The Melancholy Countess (Short Story) by Frank Tallis Read Free Book Online Page A

that door down.”
    “In which case,” said Rheinhardt, addressing his fellow prisoners, “I would be most grateful if you would all join with me and shout ‘Help’ on the count of three.”

15
    Farkas dashed to his office, removed a revolver from the safe, and dropped the weapon into his coat pocket. He then grabbed his briefcase and exited the hotel through the tradesman’s entrance. Near the university, he stopped off at a firm of lawyers and asked the clerk for the senior partner’s card. The clerk was more than happy to oblige. When Farkas arrived at the Schottenring station, he placed the same card on the duty officer’s desk and said, “I have an appointment to see my client, Herr Hauke.”
    “We were not expecting you,” the officer replied, placing his finger under the printed name and reading out aloud,
“Herr Doctor Zamenhof.”
    “Ah, my clerk neglected to inform you, perhaps.” Farkas lifted his briefcase into view and patted the soft leather. “I’ll be only a few minutes. A document to sign.”
    The duty officer called into the shadowy depths of an adjoining room. “Franz? Your services are required.” A constable wearing a spiked helmet appeared. “This gentleman is Herr Doctor Zamenhof, Hauke’s lawyer. Could you show him downstairs, please?”
    In the basement, the constable introduced Farkas to an attendant who made him sign a visitor’s book, before escorting him along a dimly lit corridor. They came to a door with a square panel set in it at eye level. The attendant slid the panel aside, peered into the cell, and shouted through the opening. “Wake up, Hauke. You’re always asleep. Your lawyer’s here to see you!” He then opened the door and ushered Farkas inside.
    “It’s all right,” Farkas addressed the attendant. “There’s no need to wait with me. I’ll call you when our business is concluded.” The attendant nodded, walked away, and Farkas closed the door behind him. Hauke did not get up from the bed. He stretched his limbs, yawned, and turned to look at Farkas.
    “Do you remember Margit?” said Farkas.
    “I beg your pardon?” Hauke replied.
    “Margit Székely.”
    “I can’t say I do.”
    “No, I didn’t think you would.” Farkas took the revolver from his coat pocket and aimed it at Hauke’s head. “Anyway, this is for her. For Margit. A bullet in the brain is far too kind for a contemptible devil like you, but it will have to suffice.” Farkas pulled the trigger, and a crimson mist filled the cell. Before the attendant could react to the deafening report, Farkas had cocked the hammer and the smoking muzzle was in his own mouth.

16
    Rheinhardt handed Danko another cigarette. The youth had forgotten to smoke the first. Between his motionless fingers, it had gradually turned into a wilting cylinder of ash. In due course, Danko stirred and looked into the inspector’s eyes.
    “The cavalry officers were billeted close by—just across the border, but they would drink at the village tavern and mixed freely with the locals. Herr Farkas had known Margit all his life. She was sixteen, much younger than him, but I think he loved her. I suppose he was waiting for the right time—to propose, I mean. He didn’t tell me that, but …” Danko drew on the cigarette and released the smoke through his nostrils. “Hauke took advantage of her and she got pregnant. The regiment moved on, and Hauke was never seen again. Margit died during childbirth.”
    “What happened to the baby?”
    “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
    Somewhere in the Schottenring station, a clock was striking nine o’clock.
    “Why did you agree to help him?”
    “He was good to me,” Danko replied with a pathetically grateful smile. “I had a bad time of it, the winter before last. I even spent a month living in the sewers. He found me begging, just outside the hotel. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t try to chase me away, not like all the others. We talked about the old country, and he