The Third Place

by J Sydney Jones

  Instinct took over. He threw on his coat, which also held the two doctored atomizers and the remaining plague bacillus vial in the pockets, and was out of the room on his way to the back stairs when the bell sounded again. The servants’ stairs led down to the main floor of the apartment and now he saw Lisette coming out of her room, a startled expression on her face. He could hear male voices from the door now; the maid must have opened it.

  ‘Who is it?’ he hissed.

  She shook her head. Then: ‘Quick. Follow me.’

  They moved quietly down the hall to a large ballroom. It was in darkness, but he could make out a book-lined wall opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows giving off to the Ring.

  She went to the bookcase, put her hand over a volume and suddenly a small door opened revealing a tiny room in back. ‘My magic cabinet. Get in.’

  He hesitated, but then could hear the voices coming closer.

  ‘I must call my mistress,’ the maid was saying.

  ‘Quickly,’ Lisette said.

  He went in and the door closed behind him. It was dark; dark as a tomb.

  Werthen saw Princess Dumbroski moving down the hallway toward them.

  ‘And what, may I ask, are you gentlemen doing here at this time of night?’

  ‘Good evening, Princess Dumbroski,’ Werthen said. ‘We have reason to believe that a most dangerous man might be in residence here.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Klavan by name,’ Gross thundered. ‘A former colleague of yours.’

  ‘Has the world gone mad? Get out of here this instant or I shall send for the police.’

  ‘Madam, we are the police,’ Gross said, stretching the truth for dramatic effect. ‘Now take us to Herr Klavan, please.’

  ‘This is an outrage! Leave at once.’

  Gross ignored this. ‘All right, men, search the place.’

  Werthen had been closely watching as Gross confronted the woman, but she showed no sign of fear, only anger at the intrusion. He began to get a bad feeling about this visit.

  Two hours later the small door opened again and Klavan was all but blinded by the candle Lisette held.

  ‘They’ve gone. Now you disappear as well.’

  ‘I’ll get my things.’

  She held a revolver in her hand. ‘I don’t think so. I told them they belonged to a long-lost cousin come for a visit and forgotten at departure. If they check again, I want them to still be in place.’ She waved the gun. ‘I won’t be afraid to use it. Now leave. There’s no one about – I checked.’

  ‘Dear Lisette, thoughtful as ever. But I did enjoy my time in your little magic cabinet. Every apartment should have one.’

  ‘Happy you approved. I had it installed myself. Now, I won’t say it again. Out of here. And do not come back. They know who you are. They even seemed to know about us, but I denied it all.’

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Military. And three others. I heard one of them being called Doktor Gross and another was addressed as Advokat Werthen.’ She laughed. ‘I know his wife.’ Then her smile faded. ‘The tall one didn’t have a name, just a scar on his face, and he stared at me like I was meat hanging in a butcher shop.’

  Klavan nodded and did as he was told, not because of the gun. He could disarm her easily.

  No, he needed the safety of the dark now. So close. And Werthen and Gross were on his trail. Just like last time.

  But he thought, as he slipped into the night, his pockets full of money and death, they won’t stop me this time. They are too late.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘And so you decided to take matters into your own hand,’ Prince Montenuovo said.

  ‘You were not available, Prince,’ Werthen said. ‘And we had it on the highest authority that Princess Dumbroski and Klavan were connected.’

  ‘The highest authority?’

  ‘Well, from His Highness, Archduke Franz Ferdinand.’

  ‘Yes, the archduke. His Majesty the emperor has heard of this fiasco and he is none too pleased, I might add.’

  ‘But Klavan means to kill the emperor,’ Werthen insisted.

  ‘Again on the very highest authority, I assume. No. It won’t do, gentlemen, it simply won’t do. You cannot go about like Cossacks storming into private residences—’

  ‘Actually, we rang the bell,’ Gross said.

  Montenuovo shot him a withering look. ‘This Klavan appears to be a common criminal. A thug who murders waiters and landladies.’

  The remark, so closely echoing Gross’s, would normally have brought a smile to Werthen’s face. But matters were too serious for that.

