that would be most irregular. The pain and respiratory difficulties associated with a broken rib would almost certainly have caused Fräulein Rosenkrantz to call her physician with all possible haste.’
‘But if Fräulein Rosenkrantz was disorientated she might have injured herself before losing consciousness.’
‘In my opinion, it is quite difficult to break a rib by merely stumbling around a lady’s bedroom.’
Rheinhardt stubbed his cigar out in a glass dish and exhaled a final cloud of smoke.
‘In which case, how do you think the rib came to be broken?’
‘It’s only a theory, of course …’
‘Nevertheless, I would like to hear it.’
‘I strongly suspect that the rib was broken when someone applied pressure to her chest.’
‘I beg your pardon, Professor?’
‘Her lungs wouldn’t have been able to expand and she would have suffocated. She might still have been conscious when it happened – or at least partially conscious. She wouldn’t even have been able to scream. No air, you see.’ Mathias stroked the dead woman’s face and adopted a tender expression. ‘She would have been helpless.’
‘Forgive me, Professor, but are you suggesting that Fräulein Rosenkrantz was crushed?’
‘In a manner of speaking – yes.’
4
‘Y OUNG MAN – YOU ARE occupying my seat.’
Liebermann looked up and discovered that he was being addressed by a frail old woman with rheumy, colourless eyes. Her face was deeply lined and her thinning hair had been lacquered and curled into a cobwebby mass through which the glass facets of the chandelier behind her were visible. She was leaning on a walking stick with a carved ivory handle, though her principal means of support was the arm of a pretty woman in a blue dress, whose flushing cheeks proclaimed her profound embarrassment.
‘Great-aunt!’ said the woman, the tone of her voice combining admonishment with desperation.
The dowager turned the whole of her body in order to look at her anguished relative. ‘Whatever is the matter with you, Anna?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the woman in the blue dress, smiling at Liebermann.
‘What are you apologising for?’ asked the old woman.
‘This gentleman is in the correct seat, I am sure,’ her great-niece replied. ‘Besides, it hardly matters – we’ll be able to see the stage wherever we sit.’
Liebermann stood up.
‘May I see your tickets?’
The young doctor inspected the numbers and said, ‘You are seated next to me – these two here – but I am perfectly happy to move along.’
‘That is very kind, but—’
‘No, I insist,’ said Liebermann. Before the old woman sat down she stared up at him and squinted. She had very distinctive features. A thin mouth, hooked nose, and pointed chin. It was unlikely that she had ever been beautiful, quite the contrary, but once she must have been very arresting. She exuded a dry floral fragrance, like scented talcum powder. ‘Allow me,’ said Liebermann, taking her walking stick and offering her his arm. The dowager took it and he performed the necessary actions to get her comfortably seated in her preferred chair.
‘Thank you,’ said the woman in the blue dress.
Liebermann bowed. ‘Doctor Max Liebermann.’
‘Anna Probst – and this is my great-aunt Frau Baerbel Zollinger.’
Liebermann bowed again. ‘Frau Zollinger.’
The old woman’s expression did not soften. Anna rolled her eyes, and Liebermann, recognising that he could do no more to win Frau Zollinger’s good opinion, returned his attention to the programme notes.
In due course the auditorium filled with patrons, the house lights dimmed, and the musicians appeared on stage. After some preliminary tuning, the conductor, who was wearing a white carnation in his lapel, entered through a door to the right of the stage and mounted the platform. When the applause had subsided he raised a very large baton and the air resonated with sublime harmonies.
The first piece was Mozart’s B
Dawn Pendleton, Magan Vernon