A Shroud for Jesso by Peter Rabe Page B

his pocket, twirled it between his fingers, made it snap.
    “Ask Hofer when Kator is coming back, will you—uh—Helmut?”
    But the Baron didn’t move.
    “Is your business with dear Johannes so urgent you cannot enjoy the comfort of my hospitality? How would you like some liqueur?”
    Liqueur, probably with a stink like a flower perfume. The close warmth of the solarium bothered him, and the Baron, with his careful hair-do, gave him a pain. And that Renette female. He had come for Kator. He had expected Kator, cold and tricky, the kind of man who made it easy for you to act without scruples and who made it impossible to forget what you came for.
    “I said, dear Jack, is your business so important—”
    “Yeah. He owes me five hundred bucks.”
    This amused the Baron.
    “Five hundred dollars!” He whinnied. “You mean you came here from out of town, broke in at an early hour, because he owes you five hundred dollars?”
    “My life savings, Helmut.”
    He leaned forward and put one hand on Jesso’s knee.
    “Johannes can be unreasonable, dear Jack. But let me help you with the money. Really, it means little enough to me, and I’ll speak to Johannes about—“
    “I’ll wait. You don’t owe me a thing.” Jesso moved his leg out of the way.
    Von Lohe laughed. “Why should you be afraid to be indebted to me? And besides, my influence with Johannes is such—“
    “So go influence him.” Jesso got up abruptly. He was losing his patience.
    “For example,” said the Baron, and he studied his fingernails, “if you’ve had a quarrel with our Johannes—and how easy it is to quarrel with him—you would find that my efforts in your behalf could work wonders.”
    “I’ll do my own promoting, thanks.”
    “My position, dear Jack—” Then he stopped. They both heard the front door open.
    Old Hofer was scurrying across the hall and two other servants were scrambling into position.
    “Send for the Baron,” said a voice. Kator was there.
    Helmut lost some of his baronial air, but he rose with a studied grace and walked toward the hall without another word.
    “And send for my sister,” said the voice from the hall.
    Kator had crossed the hall with that hard click of his shoes. He turned to no one and slowed down just long enough to give old Hofer a chance to swing the library doors wide. Kator went through and the doors clicked shut. When Hofer came back to the hall, von Lohe stood by, watching the servants gather up the luggage. He was fitting a Turkish cigarette into a silver holder.
    “Herr Kator wishes to see the Herr Baron.”
    Von Lohe placed the holder in his mouth and fished for his lighter.
    “That is, immediately, Herr Baron.” Hofer bowed and disappeared into a side hall. The Baron went into the library without having lit his cigarette.
    The library was a room like a hall. The floor was covered with two giant rugs and one wall held a fireplace roofed like a house. There were more Atlases. They held the fireplace open. The ceiling and walls were of walnut except where the bookshelves had been replaced by locked cabinets. The cabinets were steel. They looked odd and cold in the ornate room, and the bleak light from the French windows gave them the air of a row of cells. There was a disciplined garden on the other side of the windows, a painstaking affair of different greens and thin little walks. Kator’s desk faced the other way. His chair was empty. Von Lohe walked to the high-backed seat that faced the empty fireplace and said, “Good morning, Johannes.”
    Kator’s arm waved him to step closer. “Where is Renette?”
    “I don’t know, Johannes. Hofer says—”
    “I know what Hofer says. Sit down. When she comes back, send her to me immediately.”
    “But I don’t know when she—”
    “She’s your wife, isn’t she?” Kator sounded impatient.
    “She’s your sister, isn’t she?” said von Lohe, and the spite in his voice was pure.
    Kator got out of his chair and walked to the