He wouldn’t take the glass until I had drunk from it. “This has been very pleasant,” he said politely. “But I wouldn’t want to keep you from your other obligations. Shouldn’t you—”

I smiled brightly at him. “You aren’t keeping me from a thing. Tony is still in Garmisch, Schmidt is sound asleep—Clara is sleeping on his stomach—and everything else can wait.”

“Vicky,” John began nervously. “I honestly didn’t intend—”

“Never mind that.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “What was it you said, just before the avalanche hit? No, don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You remember. Say it. Say it again, loud and clear.”

John moistened his lips. “I…”

“That’s a start. Come on, get it out.”

“I don’t…”

“Yes, you do.”

“I…I need another glass of wine.”

“No, you don’t. You aren’t going to get out of it by claiming you were drunk.”

He closed his eyes. I put one finger on a lowered lid and pushed it up. There was no brilliance, no sapphirine glitter in the eye that glared back at me; it was opaque as lapis lazuli, resentful and bloodshot. Then a spark stirred deep in the azure depths; he pushed my hand away and imprisoned it in his.

“I love you,” he said flatly. “I—love—you. Shall I elaborate? I have loved you. I do love you. I will love you. I didn’t want to love you. I tried not to love you. I will undoubtedly regret loving you, but—God help me—I love you—so much—”

“That’s what I thought you said,” I murmured.

“So he has gone?” Schmidt demanded, pouting.

“He has gone. Back into the shadows whence he came—but ready, whenever the chance of profit beckons, to take up his role as Supercrook, robbing the rich to sell to the highest bidder—”

“You joke? You can joke, in the face of this disgrace, this—this fiasco?” Schmidt’s pout turned to a scowl. It was hard to tell the difference, since both expressions involved lowering brows and an out-thrust lower lip, but I was only too familiar with my boss’s countenance. He went on, his voice rising in pitch and in volume, “Never have I been so humiliated! I, the director of the National Museum! Gaping down into an empty hole, while vulgar policemen snickered behind their hands and went home to tell their wives about the crazy old man who thought there was a treasure buried in an innkeeper’s grave…. I believed you. That was my mistake. I should have known better. I should have known you would betray me….”

He went on in this vein for some time. I didn’t interrupt, since in a way I felt I deserved a reprimand. It was Tony who came to my rescue. He had been released just in time to join the expedition to the cemetery, and I must give him credit; he hadn’t so much as smiled when the grave turned out to be empty of anything except Frau Hoffman’s coffin.