banker and his wife – Heinrich and Juno Holderlin. Natalie Heck – a seamstress. And Zoltan Zaborszky – a Hungarian aristocrat. I say aristocrat, but from his appearance I would guess that he has fallen on hard times. These people seem to represent the nucleus of her group. Oh, and there's another one – a young man called Otto Braun. He was expected on Thursday night as usual, but he didn't arrive. He hasn't been seen since.'
'Well, that's suspicious . . .'
'Indeed. Haussmann and I undertook some preliminary interviews with the circle – so we know a few things about him. What he looks like, where he lives . . .'
'What does he do?'
'He's an artist.'
'An artist? I've never heard of him,' said Liebermann.
Rheinhardt shrugged. 'It's possible that something might be going on between Braun and the seamstress – Natalie Heck. She visited Braun's apartment yesterday, and was surprised by one of our constables.'
'What about the locksmith? Did you discuss the door with him – the lock, I mean?'
'No. We haven't disclosed the unusual nature of the murder to anyone – as yet.'
'But you will eventually?'
'Of course.'
'What about the newspapers?'
'Yes, they'll be told everything in due course.'
'Why the delay?'
'Commissioner Brugel is concerned that if the newspapers are informed then the Lowenstein murder will attract a lot of interest. You know how the people of this city love anything sensational, and if we are unable to solve this mystery . . .'
'You'll appear incompetent?'
'Well, let's say it could certainly damage public confidence in the security office.'
Liebermann touched the door frame.
'One cannot help thinking that a locksmith might have the means to accomplish such an illusion – or at least this part of it, anyway.'
'But he was devastated. On Thursday he was absolutely consumed with grief.'
'Real grief?'
'That was my impression.'
'Why, though? Could it be that their relationship went beyond that of fortune-teller and client?'
'I couldn't imagine a more ill-matched couple!'
'Even so . . .'
Rheinhardt scribbled a memorandum in his notebook.
'What about the others?' Liebermann continued.
Rheinhardt pocketed his notebook and twirled his moustache.
'The Hungarian – Zaborszky – was a strange fellow. He said something odd about being able to smell evil.'
'And that unsettled you?'
'If I'm honest, it did.'
'Perhaps that tells us more about you than about him,' said Liebermann, smiling broadly.
Rheinhardt looked puzzled.
'Oskar,' said Liebermann, resting a friendly hand on the Inspector's arm, 'it was an illusion! I assure you!'
Rheinhardt shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was embarrassed. The young doctor had obviously detected in him an underlying seam of credulity – a latent willingness to accept the supernatural. The Inspector envied Liebermann's urban sensibility, his seeming immunity to the shadowy forces that every Middle European learned to respect before leaving the nursery. Somewhere in the darker recesses of Rheinhardt's troubled mind an old hag with antlers was cackling with glee – a dry, mocking laugh.
'What's in here?' It was Liebermann. He had disappeared behind the screen and was drumming on something that produced a hollow, wooden sound.
'Oh God!' said Rheinhardt under his breath.
'Oskar?'
Liebermann appeared again, carrying the Japanese box.
'I'd completely forgotten about that. Haussmann was supposed to be getting the key.'
Liebermann shook the chest a little.
'There's something in it.' He placed the box on the table, and the two men looked at each other.
'Well?' said Liebermann.
'I suppose we'd better open it,' said Rheinhardt. He walked to the door and called into the hall: 'Haussmann?'
A few moments later his assistant appeared. He entered the room and executed two small bows: 'Inspector. Herr Doctor.'
'Haussmann, did you find the key to this box?' asked Rheinhardt.
'No, sir,' replied Haussmann. 'Fraulein Sucher didn't have a key and she said she'd never seen the box opened.'
'That's probably because it contains some trickery,' said Liebermann.
Haussmann looked at Liebermann, not quite sure what to make of his statement.
Rheinhardt beckoned Haussmann to the table.
'Force it open.'
Haussmann took a penknife from his inside pocket and began to jemmy the lid. The thin lacquered wood splintered easily.
Liebermann stepped forward and opened the box. He could feel Rheinhardt and Haussman peering over his shoulders.
Inside, lying on a bed of velvet, was a small stone figure. It had a canine body, slanting eyes, square-tipped ears and a long curved snout. The most striking feature of the creature was its long forked tail.
'What on Earth is that?' asked Rheinhardt.
'I don't know,' said Liebermann. 'But it looks very old. An antiquity, I think.'
He reached in and lifted the effigy. It was quite heavy for its size. But as he did so he noticed a small key protruding from the container's edge. The creature had been locked in the box – from the inside.
15
'BUT WHY MUST I LIE DOWN?'
'Because I want you to relax.'
Miss Lydgate was seated on an examination table. She swung her legs around and leaned back slowly. When her head touched the pillow she began rolling it from side to side. She couldn't find a comfortable position because of the way she had pulled back her hair.
'Well, I can't relax like this . . .'
Her voice was slightly tetchy. She sat up again and after removing numerous pins, ribbons and a net she released her mane. It sprung out and tumbled down her back: a flaming mass, streaked with russet and flecks of copper. Liebermann was surprised that so much bulk had been so cleverly concealed. She lay back for the second time.
'That's better.'
'You may close your eyes if you wish.'
They remained open and rolled upward, searching for the speaker.
'Miss Lydgate,' Liebermann sighed. 'It is important that you do not try to look at me. You will strain your eyes.'
Miss Lydgate stared blankly at the ceiling and dragged her right arm across her stomach with her left hand.
