Fatal Lies

42

Inspector Rheinhardt had copied the number pairs from Zelenka's exercise books onto a single sheet of paper, which he now handed to Amelia Lyd gate. The Englishwoman fell silent, and simply stared at the figures. Time passed. She was obviously attempting to decipher them, and Rheinhardt was reluctant to disturb her. He glanced across the room at Haussmann and raised a finger to his lips.

Eventually Amelia looked up.

“Are you absolutely sure that these numbers represent coded messages, Inspector?”

“Well, not absolutely… However, it was Dr. Liebermann's opinion that Herr Sommer did not tell us the truth when he said that these numbers were a memory test, and I am inclined to agree. The commitment of random number pairs to memory is surely an activity from which both pupil and master would derive very limited plea sure. And such an activity would be unlikely to keep them amused over a period of several months. Therefore, if the numbers are not a memory test, then they must be some kind of code.”

A vertical crease appeared on Amelia's brow.

“My father-also a schoolmaster-insisted that I learn the value of the mathematical constant pi to fifty decimal places. Successful recitations were the source of considerable pleasure and amusement to both of us. Indeed, my father could barely stop himself from joining in when I reached the final ten digits: six, nine, three, nine, nine, three, seven, five, one, zero. There! I can still recall the sequence quite clearly. For those who enjoy mathematics, numbers can be a very satisfying entertainment; however, it is undoubtedly the case that for the nonnumerical such pleasures are as recondite as music is to the tone-deaf.”

Rheinhardt did not know how to respond. He glanced at Haussmann, tacitly requesting assistance, only to discover that the young scoundrel was biting his lower lip and that his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Indeed,” said Rheinhardt. “Indeed…” He twisted the waxed horns of his mustache and said: “Am I to take it, then, that you do not share our view?”

“I am not taking issue with your conclusion, Inspector-merely the reasoning that you employed to reach that conclusion.”

“Ah,” said Rheinhardt, more encouraged. “Then you accept that the numbers might be a code?”

“Yes,” she said, a little hesitantly. “But if they are, the code is not conventional. That much I can determine already.”

“I see.”

“May I take this with me?” She raised the paper in her gloved hand.

“Yes, of course.”

“I will give it careful consideration.”

“Once again,” said the inspector, “I am much indebted.”

Amelia rose, and Rheinhardt kissed her hand.

“How is Dr. Liebermann?” she asked.

“Well.”

Unusually for her, the Englishwoman looked a little flustered.

“I have not had the pleasure of his company of late, although the fault is entirely mine. I have been somewhat preoccupied with… matters… various matters.” Amelia fumbled with her reticule and then added: “Would you be so kind as to convey my best wishes to the good doctor?”

“Consider it done, Miss Lyd gate.”

“Thank you, Inspector-you are most kind.”

“Haussmann,” Rheinhardt addressed his assistant. “Please escort Miss Lyd gate out of the building and hail her a cab.”

“That really won't be necessary,” said Amelia. “I am perfectly capable of finding my way out of the security office. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

She looked blankly at the two men, and left the room.

Rheinhardt raised his finger and silently shook it at Haussmann.

The young man blushed, and in an effort to excuse himself whispered: “I'm sorry, sir, but her manner is so peculiar.”

The inspector was unable to disagree.