Death And The Maiden

44

Rheinhardt rang the doorbell. It was was answered by the maid, who looked even wearier than she had on the occasion of his first visit with Liebermann.

‘I would like to see Professor Saminsky.’

‘I’m afraid he is not in.’

‘Do you know when he’s expected back?’

‘I will have to ask the mistress.’

‘Frau Professor is at home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then perhaps I could speak to her?’

Rheinhardt was shown into the drawing room where he was once again at liberty to contemplate the opulent decor and trappings of Saminsky’s success. His gaze lingered on the Ehrbar piano before it climbed to the family portrait — the professor, his dowdy wife and two daughters. Rheinhardt crossed to the window and looked out onto a lawn aggrandised with classical statuary. From the serpent that coiled around his hefty staff, Rheinhardt recognised Asclepius, the god of medicine and healing. The deity had so far favoured and protected the Saminsky household, but Greek gods were notoriously fickle.

The double doors opened and Frau Saminsky entered, followed by the maid.

‘Inspector Rheinhardt?’

‘Frau Professor.’

Rheinhardt was surprised to discover that Frau Saminsky had aged rather well. She had lost some weight and her appearance was no longer dowdy, quite the opposite. She wore a red and purple striped blouse with a yellow dress which was as vivid as dandelions — clashing colours that announced her arrival like a cymbal crash. The dull matronly expression of the portrait had been replaced by the wide professional smile of a woman accustomed to hosting dinner parties.

‘I am so sorry, but my husband isn’t at home.’

‘Then perhaps you could help me?’

Frau Saminsky delivered a sympathetically modulated reply: ‘But I’m not sure that I can.’ Rheinhardt’s unyielding expression made her add, ‘Of course, I’ll try to help … Would you like some tea?’

‘No, thank you.’

Without making eye contact with the maid, Frau Saminsky raised a finger and made a flicking movement. It was all that was required to communicate the maid’s redundancy. A general sagging of the young woman’s body sufficed as a curtsey before she departed from the room.

‘Please sit down, Inspector.’

As Frau Saminsky lowered herself onto the seat she fanned out her dress. A glimmering in the fabric suggested that a metallic thread had been woven into the silk.

‘Where is Professor Saminsky?’

‘He cancelled his clinic.’

‘An emergency?’

‘Not a medical emergency — no — but, nevertheless, a matter of some importance. You are still investigating the death of Ida Rosenkrantz?’

‘Yes.’

‘So sad …’ said Frau Saminsky. ‘She was such delightful company.’

‘Did you know her?’

‘She came to dine with us on many occasions.’ Rheinhardt did not show his surprise. ‘Professor Saminsky thought it would be good for her. She had no family of her own. Not here in Vienna. I think her mother went to live in Italy.’

‘What was she like?’

‘The girls adored her.’ Frau Saminsky looked over at the family portrait. ‘They were devastated when they heard what had happened.’

‘Frau Professor? Your husband — where can I find him?’

Frau Saminsky straightened her back and raised her bosom. Adopting an attitude of haughty pretension she replied, ‘The palace.’ The effect she had worked so hard to achieve, however, was immediately ruined when her powdered face broke into a self-satisfied smile.

‘The palace,’ Rheinhardt repeated.

‘Yes. My husband is often called to the palace. He is a trustee of several charities patronised by the late empress.’

‘When are you expecting him to return?’

‘I am not. I will be going to the palace myself, this evening. We have been invited to a ball in the Redoutensaal.’

‘A great honour.’

‘Indeed.’

Rheinhardt produced his notebook. ‘Frau Professor, what were you doing the night Fraulein Rosenkrantz died?’

‘Nothing. I was at home.’

‘And what about Professor Saminsky?’

‘He was at home too.’ She reflected on her answer and added, ‘Well, for most of the evening. The telephone kept on ringing and in the end my husband had to go out.’

‘To see a patient?’

‘Yes. Kluge, I think. It was all very inconvenient. My poor husband was leaving for Salzburg the following morning and had booked an early train.’

‘What time did your husband return?’

‘I don’t know. I went to sleep and when I awoke he had already gone.’ Frau Saminksy frowned. ‘With respect, Inspector, I think it would be advisable to ask my husband these questions.’

‘Of course,’ said Rheinhardt, rising from the sofa. ‘Would you be kind enough to tell Professor Saminsky that I need to speak with him again — at his earliest convenience.’ Rheinhardt handed Frau Saminsky his card. ‘I can be contacted at the Schottenring police station.’