The Third Place

by J Sydney Jones

  ‘Well, the good sir displays excellent taste,’ the clerk gushed, still eyeing the money.

  She sought out a small, handsome bottle of the prized cologne, a tiny rubber atomizer affixed to it.

  ‘Should I have it wrapped?’

  ‘No, I’ll see to that. And make that two, please.’

  A smile crossed her face. ‘That will be eighty crowns then.’

  He did not bother looking her way as he peeled two fifty-crown bills off the stack, all in blue ink with two toga-bedecked women seated and staring out like queens of the ball. What they were supposed to represent he was sure he did not know or care. But the money shut the clerk up as he traded it for the elegant little paper bag she settled the bottles of cologne into.

  ‘Keep the change,’ he said impulsively, merely to see her reaction. And it was worth it, for at first she seemed to be affronted that someone should dare to give her a tip, but then did the reckoning on the size of said tip, reddened and did a half curtsey instead.

  ‘The good gentleman is too generous.’

  ‘Not really,’ he said, taking the package and leaving the tiny confines of the shop. Outside, he sucked in air like a drowning man.

  First step concluded, he thought.

  They stopped for lunch at Krawaler’s near the Ring before going on to the Praesidium. Gross had a great need for Bauernschmaus, he averred, and there was none better served in Vienna than at Krawaler’s. Werthen, who had noticed that his pants were fitting a little tightly around the waist of late, opted for a bowl of spicy Bohnensuppe, and felt very superior for his sacrifice as they later made their way to police headquarters.

  After signing in at registry, they quickly headed for the new forensics laboratory built very much to Gross’s own specifications in his writings. It seemed they were in favor today: their way was cleared for them as the Hofburg must have had a word with Chief Inspector Meindl following the misunderstanding at the Pension Geldner. That was as productive as it got, however, for they discovered that the lab had not even conducted the relatively simple precipitin test to determine if the stain on the pipe were human blood of from another animal – or even blood at all. The letter from Dimitrov’s wife was still in the evidence box labeled ‘G’ for Frau Geldner.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Gross fumed at the lowly technician who brought the bad news. ‘This is a murder investigation, not a picnic.’

  He took the letter from the box, opened it and began making a rough transcription of his own.

  ‘You speak Serbian?’ Werthen asked. Though he was not surprised; Gross had a seemingly bottomless pit of scatter-shot knowledge that served him well as a criminologist.

  ‘My Amme was from a Serbian family in Sarajevo.’

  He said it with a sort of sweet lilt to his voice that Werthen had never heard come from the criminologist. Gross looked upward as if recalling a fond memory of this nursemaid.

  ‘My parents were sticklers for proper German,’ Gross said. ‘They threatened to let my nursemaid Senka go if they found her speaking heathen Serbian to me.’ He brought his gaze back from the ceiling, focusing on Werthen now. ‘So it was our little secret.’ He chuckled at the memory.

  This was such uncharacteristic behavior on Gross’s part that it gave Werthen a frisson of fear. Seeing Gross as a sentimentalist was truly frightening.

  ‘But I finally told my parents about it,’ Gross added off-handedly. ‘Can’t have the servants countermanding orders of the employers, can we, now? Didn’t know her proper place, but she did provide me with a basic knowledge of the language.’

  This pitiful news came as almost a relief to Werthen.

  Gross peered at the scribble of missive on the cheap stationery. He pursed his lips, squinting at a difficult word here and there.

  ‘The usual domestic drivel. She obviously did not expect this Dimitrov to return from Vienna. Nothing said in specifics, but she does thank him for his sacrifice for the family and,’ he glanced again at the letter, ‘yes, and notes here toward the end that little Vaska – must be the son – will remember him always as a martyr for Serbia.’ He looked up over the top edge of the letter at Werthen. ‘I find that last line somewhat disturbing.’

  Werthen agreed and at just that moment Inspector Drechsler entered the Forensics Laboratory.

  ‘I thought I might find you here. Registry notified me you’d checked in.’

