The Melancholy Countess (Short Story) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the train station, where he purchased a one-way ticket to Strass-Sommerein. At Strass-Sommerein he could catch the connection to Budapest, and from Budapest he could get to the marches and the relative safety of the estate.
    As luck would have it, the Strass-Sommerein train was about to leave. Hauke congratulated himself on his good timing. He was about to get into a first-class carriage, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned round and saw a youth whose sharp features were vaguely familiar.
    “Herr Hauke?”
    “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
    “My name is Haussmann. Inspector Rheinhardt’s assistant?”
    “Ah, yes. Haussmann.”
    “The inspector asked you to stay in Vienna.”
    “Did he?”
    “Most definitely.”
    “Well, it must have slipped my mind.”
    Haussmann gestured down the platform. “This way, please.”

8
    Rheinhardt and Liebermann were walking purposefully toward the Corvinus.
    “He was trying to get away,” said Rheinhardt.
    “That doesn’t reflect well on him, I’ll grant you that,” Liebermann replied.
    “He was happy to leave Vienna without making any provision for his wife’s burial or repatriation. Extraordinary. She’s still lying in the Pathological Institute.”
    “That Hauke lacks ordinary sensitivities is beyond question.”
    “But you don’t think he killed her?”
    They entered the Corvinus and presented themselves at the reception desk. Shortly after, they were received by the manager, Herr Farkas. “Welcome, Inspector,” he declared with open arms. “I have set a room aside for your use.”
    “That is very kind of you.”
    The manager then led them to a spacious office on the ground floor. It had a desk, several chairs, and a stove that emitted a stifling heat.
    Rheinhardt and Liebermann began by interviewing the senior members of the staff and gradually worked their way down the hotel hierarchy. Most had had nothing to do with the countess and her husband, but those who had, commented on her sad mien and Hauke’s haughty indifference. The maids confirmed that there had been arguments, but no one had heard raised voices or a struggle the night of the countess’s apparent suicide. At eight o’clock, Liebermann and Rheinhardt went to the lobby in order to stretch their legs.
    “We’re not getting much further, are we?” said Rheinhardt.
    “No.”
    “Then perhaps we can go now. I’m beginning to get hungry—and there’s a coffeehouse close by, where they serve divine
mohnstrudel
.”
    Liebermann ignored Rheinhardt’s remark and asked, “How many people are there left to interview?”
    “Four.”
    “What about him?” Liebermann pointed to the bellboy.
    “You’re getting desperate, Max.”
    Liebermann beckoned to the youth, who ran over.
    “Good evening,” said Liebermann. “I am Dr. Max Liebermann, and this gentleman here is Detective Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt of the security office.” The boy looked from one to the other with wide eyes. “What is your name?”
    “Attila,” said the boy.
    “I would like to ask you a few questions, if I may?” The boy nodded. “Do you remember the Countess Nadazdy-Hauke?”
    “The old lady who died.”
    “Indeed.”
    “She wasn’t that old,” said Rheinhardt.
    Liebermann threw his friend a withering look and returned his attention to the boy. “Did you ever speak to her?”
    “Only once, sir.”
    “When was that?”
    “Saturday night, sir. The night she …” He made the sign of the cross in lieu of finishing his sentence.
    “What was the time?”
    “About nine o’clock, sir. I was going down the stairs. I’d taken a bouquet of flowers up to the third floor. Madame Delacroix, room fourteen. The countess was coming up the stairs as I was going down.”
    “She was on the third floor?”
    “No, sir. She was between the first and second.”
    “What did she say to you?”
    “Nothing, sir.”
    Rheinhardt sighed. “But you just said you had spoken to her?”
    “Well, I did,” Attila