Jacob allowed his head to drop into his hands. “Dear God… poor Clara.”
“I will arrange to meet her this afternoon.”
Jacob's body jerked upright. “What?”
“I will arrange to meet her this afternoon. I must explain-”
“Are you insane?” Jacob interrupted. “You will not see Clara this afternoon, Max. I forbid you!”
“But I must. It is my responsibility-a responsibility that I do not intend to shirk. I will not compound dishonor with cowardice.”
Herr Weiss's lips twisted to form an ugly smile. The acidity of what followed was not unexpected. “You have already shown yourself to be a coward, Max. In my day, a man honored his commitments- whatever the cost!”
61
“WHERE IS DOCTOR LIEBERMANN?”
Rheinhardt looked at the Englishwoman and shrugged. “I have been trying to contact the good doctor since this morning-without success. I can only assume that he is indisposed.”
Miss Lydgate nodded curtly. “Am I to understand that you wish me to make another microscopic analysis?”
“Indeed. There has been another murder-a Capuchin monk, can you believe, whose body was discovered last night in the crypt of the Kapuzinerkirche. We collected various samples of dust from the floor, and I was wondering whether you could make a comparison with the slides that you prepared earlier this month.”
Rheinhardt gestured toward a wooden box. It had a label gummed to the lid on which was written:
Ra'ad. 7 November 1902. Samples from scarf.
Prepared by Miss Lydgate 10 November 1902-Schottenring Laboratory.
“As you are already familiar with the materials,” Rheinhardt continued, “I thought that you would be best qualified to undertake the task…” The pitch of his sentence rose like a question.
“I am sure your technical staff are capable of making such a comparison. But because I am both present and flattered by your request, let us proceed. Where are the new samples?”
Rheinhardt produced a stack of isinglass envelopes.
“Each of these contains samples of dust taken from various locations in the crypt.”
Amelia took the first envelope and observed an inky script in the top right-hand corner.
“Emperor Franz Stephan and Empress Maria Theresa?”
“Ah yes. That refers to the occupants of the casket closest to where the sample was taken from.”
“I see.”
“As it happens, that is also the most important sample. The Capuchin's body was discovered next to that very casket-so we know that the murderer stood close by. I would be most grateful if you would give that particular sample your most thorough attention.”
“Herr Inspector, I will give all of them my most thorough attention-without exception.”
There was something almost defiant about the Englishwoman's tone: the coolness of her delivery, and the preternatural intensity of her expression.
“Thank you,” said Rheinhardt, a little worried that he might have offended her.
“Inspector, why don't you return to your office? This exercise will take some time and your presence here serves no purpose. You will, I suspect, have many other things of importance to attend to.”
“Oh, but you cannot be left here alone.”
“Why ever not?”
“It would be discourteous.”
“Inspector, it is my preference.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, Inspector.”
Amelia turned toward the microscope. Rheinhardt thanked her again but she did not hear him. Her mind was entirely absorbed by the task in hand. Rheinhardt tiptoed to the door and departed like a shadow. Peering through the corridor window, he could see Miss Lydgate organizing the laboratory equipment with ruthless efficiency. She was, Rheinhardt thought, a very peculiar woman. But he was delighted to have made her acquaintance.
62
THE LIBRARIAN ENTERED THE small room that had been designated for use as the chamber of reflection. Its walls were covered in roughcast plaster, giving it the appearance of a hermit's cave. An iron table and a wooden stool were the only pieces of furniture. He lit the single candle on the table, which projected its feeble light on a crude mural, painted white upon a black background. It depicted a cockerel and the word vitriol-an acronym of an ancient command to self-knowledge: visita interiora terrae, rectificando invenies occultam lapidem (visit the center of the earth, and by rectification you shall find the hidden stone). Resting against the table was a large rusting scythe.
Opening his sack, the librarian carefully removed several objects. The first of these was a human skull and several long bones. He arranged them carefully on the table, and next to them placed a lump of dry bread, an hourglass, and two metal dishes. From his pocket he removed two vials, the contents of which he emptied onto the dishes, creating two powdery mounds of white and yellow. The first substance was salt and the second sulfur. He made a mental note that he must return with a glass of water.
Before leaving, he paused and turned the hourglass. He watched the grains of sand pouring into the lower chamber. In just over two weeks, he would be there-sitting at this very table, writing his philosophical will. The librarian reached out and gripped the scythe. Anyone approaching him from behind might well have mistaken him for the Grim Reaper.
63
HERR BEIBER WAS LYING on the divan, describing a dream he had experienced in his childhood.
“It's strange, but I can remember it quite clearly.”
“How old were you at the time?” asked Liebermann.
“Very young.”
“How young?”
“Ooh… about four or five, perhaps. I was still sleeping on a cot in my parents’ bedroom.”
After his traumatic interview with Herr Weiss, Liebermann had immersed himself in his work at the hospital. It had been a therapeutic exercise from which the doctor had benefited more than his patients. Four walls, a supine body, speech, and meaningful silences: this was Liebermann's world. An intimate, protected space-a still center. There was something extraordinarily soothing about the therapeutic situation, its emollient familiarity: the careful listening, which if sustained resulted in a complete loss of self-awareness. The gas lamp flickered and the day receded.
“Four or five? That is quite old-to be sleeping in one's parents’ bedroom, I mean.”
“Yes. I could be wrong,” said Herr Beiber. “Maybe I was younger. On the other hand, I was a very sickly child. I suffered from terrible fevers. My mother told me that once or twice she and my father thought I was going to die. I suspect that they were worried about my health-they didn't let me sleep on my own until much later.”
Herr Beiber tapped a finger on his stomach.
“And the dream?”
“Oh yes, the dream. I dreamed that it was the dead of night. The curtains had not been drawn and there was a full moon-so the room was well lit. I could see my mother and father's bed, my mother's dresser, and the wash table with its jug and bowl. Everything was silvery-white. What I remember most vividly, though, was the wardrobe. I never liked that wardrobe. It was a large plain box. It reminded me of a casket. I'd seen caskets on the backs of hearses, and in my childish mind I am sure that I had made some form of association. It was my fancy, I suppose, to imagine that the wardrobe concealed something macabre.” Herr Beiber smiled and tilted his head back. “Ahh, I seem to have inadvertently accepted your psychoanalytic ideas, Herr Doctor-was that not an interpretation?”
Liebermann shook his head. “Please continue. Your dream is of considerable interest to me.”