  ‘Keeping an eye on us, are you, Inspector?’ Gross said.

  ‘There’s been a development,’ he said with a long face. ‘Another murder similar to Frau Geldner’s. Same professional style with the knife.’ Drechsler looked at the lab technician Gross had verbally abused.

  ‘We should talk in private, gentlemen.’

  They followed Drechsler back to his small office, its wall cluttered with pictures of his family. There were straight-back chairs on offer across the old desk from the inspector.

  ‘Have either of you heard of Office 3G?’ Drechsler pronounced the name with dread in his voice; there was perspiration on his upper lip.

  Werthen began shaking his head even as Gross responded: ‘I have heard reports from sources about some peculiar medical research going on.’

  Drechsler tilted his head at this. ‘You have good sources, Doktor Gross. Medical research indeed. I am sure you both recall the events of late October, 1898.’

  Werthen thought back. This was about the time of his first case as a private inquiries agent. He remembered that he was engaged in an investigation involving the tragic assassination of the Empress Elisabeth in September of that year. And in late October and for some time following that he had been involved in a desperate roll of the dice, preparing for the duel Franzl had asked him about not long ago.

  So, no, Werthen had been so self-absorbed that he knew nothing of public events happening at the same time.

  Gross, however, though also involved in the same case, had managed to keep a wider view of the world. ‘The plague scare, if I am not mistaken,’ the criminologist said evenly.

  Drechsler nodded. ‘They very one. Research doctors at the bacteriological institute of the General Hospital went to India and retrieved pneumonic plague bacilli during the epidemic there and brought it back to Vienna to study. And then somebody got careless. Two doctors and a nurse died when the plague was released in the institute. There was panic, I can tell you. The Viennese figured it was going to spread throughout the city.’

  Werthen could only shake his head that he had not been aware of such a situation. But the prospect of a duel to the death rather reduces one’s horizon of focus.

  ‘It was, however, controlled,’ Gross added. ‘Quite fortunate.’

  ‘Yes,’ Drechsler said. ‘And the public outcry was so great that the research was closed down.’ He folded his hands on the desk in front of him.

  ‘Except that it wasn’t, was it?’ Gross said. ‘This mysterious Office 3G …’

  Another nod from Drechsler. ‘I just learned about it today when they called us in on a murder. Office 3G is located in an upper story of a wing of the Josefinium. Closed off and supposedly secure. But somebody knew of it and somebody was able to breach security.’

  ‘This death,’ Gross prompted.

  ‘A guard. Killed with the same precision as Frau Geldner, according to Starb.’

  ‘But we were just at the morgue,’ Werthen said. ‘Starb made no mention of such a similar killing.’

  Drechsler raised his eyes at Werthen. ‘It was thought a better idea that I apprise you of the situation.’

  ‘What situation, Inspector?’ Werthen asked, but it was clear what was coming.

  ‘The researchers there say two vials of the bacillus have gone missing.’

  Gross let out a long sigh. ‘Enough to decimate a city like Vienna.’

  ‘When did this happen?’ Werthen asked.

  ‘Yesterday afternoon. Well, during their lunch break, actually. The researchers discovered the missing vials when they came back from their meal. They
found the body of the dead guard a bit later.’

  ‘In the middle of the day!’ Gross fumed. ‘Are there any suspects? Did no one notice anything strange?’

  ‘In fact, we do have one particular fellow of interest.’ He consulted a paper on the top of his desk. ‘A Professor Doktor Wilhelm Schieff of Hamburg doing research on otolaryngology. Or so he said.’

  ‘And what was so peculiar about this Doktor Schieff?’ Gross demanded.

  The library assistant there said the doctor was called away to another meeting but forgot his briefcase. He ran after the man and he said the fellow turned on him with – how did he say it?’ He looked again at the paper on the desk. ‘Right. “With death in his eyes and his fist clenched.” Fanciful turn of phrase, I’d say.’

  ‘He does work in a library,’ Gross added.

  ‘And that was the only strange visitor that day?’ Werthen inquired.

