Chapter 6: The Hunt for Mike

At the conclusion of dinner, Chetwyn Glyde’s table rose first.

“I’m going to the casino,” he announced. “Nellie, you’ll come with me. Miranda, Olson will see you to your room.”

And so saying he swept out.

Miranda and Flora had already established where their respective rooms were, and Miranda had insisted over dinner that Flora should transfer down to one of the larger rooms the following day. Now, as she was leaving the casino, Miranda suddenly gave Flora a fierce hug, and then a little smile before she left obediently with David Olson.

Or at least she started to.

Olson paused by the Count’s table – it seemed natural to call it that, for the Count was such a commanding presence – and pointed an accusing finger the bottle of Bourbon on the table.

“What the hell is that doing there? It’s reserved for Mr Glyde’s personal use – we arranged the deal especially!”

“I am sure that it is not Herr Glyde alone who enjoys the privilege,” responded the Count, who had taken more than a sip of the bourbon himself. “I believe Miss Nolan and yourself enjoy evening tipples, ne c’est pas?” And he gave his full laugh.

Karl seemed to enjoy this riposte and chuckled lightly. Notably he had not tried the bourbon himself, preferring the full-bodied wine.

Jack just looked up and shook his head. “Why, I merely asked for it and the servant brought it to me.” Innocence personified. Well, save for having a healthy amount of bourbon with his meal. “I’m sure they were just trying to accommodate a rush of guests and as the Count says, everyone enjoys a little of what they fancy.”

Joseph straightened his cuffs, and stayed clear of the territorial dispute about the bottle of bourbon.

Just then there was a feminine shriek from further along the corridor, in the direction of the writing room.

“Eine Schlange! Ich sah eine Schlange!”

“No Schlange but a Eidechse, I suspect,” said Franz von Essen to Alder Bishop, rising to his feet. “I fear your lizard is alarming the staff once more.”

“That does appear to be your cue, Mr. Bishop,” Samantha said regretfully.

“It does indeed,” Alder said, rising. “Sadly, he does have that habit. I could swear it’s part of his sense of humor.” Alder sighed, remembering the incident with Mike and the substitute cabin steward. The man had never been persuaded to darken Alder’s door again. He turned to Fritzel. “I don’t suppose I could trouble your staff for some diced fruit? Fresh, by choice? – he doesn’t chew, you see, he just swallows, and dried fruit would just, er, ah, plug him up. I’d use the crickets – he’s very fond of crickets — but I’m afraid your good mother would throw me, Mike and the crickets all out into the street, and that’s no way to spend Christmas.”

“Dried fruit is popular here…” Samantha announced.  “There’s so much fruit cake…” she added in a quieter, more despondent tone.

“Anyway… I should probably stay out of the way and let you catch poor Mike,” Samantha added in a brighter tone.  “Unless you need a smaller pair of hands… my room is just off the stairs on the second floor.”  She stood from the table, laid her napkin on her plate.

“Much appreciated,” Alder said to her retreating back, watching after her with a smile on his face.

Jack looked up towards the writing room and sighed. “And now I’m thinking it’s time to do some lizard wrangling. Sadly lacking in appropriately sized lassos. ” Yes, jovial as ever, despite his meal being disturbed at the end by several things. He rose, smiles at Olson as if the man couldn’t possibly argue with him and made his exit, off towards the noise.

Joseph didn’t really see himself running after a lizard.  “Perhaps we can set a trap to catch him when he gets chased out of the writing room?”  He suggested to no-one in particular.  “I think there was an empty crate among my luggage after all, I’ll go fetch it.  It’s bigger than his traveling box, maybe he’ll run into it?”

“I don’t think chasing him will do any good – if he’s scared, he’ll go hide in an area too small for any of us to reach. I think if I bribe him with fruit to go into his traveling box, he’ll go there instead. It’s familiar, and I’m sure he’s tired, cold and hungry by now.” Alder headed to his room to fetch the box.

Joseph was off as well, presumably to change.

Karl sighed, rose from his seat and bowed slightly to the Count. “A pleasure to meet you, Sir. If we are stuck here together as long as I suspect, perhaps I can practice my Russian. For now, please excuse me.” He then headed off to locate some of the staff not engaged in lizard-catching and find out what happened to Judy.

Flora DeWilde had, by this time, disappeared up the stairs, presumably to her room.

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Frau Blauer was at the reception desk, wearing a singularly grim expression as Karl approached and made his enquiry.

“Miss Novak? She has taken a light supper in her room.”

Karl knew that Judy’s room was on the same floor as his, as they had gone up together when the first gong sounded.

Karl climbed the stairs and, locating the appropriate door knocked lightly. “Miss Nowak? It’s Karl. I just wanted to check you were alright. Is there anything I can get you?”

Judy, ever helpful, was emerging from her room with her soup bowl and bread plate as Karl walked along the corridor. She opened the door as he finished speaking, then hesitated, immediately flustered in his presence and aware of her travel stained clothing. “Herr Stransky!” Her bob of acknowledgement looked like a curtailed curtsy. She looked down at her dishes.

