before major ones. This suggests two possibilities. One, Salieri is conducting his campaign according to a scheme that is simply too eccentric for us to comprehend. It exists-yet we cannot see it. Or, two, there is no scheme other than that of which we are already aware. That is to say, Salieri's choice of victim is guided by the dramatis persona of The Magic Flute, but there are no further consistencies to discover. If so, we have absolutely no way of predicting where he will strike next. Salieri will be operating opportunistically. When he encounters an individual who-in his mind-represents Tamino, Sarastro, the Speaker of the Temple, or any of the other remaining characters in the cast, his murderous instincts will be aroused and he will begin to plot their slaughter.” On this grim note, Liebermann raised his hand and poured the remaining pumpkin seeds into his open mouth. Then, after some vigorous chewing, he added, “Now, Oskar… you really must tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“About the significant breakthrough. That is the purpose of our meeting here today. Is it not? I am expected back at the hospital within the hour, and would therefore urge you to divulge this important information without further delay.”
“Ha!” said Rheinhardt. “You've done it again! How on earth did you know that?”
“We are meeting on Sunday to practice Dvorak's Gypsy Songs. It is our custom to discuss cases after our musical activities have been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. You obviously couldn't wait until then. Clearly, you mean to tell me something important.”
Rheinhardt chuckled and shook the paper bag. “More pumpkin seeds, Herr Doctor?”
“No, thank you.”
“You're quite right. There has been a significant discovery.” Rheinhardt leaned closer to his friend. “Since finding Guido List's pamphlet, young Haussmann has been keeping a close eye on the great man's apartment. List and his wife-an actress called Anna Wittek- have received numerous guests. All of them share List's obsession with Germanic folk traditions and culture. One of them-Baron Gustav von Triebenbach, a well-known patron of the arts-is president of an organization called the Eddic Literary Association.” Rheinhardt removed a pamphlet from his coat pocket and handed it to his friend. “This is an example of their work. It is very similar in content to List's preliminary communication. We find references to the skaldic tradition, Norse legends, the religions of the Aryo-Germanic peoples… and again, just as with List, a conclusion in which various groups and institutions are denounced.”
“The enemy nomads?”
“I'm afraid so-as well as the Jesuits, the Freemasons, Slavs, supporters of women's suffrage, Secessionists, and anarchists.”
“What's this?”
Liebermann pointed to the symbol on the front page. It looked like three sticks arranged in the form of a lopsided arch.
“Ur-a letter of the runic alphabet. It is referred to in List's pamphlet.”
“Does it have any special meaning?”
“It is supposed to represent the primordial-primal light or primal fire. List suggests that it has healing powers and that doctors should employ it as a kind of charm.” Unable to contain his disgust, Liebermann made a loud plosive sound. He brushed a stray pumpkin seed from his coat. “But what's really interesting about all this,” Rheinhardt continued, “is where the Eddic Literary Association meets.
…”
He paused, theatrically delaying the moment of revelation.
“Mozartgasse,” said Liebermann-a flat, preemptive interjection.
Rheinhardt's lower jaw dropped open like a mechanical toy. “Sometimes, Max, you can be so very irritating.”
“Was I right?”
“Yes.”
“Given our previous conversation, it couldn't really be anywhere else.”
Rheinhardt shook his head, a little peeved at the ruination of his dramatic coup, and continued doggedly, “The Eddic Literary Association was approved by the commissioner of associations some eight years ago. By law, all societies are obliged to provide the commissioner's office with a list of members. The Eddic Literary Association has forty-three full members and ten associates.”
The inspector produced a sheet of paper on which two columns of names-one short, one long-had been neatly copied out. Two names in the long column had been underlined: Hefner and Aschenbrandt. Below the second name, Liebermann's attention was captured by another name with which he was very familiar.
“Professor Erich Foch.”
“Do you know him?”
“I know of him-he lectures at the university. Professor Foch is a surgeon and a very disagreeable individual. In fact, he recently tried to expel Miss Lydgate from one of his classes. He believes that women are inferior to men and therefore should not be allowed to study medicine.”
“We have always thought that Salieri might be a doctor. And all these runes and symbols…” Rheinhardt gestured toward the pamphlet. “They do seem to be associated with the craft of healing.”
“It seems inconceivable, though,” said Liebermann, “that a man in Professor Foch's position should be capable of such appalling inhumanity. Having strong views on the education of women is one thing-but murder? Brutal, mindless murder?”
“May I remind you again of the London Ripper-he too was supposed to be a surgeon.”
“But it was never proved, Oskar. Was it?”
The inspector shrugged.
Liebermann returned his attention to the list of society members.
“Lieutenant Ruprecht Hefner?”
“An Uhlan with the eighteenth. I've already interviewed him-I did so a few days after the Spittelberg murders. His name was found on a promissory note in Madam Borek's brothel. He had an alibi- provided by his batman-which of course means nothing. It is extremely interesting that we should encounter his name again.”
“What was he like?”
“Young, handsome, and insufferably arrogant. Even though he professed to have developed a certain fondness for the Galician girl, Ludka, he was completely unmoved by her terrible fate. He struck me as a man who was deficient in natural feelings.”
Rheinhardt's modest reference to psychological abnormality was enough to arouse the young doctor's interest. Liebermann sat up and turned to face his friend.
“What else do you know about him?”
“We made further inquiries and learned that Lieutenant Hefner has a reputation for being something of a ladies’ man and that his romantic involvements usually end in scandal. He is also rumored to be an inveterate duelist.”
“So, we have an arrogant, narcissistic man, who is motivated by the pursuit of sensual pleasure. He does not develop sincere attachments, he exploits women, and he is content to risk his life repeatedly on the field of honor. He subscribes to a supremacist doctrine, which identifies certain institutions and groups as ‘enemies.’ Moreover, he is a soldier and can carry a sabre with him at all times without arousing the slightest suspicion. Do you think, perhaps, that I should interview Lieutenant Hefner?”
“No.”
Liebermann raised his eyebrows. “No?”
“Sadly,” said Rheinhardt, “the army are not very cooperative. They seem to consider any investigation conducted by an outsider as an outrage-a personal affront to the emperor. It was difficult enough for me, a detective inspector, to secure an audience with His Majesty's precious Uhlans, so the chances of you, a humble hospital doctor, being granted the same privilege are vanishingly small. Besides, there's someone else I want you to interview.”
Liebermann glanced down at his list. “Hermann Aschenbrandt?”
“Indeed. Herr Aschenbrandt is a musician-a composer, in fact. He has had a number of chamber works performed, most of which have been very well-received.”
“Did he write The Invincible quintet?”
“Yes, that's one of his works.”
