Vienna Secrets by Frank Tallis Read Free Book Online Page B

chest, Liebermann listened.
    Lubb-dub, lubb-dub, lubb-dub…
    There was something very wrong.
    He heard a rumbling on the second component of the beat, a rumbling that became more marked when he placed the diaphragm of the stethoscope closer to the left edge of the patient’s sternum. When he listened to the patient’s lungs, he heard a loud crackling. They were horribly congested.
    Liebermann took off the stethoscope and handed it back to Edlinger.
    “Aortic regurgitation. The infection has all but destroyed his heart. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”
    “He’s dying?” cried the aspirant, the pitch of his voice climbing with surprise.
    Liebermann quickly raised his finger to his lips.
    “Yes,” he whispered, looking once again at von Kortig’s blushing fingertips.
    Nurse Heuber made the sign of the cross and excused herself. The sound of her brisk step, captured and amplified by the vaulted ceiling, fell silent when she reached the anteroom. Liebermann explained, sotto voce, to the aspirant how he had determined the severity of von Kortig’s condition. He then suggested to Edlinger that he should go and make a relevant entry in the patient’s notes.
    There was no reason for Liebermann to stay on; however, having become involved in the young baron’s care, he felt a curious sense of obligation, a compulsion to remain a little longer.
    Liebermann found a chair, placed it behind the screen, and sat by the patient. He checked von Kortig’s pulse again and plumped up the pillows: maintaining him in an upright position would make it easier for the poor fellow to breathe. The gas lamps were humming, and the steady persistence of their inanimate drone lulled Liebermann into a pensive, melancholy state. His mind produced a loose circle of associations: death, mortality, the importance of seizing opportunities because of the brevity of life, Miss Lydgate, sexual desire, syphilis—and, again, death.
    Suddenly Liebermann became aware that something had changed. There was a difference in the acoustics of the ward. Where there had hitherto been a constant rhythmic accompaniment to the humming gas lamps—von Kortig’s shallow, stertorous breathing—there was now an absence. Liebermann looked up, expecting the worst, expecting to be confronted with the terrible stillness of the dead; however, what he saw almost made him jump. Von Kortig had opened one eye and was staring at him intently.
    “I’m sorry,” said the aristocrat in a cracked, wheezy voice. “But you are?”
    “Dr. Max Liebermann.”
    “Liebermann, you say.” The other eye opened. “Liebermann… Ah yes, of course. Karl’s friend. I am sorry. My memory isn’t as good as it once was…. You were my guest last summer—at the hunting lodge.”
    It was probably the effect of the morphine. Liebermann did not have the heart to challenge him.
    Von Kortig winked. “What a summer, eh?”
    “Yes,” Liebermann replied softly. “What a summer…”
    “Those girls from Paris… Have you ever encountered a more sporting group of ladies?”
    “No… I haven’t.”
    The young baron paused for a moment and smiled wistfully.
    “Hugo, eh? What a fool he was. His father was furious, you know—when he heard. He’s threatened to disinherit him. That land has been in the Meissner family for generations. Although, who am I to criticize. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Luck seems to be on your side, you’re dealt one fantastic hand after another, you get overconfident, and then…” Von Kortig paused, lifted his arm, but was too weak to hold it up. When it hit the sheet, he winced.
    “Are you coming again this year?”
    “If I can.”
    “Good. Karl will be pleased.”
    The dying young man looked at the screen, but his eyes were focused on a distant, imaginary horizon.
    “I must say, I’m looking forward to it again this year—more so than ever before.” He closed his eyes and croaked, “Is there any champagne left? Put a few drops of cognac