'Indeed. So he must have killed Herr Uberhorst while he slept.'
'Why do you say 'he'?'
'Oskar, a woman – even one with a heavy club – could not inflict such wounds. Look at how deep they are. This is a man's work.'
'Alternatively,' said Rheinhardt, 'he could have been killed quite suddenly. In which case, the man's presence in the bedroom did not alarm him.'
Liebermann looked at his friend quizzically.
'What I mean,' Rheinhardt continued, 'is that he may have known the assailant.'
'He was killed by a friend?'
'Perhaps.'
'Was Herr Uberhorst a homosexual?'
Rheinhardt shrugged. 'He was a sensitive man, certainly. But whether or not he was a homosexual, I have no idea.' He paused for a moment and then added: 'However, I do not think so.'
'Why?'
'The way he talked about Fraulein Lowenstein. It's unlikely.'
Liebermann looked over at the jalousie, which continued to knock loudly against the woodwork.
At that moment Haussmann entered the room. He still looked very pale.
'Sir, Herr Kaip has come back again. He says that his wife has just told him something that he thinks might be important.'
'Excuse me, Max.'
In spite of the revulsion that he had felt earlier, Liebermann felt compelled to examine the corpse again. He pulled the drape aside.
Death was revelatory. It exposed the fundamental physical nature of the human condition. He looked from the pulpy mass of Herr Uberhorst's face to the abandoned pince-nez and back again. Some obscure connection made him feel inexpressibly sad.
'Max.' Rheinhardt appeared again at the door. 'Frau Kaip – she said that Herr Uberhorst had a visitor early yesterday evening. An odd-looking man with a drooping moustache who carried a cane.'
49
'YES,' SAID PROFESSOR SPIEGLER. 'A definite improvement. The catch is so much easier to operate.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Bruckmuller, assuming an ingratiating and somewhat insincere smile.
The professor of surgery placed the clamp on the table and then picked up a curette whose weight he gauged in his expert hand.
'This is very light.'
'A new amalgam,' Bruckmuller replied. 'The scoop is made from the same alloy.'
Spiegler exchanged the curette for the scoop, and then compared the weight of each against an equivalent instrument of the same size.
'Have you sold many?' Spiegler asked.
'Yes,' said Bruckmuller. 'We recently had a large order from Salzburg.'
'Professor Vondenhoff?'
'I think it was, sir. And we also sold several of the large curettes to Professor Surany.'
'In Pest?'
'Profesor Surany is a frequent visitor.'
'Indeed,' said Spiegler, clearly satisfied with the intelligence that he had gathered concerning the acquisitions of his academic peers.
Bruckmuller turned to the junior sales assistant.
'Eusebius, fetch the specula, there's a good chap.'
The young sales man crossed the room and began to remove a wide drawer from a large cabinet.
'No, no,' Bruckmuller called. 'Those are the hook scissors!'
'Sorry, Herr Bruckmuller,' said the assistant.
'Next cabinet along – third drawer from the top.'
'Very good, Herr Bruckmuller.'
Bruckmuller smiled at the professor and rolled his eyes.
'Just started,' he whispered.
The young man pulled the correct drawer from the adjacent cabinet and struggled back to the table. The drawer contained several rows of silver instruments with wooden handles.
Bruckmuller picked out the largest and offered it to the professor, whose face beamed with pleasure.
'Excellent. You made it!'
'Exactly to your specifications. See how much larger the bills are. We will describe it in our catalogue – with your permission – as
'Well, I'm honoured, Bruckmuller.' The professor squeezed the handles together and watched the flat metal bills open. 'It's a beauty.'
'To lock the bills, the long handle slides up and the short handle slides down,' said Bruckmuller.
The professor followed Bruckmuller's instructions and the various parts of the speculum moved, snapping into place.
'Do you know what this is for, young man?' said Spiegler to the junior assistant.
Eusebius looked towards Bruckmuller.
'It's all right, Eusebius – you can answer.'
'No, sir. I only know that it is a speculum.'
The professor laughed.
'Make a little circle with your thumb and forefinger – like so.' The professor demonstrated and the young man followed suit.
'When I wish to examine a growth in a patient's rectum, I slide this instrument into the anus.' Spiegler pushed the closed bills through the small hole created by the assistant's thumb and forefinger. 'And I prise it open.' He squeezed the handles and the metal bills drew apart, widening the simulated sphincter.
The assistant swallowed.
'Does it hurt, sir?'
'Of course it hurts!' said the professor, laughing amiably.
Bruckmuller joined in with a hearty guffaw and slapped the junior assistant hard on the shoulder. But his good humour was immediately moderated by the sudden appearance of a policeman looking through the shop's front window. Bruckmuller recognised him immediately. The young man had been at Fraulein Lowenstein's apartment.
'Excuse me, Herr Professor,' said Bruckmuller. He marched across the shop floor and opened the door. There was a blast of noise. The street outside was full of afternoon traffic. A tram rolled by, its bell clanging loudly.
'Yes?' Bruckmuller was almost shouting.
'Herr Bruckmuller,' replied Haussmann. 'I wonder if you could spare a few minutes?'
'Again?'
50
COUNT ZABORSZKY PRESSED the needle through the parchment-like skin of his arm and depressed the plunger of the syringe. He closed his eyes and waited for the morphine to take effect.
The police had found him taking his lunch at the Csarda restaurant. They had insisted that he accompany them to the Schottenring station where he had been questioned all afternoon. During one of the rest periods he had been allowed outside to smoke a cigarette. He had strolled towards the Danube canal. On his return, he had seen a carriage pull up outside the station. A young man had been frogmarched into the building. It looked like Otto
