The Melancholy Countess (Short Story) Read Online Free PDF

responded. “That’s true enough, sir. She didn’t reply.”
    “What did you say to the countess?” Liebermann asked with gentle concern.
    “I asked if she was all right.”
    “Why was that?” The boy looked down at his shoes and seemed a little embarrassed. “Attila?”
    “She … she was pulling faces.”
    Rheinhardt and Liebermann exchanged glances. They both asked together, “What kind of faces?” The effect was quite comical.
    “There was a girl who used to live on our street who used to do the same thing. Her face would jerk.”
    “You mean a spasm. Like this?” Liebermann contracted the muscles on the left side of his face.
    “Yes. Like that.”
    “And what about the rest of the countess’s body?”
    “She was shaking.”
    “As if she were freezing cold? Or were the movements more violent?”
    “No. She wasn’t cold.” Attila shook his head. “Her face was all shiny.”
    “You mean she was perspiring?”
    The boy merely repeated his initial observation. “Her face was all shiny.”
    “So, Attila. You asked her if she was all right, but she didn’t reply?”
    “No, sir. She didn’t.”
    “Was that because she couldn’t reply?”
    “I don’t know, sir.”
    “I want you to think very hard.”
    “Some kind of seizure?” ventured Rheinhardt.
    Liebermann beat the air several times to indicate that he wanted his friend to remain silent. “Attila, can you remember her eyes? What did her eyes look like?” The boy’s face was blank. “Recreate the scene in your mind. You are descending the stairs; she is coming up. She looks unwell, and you ask her if she is all right. You are looking directly at her. Now tell me. What do you see? Her eyes, what do they look like?”
    Recollection illuminated Attila’s expression. “They were moving from side to side. It made her look shifty. She waved me away, so I didn’t stop.” After a moment’s reflection he added, “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I, sir?”
    It was Rheinhardt who answered. “No, Attila. Your behavior was exemplary, and you have been very helpful.” He took a krone from his pocket and gave it to the boy.
    “Much obliged, sir.” The boy bowed, clicked his heels, and returned to his post with a definite spring in his step.
    Liebermann turned to face Rheinhardt. “I think you had better call Professor Mathias. I would suggest that he undertake an analysis of the contents of the countess’s stomach.”
    “Why?”
    “Tetanic spasm—hyperthermia—nystagmus. She was poisoned with strychnine.”

9
    The low winter sun cast long shadows on the pavement outside the coffeehouse. Gazing through the window, Liebermann observed the passage, from right to left, of a Hasidic Jew, a Carpathian peasant, and two middle-aged women whose hats were decorated with enormous ostrich feathers.
    Rheinhardt sipped his aromatic
türkische
coffee before addressing his companion. “You were right. Strychnine.” Liebermann did not react, and Rheinhardt continued. “This is what I think happened. Hauke poisoned his wife’s food—or her wine, perhaps? She felt unwell, retired early, and died alone. When Hauke followed her up later, he removed her clothes and deposited her lifeless body in the bathtub.”
    “Oskar,” said Liebermann wearily. “Hauke might be a moral imbecile, but he isn’t stupid.” Rheinhardt tilted his head, tacitly requesting that his friend elaborate. “How could he have known that his wife would decide to retire at exactly the right moment?”
    “He might have told her to go to bed as soon as she started to exhibit symptoms. She suffered from melancholia and was, by all accounts, very passive—at least in public.”
    “Very well. How could Hauke have calculated precisely how long it would take for the poison to kill her? The time it takes for strychnine to cause asphyxiation varies from person to person. The countess might have died on the stairs, or alternatively, she might have taken hours to die. In which case