‘You did not see her leave?’
‘I am not sure.’
‘And what of you, Mr Porrick?’
Porrick shook his head.
‘Neither of you gentlemen saw her leave?’
The two men did nothing to confirm or deny this proposition.
‘What about her husband, Mr Novak? We are anxious to locate him.’
‘Porrick left with Novak,’ said Waechter quickly.
‘I see. Mr Porrick, is this true?’
‘I don’t … I was very drunk. I can’t remember much about last night.’
‘But did you leave with Mr Novak?’
‘I suppose I might have done.’
‘And was Mrs Novak with you?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t remember much about last night, but you can say that with certainty?’
‘I remember now,’ said Waechter. ‘He is right. Dolores was not with them. Dolores left earlier.’
‘Alone?’ Quinn had a strong sense what the answer would be.
‘Nein.’
Waechter and Porrick exchanged a look that was so conspiratorial it was almost comic.
‘Did she leave with a man who was not her husband?’ prompted Quinn. ‘Are you trying to protect the reputation of this gentleman? I understand the instinct that motivates this behaviour. However, it will be better for the gentleman concerned if we are able to talk to him at the soonest possible opportunity in order to eliminate him from our enquiries.’
‘She left mit Lord Dunsch.’
‘Lord Dunwich?’ insisted Quinn pedantically, as if there could have been two lords at the party with such similar names.
‘Ja, Lord Dunsch.’
‘Mr Porrick, where did you go with Mr Novak after you left the party?’
‘I’m afraid to say I was very drunk. It is all rather hazy. All I know for sure is that I slept in the auditorium of the Leicester Square Palace.’
‘Why did you not go home?’
‘I had had a row with my wife.’
‘This is true,’ confirmed Waechter, as if everything hinged upon the settling of this point.
‘You did not see Lord Dunwich with Mrs Novak after you left here?’
‘What kind of a question is that?’
‘It is a perfectly reasonable question, and one by which I hope to establish the truth of what happened to Mrs Novak.’
‘It was all a bit of a blur. All I can say with any certainty is that I was exceedingly drunk.’
‘Mr Waechter, you must accept now that the parallels between what has happened and the incidents portrayed in your film are striking.’
‘My film is a poem. A poem expresses a truth. A truth of the soul. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of a madman. He has twisted the truth of my poem. It is not my doing.’
‘Dolores Novak had a part in your film, did she not? What was your impression of her? Did you enjoy working with her?’
‘Dolores cannot act. But I do not ask her to act. I ask her to dahhnsse.’ Waechter rippled his arms in a balletic swaying motion. ‘It is vot der men come to see, ja? You like to watch her dahhnsse, Inspector?’
Quinn did not like Waechter’s lascivious tone. It almost sounded as if Waechter was accusing him of some culpability in what had happened to Dolores.
‘What happened to your eye?’ Quinn realized this was a question he had wanted to ask for a long time – from the first moment he saw Waechter in fact.
‘It … kaputt …’ Waechter made a popping sound. ‘Doctors take it out. Say it no good any more.’
‘You lost an eye?’ Perhaps it sounded as if Quinn believed this had been very careless of Waechter. But really the involuntary emphasis came from his excitement at learning the true nature of Waechter’s impairment.
‘Were you duelling with pistols or swords?’
Waechter looked at Quinn without speaking for some time. ‘Ein kleiner … Splitter – ja? Splitter?’
‘Splinter?’
‘Ja, ein splitter. Man shoot me. Ja? Shot – woo!’ Waechter signalled the shot flying past his head. ‘But ein splitter … ein splitter go in my eye.’
‘Why did the man shoot you?’
Waechter shrugged.
‘And what happened to him?’
‘I shoot him. I not miss. The man … dead.’
‘How long have you known Dolores Novak?’
‘I use her in my films. One times. Two times.’
‘Have you ever had intimate relations with her?’
‘Nein.’ It seemed to Quinn that Waechter gave a small private grin.
‘What about you, Mr Porrick?’
‘I never really knew the woman.’
‘Are all your films about eyes, Mr Waechter?’
Waechter answered in German.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘Philister.’
‘Is this another of your films?’
‘My films are about many things. But always they are about …’ Waechter pounded himself on the chest. ‘Vot is in der human heart. I create poems, visual poems, that express what is in der heart. Ja?’
‘I would like to see all of your films. In fact, it is necessary that I do.’
Porrick’s eyes widened in an expression of surprise. He mouthed something quietly and nodded to himself, as if some inner thought had just received confirmation.
‘You will arrange for copies of all your films to be sent to me, Detective Inspector Silas Quinn, Special Crimes Department, New Scotland Yard.’
‘This vill take time. I do not have prints. I must speak to Herr Hartmann.’
‘But it can be done?’
‘Ja.’
‘Good, now do either of you two gentlemen have information regarding the whereabouts of Mr Novak?’
‘Do you think Novak did it?’ Porrick leaned forward now. He seemed eager to push this hypothesis on Quinn.
‘Why would you say that?’
‘I don’t know … you’re looking for him.’
‘We are naturally anxious to speak to him. If either of you hear from Mr Novak, you must urge him to contact the police, so that we may eliminate him from our enquiries. And in any event …’ Quinn handed out business cards. ‘Please let me know.’ Quinn thought back to the scene he had witnessed outside the kinematograph theatre. ‘How would you describe the relationship between Mr and Mrs Novak?’
‘It was … unusual,’ admitted Porrick. ‘She was with Lord Dunwich at the party. They were getting pretty familiar. Novak didn’t seem to mind at all.’
‘He’s a foreigner,’ remarked Quinn.
‘A Yank.’
‘His name, though – Novak?’
‘Serbisch.’
‘Serbian?’
‘Ja.’
‘And you are Austrian? Not German?’
‘I am citizen of der Republic of Art.’
‘I understand you cannot go back to Austria. Or dare not. There are tensions, are there not, between Austria and the Serbians? The Serbians resent the Austrian yoke. Perhaps there is some bad blood between yourself and Mr Novak?’
‘Bad blood? No. I don’t care he is Serbian. I only care he acts.’
Quinn moved closer to Waechter’s desk and looked down at the pages spread out around the typewriter. He saw that the typescript had been annotated by hand in green ink. ‘I will need a sample of your handwriting.’
‘Vy?’
‘I am not at liberty to say.’
‘Did the killer write a note?’ wondered Porrick.
‘You do not suspect me in this maurtter?’ It was unclear whether Waechter’s last word was murder or matter.