Free The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

had joked. ‘Gold bars perhaps?’
    Von Igelfeld had ignored the cheap dig. It gave him some pleasure to imagine that he could offer the Prinzels a prize of any amount – thousands and thousands – to guess the contents of his bag and they would never arrive at the truth. It was, quite simply, an unguessable secret.
    And when they stopped for lunch, as they did in a small village at the foot of a hill, von Igelfeld took the bag with him from the car and tucked it away carefully under his chair. Seeing him place it there, the waiter had come forward and sought to take it from him.
    ‘Allow me to put this in the cloakroom, signore,’ said the waiter. ‘It will be quite safe there.’
    ‘No thank you,’ said von Igelfeld firmly. ‘I would prefer to have it with me.’
    ‘As signore wishes,’ said the waiter sulkily, looking suspiciously at the bag. ‘I was only trying to help.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘There are important contents in that bag. That is all.’
    ‘Important contents?’ said Prinzel. ‘What have you got in there, Herr von Igelfeld? You weren’t so protective of it when we left Germany.’
    ‘No,’ said Ophelia. ‘And I couldn’t help but notice how light it was when we left. Now it is quite a bit heavier. You must have acquired something in Siena.’
    Von Igelfeld glared at Ophelia. It was none of her business what he put in his bags. Did he ask her what she had in her luggage? It was a very intrusive thing to do and he was surprised that the Prinzels knew no better.
    ‘Well?’ said Prinzel, as he looked at the menu. ‘Well?’
    ‘There is something of purely personal value,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Something I do not wish to discuss.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Ophelia. ‘I’m sorry. We have been very tactless. It just seems so strange that you should be so protective of that bag and not tell us what is in it. After all, if I had an important bag I should not be so unkind as to make everybody wonder what was in it.’
    ‘No,’ said Prinzel. ‘She would not. And nor would I. If you came up to me and said: “What’s in your bag?” I would give a civil reply. I would not play some ridiculous game of cat and mouse. I would come straight out and tell you.’
    Von Igelfeld stared at the menu. He was again being subjected to intolerable pressure, just as he had been in the museum when they had argued about the significance of hedgehogs. It was as if they were setting out to goad him.
    He took a deep breath. It was important not to lose one’s calm in circumstances of this sort.
    ‘There is a secret in this bag,’ he said quietly. ‘You would never imagine – not even in your wildest dreams – how important are the contents of my bag. I have given my word that what is in this bag will not be revealed to others. So please allow me to keep to that undertaking.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Ophelia. ‘So what is in the bag does not belong to you. You must be carrying it for somebody else.’
    ‘Yes,’ said von Igelfeld coldly. ‘You could say that.’
    The waiter, who had been standing behind von Igelfeld’s chair during this exchange, now joined in.
    ‘I wonder if it’s anything illegal,’ he said. ‘If it’s so secret, it could be contraband. Are you sure that you aren’t being used as some sort of courier? For a terrorist group, perhaps? In which case, I would look out if I were you. The Carabinieri are always prowling around, looking in other people’s bags. It would be best if you told us what was in it and we could advise you.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Prinzel. ‘That would be far better.’
    Von Igelfeld twisted in his seat to fix the waiter with his most discouraging stare.
    ‘I am surprised that you should think it your business to enquire as to what your guests have in their bags,’ he said icily.
    The waiter pouted. ‘I was only trying to help,’ he said. ‘You Germans think you can carry all sorts of bags around in Italy. Well you can’t.’
    Prinzel now rose to von