“Eat your cake,” said Mendel, pointing at his son's walnut-and-apple torte. “You've hardly touched it.”
25
CAFE HAYNAU WAS ONLY a few minutes’ walk from the barracks and as a result was much frequented by military men. The landlord, who had developed a weakness for vodka since the death of his wife, was rarely present; however, his two dutiful daughters were always prepared to take charge in his absence. Neither of them could be described as pretty, but both possessed generous figures and showed a willingness to flirt, albeit playfully, with the soldiers. The elder of the two daughters, Mathilde, fancied herself a chanteuse and would often sing mawkish ballads, accompanied by an old accordion player.
Lieutenant Robert Renz and Second Lieutenant Christian Trapp were seated at their usual table, playing a drawn-out game of taroc. Through an archway they could see a billiard table around which a large crowd of cavalrymen had gathered. An ensign was creating something of a stir by beating the regimental doctor, a man who had not been defeated for a month. A cheer went up as the ensign sent another ball into a pocket. The doctor looked on, pulling at the sharp point of his neatly trimmed beard.
Ruprecht Hefner burst through the door and marched directly over to the table occupied by Renz and Trapp. He sat down on one of the spare chairs, took a slug of schnapps straight from his comrades’ bottle, and said, “I am glad you're here. I need you to do something for me.”
Renz and Trapp looked at each other and laid down their cards.
“What?” asked Renz, slowly.
“A favor,” Hefner replied. “Do you know Freddi Lemberg?”
“No.”
“Alfred Lemberg's son. Lemberg-the industrialist!” Renz showed no sign of recognition. “Oh, it doesn't matter. I ran into Lemberg junior at the opera-Siegfried, a very good performance conducted by that ape Mahler. They say Jews can't understand Wagner, but he makes you wonder. Anna von Mildenburg was wonderful. I think I'm falling in love with her! They say she had an affair with him, you know?”
“Who, Lemberg?” asked Renz.
“No, Mahler, you fool!”
“So what's all this about Lemberg?”
“Yes, right. I ran into him after Act Two, and he was most disagreeable. Having been stirred by the drama, I was in no mood for his nonsense and our exchanges became somewhat heated. The outcome of which was that Lemberg demanded satisfaction. Of course, I said that I was happy to oblige. Tarnoploski was with him and begged us both to reconsider. But Lemberg had clearly made up his mind. What could I do?”
“You could have quoted the Waidhofen manifesto,” said Trapp. “A Jew is born without honor, and therefore is not entitled to demand satisfaction.”
Hefner dismissed Trapp's counsel with a disdainful wave of the hand. A gasp came from the billiard room, and Renz was momentarily distracted.
“Pay attention,” said Hefner, tapping the surface of the table. “I want you to go to Cafe Mozart.”
“What, now?” asked Renz.
“Yes, now,” said Hefner. “There you will find Lemberg's seconds.” Hefner produced a scrap of paper and read some names. “Fritz Glockner and Gerhard Riehl. I want you to accept whatever conditions they propose: sabres, pistols-it's all the same to me. He'll be incapable of handling either-although he's supposed to be a very good violinist, so I'm told.”
“But what was it all about? Your quarrel?” asked Trapp, pouring himself another schnapps.
“Oh, something… something I'm supposed to have done last summer.”
Hefner removed his cap and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Mathilde noticed him from the other side of the room and waved. Hefner inclined his head and smiled graciously.
“Go on,” said Renz.
“He thinks I took advantage of his wife,” Hefner continued. “I was staying at Schloss von Triebenbach on the Kammersee, as a guest of the baron. The Lembergs had rented a villa just outside the village. His wife was convalescing from some kind of nervous illness…” For a moment Hefner played with the gold-yellow tassel hanging from his pommel. “She was often left on her own. Freddi and his friends used to take the steamer across the lake to Weyregg. I paid her my respects a few times, that's all…”
An ambiguous smile flitted across his handsome face.
There was a sudden round of applause from the billiard room. Cavalrymen were congratulating the regimental doctor, who had-to the ensign's dismay-secured another victory.
“I'd better have a word with him too,” said Hefner, gesturing toward the medical man. “I'll catch him now- while he's in a good mood. Then I'm off to bed, where I will no doubt dream of Mildenburg carrying me off to Valhalla!” Rising abruptly, he called out, “Doctor, Doctor! Well done! You are in danger of becoming a legend. Please, could I trouble you for a moment-in private?”
26
THE SCHOTTENRING POLICE LABORATORY was a spacious rectangular room with high leaded windows. Outside, the dense cloud cover had broken and the air was suffused with bright winter sunshine. Amelia Lydgate was standing by a long workbench, holding a test tube up to the light. Her hair had been pulled back and arranged in a large reticulated bun. Yet even this drastic measure could not diminish the reflective power of those densely compressed copper strands. A reddish spectrum revealed itself as she tilted her head.
She was wearing a plain white high-collared blouse and a long gray skirt that almost touched the floor. Liebermann allowed his gaze to drop down her spine and linger around her hips. A feeling of excitement flared in the pit of his stomach, followed by a hammer blow of shame. He looked away and found himself staring at the twitching nose of a plump brown rabbit.
“Well, Miss Lydgate?” asked Rheinhardt.
Amelia turned and stood facing the two men. As usual, her expression betrayed no sign of emotion.
“A precipitate has not formed.”
“Which means?” asked Rheinhardt.
“The blood on Krull's clothes is not human.”
Rheinhardt puffed his cheeks out and let the air escape slowly. “I see.”
A lengthy silence ensued and Liebermann laid a consoling hand on his friend's sleeve.
“Forgive me, Miss Lydgate,” Rheinhardt continued, “but are you absolutely sure?”
“I am quite sure, Inspector.”
“There is no chance that this test could produce an erroneous result?”
“No.”
Her perceptive gaze registered the detective's disappointment.
“Inspector, allow me to explain the procedure again.” Although Amelia Lydgate's manners were faultless, a hint of impatience had crept into her voice. “If human blood is injected into a live rabbit over a two-week period, then the rabbit's blood acquires a specific property: it will react with any human blood to form a precipitate. This is because these frequent injections of human blood have promoted a defensive response in the rabbit's blood. I have been injecting this rabbit”-she gestured toward the cage-”with samples of my own blood for several weeks, and the animal's blood is now an antiserum. It will recognize the unique proteins in human blood and react with them to form a precipitate.”
Amelia approached Rheinhardt and held the test tube up in front of his eyes. The contents appeared to glow in the bright light of the laboratory.
“It is clear, Inspector. If the blood on Krull's clothes had been human blood, the serum would have become cloudy. Professor Uhlenhuth's precipitin test may be simple, but it is entirely reliable.”
