“Pay attention,” said Hefner, tapping the surface of the table. “I want you to go to Cafe Mozart.”
“What, now?” asked Renz.
“Yes, now,” said Hefner. “There you will find Lemberg's seconds.” Hefner produced a scrap of paper and read some names. “Fritz Glockner and Gerhard Riehl. I want you to accept whatever conditions they propose: sabres, pistols-it's all the same to me. He'll be incapable of handling either-although he's supposed to be a very good violinist, so I'm told.”
“But what was it all about? Your quarrel?” asked Trapp, pouring himself another schnapps.
“Oh, something… something I'm supposed to have done last summer.”
Hefner removed his cap and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Mathilde noticed him from the other side of the room and waved. Hefner inclined his head and smiled graciously.
“Go on,” said Renz.
“He thinks I took advantage of his wife,” Hefner continued. “I was staying at Schloss von Triebenbach on the Kammersee, as a guest of the baron. The Lembergs had rented a villa just outside the village. His wife was convalescing from some kind of nervous illness…” For a moment Hefner played with the gold-yellow tassel hanging from his pommel. “She was often left on her own. Freddi and his friends used to take the steamer across the lake to Weyregg. I paid her my respects a few times, that's all…”
An ambiguous smile flitted across his handsome face.
There was a sudden round of applause from the billiard room. Cavalrymen were congratulating the regimental doctor, who had-to the ensign's dismay-secured another victory.
“I'd better have a word with him too,” said Hefner, gesturing toward the medical man. “I'll catch him now-while he's in a good mood. Then I'm off to bed, where I will no doubt dream of Mildenburg carrying me off to Valhalla!” Rising abruptly, he called out, “Doctor, Doctor! Well done! You are in danger of becoming a legend. Please, could I trouble you for a moment-in private?”
26
THE SCHOTTENRING POLICE LABORATORY was a spacious rectangular room with high leaded windows. Outside, the dense cloud cover had broken and the air was suffused with bright winter sunshine. Amelia Lydgate was standing by a long workbench, holding a test tube up to the light. Her hair had been pulled back and arranged in a large reticulated bun. Yet even this drastic measure could not diminish the reflective power of those densely compressed copper strands. A reddish spectrum revealed itself as she tilted her head.
She was wearing a plain white high-collared blouse and a long gray skirt that almost touched the floor. Liebermann allowed his gaze to drop down her spine and linger around her hips. A feeling of excitement flared in the pit of his stomach, followed by a hammer blow of shame. He looked away and found himself staring at the twitching nose of a plump brown rabbit.
“Well, Miss Lydgate?” asked Rheinhardt.
Amelia turned and stood facing the two men. As usual, her expression betrayed no sign of emotion.
“A precipitate has not formed.”
“Which means?” asked Rheinhardt.
“The blood on Krull's clothes is not human.”
Rheinhardt puffed his cheeks out and let the air escape slowly. “I see.”
A lengthy silence ensued and Liebermann laid a consoling hand on his friend's sleeve.
“Forgive me, Miss Lydgate,” Rheinhardt continued, “but are you absolutely sure?”
“I am quite sure, Inspector.”
“There is no chance that this test could produce an erroneous result?”
“No.”
Her perceptive gaze registered the detective's disappointment.
“Inspector, allow me to explain the procedure again.” Although Amelia Lydgate's manners were faultless, a hint of impatience had crept into her voice. “If human blood is injected into a live rabbit over a two-week period, then the rabbit's blood acquires a specific property: it will react with any human blood to form a precipitate. This is because these frequent injections of human blood have promoted a defensive response in the rabbit's blood. I have been injecting this rabbit”-she gestured toward the cage-”with samples of my own blood for several weeks, and the animal's blood is now an antiserum. It will recognize the unique proteins in human blood and react with them to form a precipitate.”
Amelia approached Rheinhardt and held the test tube up in front of his eyes. The contents appeared to glow in the bright light of the laboratory.
“It is clear, Inspector. If the blood on Krull's clothes had been human blood, the serum would have become cloudy. Professor Uhlenhuth's precipitin test may be simple, but it is entirely reliable.”
Rheinhardt nodded. “Thank you, Miss Lydgate, thank you. Once again, the security office is indebted to you.”
“My pleasure, Inspector Rheinhardt.”
The detective took a deep breath and walked over to the rabbit cage.
“Of course,” said Liebermann softly, “this doesn't mean that Krull is innocent.”
“No,” said Rheinhardt, “but the evidence is certainly stacking up in his favor. The medical student who lives below Krull has confessed to being a member of a fraternity whose initiation practices involve the theft of body parts from the morgue!”
“Explaining the presence of the metacarpal bone.”
“It would seem so.” The inspector leaned forward, poked a finger through the grill of the cage, and scratched the rabbit's furry head. “And it's a bad day for you too,” he said to the creature, in a somewhat distracted fashion.
“Oh?” exclaimed Amelia. “Why is that, Inspector?”
“Commissioner Brugel asked me to notify him when the test was completed. He fancied his cook could make this poor fellow into a fine stew.”
Amelia Lydgate's brow furrowed. “With respect, Inspector, I would ask that the commissioner reconsider his position. That rabbit is the only animal in Vienna whose blood serum reacts with human proteins. With regular injections he will continue to be reactive. You should retain him as an invaluable member of the scientific staff.”
Rheinhardt almost smiled, but recognized-just in time-that Miss Lydgate was deadly serious.
“Of course,” he said. “I will see if there is a relevant form. Perhaps I could register him as a junior technician.”
Amelia Lydgate's brow lost a furrow or two-as demonstrative a sign of satisfaction as could be expected, given the peculiarities of her temperament. Rheinhardt stole a quick glance in Liebermann's direction and rolled his eyes. The young doctor tried not to laugh, but found to his great embarrassment that his shoulders were shaking.
By early evening Rheinhardt had finished writing his report-to which he appended an official “registration” document. It identified Miss Lydgate's rabbit as a new member of the security-office staff, occupying the position of laboratory assistant. His little joke had proved prophetic. In Austria-Hungary, nothing was deemed so insignificant or inconsequential that it did not warrant recording, licensing, or an official stamp of some kind.
One day this empire will disappear under an avalanche of paperwork!
Rheinhardt stretched, yawned, rose from his desk, and switched off the light.
He was feeling tired, and he decided to clear the fug from his head by walking home instead of taking a cab. The sky had remained cloudless all day, and now the temperature was plummeting. A sharp wind scoured his cheeks, but Rheinhardt was determined to persevere. He passed a streetcar stop, where several gentlemen were waiting in a line, and turned onto the concourse in front of the town hall. It was a broad, open space, divided by an avenue of gas lamps. The flames emitted a yellow sulfurous glow, which was sufficient to illuminate the town hall itself-Rheinhardt's favorite building in Vienna.
“Magical.” He spoke the word aloud, while slowing to admire the prospect.
It was like something out of a fairy story: a Gothic palace consisting of a massive central structure-as big as a cathedral-and five spires. The central spire rose much higher than its companions, and on its summit stood a statue of a medieval knight in full armor. He was barely visible on his lofty perch, but Rheinhardt could determine his shadowy presence against a background of glittering, spiteful stars. The overall impression of the building was one of great intricacy. One could see lanterns, finials, arched mullioned windows, buttresses, and several pitched roofs. It was a glorious sight-made even more glorious by a dressing of niveous garlands. Rheinhardt enjoyed having it all to himself.