  ‘He is a hired assassin,’ Werthen pleaded. ‘He was traced to Belgrade. The former attempt on the emperor’s life surely came from that quarter …’

  ‘So you say,’ Prince Montenuovo replied. He sat back in his chair, sighing. ‘Look, gentlemen, I am as concerned about the life of our emperor as you are, but you simply cannot go off willy-nilly like this, not when you are in my employ.’

  ‘He was there,’ Gross said with finality. ‘There was a man staying in one of the servants’ rooms.’

  ‘A distant relation, the princess tells me, just as she explained to you last night,’ Montenuovo said. ‘Since gone back home to Czernowitz. Were you not once posted there, Doktor Gross?’

  The implied threat of sending him back as penance to the university in Bukovina was clear. But Gross, happy with his current posting in Prague, still did not blanch at the remark.

  ‘I have heard from very important people on behalf of Princess Dumbroski,’ Montenuovo continued. ‘And they are none too happy with this heavy-handed approach – treating her like a common criminal.’

  ‘Which she is,’ Gross said under his breath, but just loud enough for the prince to hear.

  ‘Enough.’ Montenuovo suddenly rose. ‘Do not make me regret commissioning you two. Find this Klavan fellow if you must, and leave Princess Dumbroski alone.’

  Werthen controlled his temper enough to remember to ask the prince to arrange an interview with the elusive Czerny. This seemed hardly important now. The hunt for Klavan was the primary focus, but after all, he had promised Berthe.

  He arrived at the men’s hostel a little after ten that morning. Hermann Postling was at his usual table and alone, as always. Klavan was exhausted, having spent the night in a small stable for fiaker horses not far from Lisette’s. Easy enough to break in and then slip out again before first light. But the chill had kept him awake most of the night. No matter, he thought as he approached the old man. After this delivery I will find a fine men’s clothier, buy new clothes and rent a suite of rooms. And he knew just the place.

  They will never look for me there.

  ‘Good morning, Hermann,’ he said as he approached the old man’s table.

  Postling looked up, annoyed. ‘It’s about time. I’ve been waiting all morning. I have other appointments, you know. Now what is so important?’

  ‘Just a final thought,’ Klavan said. ‘Something for the emperor tomorrow.’

  Later, as he made his way from the men’s hostel, Klavan felt the second bottle in his coat pocket.

  Better safe than sorry, he told himself.

  Professor Doktor Hermann Nothnagel was in his office at the bacteriological institute at Vienna’s General Hospital. He wore a formal long black coat and his equally long white beard gave him the appearance of an Old Testament sage.

  Gross thanked him heartily for seeing them on such short notice, then got right to the point. ‘How can plague bacilli be used to kill?’

  The doctor stared back at him with fierce blue eyes. ‘Is this about Office 3G?’

  Gross nodded.

  Nothnagel squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘Not again.’

  He looked again at Gross. ‘I warned them this could happen.’

  ‘I have not come to apportion blame,’ Gross said. ‘I simply need to know how it can be use
d if in the wrong hands.’

  ‘In the air. This is the pneumonic not bubonic plague. First is human transmission, human fluids or breathing the bacilli in. Contaminated or undercooked foods is also a possibility. But breathing it in is the most typical manner of transmission. Those infected cough and sneeze and spread the bacteria in that manner. Onset is relatively rapid: a couple of days, sometimes only hours. At first its symptoms are the same as any respiratory complaint: headache, weakness and coughing. Quite rapidly, however, the patient begins spitting or vomiting blood. Within a week, almost one hundred percent of sufferers succumb to the disease.’ He shook his head. ‘Was it an anarchist?’

  Gross was taken aback by the question. ‘What?’

  ‘Who stole the vials. It sounds like the work of an anarchist.’

  ‘We’ll know that when we find our man. So breathing in the infection from those who have it, you say. Can it be atomized?’

  The doctor clasped his hands together. ‘I don’t see why not. Somehow sprayed. Yes, that is a distinct possibility.’

  Meanwhile, Werthen was meeting at Inspector Drechsler’s office.

