further disappointment. Any attempt that Herr Weiss might make to persuade him to reconsider would inevitably raise false hopes and end in frustration.
“Have you told your father of your decision?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“They will be very upset.”
“I know.”
Jacob paused, and tapped his index fingers together.
“Max, if you were wrong about your feelings before, how do you know you're right about them now?” Jacob sighed-a long, protracted exhalation. “Perhaps you have been working too hard? Perhaps you have made yourself unwell? Get away for a short period-go for a walking holiday. Southern Italy. What do you think? I'll pay…”
“I am sorry, Herr Weiss.” Liebermann shook his head.
Life had no spiritual purpose for Liebermann. His values were pragmatic, his philosophical outlook informed by simple medical virtues: helping others, the unquestionable good of alleviating pain. Now that he found himself to be the cause of suffering, something trembled at the core of his being. Something essential began to crack and splinter. He was suddenly overcome by a powerful need to exonerate himself.
“Herr Weiss… I have proved myself to be utterly undeserving of your respect and kindness. But please permit me to express a single hope pertaining to our future relations. When your anger-which is both inevitable and justified-subsides, I earnestly desire that you will appreciate that I have tried my very hardest to act in good faith. To marry Clara without truly loving her would be tantamount to betrayal. Even I-now a deplorable wretch in your eyes-cannot bring myself to deceive such a sweet-natured creature.”
Jacob allowed his head to drop into his hands. “Dear God… poor Clara.”
“I will arrange to meet her this afternoon.”
Jacob's body jerked upright. “What?”
“I will arrange to meet her this afternoon. I must explain-”
“Are you insane?” Jacob interrupted. “You will not see Clara this afternoon, Max. I forbid you!”
“But I must. It is my responsibility-a responsibility that I do not intend to shirk. I will not compound dishonor with cowardice.”
Herr Weiss's lips twisted to form an ugly smile. The acidity of what followed was not unexpected. “You have already shown yourself to be a coward, Max. In my day, a man honored his commitments- whatever the cost!”
61
“WHERE IS DOCTOR LIEBERMANN?”
Rheinhardt looked at the Englishwoman and shrugged. “I have been trying to contact the good doctor since this morning-without success. I can only assume that he is indisposed.”
Miss Lydgate nodded curtly. “Am I to understand that you wish me to make another microscopic analysis?”
“Indeed. There has been another murder-a Capuchin monk, can you believe, whose body was discovered last night in the crypt of the Kapuzinerkirche. We collected various samples of dust from the floor, and I was wondering whether you could make a comparison with the slides that you prepared earlier this month.”
Rheinhardt gestured toward a wooden box. It had a label gummed to the lid on which was written:
Ra'ad. 7 November 1902. Samples from scarf.
Prepared by Miss Lydgate 10 November 1902-Schottenring Laboratory.
“As you are already familiar with the materials,” Rheinhardt continued, “I thought that you would be best qualified to undertake the task…” The pitch of his sentence rose like a question.
“I am sure your technical staff are capable of making such a comparison. But because I am both present and flattered by your request, let us proceed. Where are the new samples?”
Rheinhardt produced a stack of isinglass envelopes.
“Each of these contains samples of dust taken from various locations in the crypt.”
Amelia took the first envelope and observed an inky script in the top right-hand corner.
“Emperor Franz Stephan and Empress Maria Theresa?”
“Ah yes. That refers to the occupants of the casket closest to where the sample was taken from.”
“I see.”
“As it happens, that is also the most important sample. The Capuchin's body was discovered next to that very casket-so we know that the murderer stood close by. I would be most grateful if you would give that particular sample your most thorough attention.”
“Herr Inspector, I will give all of them my most thorough attention-without exception.”
There was something almost defiant about the Englishwoman's tone: the coolness of her delivery, and the preternatural intensity of her expression.
“Thank you,” said Rheinhardt, a little worried that he might have offended her.
“Inspector, why don't you return to your office? This exercise will take some time and your presence here serves no purpose. You will, I suspect, have many other things of importance to attend to.”
“Oh, but you cannot be left here alone.”
“Why ever not?”
“It would be discourteous.”
“Inspector, it is my preference.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, Inspector.”
Amelia turned toward the microscope. Rheinhardt thanked her again but she did not hear him. Her mind was entirely absorbed by the task in hand. Rheinhardt tiptoed to the door and departed like a shadow. Peering through the corridor window, he could see Miss Lydgate organizing the laboratory equipment with ruthless efficiency. She was, Rheinhardt thought, a very peculiar woman. But he was delighted to have made her acquaintance.
62
THE LIBRARIAN ENTERED THE small room that had been designated for use as the chamber of reflection. Its walls were covered in roughcast plaster, giving it the appearance of a hermit's cave. An iron table and a wooden stool were the only pieces of furniture. He lit the single candle on the table, which projected its feeble light on a crude mural, painted white upon a black background. It depicted a cockerel and the word vitriol-an acronym of an ancient command to self-knowledge: visita interiora terrae, rectificando invenies occultam lapidem (visit the center of the earth, and by rectification you shall find the hidden stone). Resting against the table was a large rusting scythe.
Opening his sack, the librarian carefully removed several objects. The first of these was a human skull and several long bones. He arranged them carefully on the table, and next to them placed a lump of dry bread, an hourglass, and two metal dishes. From his pocket he removed two vials, the contents of which he emptied onto the dishes, creating two powdery mounds of white and yellow. The first substance was salt and the second sulfur. He made a mental note that he must return with a glass of water.
Before leaving, he paused and turned the hourglass. He watched the grains of sand pouring into the lower chamber. In just over two weeks, he would be there-sitting at this very table, writing his philosophical will. The librarian reached out and gripped the scythe. Anyone approaching him from behind might well have mistaken him for the Grim Reaper.
