Gretel and the Case of the Missing Frog Prints by P. J. Brackston

include a headdress and mask, so that her true identity would remain protected. She was to be supplied with stout bonds with which to tie her customer to the bed, and an assortment of whips. Gretel had never cracked a whip in her life, but was fairly certain it would come naturally to her. She had been very clear on the point that she would neither touch nor be touched during any of her sessions. Her forte was correction, and she would deliver it with gusto. She had also insisted that all her clients must be similarly clad and remain so throughout. Fortunately, the brothel seemed to be unfamiliar with Gretel’s supposed speciality and did not question the necessity of this. The idea of acres of pasty flesh trembling beneath her whip made her feel queasy.
    Gretel closed her eyes. It would take several hours for the seamstress to run up the costume, and until then she must rest and prepare herself as best she could. She was here, shereminded herself, to further her enquiries into the missing art work. She must remain focused. Phelps used this place, and with luck she would be able to see to it that he sampled her services. The man clearly coveted Herr Durer’s pictures, as well as his position in the art world. He had to be a prime suspect. But then, if he had taken the prints, what would he do with them? He could hardly show them to anyone, so what would be the point? She had already got him pinned as a man who enjoyed the respect and approval of his peers and society above all else. What benefit could there be to him merely enjoying the art works in secret? What was more, the prints would not then ever find their way to the Nuremberg Art Gallery. There was always the possibility, of course, that he had stolen them to sell. Was he a man of wealth, she wondered, or someone whose finances could do with the sizeable windfall the frogs might yield?
    In any case, he needed questioning. Gretel might not be what she had claimed to Mistress Crane to be, but she knew men well enough to be sure that she could extract honest answers from the bumptious doctor if the questions were put in the right context, i.e., with him tied helplessly to the bed. The man was easily sufficiently odious for her to be able to bring herself to whip him if necessary.
    Gretel ran through her list of suspects. There was Valeri. The girl had the best opportunity, it had to be said. Herr Durer trusted her, and she could come and go from the hotel without arousing suspicion. But Valeri as a thief did not seem a good fit. Gretel always applied logic, of course, and facts were paramount in her deductions, but instinct told her there was a basic goodness and sincerity about Valeri, for all her clearly not being a real nurse and having a past. Gretel simply could not see her as the sort of person who would so betray Herr Durer. Unless, perhaps, she was manipulated by someone else. Her hatred ofDr. Phelps had been startling, and hinted at a secret. And the girl was pretty and young, would her loyalty to her employer withstand the madness of love?
    Which led Gretel to considering the third suspect—Herr Durer’s nephew, Leopold. Without ever having met him, she felt she knew him all too well. A boy, rather than a man, spoiled and indulged all his life, indolent and sulky, believing the world owed him everything, whilst he, in return, would give only sneers and complaints. It was clear he visited his uncle to obtain money from him. And Valeri had said he was unhappy about not being in line for the prints. Might he have decided to simply help himself? Could he have charmed Valeri into assisting him?
    And then there was the beleaguered Maximilian Schoenberg. A hotel manager with too many rooms and too few guests, who had recently been meeting with owners of a well-known hotel chain. What lengths would he go to in order to keep the Grand afloat? He had motive, then, and certainly opportunity. Did he also have the appropriate connections to sell the prints?