“Amen. You’re neglecting to watch the mirror.”

“Oh, right.” John released my hand and assumed his former position. After a moment he said, “I believe you are overly concerned about the danger to Friedl. Through her, he has access to the hotel and to Hoffman’s papers and property. He’d be a fool to kill her so long as there is the slightest chance that she’ll find something, or remember something, that might help him. But if he ever finds out where it is…”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am always right,” John said.

“You keep saying ‘he.’ You don’t have any idea—”

“Not the slightest.” His eyes remained fixed on the mirror. Mine remained fixed on him. He hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. “I use the masculine pronoun for the sake of convenience. By all the standards of detective fiction, the villain ought to be Elise. She’s been less prominent in this affair than the others.”

“The least likely suspect? No, that’s Rosa D’ Addio. She isn’t even here.”

The corner of John’s mouth relaxed. “That sounds like Schmidt’s logic. She probably ignored the photograph. Any sane scholar would.”

“Exactly. Which brings us back to—”

“Your lot,” said John. “Speaking of which, or whom—”

I glanced over my shoulder. When I glanced back, he was gone.

I hadn’t seen any familiar faces. I assumed John had pulled another of his little tricks to distract me so he could slither away.

When I got back to the hotel, I found that my buddies had finished breakfast and were staked out in the lobby waiting for me. I thought I caught a glimpse of Dieter’s shrieking aquamarine jacket ducking back into the restaurant as I walked into the hotel; his wish to avoid me showed an unexpected sensitivity. Maybe Tony had read him a little lecture.

“Where is Jan?” I asked, sitting down on the couch next to Schmidt.

Schmidt chuckled. “In the kitchen. He is interrogating the cook, I think. A council of desperation! I have already questioned her, and the good woman knows nothing—except the recipe for the Bavarian burger, which she was kind enough to give—”

“Spare me,” I said, wincing.

“That reminds me,” said Schmidt. “I want my gun back.”

I failed to see the connection, but I said firmly, “You can’t have it.”

“It is a valuable weapon, a museum piece. I want—”

“I’m not going to steal it, Schmidt. Just keep it until…until later. And that reminds me…” I scowled at Tony. “What possessed you to let Schmidt out of the room with that weapon last night? He could have killed somebody.”

Tony had to raise his voice to be heard over Schmidt’s sputtering protests. “I hoped he would.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“He wouldn’t shoot you.” Tony thought a minute. “Unless it was by accident. Vicky, I am not going to comment on your sexual activities—”

“You damn well better not.”

“Because that is a private matter between you and your conscience. But I would like to know, if you will pardon my curiosity, what made you decide to stay on at Bad Steinbach.”