April, other than the problems you already know about. She complained of difficulty swallowing for the first time on the third of February, and I referred her to Professor Saminsky four weeks later.’
‘Stomach complaint?’
‘A little indigestion, that’s all.’
Engelberg’s index finger dropped down the margin. He hummed contemplatively.
‘What is it?’ asked Rheinhardt.
‘My entry dated April the twenty-seventh: fever, lower abdominal tenderness, and vaginal discharge . A gynaecological problem – an infection of some kind – I advised Fräulein Rosenkrantz to rest.’
‘Frau Marcus mentioned that Fräulein Rosenkrantz was confined to her bed because of what she called a ladies’ problem.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Did you identify the illness?’
‘Not specifically. There was no need. I knew it would clear up soon enough.’
‘But you must have examined your patient?’
The doctor appeared outraged by Rheinhardt’s suggestion. ‘Not invasively, no.’
‘But surely it would have been appropriate for you to do so.’
Engelberg shook his head. ‘A doctor must have good cause to compromise a woman’s dignity.’
Rheinhardt hesitated before continuing: ‘Is it possible that Fräulein Rosenkrantz had contracted a venereal disease?
‘No.’
‘You’re quite sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then could the infection have developed subsequent to a termination?’
Engelberg started. ‘What are you implying, Inspector?’ Rheinhardt did not respond. Engelberg tutted and said, ‘Yes, I suppose the infection might have been caused by a termination, but Fräulein Rosenkrantz gave me no reason to believe that this was a cause I should be considering. What have you found out, Inspector? Perhaps you would be so kind as to speak frankly.’
‘Fräulein Rosenkrantz fell pregnant in the spring.’
‘Who told you that?’ said Engelberg, evidently unconvinced.
‘An associate of hers.’
Engelberg tapped his notes. ‘She didn’t complain of these symptoms until late April.’
‘Perhaps she felt ashamed, embarrassed? Perhaps she tolerated her discomfort and only came to see you after procrastinating.’
Engelberg shrugged. ‘That is possible.’ He closed the folder. ‘Inspector, I think you should talk to Professor Saminsky.’
‘I intend to. He is away at present, but I understand he will be returning shortly.’
‘A psychiatrist necessarily touches upon personal matters during treatment. But why must you delve into Fräulein Rosenkrantz’s private affairs? I really don’t see how it serves the public interest. What if she did terminate a pregnancy? I dare say she has already been judged by her maker. There is no need for a further judgement to be made in the newspapers.’
Rheinhardt stood up and put on his hat. Catching sight of his reflection in a mirror, he straightened the brim and squeezed the upturned ends of his moustache.
‘Thank you for your assistance, Herr Doctor. Please don’t trouble your servants. I can see myself out.’
16
A S L IEBERMANN APPROACHED THE opera house he inserted his hand into his coat pocket and checked that the letter was still there. The young doctor needed to reassure himself of its existence, to dismiss nagging doubts that he had only imagined its appearance or perhaps misread the signature of the correspondent. Director Mahler had referred to ‘a confidential matter’ which he wished to discuss ‘in person’. Liebermann wondered if the director had developed a psychological problem that he did not wish to disclose to the opera house physician. The director’s mannerisms had certainly suggested a restless, neurotic temperament.
Przistaupinsky met Liebermann at the stage door and escorted him to the director’s office.
‘Herr Doctor Liebermann,’ said Mahler, rising from his chair. ‘I am so glad you could come.’ He glanced at his secretary. ‘Przistaupinsky – tea. Please sit, Herr Doctor.’
The surface of the director’s desk was
‘Stomach complaint?’
‘A little indigestion, that’s all.’
Engelberg’s index finger dropped down the margin. He hummed contemplatively.
‘What is it?’ asked Rheinhardt.
‘My entry dated April the twenty-seventh: fever, lower abdominal tenderness, and vaginal discharge . A gynaecological problem – an infection of some kind – I advised Fräulein Rosenkrantz to rest.’
‘Frau Marcus mentioned that Fräulein Rosenkrantz was confined to her bed because of what she called a ladies’ problem.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Did you identify the illness?’
‘Not specifically. There was no need. I knew it would clear up soon enough.’
‘But you must have examined your patient?’
The doctor appeared outraged by Rheinhardt’s suggestion. ‘Not invasively, no.’
‘But surely it would have been appropriate for you to do so.’
Engelberg shook his head. ‘A doctor must have good cause to compromise a woman’s dignity.’
Rheinhardt hesitated before continuing: ‘Is it possible that Fräulein Rosenkrantz had contracted a venereal disease?
‘No.’
‘You’re quite sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then could the infection have developed subsequent to a termination?’
Engelberg started. ‘What are you implying, Inspector?’ Rheinhardt did not respond. Engelberg tutted and said, ‘Yes, I suppose the infection might have been caused by a termination, but Fräulein Rosenkrantz gave me no reason to believe that this was a cause I should be considering. What have you found out, Inspector? Perhaps you would be so kind as to speak frankly.’
‘Fräulein Rosenkrantz fell pregnant in the spring.’
‘Who told you that?’ said Engelberg, evidently unconvinced.
‘An associate of hers.’
Engelberg tapped his notes. ‘She didn’t complain of these symptoms until late April.’
‘Perhaps she felt ashamed, embarrassed? Perhaps she tolerated her discomfort and only came to see you after procrastinating.’
Engelberg shrugged. ‘That is possible.’ He closed the folder. ‘Inspector, I think you should talk to Professor Saminsky.’
‘I intend to. He is away at present, but I understand he will be returning shortly.’
‘A psychiatrist necessarily touches upon personal matters during treatment. But why must you delve into Fräulein Rosenkrantz’s private affairs? I really don’t see how it serves the public interest. What if she did terminate a pregnancy? I dare say she has already been judged by her maker. There is no need for a further judgement to be made in the newspapers.’
Rheinhardt stood up and put on his hat. Catching sight of his reflection in a mirror, he straightened the brim and squeezed the upturned ends of his moustache.
‘Thank you for your assistance, Herr Doctor. Please don’t trouble your servants. I can see myself out.’
16
A S L IEBERMANN APPROACHED THE opera house he inserted his hand into his coat pocket and checked that the letter was still there. The young doctor needed to reassure himself of its existence, to dismiss nagging doubts that he had only imagined its appearance or perhaps misread the signature of the correspondent. Director Mahler had referred to ‘a confidential matter’ which he wished to discuss ‘in person’. Liebermann wondered if the director had developed a psychological problem that he did not wish to disclose to the opera house physician. The director’s mannerisms had certainly suggested a restless, neurotic temperament.
Przistaupinsky met Liebermann at the stage door and escorted him to the director’s office.
‘Herr Doctor Liebermann,’ said Mahler, rising from his chair. ‘I am so glad you could come.’ He glanced at his secretary. ‘Przistaupinsky – tea. Please sit, Herr Doctor.’
The surface of the director’s desk was
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