Mortal Mischief

'Indeed,' replied Liebermann, 'but I have a firm conviction that the most elegant solutions are also the right ones. Why don't you have another cigar, Oskar?'

Before taking one from the box, Rheinhardt produced from his pocket a photograph, which he handed to Liebermann. 'Take a look at this.'

It was an image of a handsome clean-shaven man in his late twenties.

'Otto Braun?'

Rheinhardt lit his cigar, expelling several clouds of blue smoke as the tobacco kindled.

'We acquired it from a theatrical agent, the man who represented the scoundrel when he was doing his magic shows at The Danube. It's an old photograph but apparently a good likeness. I've had it reproduced and distributed to police departments all over the country.'

Liebermann examined the portrait, tilting it in the firelight.

'So, what do you make of that face, Herr Doctor? Do you see anything of interest?'

'Oskar,' said Liebermann, adopting a pained expression, 'you are asking me to engage in pseudo-science, a form of divination no better than palm-reading.'

'I thought you doctors accepted physiognomy?'

'There are many who subscribe to Lombroso's doctrine that it is possible to identify a criminal by the location of his ears or the size of his jaw; however, I have very little sympathy with that school of thought.' Liebermann turned the photograph towards Rheinhardt. 'Look at him. Can you see the stamp of our animal ancestry in his face? Atavisms? I certainly can't. In fact, I would go so far as to say that his appearance suggests the very opposite. There is something rather noble about the configuration of his lineaments. He looks more like a romantic poet – a young Schiller, perhaps – than a cheat. No, Lombroso is wrong. A criminal cannot be identified by the cast of his nose and mouth. Only the nature of his mind has any significance.'

Liebermann handed the photograph back to Rheinhardt, who glanced at it once more before shrugging and slipping it into his pocket.

'And what about the other members of the Lowenstein circle?' asked Liebermann. 'Have you found out any more about them?'

'Yes, I have,' said Rheinhardt. 'I started taking an interest in Bruckmuller after we saw him with the Mayor at the Philharmonic concert.'

'Oh?'

'I thought it rather odd, that a man who mixed with the Mayor and his friends – men concerned with the commerce and traffic of the real world – should also attend seances in Leopoldstadt.'

Liebermann turned the brandy glass in his hand and observed how the refracted light splintered into a kaleidoscope of jagged rainbows.

'There are many superstitious people in the world, Oskar.'

'True. But I can remember, even as I was interviewing him, thinking This man isn't the right type.

The locksmith, yes. Or Zaborszky – the mad Count. But Bruckmuller? No.'

'You also felt the same way about Holderlin – the banker.'

Rheinhardt started: 'Yes, I did. However did you know that?'

'Never mind,' said Liebermann, waving his hand. 'I'm sorry, do carry on.'

'I decided to make some inquiries,' continued Rheinhardt, looking at his friend suspiciously. 'The first thing I learned was that Bruckmuller is an active member of the Christian Social Party – so, there's the Lueger connection. And the next thing I learned was that he's betrothed to Cosima von Rath.'

'The heiress?'

'Indeed. Do you know much about her?'

'Only that she is very rich and very large.'

'She is also very strange.'

'Why do you say that?'

'She is greatly interested in the occult, and believes herself to be the reincarnation of an Egyptian princess. It's no secret. In fact, her arrival at certain society functions has become something of a spectacle. One wit, I think it was Krauss, said that her entrance at a society gathering is more impressive than a production of Aida.'

Liebermann laughed.

'I should get Die Fackel more often. He's a great wit, Krauss, but he's so conservative when it comes to art . . .'

'This von Rath woman,' continued Rheinhardt, 'is a great patron of spiritualist organisations. Apparently it was von Rath who discovered Fraulein Lowenstein, introducing her fiance at a later stage. Bruckmuller remained loyal to Fraulein Lowenstein's group, while von Rath continued her spiritual quest elsewhere, sampling numerous other circles and psychics – as was, and still is, her wont.'

'How do you know all this?'

'Bruckmuller told me, when I interviewed him. But, at the time, I had no idea that Cosima von Rath was his fiancee.'

Liebermann placed his glass on the table and turned to look at his friend.

'I wonder if she is a devotee of Seth?'

Rheinhardt nodded, silently savouring the implications and possibilities of such a connection.

'Anyway,' Rheinhardt continued, 'there's more to tell. Yesterday I received a note from Cosima von Rath, urging me to abandon my futile investigation. Apparently she has been in receipt of a communication from the spirit world confirming that Fraulein Lowenstein's demise was a supernatural event.'

'How very good of her to keep you informed. What else do you know about Bruckmuller?'

'Not a great deal. He's very much a self-made man – and highly ambitious. He was born the son of a provincial butcher, inherited the family business, and through hard work and some very shrewd investments managed to better himself. As you know, he is the proprietor of Bruckmuller & Co, the surgical instrument suppliers, and I believe he owns two factories.'

'And now he's marrying into one of the wealthiest families in Vienna.'

'Which, as you can imagine, has been the subject of much gossip. When old Ferdinand dies and Cosima inherits her fortune, Bruckmuller will be in a position to wield considerable political influence.'

Both men fell silent.

'You mentioned the locksmith . . .' said Liebermann. 'Have you learned any more of his history?'

'Yes, although it's all fairly inconsequential. He's a peculiar fellow, and the nature of his work inevitably arouses suspicions. But . . .'

'You still don't think he did it.'

Rheinhardt shook his head.

There was a soft knock. The double doors swung open, and Ernst stepped into the room.

'I'm sorry to trouble you, sir, but Inspector Rheinhardt's assistant is outside. He says it is a matter of some urgency.'

'You had better show him in,' said Liebermann, rising from his seat.

'Always something!' said Rheinhardt. 'I should never let them know where I'm going to be.' He stood up and walked to the fireplace where he rested an elbow on the mantelpiece. A few moments later Ernst reappeared, accompanied by Haussmann.

'Herr Doctor, Inspector Rheinhardt.' The young man bowed.

The servant discreetly excused himself and the doors closed.

'Haussmann, what is it now?' Rheinhardt was unable to conceal his irritation.

'My apologies for disturbing you sir, and the good doctor, but something's just happened that I thought you'd want to know about.'

'Well, man, what is it?'

'Otto Braun, sir. He's just presented himself at the Grosse Sperlgasse station. Gave himself up – said he'd like to help us solve the mystery.'

Rheinhardt said nothing. He drew on his cigar and threw what remained of it into the fire.

'I had to act on my own discretion, sir. I couldn't find a senior officer. I hope—' Liebermann raised his hand,