Death And The Maiden

43

‘Frau Kluge?’

‘Yes?’

‘Inspector Rheinhardt.’

‘Oh yes, do come in.’ She was a frail woman in her seventies, with wild hair and half-moon spectacles that sat behind the terminal bulb of an elongated nose. ‘Did you catch the train?’

‘No.’

‘Very wise. They built the Hofpavillion for the emperor — but he never uses it. There must be a reason, eh?’

‘Possibly.’

‘One can never be too careful.’

Rheinhardt wondered whether Frau Kluge, as well as her husband, might not have benefitted from Professor Saminsky’s help. The old woman showed him into a book-lined room which was redolent with the stale odours of decrepitude, ammonia, mould and rotting leather. In the centre of the room sat a gentleman with a long white beard who was wearing a quilted jacket and a traditional Chinese hat. The silk dome was decorated with luminous dragons and chrysanthemums. He was reading intently.

‘Inspector Rheinhardt,’ said Frau Kluge, drawing her husband’s attention to their visitor. Kluge put his book aside and squinted at his guest.

‘Inspector Rheinhardt, you say?’

‘Yes,’ said Frau Kluge. ‘He wants to talk to you about Professor Saminsky.’

‘Does he?’

‘That’s what the note said.’

The old man rose by pushing down on the chair arms. He stood, rather shakily, for a second or two during which he excecuted a bow and declared himself to be ‘Herr Udalbert Kluge.’ He then fell back into the chair.

Rheinhardt clicked his heels.

‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see me, sir.’

Frau Kluge sat next to her husband and took his hand.

‘Udalbert has not been well.’

‘Indeed. I was informed of this by Professor Saminsky. Would you object to me sitting down?’

‘No.’

‘That is most generous.’

Rheinhardt found himself a stool and drew it up in front of the couple.

‘What is the nature of your illness, Herr Kluge?’

The old man grumbled. ‘They say that I observe things in the world that have no material reality.’

Frau Kluge stroked her husband’s sleeve. ‘Don’t fret, my dear.’

‘Good Christians believe in the existence of angels and demons — and no one says that they are mad.’

‘No one has said you are mad, my dear.’

‘But that is what they think: that is what Saminsky thinks.’

‘He says that you have weak nerves.’

‘I’ve had enough of his electrical therapy. It’s unpleasant. He said it would just tingle — but the rods are hot. They burn. And those pills of his, they make me all confused.’

Rheinhardt coughed to attract their attention.

‘I understand that Professor Saminsky came to see you on the evening of September the seventh.’ Kluge’s moist eyes were unresponsive. Rheinhardt turned to address the wife. ‘Is that correct, Frau Kluge? Your husband was very unwell and you called Professor Saminsky?’

‘The professor has had to come on several occasions,’ Frau Kluge answered. But I can’t remember exactly when. He came in August … and early September. It could have been the seventh.’

‘You keep no records?’

‘No.’

‘On those occasions when he came, can you remember what time Professor Saminksy arrived?’

‘It was quite late, I think.’

‘How is it that you can remember the time, but not the date?’

‘When Herr Kluge has a turn it is usually after dinner. We eat at half past eight.’

Herr Kluge raised a wrinkled finger: ‘The point is this, Inspector. We live in a Christian country.’ His voice had become querulous. ‘Belief in non-material entities is Church doctrine. Did not Jesus cast out demons, and did He not transfer them into the herd of Gadarene swine? One cannot question the word of God. Given the choice between Saminsky and God, who would you believe? The old man paused, bit his lip and added, ‘They say he’s Jewish.’

‘God?’ Rheinhardt replied. ‘He may very well be.’