Fatal Lies Read Free Page A

passage aloud
: ‘There are no moral phenomena at all, only a moral interpretation of phenomena . . .’
    Wolf stubbed the cigarette out on the floor.
    Yes, this was true – and so, by implication, one could never really go too far.

4
    RHEINHARDT WONDERED WHETHER he had treated the driver’s remarks too flippantly. The woodman was indeed
a strange one
. Might such a man purposely instruct strangers to follow a dangerous road? Were they – at that very moment – blithely rolling towards some fatal precipice?
    Again, he was reminded of the old stories: wolves, witches, and supernatural beings whose appearance invariably presaged death. To dispel his unease, he began humming ‘
Rosen aus dem Süden
’. His thoughts returned to the ball. What would the orchestra be playing now? ‘
Künstlerleben
’, perhaps – or ‘
Wein, Weib und Gesang
’?
    After some time had passed, the driver let out a cry.
    â€˜Inspector! Inspector! This must be it!’
    Rheinhardt opened the window. They were passing between two cast-iron gates set in a crumbling high wall. The fog was less thick and in the distance, across a flat expanse of land, he could see illuminated windows. Rheinhardt sighed with relief.
    The carriage rattled down a long drive and finally stopped. The Inspector and his assistant jumped out and took stock of their surroundings. They were standing next to a weather-beaten statue, the features of which had been worn smooth; however, it was still possible to identify a bearded warrior holding a lance, with one foot raised on what appeared to be a tub.
    â€˜St Florian,’ said Rheinhardt.
    â€˜He looks more like a Roman soldier,’ said Haussmann.
    â€˜Well, that’s because he
was
a Roman soldier – a military administrator, posted here, in Austria. But that, alas, is the limit of my knowledge.’
    Rheinhardt faced the school.
    The building was Gothic in design, possessing three rows of triple lancet windows and four octahedral spires. A cloistered courtyard could be seen through a central stone arch. Rheinhardt and Haussmann entered the courtyard and, as they did so, a door opened through which an elderly man appeared. He was clearly a servant, but he wore a military decoration on his jacket.
    â€˜Gentlemen!’ the old man cried.
    Rheinhardt and Haussmann stepped forward, but as they did so, the veteran’s expression changed from eagerness to disappointment.
    â€˜Oh dear – very sorry – I mistook you for someone else.’
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’ asked Rheinhardt.
    â€˜The headmaster is expecting twogentlemen from the security office.’
    â€˜Indeed. I am Inspector Rheinhardt and this is my assistant, Haussmann.’ The old man narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes,’ Rheinhardt continued, recognising that their appearance might require an explanation. ‘We
are
somewhat overdressed, but it was our misfortune to be called here directly from a ball.’
    â€˜Ball, you say?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Rheinhardt, adding emphatically, ‘The
Detectives
’ Ball.’
    The old soldier mumbled something to himself and then, pulling himself up, said: ‘Humbly report – this way, please.’
    He guided them to a door beneath the cloisters and they entered a long, shadowy corridor. At its end, in a pool of blue light cast by suspended paraffin lamps, stood two men in academic gowns.
    â€˜Headmaster,’ the old man called out. ‘They’re here, sir. The gentlemen from the security office. Inspector Rheinhardt and his assistant.’
    â€˜Thank you, Albert,’ said one of the men. ‘Dismissed.’
    The old soldier stamped his feet, saluted and shuffled away. Catching Rheinhardt’s eye, the headmaster whispered. ‘A good fellow – saw action in ’48. The Budapest siege.’
    The headmaster was a man in his late fifties, with grey, almost white hair. A snowy thatch had