She is extraordinarily pretty-eyes like saucers-although she's in the habit of humming an old operetta song more times than I consider strictly necessary: Love requires endless study, who loves but once is a fuddy-duddy…” Kanner paused and shrugged. “And-as is the way with such things-thoughts of my dear Sabina soon faded.”
“Mmm,” said Liebermann.
“You don't approve?”
“It's not a question of approval, Stefan. One's treatments should meet the specific needs of the patient. And I fear, Herr Doctor, that in my particular case at least, such a cure will only exacerbate the illness. My guilt will not be relieved by taking a turn around the Prater with a cash girl.”
“Then what is your solution?” asked Kanner, looking a little miffed at Liebermann's gentle rebuff.
“Industry.” Liebermann was aware that he was sounding pompous even as the word escaped from his lips.
“Maxim, you sound like my father!”
Liebermann made an appeasing gesture with his hands and smiled.
“I'm sorry, Stefan. What I meant to say was-I have, of late, found my police work with Inspector Rheinhardt very…” He paused to find the correct word. “Diverting. I really must tell you about it. There have been some quite extraordinary developments.”
Liebermann proceeded to give Kanner an account of his recent adventures: the discovery of the cello case and the pursuit of Olbricht through the sewers-the sabre, and the contents of Olbricht's notebook. Kanner listened carefully.
“And there is to be another murder-a double murder?” said Kanner. “On the twelfth? But that is tomorrow.”
“Almost certainly,” said Liebermann.
The atmosphere in the room had become muted. Kanner seemed unusually meditative and subdued.
“And you are of the opinion that…” Kanner took a box of Egyptian cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. “That this Olbricht character will try to murder an aristocrat and the chief Freemason of Vienna-on the same day?”
“I cannot be certain. But it is a reasonable hypothesis.”
Kanner took out a cigarette and tamped it on the side of the box.
“Inspector Rheinhardt spoke to the head Freemason yesterday afternoon,” Liebermann added. “But I understand that he didn't seem to take the threat very seriously. Rheinhardt suspected that the gentleman believed his warning was some kind of security office deception: relations between the police and the Freemasons are not good. Inspector Rheinhardt considered it prudent to have the gentleman followed but to his great consternation found that by yesterday evening he had completely vanished.”
Kanner lit his cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring that rose up and hovered above his head, creating the illusion of a disintegrating halo.
“And you're quite sure it isn't a police trick?”
Liebermann's expression conveyed his incredulity. “Of course it isn't a trick!”
Kanner pulled at his chin and grimaced. “In which case, I have a confession to make.”
Liebermann inspected his friend closely. Kanner's blue eyes were startlingly bright. “You do?”
“Yes. I am a Freemason: and tomorrow, on the twelfth of December, Prince Ambrus Nadasdy of Hungary will be initiated as an entered apprentice at a secret temple known as Elysium. The ceremony will be presided over by the head of our fraternity, Venerable Grand Master Losch-the gentleman who has so successfully evaded your friend Rheinhardt.”
Liebermann stared at Kanner, dumbfounded. “Then we know where Olbricht's going to strike!”
“Max.” Kanner's expression was grave. “What I have just told you must not be revealed to anyone.”
“But the police… I have to.”
“It would be utterly pointless. No member of the craft in Vienna would ever disclose the location of Elysium. We are acting illegally.”
“But Stefan, Prince Nadasdy and Herr Losch could be killed!”
“Perhaps, with your assistance, we will be able to prevent such a catastrophe. Now swear! Swear to me that you will say nothing of this to the police.”
Liebermann swallowed. “I will not betray your trust, Stefan. I swear.”
“Good. Now, where is that waiter? We must settle our account at once and leave.”
“Leave? Where are we going?”
“Elysium!”
81
Professor Foch took the volume from the shelf and examined the spine: The Relationship Between the Nose and the Female Sexual Organs by Wilhelm Fliess. It was utter nonsense-everything that one might expect from an associate of Freud. The only sensible thing in the entire book was the finding that labor pains could be ameliorated by the application of cocaine to the nose. But as for the rest… mystical nonsense and gobbledygook! There were indeed certain similarities between nasal and genital mucosae, but the edifice that Fliess had constructed on such flimsy foundations was far too ambitious-too expansive, too grandiose. It would soon be consigned to the midden heap of otorhinolaryngology-and rightly so.
Professor Foch's mood suddenly darkened.
Fliess was based in Berlin.
This did not bode well.
Were his ideas accepted there?
Fliess had proposed that the nasal membranes and bones were of etiological significance with respect to a range of medical conditions: migraine headaches; pains in the abdomen, arms, and legs; angina pectoris; asthma; indigestion-and disturbances of sexuality. The last condition, of course, was of considerable interest to that reprobate Freud. Indeed, he had defended Fliess's opus when it had been criticized by members of the faculty. But then again, what was one to expect? That was how they worked, these Jews. They stuck together… polluting the discipline with their sexual preoccupations, filth, and nonsense.
Professor Foch tossed the book into his packing case, where it landed on three huge yellow Kaposi atlases on syphilis and diseases of the skin.
Berlin.
That it should come to this.
Damn them all.
He had been summoned to the dean's office on Thursday afternoon-for an informal, friendly discussion on a professional matter.
Your article in the Zeitung… The obsequious lickspittle hypocrite had shifted in his chair as if he were sitting on a hot plate. You have made it very difficult for us. Very difficult indeed… He had wrung his hands, sighed, and equivocated. But in the end he had arrived at the nub. Your intention was to reach a wide audience and, my dear fellow, you certainly succeeded. It was read by one of His Majesty's advisers… The word displeasure was repeated with some frequency thereafter.
He had not been dismissed-as such. But rather, he had been permitted an opportunity to make a discreet exit.
A friend of mine, Lehmann-perhaps you've heard of him? Wrote a fine paper on the vestibular system a few years back. The dean had smiled unctuously. Well, as luck would have it, he's looking to fill a post at the General Hospital-a specialist in nasal surgery, no less. Of course, I would be more than happy to provide you with a glowing reference.
There had been little point in protesting. If it were true-and the signal of disapproval had been issued from the Hofburg itself-then his career in Vienna was over. Even his most trusted colleagues would begin to avoid him. Their gazes would not meet his. Invitations would be declined. There would be whispering in the corridors. He had seen it happen to others.
Damn them all.
