Free The Doctor Dines in Prague by Robin Hathaway Page B

them, they will do anything for you. No matter how dirty.”
    â€œKidnap?”
    She paused in her stride.
    â€œThe thugs who took Anna and Vlasta looked like that, and they came on motorcycles.”
    â€œThey kidnapped them on motorcycles?” She looked incredulous.
    Fenimore had to admit it would be difficult. “Maybe they arrived at the apartment on motorcycles, then handed them over to someone in a waiting car when they got outside.”
    â€œThat sounds more logical,” said Ilsa. “Oh, poor Anna … .”
    They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the pedestrians trying to make their way around them.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Ilsa said. “I wish I could be of more help.”
    They began walking again.
    â€œWhat would Anna and Vlasta have that someone else would want?” Fenimore said, almost to himself.
    â€œNot money.” Ilsa shook her head. “Believe me, the salaries of professors in Prague are pitiful.” She smiled ruefully.
    Fenimore racked his brain for some other reason. Jewelry? Unlikely. His mother was the eldest sister and she had inherited most of the valuable family pieces. Their value was largely sentimental anyway. And, if jewelry was the motive, why not just steal it, and not go to the trouble of heisting its owners! … What else? The only other possessions his cousins seemed to have in abundance were books. But who ever heard of kidnapping someone for their books! One particular rare book? Again, why not just steal the book?
    Fenimore stopped in his tracks. Books begin as manuscripts. Could that manuscript on the history of Prague’s architecture contain some valuable information? “Knowledge,” he said aloud.
    Ilsa stopped in midstride.
    â€œSometimes people are kidnapped for their knowledge,” he told her. “They know something that someone else wants to find out.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œI don’t know. Some secret. The location of something valuable … .
A treasure?” Fenimore thought of one of his earlier adventures.
    â€œFairy tales,” muttered Ilsa.
    â€œWhat about a code? Sometimes people need to break a code.”
    â€œIn wartime, not peacetime.” Ilsa squelched that idea.
    â€œI know,” he said angrily. “I’m clutching at straws.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œStraws—it’s an expression meaning … I’m so desperate I’m talking nonsense.”
    â€œYes.” She smiled. “I’m afraid you are.”
    He thought of Vlasta’s medicine. Time was of the essence. Without his nitros and the longer-acting drugs, Vlasta could suffer severe chest pain—even a heart attack. It was so frustrating playing the tourist when time was short and so much was at stake. He only half-watched the quaint figures of the Apostles emerge through the little door above the Astronomical Clock.
    The sun had grown warm. They were washing down sausage rolls with beer, when Fenimore raised the subject of the thugs again. “Where do those toughs hang out?” he asked unexpectedly.
    Ilsa squinted at him over her foaming mug. “Some sleazy bars in New Town.” She shrugged. “Why?”
    â€œI want to go there.”
    Her eyes widened. “You can’t do that.”
    â€œWhy not? I’m not as feeble as I look. I’m trained in karate,” he challenged her.
    She shook her head. “You don’t know them. They’d make mincemeat of you. And how would you know if they’re the right thugs?”
    â€œIt’s my only lead, Ilsa. And time is running out.” He told her about finding Vlasta’s medicine, and his heart condition.
    â€œBut they’re just hirelings. They won’t be able to tell you anything.”
    â€œThey can tell me who hired them.”
    Ilsa sipped her beer in silence. When she had drained her mug, she said. “Very well. But they don’t gather until