The Left-Handed God by I. J. Parker Page A

Dipped into clients’ funds? Robbed a poor widow of her mite? Or murdered an inconvenient blackmailer?” He cackled and came to shake Seutter’s hand.
    Standing, he had gained some stature but he was still short in spite of a pair of very high-heeled shoes with large gilt buckles. Franz wondered if the velvet suit, time-yellowed lace jabot and rich lace cuffs, silk stockings, and shoes had once belonged to a long deceased courtier.
    Seutter, who had received the aspersions on his probity with rumbling laughter, introduced Franz.
    Stiebel made Franz an elegant bow. “A great pleasure, young man,” he said. “My friend here has spoken so highly of your talents that I fear my needs are well beneath your abilities, but he seems to think that you would not be completely averse to them at the present time?”
    Franz muttered an affirmative.
    Stiebel’s narrow face stretched into a smile and his eyes twinkled over the spectacles. “‘ O diem laetum ,’ as Pliny said. You make my day joyous. Pray be seated, gentlemen.”
    The interview was strange in that Stiebel both asked and answered his own questions, leaving Franz no more to do than to nod or shake his head. Seutter listened with a smile, or made noises of approval and comments like, “There! Didn’t I tell you so?” “I knew it would serve perfectly,” and “What happiness!”
    So Franz became a lawyer’s clerk.
    *
    Max Bauer made his second attempt on the Langsdorff house toward noon. He had been watching since dawn and had almost decided to try a daring night-time entry while the family was asleep when he saw the cripple hobbling away and shortly afterward his mother setting off with a basket over her arm. That left the girl, and the smoke from the chimney told him that she must be cooking. He knew well enough that the kitchen was in the back of the house while the stairs to the bedrooms were in the front.
    He walked boldly up to the front door and knocked very softly. After a short wait, he tried the handle and slipped in. The hall was dim, but he could hear the clatter of pots from the kitchen. He sniffed the air. Cabbage and onions. It smelled good and he was hungry. His employer had not paid him because Max had not produced the letter.
    He listened, heard only the normal kitchen noises, and tiptoed to the stairs. His foot hovered over the lowest step when the girl came out of the kitchen, saw him, and froze.
    For a moment, they stood staring at each other‌—‌perhaps equally frightened. Max pictured himself with a noose around his neck, and she was a mere girl and must be terrified to find a strange man in her house when she was alone. It was a wonder she had not started screaming yet. Max recovered and put his foot back on the tiled floor.
    “Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” he said in his humblest voice and in a wheedling tone. “I knocked and was sure I heard you call out to come in. I hope I didn’t give you a fright.”
    “You did,” snapped Augusta. “And I did not hear you knock. What do you want?”
    Max bowed his head and twisted his hands. “Just a piece of bread, miss. I’m that hungry. I’d be glad to work for it.”
    He peered cautiously at her and saw that she was undecided. Good. The noose could be avoided once again. “For the sake of our Lord,” he pleaded, then shuffled back a step or two. “Beggin’ your pardon. I can see it’s not a good time. I’ll try elsewhere.” He bobbed his head and reached for the door handle.
    “Wait,” she said. “When did you eat last?”
    “Yesterday, miss. Or maybe the day before. I can’t hardly recall. I don’t like to ask for food but I haven’t had work since the war.”
    This was inspired, for she came closer and took his arm. “Oh, you’re one of the poor soldiers. Perhaps you’ve been wounded like my poor brother?”
    When he saw her face close up and filled with pity for him, he was almost too overcome to speak. She was as beautiful as an angel, an innocent angel, and he