The Melancholy Countess (Short Story) Read Free Page A

arrives.”
    “Of course, Inspector,” said Farkas. “I’ll be in my office.”
    He bowed with unexpected flamboyance and left the room.
    “Well, Haussmann?”
    “ ‘Melancholy.’ ‘Unhappy marriage.’ It looks like she took her own life.”
    Rheinhardt nodded, but the movement was contemplative rather than affirmative. He made his way back to the bathroom and scrutinized the countess. The discolored areas of skin looked liked bruises. He took out his notebook and started writing.
    “Ah, you must be the policeman.” It was an attractive voice, a resonant tenor.
    Rheinhardt looked up and saw a handsome man in his mid-thirties addressing Haussmann. The man’s coat was hanging from his shoulders like a mantle, and he held a walking stick with a silver handle. Rheinhardt deposited his notebook in an inside pocket and called out, “Detective Inspector Rheinhardt. Security office.” He stepped into the bedroom and gestured toward his assistant. “This is Haussmann.”
    “Oktav Hauke.” It hadn’t occurred to Rheinhardt that this gentleman might be the countess’s husband. He seemed far too young. “Forgive me,” Hauke continued. “I went out for a coffee and a stroll. I needed to clear my head. Is she still …” He pointed at the bathroom.
    “In the bath? Yes.”
    “Have you made the necessary arrangements?”
    “Arrangements?”
    “For her removal?”
    “She will be taken to the Pathological Institute shortly. Please accept my condolences. I am very sorry.”
    Hauke looked at his nails for a moment and said, “Thank you.”
    “What happened, Herr Hauke?”
    “Isn’t it obvious? She drowned herself.”
    “Yes. But why?”
    “Because she didn’t want to go on living, I presume.”
    “Indeed. But why was that?”
    Hauke shrugged. “It’s difficult to say. She wasn’t very communicative.”
    “You must have some idea, Herr Hauke?”
    “She hasn’t been happy for a long time. I sent her to see a doctor last year. It cost a great deal of money, and the treatment didn’t do her any good at all.”
    “Did the doctor say she was suffering from a mental condition?”
    “He said that her spirits were low.”
    “And did he warn you that she might take her own life?”
    “No. But it wouldn’t have surprised me if he had.”
    “How was she last night?”
    “Last night …” Hauke tugged at his chin, and his eyes seemed to focus on some distant point beyond the walls of the hotel.
    “Herr Hauke?”
    “Last night,” Hauke repeated. He smiled, almost bashfully, and as he did so, his dueling scar became more visible. “This is terribly embarrassing, Inspector. I’m afraid I drank an awful lot of wine last night; however, if my memory serves me correctly, she was much the same as usual, which is to say that she was disinclined to make conversation. Rather flat. Sullen. We had dinner together, and she retired early.” He grimaced and added, “I think.”
    “You think?”
    “To be absolutely honest, Inspector, it’s all a bit indistinct. Blurry. I must have come up later and just fallen onto the bed. I was still dressed when I awoke.”
    “You didn’t enter the bathroom, then?”
    “No, of course not. I was very drunk, but even in my inebriated state, it is quite reasonable to suppose that the discovery of a dead wife in the bathtub would have given me good reason to review my circumstances.” He seemed pleased with this droll remark. “If you’re arranging for my wife’s body to be transported to the Pathological Institute, then there’s no need for me to consult an undertaker just yet, is there? You see, I need to be at my club by two o’clock. Is that all right?”

3
    Professor Mathias switched on the electric light, and the autopsy table flared into existence. It seemed to be surrounded by an infinite darkness.
    “Who is she?” asked Professor Mathias.
    “The Countess Zigana Nadazdy-Hauke,” said Rheinhardt.
    “A countess?” Mathias was obviously impressed.
    “Yes.