The Dark Palace--Murder and mystery in London, 1914 (17 page)

‘For duelling? But isn't that all to do with honour?'

‘I don't think it was anything to do with his duel. There were rumours … of a scandal.'

‘What kind of a scandal?'

‘Not here, Quinn. My God, what do you take me for? I have said too much already. What you have to understand about Konrad Waechter is that he is first and foremost an artist. No, I don't see it. I just don't see what role he could possibly play in issues of national security.'

‘He knows how to handle a camera. It could be used for recording sensitive material. Naval defences, for example.'

‘Have your officers seen Waechter at the barber's?'

‘No. Only Hartmann.'

‘What else has this misguided operation of yours uncovered?'

‘You will excuse me if I don't answer that. Not now. Here.' With a curt nod, Quinn crossed to Waechter and Hartmann. The two men broke off from a conspiratorial conference and regarded him for a moment warily.

Hartmann was the first to recover his composure. ‘This is a terrible business, Inspector … Quinn, is it?' The only hint of an accent he betrayed was the slight weight he gave to some of his consonants. That was all that distinguished him from a native speaker.

‘That's right, Herr Hartmann.'

‘You already know who I am? Should I be worried?'

‘Not unless you have a guilty conscience.'

‘Don't we all have something on our conscience?'

Quinn was in no mood for such drollery. ‘Do you know a man called Dortmunder? A compatriot of yours, I believe.'

Waechter interrupted, with a click of his heels and a bow. Unlike Hartmann, his accent was thick, his words almost incomprehensible. ‘Please, you vill
airk-scuse
me?'

‘No, Herr Waechter,' said Quinn. ‘I have some questions for you too. So please, stay where you are. Now, Herr Hartmann, you were about to tell me about Dortmunder.'

‘I know the man. Of course. He is something of a celebrity within the German community here in London. Does he have something to do with what has happened tonight?'

‘You will forgive me, but you do not strike me as a man who is much in need of a barber's services.'

‘I appreciate a good shave as much as the next man. But really, do you believe Dortmunder to be behind the outrageous attack on that poor woman?'

‘You were seen handing Dortmunder a package.'

‘I say, Inspector, have you been spying on me?'

‘We have been watching Dortmunder's place. I think you know that.'

‘I did drop off a script. The other day.'

‘A script?'

‘Yes. Herr Dortmunder has been trying for some time to break into motion picture scenario writing. Like many who go to the picture palaces, he imagines that it will be a way to easy money. Unfortunately it is not as easy as many people believe. However, I will say one thing for Dortmunder. He is persistent. Over the years, he must have asked me to look at literally hundreds of scripts. He will not be discouraged.'

‘And you return the scripts to him personally, yourself? Have you not thought of using the Royal Mail? I am sure you have junior staff who can take care of such things.'

‘As you said, he is a compatriot of mine. Besides, he shows promise. He has not come up with anything I can use yet, but perhaps one day he might.'

Quinn turned to Waechter. ‘Do you know the woman who was attacked tonight? She had in her hand an invitation to the premiere.'

‘Many people were invited. I do not know all of them.'

‘There must be a list?'

Waechter shrugged impatiently. Such things did not concern him. ‘Hartmann?'

‘Yes, of course. I will see that it is sent to you, Inspector. Where may I send it?'

‘New Scotland Yard. For the attention of DI Quinn.'

‘What you must understand, Inspector, is that sometimes people pass on their invitations. We cannot say ultimately into whose hands an invitation will fall. Was there no name on the invitation in her possession?' Hartmann's tone struck Quinn as false, mocking almost. As if he already knew the answer to the question. ‘I do hope the young lady recovers from the shock of the assault. I wish to send her some flowers. Do you know which hospital she has been taken to?'

Quinn sighed. ‘Naturally she will have been taken to the nearest hospital, which from here is the Middlesex.'

‘Please inform me of the details when you know for certain.'

‘Do you have any
kvestions
for me?' Waechter spoke in a curt, aggressive growl. He had the habit of giving extra emphasis to the words he had most difficulty in pronouncing, as if his struggles with the language were the source of his anger.

