Tony’s question was followed by a silence which gave me time to think of all the things I was going to do to him for letting his big mouth loose again. In my opinion it was too early in the game to let the Gräfin know the full extent of our knowledge of, and interest in, the family of Graf Burckhardt. But since the damage was done, I decided to make the most of it.

“As a prominent American historian of the Reformation,” I said pompously, “Professor Lawrence is particularly interested in the sixteenth century.”

“Ah, of course.” You couldn’t call the gleam in the Gräfin’s eye a twinkle, but she was definitely amused. I found that expression even less attractive than her normal look. “No doubt you, too, are a prominent historian of the Reformation, Miss Bliss? It is a pleasure to find foreign scholars so well informed about our local history.

“As for Graf Burckhardt, he did indeed leave an infant daughter. She was taken into the family of her second cousin, who became Graf Georg. She later married his eldest son.”

So that, I thought, was the physical link between Konstanze and Irma, who was the direct descendant of Graf George and his wife. Funny thing, genetics….

“You said fifteen hundred twenty-five?” Tony tried to look casual. “That was the time of the Peasants’ Revolt. Was Graf Burckhardt killed in the fighting?”

“How strange that you should not know that, with your interest in the family,” the Gräfin said. “No, he was not, although he fought valiantly in Würzburg for his liege, the bishop. He died of a virulent fever, it is said, soon after his return home.”

George leaned forward in his chair.

“What happened to Burckhardt’s wife?”

The Gräfin grinned at him. It was a full-fledged grin, not a smile, and it was a singularly ugly expression.

“Of course you would be interested in her—after last night.”

Miss Burton gasped.

“Elfrida! Why didn’t you tell me? Has the countess returned again?”

Five

I HAD FORGOTTEN ABOUT IRMA. SHE ATTRACTED my attention by dropping the tray she was holding. It made a splendid crash. We swung around, as one man — to use a male chauvinist formula — and when I saw the girl’s face, I leaped out of my chair. I thought she was going to faint. All my half-formed suspicions about the relationship between aunt and niece came into focus, and without stopping to think I said rudely,

“If you’re talking about Konstanze, she hasn’t returned, and she isn’t about to. The dead don’t come back. Anyone who believes that rot is weak in the head.”

Miss Burton’s nostrils flared. “You said you believed!”