  ‘We got word of it this morning. What were you thinking of?’ Drechsler was enjoying this.

  ‘He was there. Or he had been. There’s no doubt of that.’

  ‘And there was also no evidence of it, Advokat.’

  ‘His suitcase.’

  ‘Somebody’s suitcase. A distant cousin, according to this Dumbroski.’

  ‘Orzov is her real name. Lisette Orzov.’

  ‘Says your archduke.’

  ‘No.’ Werthen felt his anger rising. ‘Says our archduke and future emperor.’

  But anger was unhelpful. ‘Now what we need to be doing instead of trading barbs is getting this description out as widely as possible. Hotels, pensions, restaurants. Anywhere a man with no place to call his own might be found.’

  Drechsler looked at the sheet of paper Werthen had handed him earlier, reading the description again.

  He looked up at Werthen. ‘The only thing distinctive is the little fingers. Otherwise, he could be anybody. It would help if there was a picture.’

  Werthen shook his head. ‘We don’t have one.’

  ‘I’m still not convinced that this Klavan is out to kill the emperor. Everything you tell me is circumstantial – or worse, assumptions.’

  ‘Nothing circumstantial about him being a killer. You know that. You investigated the murder of that young woman when Klavan was last in Vienna.’

  ‘You’ve got to be some kind of animal to snip off the finger like that. Like it’s a memento.’

  ‘A prize, more like,’ Werthen said. ‘So it doesn’t really matter why we capture him, does it? For the murders he committed last time he was in Vienna, or for plans to assassinate the emperor. He’s a mad dog. Mad dogs need to be put down.’

  Drechsler looked at the description once again as if he could gain some insight to Klavan.

  ‘Well, there’s one good thing about that fiasco last night,’ the detective finally said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘He knows you’re coming for him. It’s not just his game anymore. Somebody else is playing. Sometimes that makes a man nervous; forces him to make a mistake.’

  The telephone rang three times before Berthe was able to dislodge herself from a Frieda hug and answer it.

  ‘Werthen residence,’ she answered, and wondered for the hundredth time why she did not include her name in that salutation.

  ‘I am trying to reach a Frau Meisner. Is this the correct number?’

  It was a man’s voice, low and with the tone of authority to it.

  ‘Yes, this is Frau Meisner. How may I help you?’

  ‘Good afternoon. I hope I am not disturbing you, but Prince Montenuovo indicated you desired to speak with me. This is Oberstabelmeister Johann Czerny. May I inquire what this is in reference to?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I would very much like to talk to you about your old friend, Herr Andric.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Then: ‘Andric? No, I can’t say as I— Wait. You mean Herr Karl Andric. Sorry. Because of his work he always referred to himself as Herr Karl. Sorely missed. A good man.’

  ‘So you do know of his passing?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I was able to take time away from my duties at the Hofburg to attend his burial. How may I help you? I understand you are a private inquiries agent. But what is there to investigate? Poor Karl slipped on the ice and cracked his head.’

  ‘It is not quite that simple, Herr Oberstabelmeister …’

  ‘Herr Czerny will suffice. How is it not simple?’

  ‘The police are now treating Herr Karl’s death as a murder. One of a string of murders, in fact.’

  An extended silence from his end this time.

  Finally Berthe said, ‘Herr Czerny?’

  ‘Yes, I am still here. It’s a bit of a shock though. Who would want to kill Karl?’

  ‘That is what I am trying to find out, as well. May I come and talk with you?’

  ‘Of course. Could you be here in half an hour? This is an extremely busy time for me what with the ceremony tomorrow, but I will make time. Though I doubt there is anything I can tell you.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there.’

  Frau Blatschky was only too happy to sit with Frieda, and Berthe hailed the first fiaker she saw, even though she could easily walk to the Hofburg in under thirty minutes.

  She was pleased to see the same officious clerk on duty at the Oberstabelmeister’s Bureau; even more pleased when she told him she had an appointment with Herr Czerny. He reluctantly showed her into the man’s office.

