“Please sit,” said Rheinhardt.
Herr Quint was in his late thirties, but he looked much older. He was a rather shabby man, his hair mussed, his necktie loose, and his wing collars projecting at different angles. His frock coat was greasy, and when he sighed, the air became tainted with the smell of stale cigar smoke and alcohol.
“Terrible, terrible,” Quint muttered. Then, as if responding to a challenge, he added, “I’m not leaving here until it is properly light outside. Whoever did it must be a madman-completely insane! None of us are safe!”
He clasped his hands together, and his exaggerated expression reminded Rheinhardt of a melodramatic actor. The impression was reinforced by Quint’s accent, which was, unexpectedly, very refined.
“You may stay here as long as you wish,” said Rheinhardt. “This is a church.”
Quint muttered something to himself and finally responded, “Indeed. A church.”
Rheinhardt took out his notebook.
“Do you live in Hietzing, Herr Quint?”
“I rent an apartment in the twelfth district. Langenfeldgasse.”
“That is some distance. Almost Margareten.”
“It’s not that far, Inspector…”
“And the number?”
“Forty-four.”
“What were you doing in Hietzing?”
“Seeing friends. Well, I say friends… associates, really.”
“Associates?”
“Yes.”
Rheinhardt looked at Herr Quint more closely. Although his frock coat was in a parlous state, it was well tailored and lined with silk. He had only recently fallen upon hard times. The reason was not difficult to deduce.
“Would I be correct in assuming that your associates are members of the gaming fraternity?”
Herr Quint’s lips widened and turned downward, suggesting painful resignation.
“I was rather unlucky and had to leave the table early.”
“Where do your associates meet, Herr Quint?”
“Oh, that can’t be very important, can it, Inspector? I mean, after all, there has been a murder!”
“The address, Herr Quint?”
“Lainzerstrasse 23.”
“Who lives there?”
“Widhoezl. I don’t know his Christian name. I’ve only ever called him Widhoezl, and he’s only ever called me Quint.”
“You left the table early. Did you intend to walk home?”
“Yes. There weren’t any cabs, of course. Besides, I don’t have a single heller left.” He turned out his pockets by way of demonstrating this and then stuffed them back in again.
“How much did you lose, Herr Quint?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but I can assure you that it won’t happen again.”
Herr Quint attempted to recover some of his dignity by tightening his necktie and sitting up straight.
“How did you discover the body?”
“I was walking behind the church-”
“Behind? You mean on this side?” said Rheinhardt, pointing across the nave. “Where the terrace of houses is?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing down there? I would have thought you would have been following the main road.”
Herr Quint sighed. “Oh, this is most embarrassing…”
“Go on.”
“My bladder was very full, and I needed to relieve myself.”
“So you went behind the church?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I was very tired. The night had been long and rather taxing. I suffer from nervous exhaustion, you see, and had allowed myself to become somewhat overexcited. Subsequently I decided I should rest a little. I sat in a doorway and… er…”
“Fell asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
“I was woken up… by a noise.”
“What kind of noise?”
“A sort of whirring sound-a clicking, whirring sound, like a giant insect.”
“A giant insect?”
“It frightened me. I was confused, having just woken up. To be quite candid, Inspector, I’d forgotten how I’d gotten there.”
“Did you hear anything else?”
“I’m not sure.”
“A carriage? Footsteps?”
“A carriage… possibly… I can’t be sure. I was disorientated, Inspector. Whatever you may think, I am not a man who is accustomed to waking up on other people’s doorsteps. I remained in this confused state for some time. Eventually my head cleared and I became calmer. I got up and walked around the church, and there he was! I couldn’t believe it.” Quint shuddered and wrung his hands. “I ran to the hotel across the road, and the night porter telephoned the police station. When the constables arrived, I was escorted back here. That is all I can tell you.”
Rheinhardt removed his hat and scratched his head.
“Thank you, Herr Quint. Let me know when you are ready to leave, and I will get one of the constables to escort you home.”
24
Professor Mathias stood between two mortuary tables. On one was the headless body, on the other the abomination of its disconnected head. He looked from one to the other. “Yes.” The syllable was prolonged, and its satisfied descent suggested sudden insight.
“What?” asked Rheinhardt.
“The head definitely belongs to the body,” replied the old professor.
Rheinhardt sighed loudly, betraying his irritation.
Mathias turned toward the inspector, and his eyes-enlarged behind the thick glass of his spectacles-delivered a tacit but powerful reproach.
“A rather important fact, I feel,” said the pathologist, pronouncing each syllable with precise and equal emphasis.
“But one that has already been established, Herr Professor!”
“Has it? Have you made a close examination of his trapezius, his levator scapulae, his arytenoid cartilage? I think not.”
“Why would anybody trouble to decapitate two people, mix up the parts, leave one chimera where it can be found, and conceal the other?”
“It’s no more absurd than bothering to decapitate anyone in the first place. After all, there are much more convenient ways of ending a life. Who is he, by the way?”
