A number of years ago, while suffering from a mild case of "Scribe's Fever," a form of neurasthenia common among the intelligentsia of that time, I decided to spend the month of August in the spa town of Nebelsbad below the Alpine Sudetenwaltz, and had taken up rooms in the Grand Budapest, a picturesque, elaborate, and once widely celebrated establishment. I expect some of you will know it.
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Thank you most kindly, sir. Did Monsieur Jean have a word or two to share with you about the aged proprietor of this establishment?
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I said, I know and admire your wonderful work.
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MR. MOUSTAFA: I admire your work.
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Times have changed.
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I must confess, I did myself inquire about you. He's perfectly capable, of course, Monsieur Jean but we can't claim he's a first, or, in earnest, even second-rate concierge. But there it is.
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This name will no doubt be familiar to the more seasoned persons among you.
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Serge? Serge? Serge!
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I saw him last night in secret. He made me take an oath on a Bible I wouldn't tell a soul.
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In the small hours of the evening of 19 October, an individual well-known to the house and staff, a Monsieur Gustave H, did arrive at the Desgoffe und Taxis residence in Lutz and entered by the rear service alley, alerting no one to his presence, and did then proceed by way of back stairs and servants' passage, to deliver himself into the private chambers of Madame D. There is no evidence to indicate whether this visit had been pre-arranged with her or not. The next morning Madame D was found dead by strychnine poisoning. Monsieur Gustave was not observed on the premises again until, of course, 24 hours later. The identity of his accusers is made clear in this notarized deposition. They include, essentially, all members of the extended family, but the key witness who actually ostensibly saw the alleged events appears to have fled the jurisdiction. His whereabouts are currently unknown, but he's being sought and pursued by the relevant authorities. Who is he?
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Robin? Martin. Too much salt. So I've heard.
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On our third formal rendezvous, I had asked for her hand in marriage and she had agreed. Will you marry me? Yes.
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MR. MOUSTAFA: The war began at midnight. Pffeifelstad fell by lunch under heavy shelling, and 10 battalions surged across the long western border. High-command advanced to Nebelsbad.
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What's the problem? This is outrageous. The young man works for me at the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad.
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MR. MOUSTAFA: By express wireless, I wrote Agatha with instructions to move to our pre-arranged hideout, a Gypsy caravan on the outer Nebelsbad road, while Monsieur Gustave and I continued east into the Zubrowkian Alps, toward our high-altitude rendezvous with the butler Serge X.
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However, the telegraph office always keeps a carbon of the ticker tape for 24 hours. I copied it down. It reads as follows, "Pack your things stop. "Be ready to leave at moment's notice stop. "Hide-out is vicinity of Gabelmeister's Peak stop. "Destroy this message all my love full stop."
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Are you Monsieur Gustave of the... Yes, dammit. Confess. I'm innocent. Hmm? No, no.
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You filthy, goddamn, pock-marked, fascist assholes!