Drexler put on his uniform and set off on a circuitous tour of the school that took him—unseen—to the trapdoor.
When he dropped down into the lost room, he discovered that it was already occupied. Steininger was sitting in the wicker chair, smoking a cigarette, with his feet up on a stool. The Serbian boy, Stojakovic, was kneeling before him, vigorously cleaning his shoes. Freitag and another stocky boy called Gruber were standing close by.
When Drexler landed, Stojakovic stopped brushing. Steininger immediately lashed out and delivered a blow to the side of his head.
“Who told you to stop?” Steininger barked.
Stojakovic reapplied the polish and resumed his Sisyphean labor.
“Where's Wolf?” asked Drexler.
“Gone,” said Steininger, stroking his downy mustache. “His parents came and collected him today. I don't think he'll be coming back.”
“Poor Wolf,” said Freitag. “An excellent fellow—but prone to getting big ideas. Too big, eh? He was bound to overstretch himself one day.”
“What did he do?” said Drexler.
“I managed to speak to him just before he left, while he was packing his bags,” Steininger replied. “Apparently he was blackmailing Sommer and the police found out!”
“Is that why Sommer killed himself?”
“Who knows?” Steininger nonchalantly flicked some ash onto Stojakovic's hair. “So… where the hell have you been?”
“In the infirmary.”
“What! We'd heard that someone had gone mad and the headmaster had called Kessler. My God, it wasn't you, was it?”
Freitag and Gruber were amused by the jibe and burst out laughing.
“Yes—it was,” Drexler replied calmly.
The laughing died down and Steininger glanced uneasily at Freitag.
“Get up, Stojakovic,” said Drexler. He reached down and pulled the boy to his feet. “Go on…” He jerked his head toward the trapdoor.
“What in God's name do you think you're doing, Drexler?” Steininger cried. “Can't you see? I‘m in command now! I‘m giving the orders!” He jabbed his finger at the Serbian boy. “Stojakovic— you try to leave and you'll regret it!”
Drexler pushed Stojakovic, who stumbled away from Steininger.
“Take no notice of him. Go.”
The boy was too frightened to leave. He stood, rooted to the spot where he had come to rest.
Steininger caught Freitag's eye and nodded.
“You really have gone mad, Drexler,” said Freitag.
“Yes, quite mad,” echoed Gruber.
The two lieutenants moved forward.
“Don't you understand?” continued Freitag, pushing his unfinished canine face into Drexler's. “We're tired of all your nonsense.”
“And I'm tired of you!” said Drexler.
Without warning, he brought his knee up sharply into Freitag's groin. As the boy buckled over in pain, Drexler delivered an upper-cut to his heavy chin, which sent him reeling over onto the floor. Drexler then thrust his elbow back into Gruber's face, knocking out several teeth. Steininger attempted to jump up, but Drexler placed both hands against his chest and pushed him back down.
Gruber retreated, his hand over his mouth, blood streaming through his fingers and splashing onto the floor. Freitag was rolling from side to side, moaning and clutching his genitals.
“Stojakovic,” said Drexler calmly, “if any of these imbeciles pick on you again, let me know. Now, for the last time, will you please go.”
The Serbian boy jumped up onto the box and pulled himself up through the trapdoor. His accelerating footsteps could be heard crossing the floor above.
Drexler went to the old suitcase, opened the lid, and took out his volume of E.T.A. Hoffmann short stories. He slowed as he passed Steininger.
“Now that Wolf's gone, things are going to change around here,” he said.
77
“WELL, HERR DOCTOR,“ said Trezska. The impersonal term of address was employed knowingly, and Liebermann detected in its use a purposeful distancing. “Once again I am indebted. You know, I really think he was about to pull the trigger.”
Liebermann reached for von Bulow's hat and slipped it beneath his head. The insensible inspector's breathing was shallow, but not so shallow as to cause the young doctor alarm. Von Bulow would probably wake with blurred vision, dizziness, and nausea: nothing that twenty-four hours’ bed rest wouldn't put right.
“You're a spy—aren't you?” said Liebermann.
Trezska observed him without emotion. He grabbed the stair rail and pulled himself up.
“They call you… the Liderc?”
Trezska raised one of her eyebrows, indicating that she was impressed.
“And I presume,” Liebermann continued, “that this name was chosen because of your willingness to use your feminine charms in the service of your cause?”
“You have many flaws, Herr Doctor, but I had never, till this moment, counted prudery among them.”
Liebermann ignored her barbed riposte.
“Your mission,” he continued, “was to steal a document from General von Stoger—a top secret document called Studie U. The unwitting general was encouraged to expect your favors and invited you to his apartment. I wonder, did you always plan to kill him? Or did something go wrong that necessitated his murder?”
“I was supposed to keep the old man occupied,“ Trezska responded euphemistically, “while a comrade opened his safe. The fool made so much noise that von Stoger picked up a poker and went to see what was going on. My comrade panicked. It was most unfortunate.”
“And what about me?” said Liebermann. “Was I part of your mission too?”
“You flatter yourself, Herr Doctor. We met by chance.”
“In which case… you swiftly calculated that I might have some other use: the provision of an alibi, perhaps?”
“If this is to be a frank exchange of views,” said Trezska, “then I must admit, the idea did cross my mind; however, that was all. I sought your further acquaintance because I felt indebted to you. We Hungarians are nothing if not appreciative. Moreover, I found you very…” she paused before adding, “…desirable.”
A gust of wind lashed the side of Liebermann's face. A fresh cascade of water tumbled from the second story, contributing yet more volume to the existing downpour.
“I see from your expression,” said Trezska, “that you find my candid admission distasteful—unbecoming of a lady? Of course, if I were a man, you would think nothing of it. You are not nearly so enlightened as you suppose, Herr Doctor. Now, before I take my leave—which I really must—tell me, what are you doing here? I cannot recall issuing you with an invitation.”
“I came here to confront you.”
“Why? For what purpose?”
“To see if my deductions were correct.”
Trezska laughed. “Another of your flaws, Herr Doctor: intellectual vanity! Well, at the risk of aggravating your conceit, I must applaud you! Your deductions were indeed correct. Which brings me to my next question: How ever did you become so well informed? There are aides in the Hofburg who have never heard of Studie U. And as for my code name… If you hadn't rendered our poor friend here unconscious”—she gestured toward von Bulow—”I would be considering whether or not you had been recruited by the secret service.”
“And what if I was?” said Liebermann.
Before she could answer, a male voice resounded across the courtyard: “Don't move.”
Liebermann turned. Coming out of the arcade was a swarthy-looking young man. He was holding a gun and walking straight toward him.