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Updated: June 5, 2025
"This room was occupied for centuries by the masters of Schloss Rothhoefen. It is a bed chamber. See the great baronial bed. It has not been slept in for more than two hundred years. The later barons refused to sleep in it because one of their ancestors had been assassinated between its sheets at the tender age of six. He was stabbed by a step-uncle who played him false. This room is haunted.
He had also written a personal letter, commanding the Munich firm to send their most competent expert to Schloss Rothhoefen without delay, to go over the plans with him. As I recall it, he merely referred to me as a rich American who needed advice. They cursed my servants, drank my wines, complained of the food, and had everybody about the place doing errands for them.
Friend and foe alike came to the back door of Schloss Rothhoefen, and there found welcome or stubborn obstacles that laughed at time and locksmiths: monstrous gates that still were strong enough to defy a mighty force.
Titus and her sons were to enter the castle under cover of night, and I was to meet them in an automobile at a town some fifteen kilometers away, where they would leave the train while their watchers were asleep, and bring them overland to Schloss Rothhoefen. They would be accompanied by a single lady's maid and no luggage.
Will come to Schloss Rothhoefen at once to complete the transfer. Accompanied by Hazzard and Smith, I went over the castle from top to bottom, in quest of the reason for Tarnowsy's prompt acceptance of my demand.
They did not approve of him as lord and master, nor was it possible for them to resign themselves to the fate that had put this young scapegrace into the shoes, so to speak, of the grim old barons Rothhoefen, who whatever else they may have been in a high-handed sort of way were men to the core.
I would have given much to have been able to read his innermost thoughts, to watch the perplexed movements of his mind. "Schloss Rothhoefen is yours, Count Tarnowsy," said I. "It is for you to say whether his whim shall be gratified." His lips twitched. I saw his hand touch the bulging coat-pocket with a swift, passing movement. "Will you be good enough to sign, Mr. Smart?" he said coldly.
The Count's father, it appears, was a distiller of great wealth in his day, and a man of action. Unfortunately he died before he had the chance to carry out his projects in connection with the rehabilitation of Schloss Rothhoefen, even then a deserted, ramshackle resort for paying tourists and a Mecca for antique and picture dealers.
Schloss Rothhoefen condemns you to the purgatory of Croesus." "Croesus would be a poor man in these days," said I. "If he lived in New York he would be wondering where his next meal was to come from. You have made a very poor guess as to my wealth. I am not a rich man." He eyed me coldly. "Have you suddenly discovered the fact, sir?" "What do you mean?"
Smith is at the bottom of it. He wantonly insulted me the day we left Rothhoefen. I have challenged him, but he he committed the most diabolical breach of etiquette by threatening to kick my friend the Baron out of his rooms when he waited upon him yesterday morning." With difficulty I restrained a desire to shout the single word: "Good!" I was proud of Billy Smith.
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