  ‘We’re still taking statements,’ Drechsler said. ‘One other thing, though. This library assistant said he was startled not just by the man’s eyes, but by the way he held his right fist. His little finger pointed out like a poking weapon. Now, why does that sound familiar?’

  TWENTY-SIX

  ‘What are you doing with expensive cologne?’ she asked, startling him.

  Klavan was so intent on the procedure that he had not even heard Princess Dumbroski approach. He was sitting at the deal table in the maid’s room he was occupying, and quickly covered the glass vials that lay near the two bottles of cologne.

  ‘I am practicing being a gentleman,’ he said. ‘If you can transform yourself into a princess, surely I can become a lowly count.’

  ‘Don’t ridicule me,’ she spat out, her tiny front teeth looking ferret-like and fearsome. ‘And don’t play me for a fool. I know you. I see all the signs. You’re on a mission in Vienna, but you’re washed up with the Russians. Just like me. So I ask myself, who are you working for? What poor bastard is going to suffer because of you? And then I hear from certain friends that there was an attempted assassination of the emperor not long ago.’

  He smiled up at her. ‘You have made inroads, haven’t you, Princess? Quite the little spy yourself with informants at the very seat of power, it would seem.’

  ‘Some suspect the Black Hand. They say there may even be another attempt.’

  ‘I should say the house of Habsburg is cursed,’ Klavan said dispassionately. ‘First the death of the heir apparent, then of the empress, and now, if your sources are correct, the emperor himself is in danger. What a world we live in,’ he sighed.

  She drew a cut-throat razor from her scarf she wore around her waist, flicked it open and held it to his throat all in one swift movement.

  ‘I told you before not to ridicule me,’ she hissed, digging into his flesh with the edge.

  He did not flinch.

  ‘I should kill you,’ she said. ‘You’re only going to bring me trouble.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you should,’ he said calmly. ‘But you won’t. You fancy yourself that great mistress of the sword, but you’re just like all women, aren’t you, Lisette? Scared of things that go bump in the night.’

  A low growl seem to come from her throat and he now moved swiftly, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip and twisting it until the razor fell to the floor with a clatter. He put his foot on it and simultaneously spun her around, pinning her arms with one hand and gripping her neck in a choke hold from behind. She coughed.

  ‘Can’t breathe,’ she said in a hoarse voice.

  ‘That is the idea,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Now if I let you go, you promise to be a good little girl, right?’

  She struggled against his arm crushing her windpipe, tried to kick him but missed.

  He increased the pressure. ‘Right?’ he said again.

  She stopped struggling and nodded.

  He let go and she gasped for breath, putting her right hand to her bruised throat.

  ‘And now you are going to leave me in peace, Lisette, or all of Vienna will learn of your most interesting past. I shall be gone in a matter of days and then you may return to your soirees and fiction of being a princess. But never forget, for me you are just a little slut I hired to make old and powerful men quiver and moan. Play the princess and the buccaneer after I am gone. For now, just leave me in peace.’

  When she was gone, he carefully twisted the brass cap off the bottle of cologne. Looking inside, he had to laugh. It seemed the perfumery solved what he thought might be his first problem, for the bottle was far from full. The aristocracy, it seemed, was easily swindled.

  Cloth handkerchief to his nose, he took one of the vials in hand and gently edged the cotton plug out.

  Now comes the hard part, he thought.

  They were sitting down to dinner when Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s aide and bodyguard, Duncan, arrived, ushered in by a concerned-looking Frau Blatschky. He looked abashed at bothering them.

  ‘The archduke indicated it was of the utmost importance.’ He handed a large envelope to Werthen. ‘He said I was to wait for a reply.’

  Berthe’s father and Frau Juliani were visiting for dinner tonight, and they waited with Frieda while Werthen, Berthe, Gross and Duncan gathered in the sitting room to read the message.

  Werthen read it aloud to the others, and thus they discovered that the man they had known as Herr Schmidt was actually an Estonian named Pietr Klavan in the employ of Russian military intelligence, and that he had in fact escaped on his way to penal servitude in Siberia.

