Julian stood so the night manager couldn’t see the body on the floor under a bloodied wig; he had opened the door just as Count Pellegar had, only enough for a face to push through. “I am terribly sorry,” Julian said. “I am Count Mowbrey, an interpreter for the Prussian delegation. I realize there’s been a disturbance.”

“I should say! Is someone destroying our furnishings in there? I feared the lobby’s roof would collapse!”

“Baron Brux!” Julian suddenly called into the room. “Count Pellegar’s condition has passed, has it not?”

It only took Matthew a couple of seconds to respond. “Ja!” he answered. What was the Prussia word for ‘passed’? He knew not, so he said, “Bitter!”

“Sir, if I may explain.” Julian slipped out of the room into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind him. He spoke as one reluctantly giving up a secret only because it was absolutely necessary. “Count Pellegar suffers from night fits. I’m sure you probably are aware of such, as many guests as have come through here.”

The night manager blinked. “Your mouth is bleeding,” he said.

“Oh. Yes.” Julian dabbed at blood in the corner of his mouth and looked at the smear on his fingers. “Count Pellegar struck me. You see, right on the chin. I’m going to have a terrible bruise in the morning.”

“Who did you say you were?”

“An interpreter for the delegation,” Julian repeated. “The young man there knows, and also your lobby clerk. My companion and I came in after the count and the baron and took room twenty-six … oh, and incidentally their missing bags turned out not to be missing after all. Both were inadvertently packed by a servant in the baron’s trunk.”

“Ah!” The night manager nodded, liking this information. “I knew our staff hadn’t misplaced anything! But … your Excellency … what is Count Pellegar’s current condition, and what of the Grand Suite?”

“There has regrettably been some damage. A table has been broken and that beautiful tapestry has been pulled from the ceiling. As to Count Pellegar, he is resting comfortably now, but I’ll tell you that it was a hard go. Sometimes—not very often, but occasionally—he awakens from sleep believing he is back on the battlefield leading a charge of grenadiers at the siege of Buda. Against the Turks, you know.”

“Of course,” said the night manager, whose overstuffed tone of voice told Julian the man did not know his world history.

“And therefore,” Julian went on, “Count Pellegar comes out of sleep desiring to fight every Turk on the battlefield … and, unfortunately, everyone he sees through his burdened eyes is a Turk. Even me.”

“Ghastly!” said the night manager.

“He has quite a punch. Baron Brux and my companion Mr. Spottle helped me subdue him, but not before he … well … did a bit of damage.”

“I’d like to inspect it for myself, if you please.”