Silhouette in Scarlet

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On several previous occasions I have found myself up to my neck in trouble (and that’s pretty high up, because I am almost six feet tall), -which might have been avoided if I had displayed a little ladylike discretion. This time, however, I was innocent of everything except stupidity. They say some people attract trouble. I attract people who attract trouble.

Take Herr Professor Dr Schmidt, for instance. You wouldn’t think to look at him that he could be so dangerous. Physically he’s a combination of the Wizard of Oz and Santa Claus – short, chubby, disgustingly cute. Intellectually he ranks as one of the world’s greatest historians, respected by all his peers. Emotionally . . . Ah, there’s the rub. The non-professional parts of Schmidt’s brain are permanently frozen at fourteen years of age. He thinks of himself as D’Artagnan, James Bond, Rudolf Rassendyll, Clint Eastwood, and Cyrano de Bergerac, all rolled into one. This mental disability of Schmidt has been partially responsible for propelling me into a number of sticky situations.

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