Quinn regarded Lord Dunwich with an expression of mild, absent-minded curiosity. He frowned and folded the handkerchief back over, restoring the eye to his pocket.
‘And then there’s the fact that you were sent a package containing an eye – or something that was made to look like an eye. That links it with what has happened tonight. Although the colours of the eyes are different. At any rate, what has happened tonight is connected with your friend Hartmann. It happened outside his company, following the showing of a motion picture made by his company. And Hartmann is linked with another package addressed in green ink – the one that my sergeant saw at the barbershop.’ Quinn glanced over to Hartmann, who was now in earnest conversation, sotto voce, with Waechter. ‘What do you know about the fellow he’s talking to? The one with the eye patch?’
‘Waechter? I know that many believe him to be a genius.’
‘He killed a man, I believe.’
‘It was in a duel, Inspector. And it did happen in Austria.’
‘Does that make it acceptable?’
‘It makes it no concern of mine.’
‘He cannot go back to Austria, I hear.’
‘I believe that is the case.’
‘Perhaps he is looking for a powerful ally to intercede on his behalf? To facilitate his return to his homeland? If he were to prove himself in the service of this ally, things might go better for him at home?’
‘Interesting. At the time of his duel he was an officer in the Landwehr. But he was dishonourably discharged.’
‘For duelling? But isn’t that all to do with honour?’
‘I don’t think it was anything to do with his duel. There were rumours … of a scandal.’
‘What kind of a scandal?’
‘Not here, Quinn. My God, what do you take me for? I have said too much already. What you have to understand about Konrad Waechter is that he is first and foremost an artist. No, I don’t see it. I just don’t see what role he could possibly play in issues of national security.’
‘He knows how to handle a camera. It could be used for recording sensitive material. Naval defences, for example.’
‘Have your officers seen Waechter at the barber’s?’
‘No. Only Hartmann.’
‘What else has this misguided operation of yours uncovered?’
‘You will excuse me if I don’t answer that. Not now. Here.’ With a curt nod, Quinn crossed to Waechter and Hartmann. The two men broke off from a conspiratorial conference and regarded him for a moment warily.
Hartmann was the first to recover his composure. ‘This is a terrible business, Inspector … Quinn, is it?’ The only hint of an accent he betrayed was the slight weight he gave to some of his consonants. That was all that distinguished him from a native speaker.
‘That’s right, Herr Hartmann.’
‘You already know who I am? Should I be worried?’
‘Not unless you have a guilty conscience.’
‘Don’t we all have something on our conscience?’
Quinn was in no mood for such drollery. ‘Do you know a man called Dortmunder? A compatriot of yours, I believe.’
Waechter interrupted, with a click of his heels and a bow. Unlike Hartmann, his accent was thick, his words almost incomprehensible. ‘Please, you vill airk-scuse me?’
‘No, Herr Waechter,’ said Quinn. ‘I have some questions for you too. So please, stay where you are. Now, Herr Hartmann, you were about to tell me about Dortmunder.’
‘I know the man. Of course. He is something of a celebrity within the German community here in London. Does he have something to do with what has happened tonight?’
‘You will forgive me, but you do not strike me as a man who is much in need of a barber’s services.’
‘I appreciate a good shave as much as the next man. But really, do you believe Dortmunder to be behind the outrageous attack on that poor woman?’
‘You were seen handing Dortmunder a package.’
‘I say, Inspector, have you been spying on me?’
‘We have been watching Dortmunder’s place. I think you know that.’
‘I did drop off a script. The other day.’
‘A script?’
‘Yes. Herr Dortmunder has been trying for some time to break into motion picture scenario writing. Like many who go to the picture palaces, he imagines that it will be a way to easy money. Unfortunately it is not as easy as many people believe. However, I will say one thing for Dortmunder. He is persistent. Over the years, he must have asked me to look at literally hundreds of scripts. He will not be discouraged.’
‘And you return the scripts to him personally, yourself? Have you not thought of using the Royal Mail? I am sure you have junior staff who can take care of such things.’
‘As you said, he is a compatriot of mine. Besides, he shows promise. He has not come up with anything I can use yet, but perhaps one day he might.’
Quinn turned to Waechter. ‘Do you know the woman who was attacked tonight? She had in her hand an invitation to the premiere.’
‘Many people were invited. I do not know all of them.’
‘There must be a list?’
Waechter shrugged impatiently. Such things did not concern him. ‘Hartmann?’
‘Yes, of course. I will see that it is sent to you, Inspector. Where may I send it?’
‘New Scotland Yard. For the attention of DI Quinn.’
‘What you must understand, Inspector, is that sometimes people pass on their invitations. We cannot say ultimately into whose hands an invitation will fall. Was there no name on the invitation in her possession?’ Hartmann’s tone struck Quinn as false, mocking almost. As if he already knew the answer to the question. ‘I do hope the young lady recovers from the shock of the assault. I wish to send her some flowers. Do you know which hospital she has been taken to?’
Quinn sighed. ‘Naturally she will have been taken to the nearest hospital, which from here is the Middlesex.’
‘Please inform me of the details when you know for certain.’
‘Do you have any kvestions for me?’ Waechter spoke in a curt, aggressive growl. He had the habit of giving extra emphasis to the words he had most difficulty in pronouncing, as if his struggles with the language were the source of his anger.
Quinn looked into the Austrian’s face and found that he was fascinated by the thought of what lay behind the man’s eye patch. The memory of the small abyss he had stared into earlier that evening was still fresh and compelling. A brief, absurd fantasy flashed into his mind, of his lifting Waechter’s eye patch to refresh his contact with the darkness within. ‘Your film … I saw your film … I was one of the invited guests …’
Waechter bowed in expectation of praise.
‘There are certain similarities between the theme of your film and the crime that was committed tonight.’
‘I am ein Künstler! You know? An artist. Ja? Every artist is also – how do you say – ein Profet?’
‘Prophet. It is the same word,’ put in Hartmann.
‘Ja, zere is prophet in every artist.’
‘And profit too,’ observed Quinn, immediately regretting his attempt at a quip. ‘You hope to make a lot of money from this film, no doubt.’
‘Are you looking for investment opportunities, Inspector?’ asked Hartmann suavely. ‘It is true, if one succeeds in meeting the public’s desires, one may be fortunate in achieving a healthy return. However, the risks are considerable. Even when one has a genius such as Herr Waechter on hand, and a star like Eloise, it is still possible to fall flat on one’s face. To catch a cold, I think is the expression. Nothing is guaranteed. The more cautious investor would be well advised to look elsewhere.’
‘I am not looking to invest. A policeman’s salary does not run to gambling on the stock market.’ Quinn was aware that his tone was becoming puritanical. He found that he did not approve of these people at all. And he was determined not to be in their thrall. Their thin, continental glamour would cut no ice with him. ‘Do you think it is ethical to profit from such depictions of violence and horror? Especially as – as now seems likely – some madman has been encouraged by watching your lurid drama to emulate the crimes you portray.’