  Berthe was surprised to meet Herr Czerny. From his voice on the phone, so commanding, she had pictured him as a large, florid man who might take his eating seriously. But now she discovered he was a man of medium height and slight build. He seated her in a comfortable leather chair across from him and then took his place in his own chair.

  ‘As I said on the telephone, Frau Meisner, I am not sure how I can be of help to you. This is rather a shock. Poor, dear Karl. It is as if I must mourn him all over again.’

  ‘You saw one another regularly?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We met for a weekly game of chess at one café or the other, but never the Café Burg. On his day off, Karl said he deserved a respite from the Burg.’

  ‘And did he seem different of late?’

  ‘Different?’

  ‘Out of sorts. Or as if something was troubling him.’

  ‘Not really. Though I did receive an urgent telephone message from him just before he died. He told me that he needed to talk with me. We set a time for him to come here the next day.’ Czerny sniffed a tear back. ‘I am sorry, Frau Meisner.’

  ‘That’s quite all right. He was your life-long friend, after all.’

  ‘Yes.’ He applied a silk handkerchief to his eyes. ‘Well, he never showed up for the appointment. He died … was murdered you now tell me … the night before. How terrible to think of him with the back of his head smashed in.’

  Berthe paused a moment at this comment, then asked, ‘Did he have any enemies?’

  ‘Enemies? Karl? Everyone loved Herr Karl. He was an institution as head waiter.’

  ‘Did he mention a man named Klavan? Or perhaps Wenno?’

  Czerny twisted his mouth as if tasting the names. ‘Can’t say I ever heard of either. Were they customers?’

  ‘Perhaps. Herr Czerny, I need to mention something about your friend, something that does not put him in the best light. I am not trying to be offensive nor to slander his name, but this may be germane to the investigation of his killing.’

  ‘I can’t imagine anything that Karl might have done to put him in a bad light. He was as honest as the day is long.’

  She took a moment to explain Herr Karl’s little system of bribery and kickbacks, not making eye contact with Czerny as she spoke.

  When she finish
ed, Czerny chuckled. ‘The old devil. How Viennese of him. How very Viennese. But you can hardly imagine somebody would murder him for such paltry sums, can you?’

  ‘I thought I should mention it in case you knew more about it.’

  ‘No, nothing. Funny, you think you know a fellow …’

  They spoke for several more minutes about the friendship between the two men, their rise from humble origins, the fact that they had both remained bachelors, their deep enjoyment of the weekly chess match. But there was nothing to be discovered.

  Czerny glanced at the clock on the wall meaningfully.

  ‘Yes, I should be leaving. I thank you very much for your time.’

  ‘Not at all. Glad to be of assistance.’

  Berthe was about to leave, but thought of one more thing. ‘On the phone you mentioned a ceremony tomorrow. What would that be?’

  ‘Why, Maundy Thursday, of course. On Holy Thursday the emperor washes the feet of a dozen old men at the Hofburg and launches the four days of Court celebration of Easter. And I tell you it has been a headache this year.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The selection of the old men, as usual. I mean to say, there is usually competition for this, jockeying for position. It seems everyone in Vienna has a near-indigent great uncle at this time of the year.’

  ‘Well, it must be a huge honor.’

  ‘The twenty silver coins each receives following the ceremony is also an incentive,’ he replied with a sardonic smile. ‘Anybody with a little Beziehung – pull, was plumping for their favorite old man. Herr Karl even got in the game this year. Quite a surprise.’

  ‘You didn’t mention this.’

  ‘No, sorry. It slipped my mind. But yes, he did come up with his own name. Said it was a poor old fellow used to beg by his café. Just the type, he said. And you know, he was right. We interviewed the chap, and with that long beard of his, he looks almost biblical. It should make for a fine photograph for the newspapers.’

  ‘So you accepted his nominee?’

  Czerny nodded so briskly that his jowls jiggled. ‘Very much so. Chap named Hermann … Wait, let me see.’ He checked a sheaf of papers on his desk. ‘Right. Hermann Postling. Resides at the Kubit Men’s Hostel on Neulerchen‌felderstrasse. We are due to pick him up there in a royal coach at ten tomorrow morning.’