“Palsied by fear.”
“I still can’t help.”
“If he thinks he can’t win, he could strike at the state.”
“If anyone strikes at the state, Mr. Monk, the state will defend itself.”
“Have you ever heard of Sippenschaft, General?”
“I don’t speak English.”
“It’s German. May I have your private number here?”
Petrovsky nodded at the nearby phone. Monk memorized it. He collected his files and put them in his case.
“That German word. What does it mean?”
“When parts of the German officer corps struck at Hitler, they were hanged by piano wire. Under the law of Sippenschaft their wives and children went to the camps.”
“Not even the Communists did that,” snapped Petrovsky. “Families lost their apartments, their school places. But not the camps.”
“He’s mad, you know. Behind the urbane facade, he’s not sane. But Grishin will do his bidding in all things. May I go now?”
“You’d better get out of here before I arrest you.”
Monk was at the door.
“If I were you, I would make some precautionary dispositions. If he wins, or looks like losing, you may have to fight for that wife and child of yours.”
Then he was gone.
¯
DR. Probyn was like a small and excited schoolboy. Proudly he led Sir Nigel Irvine to a chart, three feet by three, pinned to one wall. He had obviously created it himself.
“What do you think?” he said.
Sir Nigel stared at it without comprehension. Names scores of names linked by vertical and horizontal lines.
“The Mongolian Underground without the translation,” he suggested. Probyn chuckled.
“Not bad. You’re looking at the interwoven parts of four European royal houses. Danish, Greek, British, and Russian. Two still in existence, one out of office, and one extinct.”
“Explain,” begged Irvine. Dr. Probyn took large red, blue, and black markers.
“Let’s start at the top. The Danes. They’re the key to it all.”
“The Danes? Why the Danes?”
“Let me tell you a true story, Sir Nigel. A hundred and sixty years ago there was a king of Denmark who had several children. Here they are.”
He pointed to the top of the chart, where the King of Denmark was named, and, beneath his name in a horizontal line, those of his offspring.
“Now, the oldest boy became crown prince and succeeded his father. No more interest to us. But the youngest one …”
“Prince William was invited to become King George the First of Greece. You mentioned that the last time I was here.”
“Splendid,” said Probyn. “What a memory. So here he is again; he’s shot off to Athens and becomes King of Greece. What does he do? He marries Grand Duchess Olga of Russia, and they produce Prince Nicholas, prince of Greece but ethnically half-Danish and half-Russian, that is, Romanov. Now, let’s leave Prince Nicholas on the back burner, still a bachelor.”