Free Legacy of a Spy by Henry S. Maxfield Page A

that Wyman was definitely disgruntled. But he had proved his judgment of Wyman. Wyman, obviously, couldn’t decide what to do. Ilse Wieland was a very desirable woman. On the other hand, a man with more money than brains was a contact he didn’t want to lose. Slater was beginning to enjoy himself. He looked in the direction of the center table. Heinz Mahler and the busty blonde with the peaches-and-cream complexion were gone, and an older couple were being seated. The man was built like a barrel. Slater noticed his hands as he reached for the napkin. They were enormous, and the fingers were fat and without any apparent joints. They curved like sausages when he grasped the napkin. His bright blue eyes were almost concealed in the flesh of his face. His mouth was ultra sensual, and Slater noticed that the man was continually licking his thick lips. The woman was considerably younger and quite thin.
    “That,” said Wyman, “is the Baron von Burgdorf.” Wyman smiled in his direction and received a friendly nod.
    “Who is the Baron von Burgdorf?” asked Ilse. Slater was very interested himself.
    “Yes,” he said, “I’ve always wanted to meet a real baron.”
    “This one is real all right,” said Wyman. “His family haven’t worked for generations. They made their money from beer.”
    “He’s a good advertisement for his product,” said Slater.
    Ilse glanced at Slater. The comment was out of character for Carmichael, and she seemed to notice it. Slater determined to be more careful. “He’s built like a beer barrel,” he added.
    “You should see his place outside of Munich,” said Wyman, ignoring the reference to von Burgdorf’s shape. “It’s like a castle.”
    So this, thought Slater, must be the contact in Munich that Wyman had mentioned at the bar of the Baur-au-Lac Hotel.
    “The Baron,” Wyman continued, “has been spending the last two months here. He throws a good many parties.”
    “Who is the woman with him?” asked Ilse.
    “I’ve never seen her before,” said Wyman. “The Baron isn’t married, and none of his women last very long.”
    If he picked on such little ones, thought Slater, it was no wonder. The beer baron must have weighed all of three hundred pounds.
    Wyman had signaled for Rüdi, and the waiter arrived with the check and set it beside Wyman. Slater started to reach for it, but Wyman beat him to it.
    “Allow me,” he said and smiled. Slater shrugged his shoulders. This was out of character. He would have bet a month’s salary that Wyman would have juggled the check back to him, but he would have lost. Wyman signed the bill and put down his room number.
    Rüdi looked at the signature, thanked Wyman very much and left.
    “Are you ready, Miss Wieland,” asked Wyman, “to let me show you around Kitzbühel?”
    “Thank you, Mr. Wyman,” she said. “The dinner was delightful, but I want to get to bed as I plan to get up early for the skiing tomorrow.”
    Ilse stood up and so did the two men. She turned to Slater.
    “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Carmichael.” She looked up at him and smiled. “You are deceptively tall.” She offered her hand, and Slater shook it. Her grip was strong. There was something about her smile that made him feel uncomfortable. She thanked Wyman for the dinner, and the two men watched her move off between the tables.
    “Do you still prefer English women?” Wyman asked.
    It was a question that didn’t require an answer, and Slater didn’t give one. Wyman grinned.
    “There’s something about European women, particularly German women, that is irresistible,” said Wyman. “They’re feminine, of course, but they don’t really flirt. There’s an intensity about them. They seem to take your measure. If they like what they see, they let you know it immediately, and you’re hooked.”
    Slater thought that was a remarkably sage observation. It came very close to paralleling his own feelings. An American woman endangered a man’s