“Yes, but the police know she didn’t,” said Nemo.

“How does she even know about me?” said Patton.

“Must have been Fritz and Franz,” said Nemo. “Luckily you don’t look anything like your photograph, thanks to the magic trick we pulled back at Heathrow.”

“Yes, but I do,” said Jean. “Maybe I should stay here while you all go to the library.”

“No,” said Patton. “You have to go. You’re the one who knows about these Ripley Scrolls. You’re the art historian.”

“You’re the librarian,” said Jean.

“Yes,” said Patton, “but didn’t you say you already had a contact at the library?”

“Well, I can’t very well walk in there now and say, ‘I’m Jean Simpson.’ ”

“Knock it off, you two,” said Nemo. “Patton is right. Jean needs to be there. So we just need to do some work.”

“What do you mean by work?” said Jean.

“Well, I didn’t always look like this,” said Patton.

Gottfried awoke with a start as Ingrid slammed the car door. It took him a moment to realize she had gone for coffee and pastries and that he had slept much longer than he intended. The midmorning sun glittered off the snow-covered peaks of the Bavarian Alps that rose over the roofline of the hotel, and the street outside bustled with traffic.

“Thought you might sleep all day,” said Ingrid. “I had to get Dietrich to monitor Karl’s cell phone.”

“No movement,” said Dietrich.

“Why are they sleeping so late?” said Eva. “It’s nine thirty.”

“Maybe they’re not sleeping,” said Gottfried. “Let me have that laptop.”

“If they don’t move by the time we finish breakfast,” said Ingrid, “we’re going in. Or at least I’m going in. And if they’ve fucked this up, well, I won’t shoot them in a public place, but let’s just say Karl will miss his kneecaps.”

“Damn,” said Gottfried.

“What is it?” said Eva.

“The signal is getting weaker.”

“What does that mean?” said Ingrid.

“It means that idiot Karl forgot to charge his phone and the battery is dying. Once it goes out, we’ve got no way to follow them.”

“That’s it,” said Ingrid, handing her coffee to Gottfried. “I’m going in. If you see the woman, don’t wait for me. Follow her.”

Ingrid Weiss had the sort of face and bearing that allowed her to project the aura of a cultured, upper class, powerful German woman even when she had spent the night in the front seat of a car. She strode across the lobby of the Hotel Edelweiss to the main desk where the clerk immediately snapped to attention.

“Good morning,” Ingrid said sweetly. “I’m so pleased to be here. Your hotel is as lovely as the agent said.”

“Thank you, gnädige Frau,” said the clerk. “And how may I assist you?”