“-used a tuning fork or an instrument very much resembling-”
“Again I have to interrupt you, sir. The tuning fork you found is the instrument I used.”
“Hupfer's tuning fork?”
“Yes. Why do you find this so hard to accept?”
“How did you manage to acquire Hupfer's tuning fork? Don't ask me to believe that it suddenly materialized out of nowhere, madam. Tales of coincidence do not sit well with police inspectors.”
Clara Schumann gave me a faint smile. “Inspector Preiss, I would never insult your intelligence by offering you some fantasy about how it came into my possession.”
“The truth had better be simple. I have no time for anything else.”
“The truth is always simple, isn't it, Inspector? Think back, if you will. You recall, I mentioned that Willi Hupfer is a creature of rigorous habit. One might say his life is set in stone. You've seen how meticulous he is, everything in its place, a place for everything, as they say. And proud too. You've seen ample evidence of his pride. But pride leads to smugness, and smugness leads to carelessness, doesn't it?” I had the uncomfortable feeling that Clara Schumann's point wasn't confined to Wilhelm Hupfer, that she was aiming her barb at me as well.
“To answer your question fully about Willi's tuning fork, I have to take you back to the night of the musicale here in our house. The last thing Franz Liszt said as he was leaving was that the piano I'd played on was out of tune.”
“Yes, and you and your friend Brahms protested-rather vehemently, I must say-and continued to protest even after Maestro Schumann appeared on the scene and acknowledged that Liszt was right. Frankly, it was my impression that you and Brahms were chiefly concerned with allaying any suspicions about yourselves, and to hell with Dr. Schumann.”
You're half right, Inspector,” Clara Schumann said. “My denial was not aimed at allaying suspicions about me; rather, I was anxious to shield Johannes from suspicion. After all, when you consider Robert's temperament, it would not have taken much for him to conclude that Johannes was a participant in the conspiracy. And I say this despite Robert's deep affection for Johannes. So, yes, my protests were, as you put it, vehement. And with good reason.”
“But the tuning fork, Madam Schumann-”
“Bear with me. I mentioned that pride, smugness and carelessness inevitably follow one another. And here-” She reached for a sheet of stationery that lay on the lid of the Klems. “Here is proof.” She handed me the sheet. At the top, the printed letterhead read, “Wilhelm Hupfer, Master Piano Service Technician.”
“You will notice,” she said, “the date, which is the Saturday of the musicale. It is an itemized list of work done by Willi Hupfer that afternoon. This was one of Willi's many habits. After every visit, he would leave behind a detailed record of each item of service he'd performed, no matter how routine. It was his way of impressing us with his thoroughness. It was also his subtle way of attempting to make us feel guilty because he considered himself underpaid. His penmanship, like his workmanship, is impeccable, so you should have no trouble reading it.”
I began silently to read.
“No, Inspector,” she urged, “please read it aloud.”
I read: Klems exhibits premature wear and tear due to secondary quality parts and construction!
Cleaned keybed, polished pins, checked all hammers and tapes.
Tightened all action screws.
Polished action brackets.
Checked damper lever springs.
Regulated and eased keys wherever necessary.
Re-strung A above Middle C (original strings too slack to pull up).
I looked up. “I'm no technician, but one question immediately jumps out of this report: isn't it curious that, for a piano that is supposedly cheaply constructed, among all eighty-eight keys and over two hundred strings the only strings, that required replacing were those for A above middle C?”
“That is not the only peculiar thing,” she replied. “Suppose one must order a new set of strings. The closest manufacturer of strings suitable for our Klems piano is in Berlin. It can take up to two weeks before such an order is delivered. So one must produce strings from scratch in an emergency. It is a highly skilled and time-consuming process. I've watched Hupfer make them. First, he takes a length of thin but very strong steel wire, hammers both ends flat and forms them into loops, then hooks the wire onto a spinning contraption, something like a woodcraftsman's lathe. Then he wraps a length of copper wire around the steel core and spins the two, feeding the copper one very deftly between his thumb and forefinger so that it spirals down the steel wire to form a covering. As you can appreciate, Inspector, piano wires don't grow on trees.”
“Which means Hupfer wouldn't have been capable of producing the new A strings on the spur of the moment,” I said.
“Exactly.”
“Which also means he must have planned to replace the A strings in advance…well in advance. Whether or not it needed restringing was beside the point. But I'm not sure if it was carelessness or just plain stupidity that made him refer to it in the list.”
“It was both,” Clara said, “but it was also greed. In his anxiety to make certain he collected every possible pfennig for his labour and material, he made the mistake of listing the A-string replacements. As soon as I read the list, I realized in a flash that something foul was going on.”
I asked, “When did you first see the list?”
“After everyone had departed, the night of the musicale, Robert flew into one of his worst tantrums. Naturally, he was outraged by Liszt's patronizing response to our music. He was angry with me because he felt that I hadn't adequately supervised the tuning of the Klems or at least tested it after Hupfer was finished. He professed again and again that the A sound was constantly ringing in his ears. I'm ashamed to admit that I finally resorted to giving him a tumbler of schnapps large enough to put a regiment to sleep. It worked. Then I came back down to Robert's study, found Hupfer's list and request for payment. As soon as I saw the last item…well, you can imagine the rest.”
“May we return, then, to the matter of Hupfer's tuning fork?” I said.
“Ah yes, the tuning fork. I did warn you, Inspector, that we would have to go back in time.”
She moved to the Klems and stood at the keyboard. “Let me show you something,” she said. Raising her right hand head high, she suddenly plunged it downward, striking A above middle C with her index finger with such force that the resulting sound pierced the air like a scream, causing me to wince. It was the kind of attack that would have shaken no less a fortress than a full-size Bosendorfer. “Now watch again, please,” she said. Again her right hand ascended, this time slightly above her head, then descended even more forcefully, the index finger drilling into the same ivory key like a meteor biting into rock. But instead of the note sounding, there was a loud snap.
“My God, what was that?” I cried.
Her smile was almost triumphant. “That,” Clara said, “is the sound of a piano string breaking loose from its tuning pin.”
“Very impressive,” I said, somewhat amused. “How often do you do this kind of thing?”
She shook her head. “I leave such antics to Franz Liszt,” she replied. “Every time Liszt causes a piano string to pop, a million female hearts pop. Women love masculine displays of that sort. But let me get to the point of all this, Inspector. I fear I'm taking up too much of your time.”
“Yes, please. The point-”
“When a string is new, it tends to stretch. If the piano hasn't had the benefit of several thorough re-tunings so that the new string can settle in, an extra-hard strike can cause it to snap. As you've just witnessed, even a seasoned string may react the same way. Sunday morning, after I'd perused Hupfer's statement of account and become suspicious, I needed an excuse to summon him.”