The three doors were individually marked with the names of Herr H. Saal, Herr F. Saal, and Heir K. Rollen. The blonde vision tapped at Heir F. Saal's door, opening it immediately and announcing, "Herr Boldman."
Fritz Saal appeared to be sitting behind a huge desk angled into one corner of the room, but it was only when Bond gave him a smiling bow that he realized Herr Saal was standing, prior to coming around the desk.
It was impossible to put an age on the man, and his appearance immediately brought to mind the Tenniel drawings of either Tweedledum or Tweedledee from Through the Looking Glass. The head was slightly out of proportion to his stature, which was, to be politically correct, impaired. In plain language he was a dwarf of around four feet two inches, including the obvious lifts built into his shoes. Like others in his predicament, Saal made up for his lack of inches by a cheerful, even ebullient, manner. He greeted Bond with a firm handshake, and very quickly it became obvious that his height in no way affected his voice, charm, or business acumen. Returning to his desk, Saal pushed two folders toward him. They were both of moderately sized estates – though one was a working farm – and for the next half hour or so they discussed the possibilities.
Eventually, Bond said that what his consortium was really looking for was a place the size of – he went through a show of looking up the name in a notebook – Tarnenwerder, which he was under the impression had been left to wrack and ruin.
Saal shook his head sagely. "Tarnenwerder," he said without the hint of a smile, "is something else altogether. To be truthful, Mr. Boldman, I'd rather not discuss it."
"I understood that you had dealings with that particular property."
"No. No, I personally have no dealings with it. My brother, and our father before us, deals with Tarnenwerder. In fact, the place has been on our books for many generations. If I had my way, we would have passed it to another firm decades ago, but I fear that I rarely get my way in this company. You see, it's the only thing my brother Helmut deals with, and we have not spoken for twenty years on account of it." He gave a sad little laugh. "I would have left this firm years ago if it hadn't been for our strange legal position. No male of the Saal or Rollen family is allowed by our company articles to leave the firm, except, of course, in the event of death."
"That's a strange legal point."
"Very strange, and drawn up a number of centuries ago. The firm is tied to Tarnenwerder and the von Tarn family as if by an unbreakable umbilical cord. Unhappily, the very anomaly of the company articles makes it more binding. Originally, the Saals and Rollens were the stewards of the von Tarns. They moved up in the world to become lawyers, but the von Tarns saw to it that we remained, for all time, joined hip and thigh."
"And all this has caused a split in your family?"
"As I say, I have not spoken to my brother in twenty years – and he's seven years older than I. His wife does not speak to my wife. To the end of their days, my mother was on good terms with me, and my father did not even acknowledge me in the street. It's a strange world, and has nothing to do with my shortness of stature. Every fourth male Saal is born a dwarf." He made a small waving motion with his hand. "Yes, we're supposed to talk about ourselves in a different way these days, but I have never been politically correct – and the politics of my country are slowly descending into the pit of the 1930s again. Did you know that?"
"I have heard about it, and have seen some of it."
"If you want concrete proof, just go over to Tarnenwerder at nine o'clock tonight and you'll see what our ancestors saw in the 1930s. History, particularly when it is the history of politics, is a circular thing. As the Americans say, what goes around comes around. The scourge of the thirties and forties is coming around yet again."
They talked for another fifteen minutes, with Fritz Saal making notes regarding the mythical consortium and its requirements. Bond gave him the London address and he said he would be in touch.
Saal walked with him to the door and out onto the landing. They were just shaking hands once more in farewell when the door to K. Rollen's office opened. Bond stepped back a pace, for the man who looked out from this office was a giant. He stood around six foot four, had hands like bunches of steel bananas, a large shaven head, and a face that reminded him of a gargoyle.
"It's all right, Kurt," Saal said gently. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"Ah, so good." The voice was as slow and lumbering as that of a retard. The grin did not reach his vacant eyes, and he withdrew into his office as though that simple action was a feat of great skill.
Saal looked up at Bond. "Every sixth male child of the Rollen family is born with a defect also. Yet he is a partner who does nothing. He's incapable of anything but the simplest task, and he can be a shade intimidating. Also, he has an uncanny memory. He remembers things and people from twenty years ago. I once heard him describe, completely, his own baptism. Unhappily, when roused, poor Kurt can be violent. Rather dangerously violent, unless you know how to deal with him." He gestured toward the bottom of the stairs. "Now, our lovely Heidi will see you out."
"Lovely Heidi" was the blonde eighth temptation of man.
"I think I once read a book about you, Heidi," Bond said with a smile as she held the street door open for him.
"Oh, no, Mr. Boldman. She was my Swiss cousin. Also, she was a good little girl."
Out in the Marienplatz again, he allowed Flicka to come flaring into his mind, and quickly she banished all thoughts of what could be done with Heidi, given the right time and place.
He then pondered on the near nightmare quality of the law firm of Saal, Saal u. Rollen, realizing that in all probability the throwbacks in both the Saal and Rollen families came from some incestuous relationships, when Wasserburg had been truly a Bavarian backwater some hundreds of years ago.
He strolled slowly to the edge of the square and turned into an alley, which took him to the rear of the buildings. It needed only a casual glance at the back entrance of the lawyers' office to be certain that there was no overt security or alarms on the place. Also, he noted that the back door appeared to have only a normal lock. As long as they did not secure that lock with its retaining catch, the rear door would be his easiest way in.
Turning, he headed to the parking lot where he had left the car. Given what he intended to do that night, he thought it would be as well to look over the landscape – in particular the escape routes.
He opened the car and rummaged around in the front for a few minutes, glancing into the mirrors to make certain that he was not being observed. He could see nobody, and that sixth sense that had so often saved him before told him he was clear.
Outside again, he walked back to the parking lot exit, strolling along the road that would take him onto the B-304. A few steps along this side road he saw a lane turning off to the right. On the wall, beside the lane, there was a notice warning of danger. This narrow road led out onto a smooth plateau that ended abruptly in rocky outcrops and a line of white warning poles. He could hear the river from practically anywhere around the Marienplatz, but now the roar was very close and, on reaching the wooden poles, he saw that he stood at the edge of a huge craggy cliff face. Two hundred feet below him, the waters of the river Inn snarled over more rocks.
The local Lovers' Leap, he thought, retracing his steps and making his way back to the hotel, where the first person he saw was the elderly waiter who told him they had excellent Gänsebraten mit Karoffelknödeln for dinner. "People come from a long way to sample our roast goose with potato dumplings," he added. "I should be quick into the dining room, or you will miss this delight."
Indeed, the goose was a delight, and the potato dumplings were probably the best he had ever tasted, but he left the table a little concerned, for Bavarian food, while tasty, could lie heavily on the stomach. His mind, however, dwelt on the strangers he had seen in the square on his way back to the hotel. Thugs, toughs, young men and women, many of the men with their heads shaved, all of them in various kinds of disreputable dress. The kind of louts, he thought, who over the past couple of years had made the German cities unsafe: attacking foreigners, firebombing synagogues, and marching in antigovernment protests.