“I thought to return these to the kitchen, Herr Blauer was so kind as to bring them.” Blushing, she risked a glance at his face. “I had not realised that this was so grand a place. My mother stayed here many years ago, when it was so much smaller. I had not been expecting …” she hesitated and gestured, then hastily grabbed at the sliding dishes.

“Allow me to help you with those,” Karl offered, moving to intercept any crockery that risked falling to the floor. “I was worried you might be sick.”

“You are a guest, you should dine with us….” he struggled with the English words to express himself, eventually settling on: “We don’t bite!”

“My mother stayed here many years ago, when it was so much smaller. Herr Stransky, you are very kind, but I have neither the clothes, nor the manners for such company!” Blushing, she bobbed her head once more, collected her dishes and scuttled past him along the corridor that led to the stairs to the kitchen.

Karl watched her go, not wishing to press the point further. He lifted the pocket watch from his waistcoat by its chain to check the time then retreated to his room. He would change into something less formal. It was too early to retire, and there was too much to discuss.

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A short time later, Alder met with his fellow lizard-retrievers in the hotel lobby.

In fact, several were already in the Library where a tearful maid was recounting – to anyone who would listen to her – how she had felt she was being watched as she tidied the newspapers while people were at dinner. How she had turned slowly around … and then had seen a snake’s head poking out from under the great ceramic stove, watching her.

At this point in the tale she would – every time – let out a shriek of horror (to demonstrate how she had responded) – which caused everyone in the room to jump slightly.

Alder was now wearing a casual shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and sturdy lace-up boots, and carried the smallish travel box that the others recognized from earlier, as well as an object bundled in a towel that proved to be a hot-water bottle.

“Danke,” he said with a grateful smile to the shy kitchen-maid who proffered a small plate of diced fruit. He turned to the others. “I may need you gentlemen to herd him toward me if he tries to make a break for it… Hopefully it won’t come to that.” He crept to the closed door of the writing room / library. Placing a careful boot against the jamb in an attempt to forestall further lizard escapades, he balanced box, bottle and fruit in one long arm as he eased open the door and carefully slithered into the room, handing the door off to Franz von Essen, who was just behind him.

Where he promptly tripped on…the edge of the rug? A pencil? Something else? It was difficult to tell; the only thing for certain was that it was not a green lizard. For a moment Alder did some frantic cartwheeling with his free arm before regaining his balance. He stood absolutely still for a moment, catching his breath.

At the point he noticed that the wooden partition between the writing room and the library had been pushed back, and various people crowded into the gap, including the Count, David Olson and Miranda Glyde (Olson, with a stern look at the count, had set the opened Bourbon bottle down on a side table), and Jack Adler.

Joseph was there, still in a suit, albeit a very slightly more casual one. He had also brought his crate, just in case, and was clearly trying to find the perfect place to position it, in case the lizard bolted from his hidey-hole.

Finally Alder began making his way toward the stove with slow, careful and – it must be confessed – exaggerated stalking motions. Reaching it, he dropped to his haunches, set down his accoutrements, put the wrapped hot water bottle on top of the box, opened the box at one end and put some food into it, then dropped to hands and knees and peered under the stove.

Fritzel Blauer was already there and also on his knees. He silently gestured towards the area where he believed the lizard to be – having already taken a look, it appeared. But clearly he was content to allow Mike’s owner to do the actual catching.

“There you are, Mike,” Alder said in a soothing tone of voice. “You had me worried.”

Franz von Essen approached the garrulous maid from behind and clapped a hand over her mouth, effectively muffling her. Even as she continued to make muffled protests, he leaned forward and murmured something quietly in her ear. She fell silent and stopped struggling immediately.

Satisfied, he released her.

Alder picked up a piece of fruit and extended his hand slowly toward the stove. A green head darted out, grabbed the treat, and retreated back under the stove. Alder reached for the box, moved it closer and offered the lizard another piece of fruit, continuing to speak gently and addressing the lizard by name. “I bet you’re tired, Mike. Wouldn’t you like to go home and get some rest? The nice people here have your home all ready for you.” The lizard grabbed two more pieces of fruit before darting toward the box and then inside it. As the tail vanished into the box, Alder’s large hand came to rest on the end, softly swung it shut and firmly threw the latches.

“There,” he said with satisfaction, and sat back on his heels.

“Oh well done, Mr Bishop!” said Miranda admiringly.

“Very effective,” said David Olson. “Now, if the wild beast show is over, let me take you to your room, Miranda.

She shrugged a pettish shoulder as he picked up the bourbon, and then followed him out of the room.

Joseph gave the retreating pair a long look, pitying the poor girl, before laughing and picking up the unneeded crate.  “Well done, indeed, and you are obviously the expert.  I’ll get this thing out of the way.  If you ever want to give him some space to run around without having to chase him again, you are free to use it, of course!”  He nodded at those present, and retreated to his room.  A crate isn’t a stylish accesory.  He mentioned he could probably be found in this very room later, to read the papers.

“Well done, Mr Bishop!” said the Count, striding forward to clap him on the shoulder. “What do you say – shall we all go and have a drink in the casino?”

“Let me put this trouble-maker safely in his habitat,” Alder said, picking up the box and getting to his feet. “Then I’d be glad to join you. Won’t be long.”