Of course Helena could not wait to call attention to my behavior even before the cork in the first bottle of Champagne was popped. Addressing my guests she said with a sly grin, “I trust everyone noted how our host abandoned his habitual reserve at the conclusion of the recital. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I even heard a bravo or two coming from his direction.” Wagging a finger at me she said, “You must watch yourself, Hermann. That’s conduct unbecoming a police officer.”
Gruffly I replied, “Nonsense! You wouldn’t catch me shouting ‘Bravo’ in a hundred years. Far as I’m concerned there’s solid reliable military band music; all the rest is just so much whipped cream.”
“Liar,” Helena said, squeezing my hand.
“Which brings up an interesting subject,” Schramm said. “Speaking of police officers, tell us, Inspector, any word yet on Sandor Lantos’s killer? There are as many rumours flying around the streets as there are seats in the opera house, but of course you must be aware of that.”
I was not at all prepared for this sudden change of topic, yet not surprised that it was Schramm who brought up the subject. I had not at this point succeeded in identifying what there was about Schramm’s character that gave me the distinct feeling there was more to him than met the eye and ear. The plain fact, however, was that a tiny seed of unease had planted itself under my skin and was growing steadily with each exposure to the man. Better, therefore, to answer his query by falling back on standard police issue. “I hope you won’t think me rude,” I said, “but the investigation into Lantos’s murder is at a very delicate stage and I’m naturally bound to exercise absolute discretion.”
Schramm’s face took on a troubled look. “I hope you won’t think me rude, Inspector, but with all due respect I have to point out that poor Lantos may only be the first victim. What I mean is, there is no secret about the number of enemies Maestro Wagner has accumulated. Suppose someone, let’s say someone with a profound grudge, or perhaps some homicidal lunatic, has decided to wreak vengeance on Wagner by eliminating all of us one by one, starting with Lantos and eventually ending with the Maestro himself. Maybe this strikes you as farfetched but still — ”
I leaned back in my chair smiling with what I hoped was an air of smug self-confidence. “My dear Schramm,” I said, “in my line of work nothing is ever farfetched. Nevertheless, one mustn’t let one’s imagination run away with itself. ‘Murder may pass unpunished for a time, but tardy justice will o’ertake the crime.’”
Karla Steilmann said, “I didn’t know you’re a poet, Inspector.”
“I’m not,” I said. “That was written by an English poet by the name of Dryden. I’m particularly fond of that little couplet, needless to say.”
“Let me offer another rhyme,” Schramm said. “‘Unless the crime is solved by winter’s freeze, the evil deed will fester like old cheese.’”
Madam Vronsky’s face suddenly brightened. “Wherever did you pick up that saying?” she asked Schramm. “I haven’t heard it since I was a child. My uncle Alexander Vronsky was a police official in St. Petersburg and used to quote it often, in Russian of course. But I must say your translation into German is impeccable, Herr Schramm.”
Quickly Schramm said, “It’s not my translation. I must have read it somewhere.”
“But have you been to Russia then?” Madam Vronsky wanted to know.
“I sang in Moscow … once,” Schramm replied.
“You must let me teach you how to say it in Russian. Somehow it sounds more authentic in my native tongue,” said Madam Vronsky.
“I’m sure it does,” Schramm said, giving her a gracious smile, “but perhaps another time when this stomach of mine is not rumbling with hunger.”
As Schramm said this, a waiter miraculously appeared and stationed himself next to me like a soldier reporting for duty. “You see,” I said to my guests, “this proves the wisdom of an old French saying: ‘Always choose a table near a waiter.’ Shall we order?”
I had made a point of seating Helena Becker next to Henryk Schramm hoping this would encourage more direct conversation between the two while I would try to preoccupy Karla Steilmann and Madam Vronsky. Throughout a course of appetizers followed by entrées my plan worked beautifully so that by the time the dessert cart arrived, Becker and Schramm appeared thoroughly engrossed in one another. For me then, the challenge was to keep one ear devoted to conversation with Steilmann and Vronsky while straining with the other ear to catch snippets of dialogue between the other two, no easy trick given that, as supper progressed, both Helena and her new tenor friend began lowering their voices until they were speaking almost in whispers. At first I found this annoying and frustrating, but on second thought I told myself this was probably for the best. After all, it was I who had enlisted Helena and cast her in this position, and if she were carrying out her mission a little more ardently than I required then at least the end would justify the means. Helena Becker was a shrewd judge of people, often more so than I; if her obvious enchantment with Schramm and his with her was the price I had to pay for the benefit of her impressions, well, so be it.
I was not the only person at the table annoyed and frustrated. Karla Steilmann, despite my efforts to keep her and Madam Vronsky engaged, from time to time shot glances across the table at Helena and Schramm that grew chillier as the meal went on, and I became increasingly aware that, in response to my questions to her, which were becoming longer and longer, her answers were becoming shorter and shorter to the point where a “yes” or “no” or curt nod of the head was all she managed.
The atmosphere turned more to my taste with the arrival of liqueurs, at which point Helena and Schramm became unlocked and joined the group for a toast, all of us raising our slender crystal glasses. As host I took it upon myself to offer the toast. “To the Fatherland,” I said, “and to German culture! May they continue to flourish!” After a first sip, I raised my glass high again. “A second toast, if I may,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “Here’s to a smashing success for the new opera … Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg … and to a long and productive life for its creator Richard Wagner!” Out of the corner of my eye I observed that Henryk Schramm was the only one whose response was less than enthusiastic. His lips had curled into a thin smile and when he set down his glass it was apparent that he’d barely tasted its dark amber contents. I had intended a third toast but before I could do so Schramm brought the supper party to an abrupt close. Glancing at his pocket watch — a splendid heavy gold timepiece with an ornately engraved cover — he announced, “I don’t know about you fine people, but I’ve been sentenced to a day of hard labour tomorrow at the Richard Wagner Center for Delinquent Tenors — ”
Immediately Karla Steilmann chimed in, “Yes, I too have a punishing day of rehearsals ahead.” Pointedly she said to Schramm, “Henryk, it’s very late, I know, but I’m going to hold you to your promise to see me home.”
With a knowing smile Helena said, “You see, Herr Schramm, time waits for no woman.”
Schramm asked, “But what about you, Fräulein Becker?”
I jumped in. “Oh, don’t worry about Helena and Madam Vronsky, Schramm. They’re in police custody for the evening.”
I should have known this would bring out the mischievous side of dear Helena. “Now Hermann, aren’t you being a little presumptuous? I cannot remember the last time a handsome tenor was concerned about my welfare. God knows even if you don’t; the streets of Munich are not the safest places in the world at this hour of the night.”
“I’m sure you will be in good hands with Inspector Preiss,” Karla Steilmann assured Helena, rising at the same time from her seat and advancing firmly toward Schramm. “Come, Henryk, time to bid goodnight to these lovely people.”
Before departing, Henryk Schramm kissed the hands of both Helena and Madam Vronsky, murmuring to each of them “Be well.”