Werthen had barely got in the door when Herr Wittgenstein, seated behind his desk, said crossly, ‘What do you mean by exposing my son to this street scum?’
The word struck Werthen like a fist. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The urchin Luki gave his coat to. He says he met him at your office. And why didn’t you tell me the scoundrel had snuck off from his tutor?’
Werthen was still reeling from the foul description of the hapless Heidrich Beer.
‘Speak up, man. What is it you’ve got from Hans?’
Werthen finally found his voice. ‘You’ll be pilloried.’
This comment stilled Herr Wittgenstein for the moment.
Then, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The Vienna Woods scheme.’
Another short silence from Herr Wittgenstein. His face turned scarlet.
‘How did you hear of it?’
Werthen handed him a copy of his own letter; the crumpled original was at his office.
Wittgenstein quickly perused it, then looked up at Werthen, who had not been offered a chair.
‘So?’
‘You don’t refute this?’
‘Why should I? My only question is how you came into possession of this information. If one of my house staff has been digging about in my dustbin-’
‘It was not one of your domestics, I assure you. But more importantly, can you not see the disservice a sale of a huge swath of the Vienna Woods would do to the citizens of this city?’
‘It is a business dealing, pure and simple.’
The man’s complete nonchalance flummoxed Werthen. He had expected at least a trace of embarrassment, but Herr Wittgenstein evinced none.
‘Then don’t you see that you are just being used by Lueger and his cronies? They’ll get the money and blame the sale on you, on the “money-grubbing Jews.”’
Wittgenstein sat in stunned silence for a moment. Suddenly he crashed his fist down on the desktop.
‘The Wittgensteins are not Jews! We are as Christian as anyone in the empire. Now I believe our interview is finished, Advokat. Do what you wish about this, but business is business. The sale will go forward. Good day to you.’
‘The man is blinded by ambition,’ Gross pronounced later that morning when they met at Werthen’s office. His wife, Adele, was accompanying him, and nodded in assent.
‘There was no reasoning with him,’ Werthen said. ‘Wittgenstein and his group are not going to pull out of the sale.’
Gross, sitting across the desk from him, rubbed his hands together. His eyes sparkled as he said, ‘We shall have to find another way then.’
‘What is it, Gross? You seem oddly pleased with yourself.’
The criminologist shook his head firmly. ‘Not with myself, but with my good lady wife.’ He nodded at Adele, who seemed almost to blush. They sat shoulder to shoulder as giddy as newly weds.
‘Please tell,’ Werthen said encouragingly to Frau Gross.
‘Well, as I indicated on Saturday I have been talking with the female supporters of Lueger. As a woman, I hesitate to use the pejorative name-’
‘Nothing so damning about calling them Lueger’s Amazons,’ interrupted her husband, ‘nor in Lueger’s Gretls.’
‘Quite,’ Frau Gross said. ‘But their official title is the Christian Viennese Women’s League, and they have proved a decisive factor in getting the men out to vote for Handsome Karl. I spoke with one of the deputies of the league, Frau Dagmar Platner.’
‘That name sounds familiar,’ Werthen said, and then it came to him. ‘That’s it. The lady was in charge of an outing of the League. On their way to the Semmering, I believe. This was two, perhaps three years ago.’
Gross slapped his knee most uncharacteristically. ‘You’re right, Werthen. I remember now, as well.’
‘I assure you,’ Frau Gross said, ‘none of this has anything to do with-’
‘And a train of Socialists on a similar outing pulls up on the platform next to theirs,’ Doktor Gross continued. He began chuckling to himself. ‘When the Socialists saw the bunting on the League’s train, they began shouting and taunting the ladies about what a miserable person Lueger is. And then these very respectable women, these very Christian ladies, simply raised their skirts and showed their pantalooned backsides to the Socialists.’
‘Really, Hanns,’ Frau Gross said.
Werthen had to still Gross, worried lest his laughter carry to the outside office. Fraulein Metzinger had insisted on coming in today, and Werthen did not want to show disrespect to her mourning.
Gross wiped a tear of joy from his right eye, sniffed once, and then resumed his usual professional demeanor.
‘Please continue, Schatzi,’ he said.
Werthen nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of this endearment coming from Gross’s lips.
‘At any rate, Frau Platner was most helpful. Of course I did not bring up the matter of a sale of part of the Vienna Woods nor the investigation of Steinwitz or Praetor. I simply told her I was a journalist working on an article about Lueger for a German newspaper. She was only too eager to supply me with names of women who have worked closely with the mayor. One of these was a certain Frau Grey. It seems this woman gave lessons to Lueger in rhetoric and later became a trusted advisor.’
The way she raised her eyebrows let Werthen know the woman was far more than an advisor.
‘Did Frau Platner know of this relationship?’ he asked.
‘No, of course not. For her, Mayor Lueger is as cloistered as a priest. A rather silly woman. Frau Grey, on the other hand, is a sophisticated woman of the world. An actress and a theater director at one time. And, I believe, a Jew. Not that it matters, but with Mayor Lueger’s political stance, it does seem ironic.’
‘Remember, dear,’ Gross said, ‘Lueger’s favorite dictum: “I’ll decide who is a Jew.”’
His wife continued, ‘Most helpful, Frau Grey. I believe she really loved the man. She claimed that he even asked her to marry him, but that she refused, telling him he was too much married to politics to have a wife. They went their separate ways about four years ago.’
She stopped and smiled at both men.
‘And?’ Werthen asked.
Another slight smile. ‘She had no current first-hand information about Herr Lueger, but did provide another name of someone we should see. Marianne Beskiba. Fraulein Beskiba was a chapter secretary for the Women’s League and a rabid organizer for Lueger. She also, it appears, is a painter.’
‘Herr Lueger seems to appreciate the bohemian type,’ Gross said.
‘Have you spoken with her?’
‘No, not yet,’ Frau Gross said. ‘That is why Hanns, Doktor Gross, is so pleased with himself today. It seems the lady requests that we visit her.’
She fetched a letter out of the silken purse she carried, and handed it across the desk to Werthen, who quickly perused it.
‘So she heard you were asking questions about Lueger and about her?’ he said looking up from the letter.
‘Yes, apparently,’ Frau Gross said. ‘I left an address for the Hotel Imperial with Frau Platner. It seems that Fraulein Beskiba believes my story of a newspaper article about Lueger.’
‘And what are these “important revelations” that she wishes to share?’ Werthen asked.
‘Ahh,’ said Gross. ‘That is what we are going to discover. You will join us, won’t you, Werthen?’
He wanted nothing more, yet, a lawyer, he continually saw beyond immediate desires.
‘Would our presence not be a hindrance?’ he said. ‘After all, Fraulein Beskiba might unburden herself more fully in the presence of another woman.’
‘Nonsense,’ spluttered Gross.
‘I actually would appreciate the assistance, Advokat,’ Frau Gross said. ‘Duplicity is not my strong suit. I am not sure, after all, that I am made for an investigative life.’
‘You’ve done wonders, dear.’ Gross patted his wife’s hand with real affection. Then to Werthen, ‘So, what about it. Game for a visit to the lady’s atelier?’
On the way out they stopped for a moment at Fraulein Metzinger’s desk and Doktor and Frau Gross gave their condolences. Werthen stayed behind for a moment as the others headed for the stairs. He and Fraulein Metzinger had not yet had a chance to talk.