colapsing empires and gave rise to new frontiers; new objectives were pursued, and new allies mustered. Etienne knew the murderer could use this to his advantage and remain free. He shuffled through the heaps of autumn leaves blown against the stone parapet on the riverside of a small park opposite the Rudolfinum. Leaning against the low wall, he watched the undulations of the rain-swollen river. His thoughts were of a warmer land and another river, the Nile, as he attached his hopes to things he’d only just heard of.
Some streets away, in the sombre interview office, Felix met Novak.
“Two weeks have passed, and we have got nowhere,” Felix said.
“There’s more to this than meets the eye. Beaufort appears to be a man of mystery. If he’s bolted to Egypt, this may be more difficult to deal with.”
“Do you mean he can get away with murder?” asked Felix with a scowl.
“Yes. The borders are porous. I didn’t say it was hopeless, but first we’ve got to find him.”
“God damn it, I’ll do it for you. I’ll find him myself,” replied Felix tersely.
The inspector huffed dismissively. “I don’t like your chances when the British can’t find him in their backyard. Consider your actions thoroughly before you make your next move.”
“Are you implying he’s innocent?”
“Not at all, but don’t mistake main suspect for guilty. In Egypt you will be on your own. The place is full of fanatics and the fact is Allenby, the High Commissioner, has enough trouble protecting the colonial secretary and keeping order. You must be careful – and realise that this is a trifling matter to them, unless it threatens their security and national interest.”
Felix tossed his thoughts in his head as he walked to his next rendezvous in the riverside park. The sound of his footsteps was drowned by the screech of metal wheels against rails as trams crossed the bridge spanning the Vltava and then turned alongside the river.
“I’ve got the keys.” Felix dangled them as he spoke.
“Thank God,” Etienne breathed. “I’ve been waiting since the funeral with faith and trust. I want to see this map.”
“Then you’re standing at the perfect spot. A king once threw the best exponent of trust into this river, right here.”
“You mean John of Nepomuk, the priest?”
“Yes I do. He sacrificed his life so as not to betray the queen’s faith. Neither will we betray Victor’s trust in us. So let’s get on with it.” Even before the words died in his ears, Felix commenced to cross the street as Etienne followed.
“If that map is still there, our road’s a long one!”
Felix threw a sharp look at Etienne over his shoulder. He, too, knew if the map was gone they were in limbo; he believed it held the key to everything. They took the shortest route, past the old Jewish cemetery, then along the narrow medieval streets. On entering the building, Felix stopped as he set foot on the first step. He was surprised to be greeted by name and turned to look at a frail old man, the janitor. “You’re so familiar with me, yet we’ve never met.”
“Of course I know you; your uncle spoke of you, both of you, in his impatient wait for your arrival. Never did I expect to have such a tragedy on my doorstep – such a cold-blooded crime is uncommon here.” His shoulders sank, making him look even smaller than he was. “I’m so sorry, and I envied him. I’m not ashamed to say it; I admired him and his life in the Orient.”
“We understand,” Etienne tried to console the old man.
“No, you don’t,” he retorted as if he was being patronized. “You don’t understand how brazen he was, how calculating. He took advantage of me.”
Puzzled at first, Felix and Etienne realised he was talking about the assailant. “Tell us what you saw.”
“He aroused my suspicion with his endless pacing and watching from the street. I wondered what he was doing. The last thing I thought was that he might be a burglar. He appeared well presented, slim and neat. He had the bearing of a professional man. His clothes were fashionable; his suit was of an English cut, if I’m permitted a guess. On most occasions he wore a mackintosh and a trilby hat. I’m sure he was a foreigner.
“He slipped into the building when I left for a few hours that evening, and Victor surprised him when he returned earlier than usual. I told them what I saw; it puzzles me that the police haven’t found him. I’m sure it was him. He would stand on the corner of the street, or walk up and down looking at the shop windows for an hour or more, every day for a week, even longer. One day I almost walked into him at the tobacconist round the corner. On seeing me, he pinched the brim of his hat to lower it as he turned away and quickly walked off; he was back again the next day.”
Felix interrupted him: “Did you see any other visitors?”
“Oh yes. The day before, two Germans came in. They asked where Victor’s apartment was; after some time he left with them and returned alone. ‘At last I’m getting somewhere,’ he said to me when he came in, as if I was supposed to know what it was all about. You never know what’s in people’s minds, do you? And the more I think of it, I wouldn’t trust his last two visitors either.”
Felix and Etienne moved up the stairs, thanking the old man. He answered without looking up: “Everything depends on you boys; he believed in you.”
Inside the apartment, in front of the wall of books he had never heard of, Felix felt despondent