“No,” said Wolf. “No… no, I don't.”
Rain had begun to fall, and the windows resonated with its gentle drumming.
“Apart from Perger and Freitag,” Rheinhardt continued, “did anyone else know about Herr Sommer's…” The Inspector hesitated. “Herr Sommer's relationship with Zelenka?”
“No.”
“We have no proof, then, other than your word—and Freitag's, of course.”
“I am telling the truth,” said Wolf, darting a nervous glance toward the walnut box on Liebermann's lap.
“What if Herr Sommer denies your allegation?” said Rheinhardt.
“I have something in my possession that once belonged to Zelenka,” said Wolf. “Herr Sommer was very keen to get hold of it— very keen.”
“A dictionary?” said Liebermann.
“Yes,” said Wolf, surprised.
“A Hartel and Jacobsen dictionary?”
“Yes. I thought there might be something incriminating written inside—but there isn't. I've checked.”
“Where is it?” said Rheinhardt.
“I've hidden it,” Wolf replied.
“Somewhere in the school?”
“Yes.”
“Then you had better go and get it,” said Rheinhardt. “Immediately.”
64
“WELL?” SAID RHEINHARDT. “Do you think he's telling the truth?”
“On the whole, yes,” Liebermann replied. “I am confident that his revelation concerning Herr Sommer's homosexuality is true— and that Herr Sommer had become intimate with Zelenka; however, my confidence in Wolf's testimony faltered at two junctures. When Wolf denied harming Zelenka, he said that he had never touched him. Yet I noticed a slight hesitation before he said the word ‘touched’—as though he had met some unconscious resistance.” “Then you do think he was lying. He did harm Zelenka.” “No,” said Liebermann, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” “I'm sorry, Max, you will have to speak more plainly.” “I am of the opinion that Wolf did touch Zelenka.… And it was the memory of that touching, erotic touching, that impeded the fluency of his denial.”
Rheinhardt blew out his cheeks and exhaled, allowing his lips to interrupt the airflow so as to produce a series of plosions. When he had finished, he said, “And the second thing?”
“When Wolf claimed that he did not know Perger's whereabouts, I thought his denial was too insistent.”
“Then perhaps we should administer our truth serum, after all.” Liebermann smiled coyly. “No. There wouldn't be any point.” Rheinhardt's brow furrowed. Liebermann tapped the walnut box and continued: “The bottle contains a saline solution and a harmless stain. I would be very uncomfortable injecting a young man with belladonna and morphine.”
Rheinhardt's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments before he spluttered, “I… I… I don't believe it! Why on earth didn't you tell me!”
“Authenticity! We needed to play our parts with utter conviction.”
“But all those things you said about belladonna—did you make it all up?”
“No, it's all true—and we might well have used twilight sleep to loosen Wolf's tongue; however, that would have been such an inelegant solution to our problem. The use of psychological devices is considerably more satisfying, don't you think? More subtle. And my ruse has been successful enough. I have not tampered with Wolf's brain chemistry, yet he has told us a great deal.”
Rheinhardt shook his head from side to side. “Sometimes, Max, you test my patience to the very limit.”
“Indeed,” said Liebermann. “But never without reason.”
The young doctor turned the key of the walnut box, and dropped it into the dark, gaping maw of his leather bag.
“What a sorry and sordid state of affairs,” said Rheinhardt. “Frau Becker allowed others to believe that she was having an improper relationship with Zelenka so that she might better conceal her assignations with Lang, and at the very same time Herr Sommer's indiscretions were serving an identical purpose, concealing his assignations with the boy himself! It is a pity that none of them stopped to consider the possible consequences of their mutually advantageous lies—particularly on the all too fragile mind of Dr. Becker.”
“But who could have really foreseen that these machinations would result in the murder of Thomas Zalenka?”
“That,” said Rheinhardt gruffly, “is not the point!”
The two men eschewed further conversation, settling instead for private thoughts and silence. Outside, the rain continued to fall, its persistent pitter-pattering unrelieved and softly insistent. Eventually, Rheinhardt stirred and said, “He will come back—won't he?”
“Yes,” said Liebermann.
A few minutes later, the rapid crescendo of Wolf's footsteps heralded his appearance in the doorway. He looked disheveled, and his breathing was labored, suggesting that he had expended a considerable amount of energy recovering the large green volume that he now held against his chest.
“Ah, there you are, Wolf,” said Rheinhardt. “I was beginning to wonder where you'd got to.”
The boy marched across the room and handed the book to Rheinhardt.
“Zelenka's dictionary,” he said.
Rheinhardt stroked the green binding. “How did you get this?”
“I found it.”
“What do you mean, ‘found it?’ “
“It was under Zelenka's bed.”
“You took it, then?”
Wolf shrugged.
“You said that Herr Sommer wanted Zelenka's dictionary,” Rheinhardt continued. “That he was keen to get hold of it. How do you know that?”
“I discovered him looking for it in Zelenka's locker.”
“When?”
“As soon as he got back… after his fall.”
“Thank you. That will be all, Wolf. Perhaps you would be kind enough to wait next door.”
Wolf bowed, clicked his heels, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Rheinhardt opened the dictionary and examined the antique etching of the bearded scholar. His eyes dropped to the foot of the page.
“Hartel and Jacobsen, Leipzig, 1900. Well, this is certainly the missing dictionary.” He then flicked through the pages, toyed with the edges of the marbled endpapers, and poked his finger down the spine. “Wolf seems to be correct. Nothing remarkable or incriminating here.”
Rheinhardt handed the dictionary to Liebermann, who ran his fingers across the gold-embossed leather.
“What did Miss Lyd gate say…”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Something about a key?”
“You mean with respect to the number pairs?”
“Yes.”
“She said that the numbers were nonsensical—but they might be made intelligible with a key.”
“What if the number pairs…,” said Liebermann, playing a five-finger exercise on the binding. “What if the number pairs are coordinates?”
“But this is a dictionary, not a map. Besides, what possible—”
“The position of every single word in the German language,” Liebermann interrupted, “can be expressed by using two numbers.
