They had neatly apportioned their separate tasks this morning: Gross to confer with Franz Ferdinand, Berthe to begin her plan vis-à-vis Baroness von Suttner, and he, Werthen, to visit another neglected client, Arthur Schnitzler.
The house door was open at Frankgasse 1, and he went up the stairs to the apartment. Having telephoned in advance, he was expected by Prokop and Meier, who greeted him with more than usual bonhomie.
‘At long last, Herr Advokat,’ Prokop said as he reached the landing. He took Werthen’s hand and shook it mightily.
‘We are glad to see you,’ he said, continuing to pump his arm. ‘Didn’t I just say that the other day, Meier? How good it would be to see the Herr Advokat again?’
Meier grunted something unintelligible that passed for agreement.
‘What is it you want, Herr Prokop?’ Werthen said, finally retrieving his hand.
Prokop put a hand dramatically over his heart as if pained.
‘Ah, Herr Advokat, you misunderstand. I-’
‘We want another job,’ Meier interrupted.
Prokop glared at his burly partner.
‘Is Herr Schnitzler dispensing with your services, then?’
Prokop shook his head violently at the suggestion. ‘No. Not that. But it is more than a man can tolerate sometimes, Herr Advokat. Between the fiancée and Schnitzler, we’re turning into bloody servants. It started off innocent enough, like. Just get a housecoat here, if you please, Prokop, or perhaps fetch a cup of tea there. But the here and there add up, they do. Soon enough they’ve got me running errands for them at the butcher’s, taking a dress coat to the tailor’s.’
‘Go on,’ Meier said. ‘Tell him or I will.’
Prokop again shot Meier a withering look, his lips locked.
‘Flowers!’ Meier said. ‘This morning it was the flower shop for Prokop.’
He let out a snort that sounded awfully like a bull breaking wind.
Prokop squared his shoulders, finally finding his voice again. ‘We’re strong-arm men, Advokat. Not liveried servants.’
‘Well, just tell Schnitzler that.’
Prokop sighed. ‘It’s the fiancée. Fräulein Gussman. She’s the real terror.’
‘It can’t be that bad,’ Werthen said, stifling a laugh.
‘She’s got a tongue on her sharp as a razor.’
‘Roses!’ Meier said.
The vision of Prokop in greasy bowler and tattered jacket carrying a bouquet of roses was too much for Werthen, who had to cough into his hand to hide his amusement.
‘Not funny, Advokat. And we are asking — no, begging you — to find another situation for us. You know what we do best. We’re a trustworthy team. Just no cups of tea or bloody flowers!’
‘I’ll see what I can do, gentlemen. Perhaps a word in Schnitzler’s ear?’
‘You know best, Advokat,’ Prokop said, opening the door for him officiously like a head butler. ‘They are expecting you.’
‘They?’
Prokop shrugged, ushering Werthen into the flat.
A small greeting party was awaiting him. Schnitzler himself was no longer bed-ridden, dressed today in frock coat and tie, the bandage still on his head. He stood uneasily in the hallway. Accompanying him were Altenberg and Salten.
‘What news, Advokat?’ Schnitzler asked by way of greeting.
‘Good day to you, as well. A conference, is it?’
‘Salten brings us news from the Bower,’ Schnitzler said. ‘But I’m forgetting my manners. Let me take your hat. I instructed Herr Prokop on the proper etiquette for announcing visitors, but the man is rather slow on the uptake.’
‘He’s a bodyguard, Schnitzler, not a footman,’ Werthen replied almost testily, removing his hat, but seeing no outstretched hand to relieve him of it, continued clutching it himself.
‘To be sure,’ Schnitzler replied, as if not hearing the criticism.
‘They are quite a pair,’ Altenberg said, eyes twinkling. ‘Surprising that Klimt should know them.’
‘Klimt is full of surprises,’ Werthen said.
‘Shall we?’ Schnitzler waved an arm towards the sitting room and to a group of chairs around a low cherry-wood table. Werthen was left to dispose of his hat on a side table as the others sank into their chairs.
Werthen joined them and three pairs of eyes fixed on him.
‘News from the Bower?’ Werthen said. ‘I assume that would be the murder of the unfortunate Fräulein Fanny.’
‘Such a trusted helper for Frau Mutzenbacher,’ Salten said. ‘She is devastated. First Mitzi and now Fanny. I am not sure she will recover.’
‘She was rather distraught,’ Werthen allowed.
Altenberg took a soiled handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and blew his nose. Even the mention of Mitzi’s name seemed to afflict him. He daubed a corner of the graying linen at his eyes.
‘I expect you see a connection between the two murders?’ Schnitzler said.
‘What I see or do not see is no longer relevant, gentlemen. I am sure Herr Salten apprised you of the fact that I am no longer employed by Frau Mutzenbacher. This is now a police investigation.’
‘Frau Mutzenbacher had mentioned as much, yes,’ Salten added.
‘Where will it stop?’ Altenberg suddenly said, his voice breaking. ‘Are we to be the next victims? Look at poor Schnitzler. Perhaps whoever beat him is also responsible for these heinous crimes. Perhaps whoever it is will attack me next.’
‘I find that rather doubtful, Herr Altenberg,’ Werthen said.
‘Exactly what we have been telling him,’ added Salten. Then to Altenberg, ‘Peter, it is quite alright. It’s the poor women who are the victims here, not the customers.’
Werthen thought of von Ebersdorf and wondered how accurate such an explanation was.
‘But you surely will not leave it at that?’ asked Schnitzler.
‘As I said, Herr Schnitzler, it is now a police matter. On the other hand, I do have news for you regarding your assailant. My colleague, Doktor Gross, has ascertained from a person of some position at the Foreign Office that there is nothing to fear from that quarter or from the military. Whoever attacked you must be a private individual with a private grudge. We are still making inquiries on your behalf — but for now, rest assured that the injuries you suffered were not ordered by any arm of the government. Indeed, I might recommend that you lodge a formal complaint with the police. A man of your prominence, I am sure they will take the matter seriously.’
Silence greeted this report. Werthen cleared his throat.
‘And now I must excuse myself. Monday is a busy day for me.’
‘It won’t do, you know,’ Schnitzler finally said. ‘I appreciate what you have done, Herr Advokat, but there is more to this than meets the eye. If you will not proceed with the investigation, then there is nothing left for us but to carry on ourselves.’
‘By carry on, do you mean investigate these murders?’
‘Yes.’
‘The three of you?’
‘We have been considering the possibility,’ Salten said.
‘Well, then I wish you good luck, gentlemen.’
Which comment deflated the trio. Their bluff had been called.
‘But do not muddy things for the police. They take a rather dim view of amateurs, I can assure you.’ Werthen stood. ‘I really must apologize for making this so brief.’ Then to Schnitzler, ‘I will keep you informed as to any progress.’
‘Had you thought of Mitzi’s uncle, the priest?’ Schnitzler suddenly let out. ‘He had something to hide.’
‘It’s an area the police will investigate, I am sure.’
‘And what of this Count von Ebersdorf that Frau Mutzenbacher mentions?’ Salten said eagerly. ‘His death seems an extraordinary coincidence.’
‘Who will be next?’ Altenberg moaned.
‘I think you should all take three deep breaths, gentlemen.’
He left before they had a chance to present more theories.
Out on the street, Werthen headed back towards his office, once again on foot, enjoying the freshness of the day.
He did not notice the small, compact man who stepped out of a doorway to follow him.