Quinn looked into the Austrian's face and found that he was fascinated by the thought of what lay behind the man's eye patch. The memory of the small abyss he had stared into earlier that evening was still fresh and compelling. A brief, absurd fantasy flashed into his mind, of his lifting Waechter's eye patch to refresh his contact with the darkness within. ‘Your film … I saw your film … I was one of the invited guests …'

Waechter bowed in expectation of praise.

‘There are certain similarities between the theme of your film and the crime that was committed tonight.'

‘I am
ein Künstler
! You know? An artist.
Ja
? Every artist is also – how do you say –
ein
Profet
?'

‘Prophet. It is the same word,' put in Hartmann.

‘
Ja
, zere is prophet in every artist.'

‘And
profit
too,' observed Quinn, immediately regretting his attempt at a quip. ‘You hope to make a lot of money from this film, no doubt.'

‘Are you looking for investment opportunities, Inspector?' asked Hartmann suavely. ‘It is true, if one succeeds in meeting the public's desires, one may be fortunate in achieving a healthy return. However, the risks are considerable. Even when one has a genius such as Herr Waechter on hand, and a star like Eloise, it is still possible to fall flat on one's face. To catch a cold, I think is the expression. Nothing is guaranteed. The more cautious investor would be well advised to look elsewhere.'

‘I am not looking to invest. A policeman's salary does not run to gambling on the stock market.' Quinn was aware that his tone was becoming puritanical. He found that he did not approve of these people at all. And he was determined not to be in their thrall. Their thin, continental glamour would cut no ice with him. ‘Do you think it is ethical to profit from such depictions of violence and horror? Especially as – as now seems likely – some madman has been encouraged by watching your lurid drama to emulate the crimes you portray.'

There was an exchange between Waechter and Hartmann in German, while the latter translated for the former.

Hartmann nodded as he listened to a question from his director. There was an eagerness and energy in Waechter's voice, a gleam in his one good eye. Hartmann turned to Quinn. ‘Is that the theory you are pursuing?'

‘I am considering submitting a legal application to have the film withdrawn from public exhibition.' In fact, the thought had only just occurred to Quinn.

There was an outraged exchange between Waechter and Hartmann. Hatred glared from Waechter's eye towards Quinn. He could well believe that this man was capable of killing.

It was up to Hartmann to argue their case. ‘We cannot be blamed for the acts of this horrible person who is not known to us, and who, as you say, is clearly insane.'

‘The one thing I cannot risk is a repetition of this crime.'

Waechter drew himself up to intimidate. ‘The public vill not allow it! You vill have
ein
revolution on your hands if you forbid the people from seeing my film.'

Quinn was so startled by the self-aggrandizing statement that he did not for the moment know what to say. He turned to Hartmann. ‘You will have that list of guests with me tomorrow morning. There will be no need to deliver it in person.'

Quinn had made up his mind to leave, but his way to the door was cut off by the party from the
Clarion
: Harry Lennox, the Irish proprietor, and his daughter, Jane, together with the paper's star reporter, Bittlestone.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lord Dunwich engaged in an intimate tête à tête with the brunette who had played the part of a dancer in the film, the fake ingénue
Quinn had noticed earlier. He looked around for the man whom he associated with her. If he was connected with the woman, he was paying her no attention now, and was in deep conversation with Porrick (whose dog was thankfully nowhere to be seen) and another man, as yet unknown to Quinn.

With the intake of alcohol, the sombre mood had turned into something fiercer. A kind of savage excitement had taken over. Quinn recognized the peculiar gleam that enlivened every eye. This was how it affected some people. To have had a brush with the destructive forces in the universe, and to have escaped.

‘I 'ope you find him.'

Quinn looked down towards the source of the sentiment, which had been expressed in a warm, softly accented female voice. He felt her words throb in his solar plexus. Two large eyes – eyes he recognized, eyes that seemed so familiar they might have belonged to some part of his soul – stared up at him. Eloise stared up at him.

He was struck by the wonder of her presence next to him; by the improbability of it: that the one woman desired by all the men in the room was talking to him. And to him alone. He looked around incredulously, as if he suspected she was about to be snatched away from him.