  ‘Is it certain this Klavan and Herr Schmidt are one and the same?’ Gross queried.

  Werthen scanned the letter. ‘The archduke says here that his agent in St Petersburg has access to the highest levels at the War Ministry. He is, as Franz Ferdinand writes, “my most trusted agent in place.”’ Werthen looked up from the letter, cocking his head at Gross.

  ‘Klavan, it is,’ the criminologist allowed.

  Werthen continued reading the letter. ‘He also reports that Klavan was traced to Brussels. There appears to be a sort of clearing house for commissions of a certain sort.’

  ‘Monsieur Philipot,’ Duncan interrupted. ‘He is well known in certain quarters.’ His Scottish brogue was still strong in German.

  ‘Could we be less obscure?’ Berthe said. ‘What is it exactly this Monsieur Philipot does?’

  Duncan nodded at her. ‘Of course, madam. He operates a clearing house for those seeking freelance strong men and killers. He takes fees from both parties. Not a bad business opportunity from what I understand.’

  ‘So Klavan went to Philipot for a job?’ Berthe said.

  Werthen nodded this time. ‘It says here that when questioned, Philipot indicated Klavan’s commission took him to Belgrade.’

  ‘Then he is the one,’ Gross said. ‘He’s our man. And I will wager hundred to one that his commission is to assassinate Franz Josef.’

  Quiet came over the room like a pall. Though they had suspected this, to have their suspicions confirmed came as a shock.

  And another thought from Werthen: why the waiters?

  After a moment, Duncan spoke again. ‘But that’s not all. It appears that Monsieur Philipot wanted to make himself as helpful as possible to the agents who tracked him. He gave up another name connected with Klavan. It seems he once used a female for some of his operations intended to compromise various men. One Lisette Orzov.’ He looked up meaningfully at the others.

  ‘Is that name supposed to mean something to us?’ Gross asked.

  ‘It seems this Lisette Orzov decided to go out on her own, having learned various tricks of the trade from Klavan, and she used Philipot to help arrange various accomplices to entrap wealthy older gentlemen. She apparently made enough from a distant member of the Belgian royal house to retire in relative luxury to Vienna.’

  ‘Orzov.’ Gross pronounced the name again. ‘But she must have changed her name by now.’

  Duncan smiled at him. ‘Indeed she has, Doktor Gross. Here she is k
nown as Princess Dumbroski.’

  It took them an hour to assemble the men. They did not bother with Prince Montenuovo after learning via telephone from an aide that the prince was attending a performance of Manon at the Court Opera. Instead they relied on men from Franz Ferdinand’s personal staff on duty at the Lower Belvedere. Duncan was familiar with these men and a hurried call to Franz Ferdinand gained permission to mount such a raid.

  They arrived at the Dumbroski residence on the Ringstrasse at just before nine o’clock in three separate carriages. There were twelve of them in all; Berthe had badly wanted to go along, but finally Werthen was able to convince her she needed to stay behind with Frieda. The nine officers Duncan picked were members of an elite team gathered by the archduke himself, and it was clear to Werthen they knew how to handle themselves.

  The house door was still open; they left two of the officers to guard the entrance and made their way up the main staircase to the residence which occupied the top two floors of the building.

  ‘If he’s here, we’ll get him,’ Duncan said as Gross calmly rang the doorbell.

  Klavan had just finished his preparations for tomorrow, with everything neatly stowed away in the pockets of his coat. His meager, nondescript belongings were also packed in readiness for his departure in the morning. His stay in Vienna was coming to an end. He would spend tomorrow night in a fine hotel with new clothing purchased with the money left from what he’d collected this morning from the safety deposit box.

  He had earned some luxury.

  When he heard the bell, he was instantly on guard. Though Lisette entertained regularly, she had nothing planned for tonight. He went to the window and eased back the curtain, glancing down at the Ringstrasse below. Two bulky military officers strolled up and down the street as if on guard duty.