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They disconnected. “Häussler,” Remi said, picking up her coat. “I wonder what that’s all about.”
“I’m sure we’ll find out in due time,” Sam said. “Right now, I’d like to get to Münster and find this furniture restorer.”
—
THE FLIGHT TO MÜNSTER took a little over an hour, and the drive into town about half that. Once Sam found a parking spot, he and Remi walked to the city center, up a cobbled street toward the main square and St. Lambert’s Church. They searched for the man who was supposed to meet them, eyeing the tourists who seemed to be looking up at the church tower—not at the clock, but at the three iron cages hanging above it. Although Sam and Remi had been there before, like the tourists, their gazes were drawn to the cages where the bodies of the Anabaptist rebellion leaders had been placed on exhibition after the yearlong siege in 1536.
“Sinister-looking, aren’t they?” someone said from beside them.
“Definitely,” Sam replied, looking over to see a blond-haired man in his late forties eyeing the two of them. “Wilhelm Schroeder?”
“Call me Will,” he said, pronouncing the W like a V. He glanced up toward the church towers as the bells started ringing. “But you’re not here to talk about the architecture. I understand you have a key that you’d like me to examine?”
“We do.”
“Very good. We can talk in my shop.” He led them across the square, behind the church down a narrow street and into an alley to an unmarked door. “I knew you’d never be able to find my little shop. I’m actually a lawyer by day. The shop is in the basement of our law offices. Furniture restoration is a hobby of mine. It helps me relax.”
The moment he opened the door and led them down a short flight of steps, they were hit by the scent of sawdust mixed with tung oil. “This is my latest project.” He stopped to show them a dark walnut armoire with an intricate geometric pattern carved into the doors, reminiscent of a Gothic church. “French. From the nineteenth century,” he said, leading them past the armoire to a small office area filled with bookshelves, a desk, and on the wall over the desk, a painting of a lone wolf in the forest.
He opened the shutters, letting in some light before turning toward them, looking expectant. “So, where is this key?”
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Sam took a quick glance around the room, noticing two other wildlife paintings, neither of which featured a wolf. He dug the key from his pocket.
Will took it, then sat at his desk, holding it beneath the lamp, examining both sides. “Very nice. It does indeed appear to be similar to the key from another desk that I had the pleasure of restoring . . .” He swiveled his chair around, searching the titles on a bookshelf behind him, then pulled out a volume, Early 19th Century Furniture, turning through the pages until he came to a section filled with photos of old keys.
“I believe,” he said, running his finger down the photos, “we’re looking for Lieschblume’s work. He specialized in locks for the various furniture makers of the time.” He turned the page, scanned it, then turned another, pointing to a photo of a key in the lower right corner of the page. “Here it is. See the very distinct fleur-de-lis pattern stamped on the shaft? That was the trademark of the Lieschblume Locksmith Company at the turn of the early nineteenth century. They supplied locks and keys for high-end furniture. Your particular key,” he said, setting it on the page next to the photo, “appears to be of the same make. What makes your key special, though, are the extra teeth on the bit.” He picked up the key and pointed to the end of it. “More teeth means the lock was slightly more secure than the one your antique dealer showed you from his desk.”
“What do you think it’s from?”
“Hard to say. A desk, a trunk, or maybe a wardrobe. The more decorative Lieschblume keys, such as the one you have, were used almost exclusively for furniture. Very fine furniture, I might add. Not for the commoner, which makes your quest a bit easier.”
“Every little bit helps,” Sam said, glancing over at Remi, who was standing behind Will’s chair, her gaze on his paintings.
“The intricate detailing of the scrollwork on the grip usually had a matching ornamental plate around the keyhole on the furniture piece. They were custom made to the specifications of their clients.” He set aside the key and started turning pages in the book until he reached one filled with writing desks, some with a writing surface that could be closed and locked. He pointed to the decorative plate around the keyhole. “For instance, if we had the key to this desk in hand, we’d see that the design on the bow or grip of the key would match the design on the plate.”
Sam took another look at the key. The scrolling of the grip, in comparison to the one in the book, seemed far simpler. “You’re saying that we could match the pattern in the bow to the decorative plate covering the keyhole? And we might be able to identify the key that way?”
“Exactly. In some cases, they were family crests. In others, simply a commissioned design.”
“Which does us little good unless we know who commissioned it.”
“I can’t be positive, but it reminds me of the crest from the principality of Salm-Salm. Two fish, back-to-back.”
Now that he pointed it out, Sam and Remi could see how the design might be two fishes. “Where would this be?”
“Anholt castle in Isselburg. A little over an hour’s drive from here. If you like, I can call the solicitor on retainer for the Salm-Salm family and explain what it is you’re looking for. We went to law school together. If anyone can get you an audience with the prince, or someone from his house who knows anything about this, he can.”
“We’d appreciate it,” Sam said, picking up the key and placing it in his pocket.
“Thank you for your help,” Remi added. “I think we can find our way out to the square.” She made a beeline to the door.
Sam followed quickly behind his wife. At the end of the alley, Remi turned left. “The square’s the other way,” he said.
“Just want to see something . . .” She stopped in front of a door, reading the placard next to it.
“Entrance to law offices?”
