“It is over,” Olbricht cried. “I can do no more.”
In his eyes, Liebermann recognized the light of Valhalla burning.
87
Rheinhardt pressed his knuckles against his eyes and after releasing them looked steadily at the wall clock. At first he could see nothing but a kaleidoscopic arrangement of luminous blotches. Then, slowly, his vision began to clear, and the hands came into sharp focus: a quarter past one. It had been a long, tiring day.
On returning home he had been unable to sleep. He had sat on a chair next to the telephone, dreading its fateful ring followed by the crackling connection and the voice of the Schottenring sergeant regretfully informing him of the discovery of two bodies. Rheinhardt had fallen into a fitful half sleep and when-as expected-the bell had sounded, he had lifted the receiver in a confused, fearful state. He had listened to the sergeant's report, but could not quite believe what he was hearing. He had asked the man to repeat himself. The officer politely obliged, prompting Rheinhardt to pinch his thigh to establish whether or not he was dreaming.
The long hand of the clock jumped forward and Rheinhardt lowered his gaze. Liebermann was fussing with some lint on his trousers, tutting impatiently at its obstinacy.
“So,” said Rheinhardt, “you arrive at the Schottenring station dressed in a top hat, white gloves, and tailcoat-which, if I am not mistaken, has been cut in two places by a sabre blade. In your custody-bound and gagged-is the monster, Andreas Olbricht! The duty officer requests, very reasonably, that you give an account of yourself. You choose, however, to respond in the vaguest possible terms, suggesting that you managed to find and capture him with the help of some Freemasons… Now, my dear friend, although I am accustomed to your predilection for evasive answers and your often quite taxing insistence on dramatic subterfuge, it seems to me that tonight you have excelled yourself.”
During his speech, the inspector's voice had risen in pitch and his eyes had acquired a menacing shine.
The young doctor gave up trying to remove the intransigent lint from his trousers and, chastened, straightened his back.
“I may not possess the most incisive mind,” continued the inspector, attempting to calm himself by spreading his hands out flat on the table. “But one doesn't need to be so very clever to guess how you came to deliver Olbricht earlier this evening-or, more correctly, yesterday evening.” His finger flicked up toward the wall clock. “You infiltrated a clandestine Masonic gathering, where you discovered Olbricht preparing to murder persons corresponding with the figures of Sarastro and Prince Tamino. You challenged Olbricht, fought with him, and finally, with the assistance of those present, overpowered him.”
Liebermann nodded. “Yes, broadly speaking, that is correct.”
“Now, I am bound to ask you a very obvious question: Did you not think to inform the security office?”
“Of course I thought to inform the security office-it just wasn't possible.”
Rheinhardt picked up his pen and dated the official notepaper that he had laid out on his desk.
“Oskar,” said Liebermann, “before we proceed, you must promise me something.”
“What?”
“That the security office will not investigate or hound the Masons.”
“I am very happy to leave the Masons to their own devices. But Commissioner Brugel may take a different view.”
“Then you must persuade him otherwise.”
“Commissioner Brugel is nothing if not opinionated. I fear he will take his own view, whatever I say.”
“Come now, Oskar, a man possessed of your quite considerable eloquence and charm should-” Rheinhardt raised a cautionary finger. Liebermann acknowledged the transparency of his flattery with a wry smile and chose a different approach. “At the very beginning of this investigation you likened Olbricht to the infamous Ripper of London. Well, unlike Scotland Yard we have actually caught our ‘Ripper.’ This will no doubt raise the international standing of the Viennese security office. It is even conceivable that your superior- having presided over such a coup-might expect to receive some token of recognition from the Hofburg.” Liebermann assumed an expression of cherubic innocence. “I do not wish to interfere with your dealings with the good commissioner, but I am convinced that touching upon the subject of honors will be… expedient. Once he is preoccupied with dreams of the emperor pinning a ribbon on his chest, Brugel will be much less inclined to rake over the minor details of your report.”
Rheinhardt sighed. “We shall see.”
“Thank you, Oskar.”
“Be that as it may, I must press you for more information.” Rheinhardt underlined the date and looked up at his friend. “Commissioner Brugel will expect more than a few opaque lines-and, needless to say, I have some questions of my own.” Liebermann leaned back in his chair and gestured for Rheinhardt to continue. “First, how on earth did you manage to get yourself into a secret Masonic meeting?”
“On Saturday I was taking dinner with a trusted friend, with whom I sometimes discuss my involvement with the security office. I told him of the discovery of Olbricht's diary and of our fear that Olbricht might attempt to kill a member of the royal family and a high-ranking Mason the following day. To my great surprise my friend revealed that he was a Mason. Moreover, he informed me that Sunday the twelfth of December was, for him and his brethren, a date of great significance. A foreign prince was to be initiated at a secret location in Vienna on that very day. I was given permission to attend the ritual, providing that I gave my solemn word not to disclose anything of what I saw to anyone, and in particular”-Liebermann tapped Rheinhardt's desk twice-”a certain detective inspector with whom my name has become recently associated.”
Rheinhardt grunted dismissively and began writing. “Who was this foreign prince?”
“I am afraid I cannot say-I gave my word.”
“Very well. What is your friend's name?”
“I am afraid I cannot say.”
“All right. Did you encounter a man with a Vandyke beard?”
“I saw many men with Vandyke beards.”
“A man called Losch?”
Liebermann shrugged.
The inspector raised his head slowly, revealing a pained countenance.
“Oskar, I have already broken one promise this year,” said Liebermann gravely. “I do not intend to break another.”
The inspector gave a colossal sigh, and with exaggerated movements made a show of putting his pen down. He then opened the drawer of his desk and removed a small bottle of slivovitz and two glasses. He filled the glasses to the brim and then offered Liebermann a marzipan mouse, which the young doctor observed for a few moments before politely refusing. Rheinhardt sat back in his chair and said resignedly, “Very well. You will please proceed.”
Liebermann, looking much relieved, continued his story. “I was taken to the secret location yesterday.”
“I don't suppose there is any point in my asking-”
“No,” Liebermann interrupted. “There isn't. Not because I won't tell you, this time-but because I can't. I have no idea where it is. I was blindfolded. And on my return with Olbricht, I was blindfolded again.”
“How long did the journey take?”
Liebermann shrugged.
Rheinhardt smiled, sipped his slivovitz, and urged his friend to continue.
“I attended the initiation rite-”
“About which you can say nothing,” Rheinhardt cut in.
“And in due course I observed a gentleman whom I supposed to be Olbricht.”
“Supposed?”
“It was quite dark. The Masonic temple was large and inadequately illuminated by candles.”
“I see.”
“When Olbricht was in striking distance of both the principal Mason and the prince-”
“Sarastro and Tamino.”
