“No. The obvious interpretation is that the criminal is as corny as his plot—a retarded adolescent who is naïve enough to believe people will be intimidated by his pulp-fiction ghosts. But he may be just the opposite—a sophisticate with a sardonic sense of humor, who is smart enough to know that people are intimidated by pulp-fiction ghosts. Or he may have practical down-to-earth motives for all the things he’s done, motives that escape us now, but that—”

A large raindrop tobogganed off his nose and fell straight down his throat. Cut off in full eloquence, Tony gargled and clutched at his Adam’s apple. I laughed.

Maybe it was the laugh, or maybe I overdid my attempt to boost his ego. Anyhow, Tony got very defensive and mean. He had not suggested going out because he wanted to walk in the rain with me. He had an errand. It led us to the telephone-telegraph office, and the rat wouldn’t tell me what he intended to do there.

In view of the rain he consented to let me enter the office, but he sat me in a corner and I couldn’t hear a word of his conversation with the girl behind the counter. The conference took some time and ended with the dispatch of several cables. When we left the office together the rain had stopped, although the skies were still gray. Naturally I didn’t ask any questions. I have my pride.

We found a Bierstube on a back street, and ordered beer.

“Look,” said Tony abruptly. “I’ve been thinking.”

I made encouraging noises. More ego-boosting was obviously in order if I wanted to get anything out of him.

“You were saying the other day that we seem to be obsessed with ancient history instead of concentrating on the shrine. It’s true. I can’t get these people out of my mind—Burckhardt, Nicolas, Konstanze. But there’s some method in this particular madness. Our reconstruction of what happened in the crypt that night in fifteen hundred twenty-five is not just antiquarian hobbying. It has helped us in our search. We know now that the shrine was in Count Harald’s tomb at one time. We don’t know whether it was Burckhardt or the steward who put it there, but that’s not important. What matters is who took it out. And we know it wasn’t Nicolas.”

I was inclined to agree with that.

“Burckhardt was on the loose that night; it’s almost certain that he murdered Nicolas. So he must have been the one who disposed of the shrine. Therefore we can make a few deductions as to where he may have hidden it.”

Tony summoned the waitress and ordered more beer.