Quinn tried the handle, which was indeed now locked. He knocked on the door and pressed his ear against it. He could hear movement inside, a splash of water, as if Berenger had got back into the bath.
He allowed ten minutes or more to pass before turning to the manager. ‘Can you open this?’
The manager shrugged. ‘I am sure Herr Berenger will come out when he is ready.’
Quinn nodded to Inchball, who threw his shoulder against the door, but to no avail.
‘Stand back!’ commanded Quinn, drawing his revolver.
‘No, no! Please!’ cried the manager. ‘There is no need for vandalism. I can get a key from downstairs.’
‘A key ain’t no use,’ Inchball pointed out. ‘’E’s already got his key in the other side, ain’t he?’
‘We are wasting time here!’ cried Quinn. But it was the thought of Eloise next door that restrained him from firing. He could well imagine how the sound of gunfire might alarm her.
‘With respect, sir,’ said Macadam, ‘he can’t go anywhere. I did not see any window in the bathroom.’
‘That’s right,’ confirmed the manager. ‘There is no window.’
‘He’s mocking us.’
‘I suggest we remain patient, sir,’ said Macadam. ‘He must come out eventually.’
But when ten more slow minutes had passed and Berenger had still not emerged, Quinn found his patience had run out. The gun was already in his hand. It was too bad if he frightened her. He had a job to do.
He discharged three deafening shots around the lock. Predictably enough, a scream came from the room next door.
Quinn paused only to inhale the satisfying odour of the blasted wood.
As he had suspected, Berenger was back in the bath. His head was slumped forward, as if gazing down in perplexity at the suddenly darkened water. A cut-throat razor lay open and bloodied on the side of the bath nearest them.
Macadam rushed forward and lifted one arm out of the water to feel for a pulse. But the darkness gathered at his wrist.
The sergeant’s deep-felt groan confirmed the worst. He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Look at that, guv,’ said Inchball, pointing at the mirror. ‘Some kind of suicide note, by the looks of it.’
The words were smeared in the condensation on the glass.
‘Do you speak German?’ Quinn demanded of the manager.
The man appeared to be in shock. He stood with his mouth open, gaping at the dead man in the bath.
Quinn took out his notebook and hurriedly copied down the incomprehensible message before it disappeared: Wenn ein Mann seine Kunst verrät, verrät er seine Seele.
As he turned away from the mirror, he noticed Eloise standing in the doorway. She must have been drawn by the gunshot.
‘What have you done?’ Her eyes were fixed on Berenger.
‘Please, you should not see this.’ Quinn tried to usher her out. Her diminutive frame was surprisingly resistant to his pressure. ‘We had no idea. We found him like this. We had just spoken to him. We were waiting to ask him some more questions. There was no indication …’
‘What did you say to him?’
‘Let us talk about this outside.’
‘He is dead?’
‘I am afraid so.’
‘You never have anything nice to say to me.’
‘I’m sorry. I cannot believe he has done this. There was no need for this.’
‘Why did you want to talk to him?’
‘Please …’
Eloise suddenly caught sight of the words on the mirror. She read them aloud fluently.
‘Do you know what it means?’ asked Quinn.
‘When a man betrays his art, he betrays his soul.’
Quinn put his arm around Eloise’s shoulder and gently, finally, turned her away from the spectacle of her dead friend. ‘Come. Is there anyone …? You should not be alone.’
‘You will not stay with me?’
‘I?’ It seemed an extraordinary, almost incomprehensible suggestion. ‘Surely, there is someone better than me?’ Quinn turned to the manager. ‘Do you have the number for Mr Hartmann of Visionary Productions?’
The manager seemed to pull himself together, at least enough to nod in answer to Quinn’s demand.
‘Call Hartmann. Tell him that there has been an accident and Mademoiselle Eloise needs him. If I were you I wouldn’t go into too much detail over the telephone. I will remain here to break the news to him about Mr Berenger.’ Quinn looked at the words on the mirror and thought about their meaning. ‘You might tell him to bring Konrad Waechter with him. I believe the two gentlemen will be together.’ Quinn had released Waechter into Hartmann’s care earlier. Now there were new questions to put to him. ‘In the meantime, is there someone – a lady – who can sit with her until her friends arrive?’
The manager swallowed as if he was in danger of vomiting. But he managed to say, ‘I will see to it.’ With that he rushed out of the bathroom.
Quinn continued to steer Eloise away from the grim scene. And she continued to resist, looking over her shoulder at Berenger. She was plagued by the old question: ‘Why? Why would he do this?’
‘We may never know.’
‘It must have been you … what you said to him.’
‘I made clear that it was not a serious matter.’ Quinn caught Inchball’s recriminatory eye again. ‘If anything, I made rather too light of the affair. It was to do with what happened in Cecil Court the other night. The business with the woman and … well, you remember the dog. Waechter claims that it was all a publicity stunt – and that Berenger was behind it all.’
‘Paul?’
‘That is what Waechter claims.’
Eloise shook her head slowly.
‘Perhaps these words are a confession? By perpetrating the hoax, Berenger considered himself to have betrayed his art?’ Quinn’s tone was absent. He was voicing his thoughts aloud rather than addressing Eloise.
Her head-shaking denial became more emphatic. ‘I do not believe Paul had anything to do with it.’
‘Then who?’
‘Waechter! Who else? He is the one who betrayed his art! Yes! Do you not see? He denied his responsibility for the act. It is as simple as that. And Paul … betrayed! The worst betrayal. Paul would not say anything against his friend. Would not contradict him. And so, this … Paul, dear Paul … he held Waechter in such esteem, such love … he could not recover from this betrayal.’
‘But why would Waechter try to blame Berenger?’
‘Because he is a coward. Even this trivial thing he does not want to be blamed for – after all the charges he faces in Austria. He does not want any more of the trouble. Not here. And, also, because he knew that Paul never would contradict him. He was relying on Paul’s loyalty. He knew … he knew what Paul would do.’
‘You cannot believe he foresaw this and still accused his friend?’
‘You do not know Konrad Waechter.’
Quinn nodded. It was true. He did not know Konrad Waechter. But he felt that he was getting to know him a little better.
FORTY-FIVE
Quinn was pacing the corridor outside Eloise’s room when Hartmann and Waechter arrived.
‘Gentlemen.’
‘What’s going on, Inspector?’ It was Hartmann who made the demand. He seemed both anxious and bullish.
‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Paul Berenger took his own life earlier this evening.’
Quinn watched Waechter closely. Was the director surprised? It was difficult to say. Certainly a kind of energy seemed to enter his expression, an energy that could have been taken for surprise.
Perhaps Waechter had not known that Berenger would go this far. At the same time, Quinn sensed that Waechter drew strength from what he had just been told. As if the outcome had exceeded his expectations.