‘I’m Heidi.’
Ulster went last. ‘And I’m Petr.’
Strangely, Ulster’s handshake lasted longer than all the others combined. After a few uncomfortable seconds, Ulster tried to release his hand from the old man’s grip, but Hauser held tight, his yellow fingernails digging into Ulster’s skin. Everyone, including Hauser’s son, was confused by the development. The old man finally blinked and released his grasp.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, obviously embarrassed. ‘It’s just, well, I saw …’
With empathy in his eyes, Ulster looked at Hauser and tried to figure out what had just happened. For a split-second or two, it seemed as if the old man had gone somewhere else in his mind. ‘You saw, what?’
He swallowed hard and tried to explain. ‘As a jeweller, I could not help but notice the ring on your finger. With your permission, may I take a closer look?’
Ulster stared at his right hand. The gold ring was a permanent fixture. Not only because of its personal significance, but also because of his weight gain over the years. ‘Unfortunately, I’m unable to remove the ring. My fingers are a tad too plump.’
‘That is fine,’ he assured him. ‘I can work round that.’
With some effort, Hauser picked up the magnification lamp. It was attached to a manoeuvrable spring arm and clamped to the counter. As everyone watched closely, he slowly pulled the powerful lens towards Ulster’s hand and adjusted the settings on the light so he could get a better look at the family crest on the ring. When the image – an eagle with a sword in one talon and a scroll in the other – came into view, the old man gasped in recognition. He hadn’t seen the coat of arms in more than sixty years.
‘Are you an Ulster?’ the old man asked.
He was taken aback. ‘Yes, sir. My name is Petr Ulster.’
‘And your grandfather, what was his name?’
‘Conrad. Conrad Ulster.’
The old man trembled slightly. A few seconds passed before he lifted his eyes to meet Ulster’s gaze. For the first time, everyone noticed that the old man had started to cry. ‘Then it has come full circle.’
Hauser’s son rushed forward. ‘Papa, what is wrong?’
The old man shook his head for several seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice quivered with emotion. ‘Nothing is wrong, my son. Everything is right. The right people have come for the case. Please retrieve it from the vault.’
His son nodded, and moved away to fulfil the request.
Meanwhile, the old man slowly regained his composure. First, he wiped away his tears with his sleeve, then he pointed to a stack of folding chairs in the corner of the room. After years of being hunched over a counter, his spine was so curved he had trouble lifting his head.
‘Please take a seat. I’d like to look at you while we talk.’
As they carried their chairs across the room, Friedrich Hauser returned from the vault with a plain, wooden crate. It was nondescript in every way. He set it gently on the floor next to his father’s stool, then he took a chair for himself. From this point forward, he was like everyone else; he wanted to know what was going on, because he too had no idea what was about to be unveiled.
Hauser cleared his throat. ‘By now, all of you must think I am a crazy old man. I assure you I am not. My body might be failing, but my mind is still sharp. As for my tears, they came from an unexpected source. I have always known that someone would come for the case. I have been prepared for that for half of my life. What I didn’t know was who. At my age, nothing in the world surprises me. I have lived too long and seen too much to ever be astonished. Nevertheless, I was caught off guard by your ring.’
Ulster pointed at his finger. ‘My ring?’
Hauser nodded. ‘I have not seen it for decades. But, even with failing eyes, I recognized it at once. An artist always remembers his art.’
Ulster quickly connected the dots. ‘You made my ring?’
‘I did indeed. I carved the crest myself.’
‘I don’t understand. This was my grandfather’s ring.’
‘Yes,’ Hauser confirmed, ‘it belonged to your grandfather, but I was the one who made it. My father gave it to him after the war as a token of our thanks.’
‘Thanks? Thanks for what?’
‘For everything,’ Hauser explained. ‘For hiding our jewels during the war. For keeping his word when others had lied. For protecting the case from Nazi hands. Your grandfather was an amazing man. Without him, the item would have been lost for ever.’
Payne heard the words and breathed a sigh of relief. Only two days had passed since he had called Ulster and told him about the bunker in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. At the time, the discovery of Ulster’s coat of arms on a crate of missing artwork had been potentially devastating. It had threatened to stain Ulster’s name and tear apart everything the Archives represented. But after hearing Hauser’s heartfelt speech, he knew the Ulster legacy was safe.
Alexander Hauser patted Ulster on his shoulder. ‘Your grandfather was a hero.’
Ulster beamed with pride. ‘I guess he was.’
The old man waved his finger. ‘There is no guessing about it. Conrad Ulster was a hero. He saved countless treasures across Europe, then returned them to the rightful owners. If not for him, this store and many others never would have reopened. That is why my family gave him the ring. And that is why I’m glad you’ve come for the case.’
71
Payne stared at the wooden crate on the floor next to Hauser’s stool. Nothing about it seemed special. It was made of wood and looked eerily similar to the crates found inside the hidden bunker. As far as he could tell, the main difference was its size. It was about two feet in width, length and height. Certainly not large enough to hold an enormous treasure.
‘Sir,’ Payne said, ‘you keep mentioning the item. Can you tell us about its history?’
Hauser paused in thought, trying to decide where he should start a narrative that had been going strong for more than a hundred years. After a while, he posed a question to the group. ‘Tell me, are you familiar with Nostradamus?’
Payne and Jones exchanged knowing glances. Both of them were quite familiar with the sixteenth-century French prophet, renowned for his ability to see the future. Less than a year ago, they had discovered one of his lost manuscripts, and it had nearly got them killed.
Ulster answered for the group. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And what about his connection to Ludwig?’
Heidi shook her head. ‘That’s news to me.’
‘Me, too,’ Ulster added.
Hauser smiled. ‘Then that is where we shall begin – way back in 1864 when Ludwig was still a prince and his father was slowly dying.’
The group leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single word.
‘King Maximilian the Second summoned his son to his bedside and warned him of a prophecy that he believed foretold the death of Ludwig. Though it did not appear in his book Les Propheties, the quatrain has long been attributed to Nostradamus, a man who has influenced many a king across Europe and many a man across time.’
Ulster interrupted him. ‘What was the prophecy?’
The old man answered in fluent French.
Quand le Vendredi Saint tombera sur le jour de Saint George,
Paques sur le jour de Saint Marc,