‘Have you come to offer your services once again?’ Werthen asked, hoping that was the case.
Duncan tilted his head, as if giving the notion some thought.
‘The Archduke indicated that I could use my own discretion in that, but actually I have come with information. The Archduke wishes to tell you that there was something that might prove valuable in the case of Baroness von Suttner. You recall that we induced the night clerk from the Hotel Metropole to repatriate to Italy?’
Werthen and Gross nodded simultaneously.
‘The man did supply one piece of interesting information. The telephone number he used to reach the person employing him. The Archduke has had the number traced and finds that it belongs to the Bureau.’
Gross and Werthen exchanged quick glances, each thinking the same: confirmation that it was Military Intelligence that had set up Frau von Suttner, and not the Foreign Office.
‘More particularly,’ Duncan added, ‘it is the number of the Operations Section of the General Staff’s Intelligence Bureau. The head of that section is one Captain Adelbert Forstl.’
‘Forstl?’ Gross repeated the name. ‘I’ve come across that name recently. But where?’
He began drumming on the desk with his knuckles, as if to beat an answer out of the wood.
‘It will come,’ said the Scot philosophically. ‘But there is something else you should know.’
He went to one side of the window, making sure that his silhouette was not showing, and peered at the street below.
‘Ach, so he must have noticed.’
‘Who?’ Werthen said, following Duncan to the window.
‘You had a watcher down there across the street. He was disguised as a chimney sweep wearing a sandwich board. But he seemed more interested in this building than in handing out the flyers he had.’
Werthen peered at the street below. ‘I don’t see him’
‘No, you wouldn’t. He’s not there anymore. As I said, he must have noticed that I was aware of him. He’s at least enough of a professional to know when to disappear.’
‘Then he’s still tracking us,’ Werthen said, sick at the thought of once again putting his family in danger because of his work.
‘Of course he is tracking us,’ said Gross, still seated at the desk. ‘I noticed him yesterday when he first appeared on the street.’
‘And you didn’t see fit to tell me?’ Werthen said, unable to hide his outrage.
‘I did not want you confronting the man. It is imperative for us to discover if he is working alone or in concert with others. I contacted Drechsler, and he was going to have two men dispatched today to follow our chimney sweep wherever he might go. I am afraid, however, that the arrival of friend Duncan has upset those plans and sent our man scurrying before Drechsler’s men could be in place.’
‘I apologize, Doktor Gross,’ the Scot said.
Gross shook his head. ‘There is no way you could have known.’
‘But Gross,’ Werthen persisted. ‘I still feel you should have warned me. This is my home, in case you have forgotten.’
Gross ignored this remark, suddenly tapping his high forehead with a forefinger.
‘Yes, that’s it! I came across the name Forstl when investigating the past of the deceased Arthur Schnitzel. Schnitzel was in the medical corps before training as a doctor. And one of his officers wrote in an annual conduct report that he was a diligent orderly, but that there had been certain rumors about his attentions to a certain young lieutenant convalescing from a bout of pneumonia. Yes, that lieutenant’s name was Forstl!’
‘The same?’ Werthen wondered aloud.
‘That should be easy enough to determine,’ Gross said.
Duncan suddenly muttered, ‘Fools’ names like fools’ faces are often seen in public places.’
‘I rather prefer another adage in this regard,’ Gross said. And then dramatically intoned, ‘No one is where he is by accident, and chance plays no part in God’s plan.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘And what does any of this have to do with me?’
The heavy drapes were open today, letting a slanting ray of sunlight into the room, the beam alive with dancing motes of dust. Schnitzler sat behind his desk, his face a mixture of incredulity and suspicion. No offer of coffee today.
‘I simply thought you might want to know the full story behind your beating.’
Werthen smiled with false cheer as he spoke.
‘The coincidence of the names, you see,’ Gross added. ‘And as Doktor Schnitzel was later found murdered, I might say you were quite lucky.’
‘Luck,’ Schnitzler said, laughing artificially, like a person with dyspepsia. ‘A quaint idea.’
‘You have not been quite honest with us, have you, Herr Schnitzler?’
Gross fixed the playwright with what one judge in Graz had dubbed his ‘Meet your maker!’ look.
‘This is becoming rather tiresome, gentlemen. As I indicated last time we met, I had been protecting the fact that Mitzi played me. It rather hurts the ego to make such an admission, but there it is. And that is all there is to it. I am sorry my unthinking words to the girl’s father led to such a tragic outcome, but that really is not my fault. It is as if Mitzi is still playing with us from the grave. And now, if you will forgive me, I have some final proofs to go through.’
‘It is good that you only write plays, Herr Schnitzler, and don’t act in them,’ Gross said. ‘You give an unconvincing performance.’
Werthen was still not sure what Gross was on about, but he had been adamant about visiting Schnitzler this morning. ‘Tying up loose ends’ he had called it, and had been as secretive and tenacious about it as a dachshund with a slipper.
‘You would do well to unburden yourself,’ Gross added.
‘But as you point out, I am no longer in danger. I was not the target of the thug. It was merely a similarity in names.’
‘But you were certain it was something else, weren’t you?’
‘My play. . It angered some in the military.’
‘Flummery and persiflage. I regret to inform you, Herr Schnitzler, that your words neither warrant nor command such a powerful response. But then, you already know that. No, it was something quite else that kept you from going to the police for protection. Something so secret it could be shared with no one.’
Gross suddenly clapped his hands together, making a surprisingly loud crack that made Schnitzler jerk in his chair.
‘Out with it, man!’
Schnitzler looked confused, casting Werthen an almost pleading look.
‘I am not your ally in this, Herr Schnitzler. Do as Doktor Gross says. Unburden yourself.’
Schnitzler let out a massive sigh that made him seem to shrink in his chair.
‘You are a hard man, Doktor Gross.’
Gross beamed at this. ‘So I have been told.’
‘Alright. Though I cannot see how this will achieve anything other than to put me in a tight spot once again. But you are wrong about my words, Herr Doktor. They do have influence. My Lieutenant Gustl ruffled feathers at the War Ministry and at the Ballhausplatz, I can assure you. It cost me my commission in the reserves.’
Gross waved his right hand impatiently. ‘Yes, quite. We know all this.’
‘But you do not know that I tried to, how shall I say it, prove myself again to my former comrades in arms at the General Staff.’
‘Ingratiate yourself, you mean,’ Werthen added.
‘If you will,’ Schnitzler said with a shrug. ‘I cannot for the life of me determine why I cared. To them, I am just another Jew trying to rise above my station. Perhaps they are right. You see I love my country, I loved serving it in a certain capacity. .’
‘Low-level espionage,’ said Gross.
A slight tilt of Schnitzler’s head; not a full nod, but neither was it a denial.
‘I thought that my controller — my former controller, that is — might be interested in certain information I had stumbled on at a certain house of ill repute.’