Quinn did not like Waechter’s lascivious tone. It almost sounded as if Waechter was accusing him of some culpability in what had happened to Dolores.

‘What happened to your eye?’ Quinn realized this was a question he had wanted to ask for a long time – from the first moment he saw Waechter in fact.

‘It … kaputt …’ Waechter made a popping sound. ‘Doctors take it out. Say it no good any more.’

‘You lost an eye?’ Perhaps it sounded as if Quinn believed this had been very careless of Waechter. But really the involuntary emphasis came from his excitement at learning the true nature of Waechter’s impairment.

‘Were you duelling with pistols or swords?’

Waechter looked at Quinn without speaking for some time. ‘Ein kleiner … Splitter – ja? Splitter?’

‘Splinter?’

‘Ja, ein splitter. Man shoot me. Ja? Shot – woo!’ Waechter signalled the shot flying past his head. ‘But ein splitter … ein splitter go in my eye.’

‘Why did the man shoot you?’

Waechter shrugged.

‘And what happened to him?’

‘I shoot him. I not miss. The man … dead.’

‘How long have you known Dolores Novak?’

‘I use her in my films. One times. Two times.’

‘Have you ever had intimate relations with her?’

‘Nein.’ It seemed to Quinn that Waechter gave a small private grin.

‘What about you, Mr Porrick?’

‘I never really knew the woman.’

‘Are all your films about eyes, Mr Waechter?’

Waechter answered in German.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘Philister.’

‘Is this another of your films?’

‘My films are about many things. But always they are about …’ Waechter pounded himself on the chest. ‘Vot is in der human heart. I create poems, visual poems, that express what is in der heart. Ja?’

‘I would like to see all of your films. In fact, it is necessary that I do.’

Porrick’s eyes widened in an expression of surprise. He mouthed something quietly and nodded to himself, as if some inner thought had just received confirmation.

‘You will arrange for copies of all your films to be sent to me, Detective Inspector Silas Quinn, Special Crimes Department, New Scotland Yard.’

‘This vill take time. I do not have prints. I must speak to Herr Hartmann.’

‘But it can be done?’

‘Ja.’

‘Good, now do either of you two gentlemen have information regarding the whereabouts of Mr Novak?’

‘Do you think Novak did it?’ Porrick leaned forward now. He seemed eager to push this hypothesis on Quinn.

‘Why would you say that?’

‘I don’t know … you’re looking for him.’

‘We are naturally anxious to speak to him. If either of you hear from Mr Novak, you must urge him to contact the police, so that we may eliminate him from our enquiries. And in any event …’ Quinn handed out business cards. ‘Please let me know.’ Quinn thought back to the scene he had witnessed outside the kinematograph theatre. ‘How would you describe the relationship between Mr and Mrs Novak?’

‘It was … unusual,’ admitted Porrick. ‘She was with Lord Dunwich at the party. They were getting pretty familiar. Novak didn’t seem to mind at all.’

‘He’s a foreigner,’ remarked Quinn.

‘A Yank.’

‘His name, though – Novak?’

‘Serbisch.’

‘Serbian?’

‘Ja.’

‘And you are Austrian? Not German?’

‘I am citizen of der Republic of Art.’

‘I understand you cannot go back to Austria. Or dare not. There are tensions, are there not, between Austria and the Serbians? The Serbians resent the Austrian yoke. Perhaps there is some bad blood between yourself and Mr Novak?’

‘Bad blood? No. I don’t care he is Serbian. I only care he acts.’

Quinn moved closer to Waechter’s desk and looked down at the pages spread out around the typewriter. He saw that the typescript had been annotated by hand in green ink. ‘I will need a sample of your handwriting.’

‘Vy?’

‘I am not at liberty to say.’

‘Did the killer write a note?’ wondered Porrick.

‘You do not suspect me in this maurtter?’ It was unclear whether Waechter’s last word was murder or matter.

‘It is to do with another aspect of the investigation.’

‘Vot about him?’

‘Yes, Mr Porrick too. If you could both use that pen, please. Mr Waechter’s pen.’

‘Vot do you vant me to write?’

‘I would like you to write the name of the man who left with Dolores Novak.’

Waechter’s single eye bulged with something between indignation and amazement as he regarded Quinn. ‘Vot game is this?’

‘It is not a game, Mr Waechter. I assure you I am deadly serious.’

THIRTY-SEVEN

Quinn was shown into the same room in the Admiralty Extension as before. The blinds were again drawn on the day, and on any prying eyes outside. Lord Dunwich nodded to him without speaking, unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a small package loosely wrapped in brown paper. ‘Come with me.’

Lord Dunwich led him down into the basement of the building, and opened a door to a small, windowless room furnished with a round table and no chairs. The room was lit by a bare, flickering electric light bulb, like lightning in the night until the bulb gave out completely. With the door closed, they were plunged into darkness.

The darkness was filled with Lord Dunwich’s tense, urgent whisper. ‘I have the object we discussed last night.’

Quinn felt something pushed into his hands.

‘You may take it away and examine it at the Yard.’

‘Has anyone other than you handled the object?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘That’s good. I will have to ask you to come into the Yard at some point so that we may take your fingerprints, in order to eliminate them from our forensic examination.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Perhaps you would be able to do that on Monday?’

‘If you wish.’

‘Thank you. However, Lord Dunwich, it was not on account of this object that I have come to see you.’

‘It is not?’

Quinn could not see Dunwich’s face but he heard the nervous apprehension in his voice. ‘There has been another attack. A young woman associated with Waechter’s film – and therefore with your friend Hartmann – has had one of her eyes forcibly removed from her head. In this case, unfortunately, the injury resulted in her death. She was found this morning.’

‘How terrible. But what has this to do with national security?’

‘The victim was last seen leaving the party at Visionary Productions in Cecil Court in your company, Lord Dunwich. The dead woman is Dolores Novak.’

Quinn heard the sharp inarticulate cry of shock. Followed by a softer murmuring of her name: ‘Dolores-s-s-s!’ The final sibilant fragmented into uncontrollable sobs.

‘Sir. What happened last night, after you left the party?’

It was some time before Dunwich could answer. ‘We went to Dolores’s … to their … to a room. Dolores and I … well, we are both adults … we both wanted the same thing. As far as I could tell, her husband took a … let’s say a modern attitude to marital fidelity. I even got the impression he encouraged it. At any rate, the husband, Novak, came back and kicked up an awful fuss. I say, you don’t think he …?’

‘If you have any information about his whereabouts …’

‘No. I left, naturally, soon after he turned up. You might try that Porrick fellow. He was with Novak.’

‘Porrick? But I have already spoken to Mr Porrick. He said nothing about this.’

‘I dare say he was trying to be discreet. Novak has a motive, doesn’t he, Quinn?’

‘How was he when you left him?’

‘I wouldn’t say he was in a jealous rage, if that’s what you mean. I’ve been thinking about what happened. I think he knew that he would find me there. I think he came purposely. In order to blackmail me. He did not try actively to extort money from me, but he put me in a position where I naturally offered him money. Which he was happy to accept. I dare say that other fellow was there to get what he could out of it too. The only innocent party was Dolores. Quinn, what do you say to this? Dolores and Novak argued after I left. She wanted nothing to do with the blackmail affair and reproved him over his behaviour. It was this that enraged him. Influenced by the example of the film we had just seen, and by what happened to that poor girl in Cecil Court, he attacked her in the manner you have described.’