The policemen entered a large double bedroom. The curtains were half drawn and the room was quite dark. A single bedside lamp illuminated the body on the bed. Propped up against the pillows and clad still in the dress of their earlier meeting, the Countess seemed to be gazing out of the window, her eyes wide open, her face strangely unmarked by the agonies of violent death.
Doctor Molik came into the room. “I found her there an hour and a half or so after you left. Method of death? There is a brandy glass on the carpet on the other side of the bed and an empty bottle of sleeping pills.”
Merlin moved carefully around the bed. “Did she do anything in particular or speak to anyone in that hour and a half?”
The doctor sat down wearily in a small chair by the window. “The phone rang once downstairs. There is an extension on the bedside table, as you can see. I assumed that she picked it up.”
“And when you found her, was she in the throes of death or…?”
“No, she was dead.” The doctor raised a hand and pointed at something on the bed. “That letter is addressed to you.” Merlin walked around and saw his name spelled out clearly on an envelope. He picked it up and opened it carefully.
“My dear Chief Inspector Merlin, I have just received a call from the RAF at Northolt to tell me that Jerzy is missing, presumed dead. It appears that God is determined to punish me greatly for my misdeeds. In the space of a few hours I have lost my husband, my nephew and my beloved son. In light of the anger my Maker obviously feels about what I have done, it seems prudent that I unburden myself fully before I meet him and hopefully join my loved ones.
You will, no doubt, be surprised to see the words ‘my beloved son’. Apparently, this is one secret the Russian torturers failed to extract from Karol. It is a secret that I have kept for his lifetime, save from my closest and dearest. Yes, Karol was indeed not my brother but my son, the result of a youthful indiscretion long before I met the Count. In that society of ours, the truth could not be admitted. However, my father was remarkably understanding. My mother was dead and he presented Karol to the world as his adopted son and a new brother for his children. It goes without saying that I would have done anything for my son. Anything! Whatever I did do to try and save him, I cannot regret, even though I failed.