‘I admired what you did tonight.'

‘Ah, I did nothing.'

‘You showed remarkable presence of mind. How did you know what to do?'

‘My father, he had a troupe of performing dogs. It is how I commence in the business.' Like Hartmann, she spoke good English, though her accent was stronger. She dropped the occasional H and showed a betraying uncertainty over the odd vowel sound, or even word. Inevitably, for Quinn, it added to the charm of her speech.

‘I see. You were not disgusted by … by the object you were forced to handle?'

‘Did you not see the film?'

‘Yes, but surely those were not real eyes?'

‘And I pretend to myself that it is not a real eye in the mouth of the dog. I think to myself it is a prop, no?'

‘None of the men stepped forward.'

‘Men can be such babies. But I pity them.'

Quinn noticed that Eloise was the only other person apart from himself who did not have a drink.

‘Do you believe there will be a war, Inspector?'

The question took him by surprise. ‘The German state is certainly preparing for something. Why do you ask?'

‘It frightens me.'

‘I believe there are those on all sides who are determined to prevent it.'

‘I hope they will succeed. For the sake of the men. In war, it is always the men who are sent off to be killed. What horrors they must see.' He might have said that a glow of sympathy seemed to come from her eyes. But what really happened was merely that she looked at him as if she truly wanted to see him. ‘What horrors you must have seen. Worse than tonight, is it not so?'

It seemed to be an invitation for him to tell her about his work. But he remembered how such confidences had back-fired on him in the past, repelling the woman whom he had subconsciously sought to impress. But Eloise was not Miss Latterly. For one thing, she had sought him out, and initiated the conversation; Sir Edward's secretary only tolerated his presence because she was obliged to. She had made her position abundantly clear to him:
I can't ever love you!

He knew full well what had forced her to make this unhappy declaration. The very horrors that Eloise was asking to be told about now.

Would it drive her away too? Or would it bring about some kind of miraculous understanding between them?

No, miraculous was not the word. Inconceivable. Absurd. He was ridiculous. To think of any kind of understanding between himself and this goddess … He was an absurd man indeed. The moment a beautiful woman took an interest in him, he lost his head, not to mention his heart.

‘It's the nature of the job.'

And really, now that he thought about it, there was something suspect about all this. Something he could not quite believe in. Why had she come over to speak to him? At just that moment, so soon after he had spoken to Waechter and Hartmann? She was an actress, not a goddess.

They had sent her over. She was meant to charm him into withdrawing his threat to have the film banned.

Everything fell into place.

‘I see what's going on here.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I'll tell you, I've seen some horrible things in the course of my duties, it's true. But the most horrible thing I've ever seen was that film I was forced to sit through tonight. You film people … you have no idea … no idea what you are dealing with. No idea of the forces you are unleashing. If you want to know who is responsible for the attack tonight, just look around you. No, better than that, look in the mirror. You people make me sick.'

He found that his aversion for the whole lot of them was greater than any concerns he had about running the gauntlet of the
Clarion
crowd. In the event, he brushed past Jane Lennox without provoking a flicker of recognition from her. If she drew more self-consciously on her cigarette in his wake, he did not see it.

M
agnus Porrick held up his hand to cut Kirkwood short. He didn't like the sound of his accountant's voice at the best of times. If only the fellow were a character in a movie, whose words were conveyed silently by letters on a card. That would at least impose the virtue of brevity on him. But Porrick had the feeling that Kirkwood would be one of those characters who were shown delivering long speeches, the contents of which were never conveyed, or somehow reduced to a single word. The blighter never had anything interesting to say. Besides, Porrick didn't like the unhealthy interest Novak was taking in his business affairs. That slimy Yank always had his nose in other people's business. He should concentrate more on his own, then he might be a half-decent actor. As it was, he was an awful hack. Porrick couldn't see why Waechter always had him in his films. He would have to have a word with him about that, if they were to go into production together. No, he didn't like Novak. He didn't like Novak one bit. Especially as he had a habit of dropping ‘the Big Apple' into the conversation in a knowing way, as if he believed he had some hold over a fellow just because he had once been in New York.