Critique Of Criminal Reason Part 33

'There has been a spate of murders in Konigsberg. You know that, don't you, Herr Lutbatz?'

He nodded gravely. Then, his dainty features grimaced into a mask of alarm. His eyes blazed. 'You do not think that I am involved, sir?'

I smiled to rea.s.sure him.

'I need some information connected with your trade, sir. Nothing more.'

His mouth formed a gaping 'O' of surprise.

'But I deal in fabrics,' he said. 'Are you sure that I'm the man for you?'

Without waiting for my answer, he leapt up from his seat with unexpected agility and ran to the far side of the room. 'Here, you see? This is my business, sir. Material of the finest quality.'

He threw open one of the boxes which covered a good part of the floor and drew out a sample weft of dark red velvet. 'I travel all over the continent, France and the Low Countries for the most part, to buy my wares, and I sell them here in Prussia. All the shops in Konigsberg buy from me, and private customers too, of course. All the very best people...'

'Like Frau Koch?' I asked.

'Frau Koch, sir?' he repeated, his eyes wide with surprise. 'Frau Koch has been dead these past five years. The poor lady...'

He fell silent, evidently unsure where I was leading him.

'Sit down, Herr Lutbatz,' I said. 'I am not here to see your goods.'

He sank unhappily onto his chair and stared at me.

'Frau Koch was the wife of my a.s.sistant. Sergeant Koch came to see you today, did he not?'

He let out another sigh of relief. 'He did, sir. His wife was a seamstress. She traded with me for many years. I gave her material in exchange for samples of her best work. Frau Merete was a delightful woman.'

'I want to know what Herr Koch asked of you, and what you told him in reply.'

Lutbatz looked at me with a puzzled expression. 'I thought you said that he was your a.s.sistant, sir? Did he not tell you himself?'

'I wish to hear from you what the outcome of the meeting was,' I said drily.

'Well, he came to ask about some needles, sir,' Herr Lutbatz replied in a nervous flurry. 'The sort we use in tapestry work. I let him see my samples, and Herr Sergeant asked if I had sold any to persons living here in Konigsberg.'

'And what was your reply?'

'I checked my books and found the information he was seeking, sir. I've sold no needles of that type so far this trip. But Sergeant Koch was interested in others I had sold in the past and I gave him the records.'

I took out the paper I had found on Koch's corpse and handed it to him.

'Do you recognise this as the list that you gave him earlier today?'

'I believe it is,' he said, jumping up and running to the other side of the room. He clipped a silver pince-nez on the bridge of his nose and peered intently at the note. 'Yes, yes, this is my handwriting. These are customers of mine. I had one or two more to see tomorrow, then I meant to leave for Potsdam.'

'Do you mean to say that you have not yet completed your business in town, Herr Lutbatz?'

'That is correct,' he replied.

'Have you spoken to Herr Kant yet?'

'Now, isn't that a coincidence!' he exclaimed. 'Sergeant Koch asked me the very same question. I can show you the needles Herr Kant ordered. Sergeant Koch was most interested in those.'

He stood up and crossed the room. 'Does Herr Kant come here, or do you attend on him at his home?' I asked.

'He comes to me, sir,' he answered, dropping to his knees, throwing open a large brown trunk. 'Here they are!' he cried, taking out a wooden box and showing it to me.

'Does Herr Kant buy only these?' I asked, as Lutbatz extracted a rolled bundle and placed it into my hands.

'Oh no, sir,' the merchant prattled on. 'He purchases other things as well, cotton, wool, sometimes a little strip of Flemish linen, or a bit of French silk. But these big needles! I don't know what he does with them all.'

'Have you ever asked him?'

'Oh no. No, sir. I supposed they were for his wife. It hardly seems delicate to ask, if he doesn't say for himself. I've often wondered what her work is like,' the merchant chattered on nervously. 'I'm on excellent terms with all my clients, they often show me the things they make. If their work is of a reasonably good standard, I sometimes buy it to add to my stock. In the case of poor Frau Koch, I would exchange finished work for fresh materials. There's an excellent trade hereabouts in local craft for a person such as myself that travels around, but...'

'But Herr Kant never offered to trade his wife's needlework for stock,' I concluded. 'And I don't suppose you've ever been invited to their house either?'

He arched his eyebrows in surprise. 'How did you guess, sir? She must be an invalid, I thought. If she sends her husband shopping for her, she can hardly be in the best of health, can she?'

I did not reply. As I unrolled the bundle, I was trying to imagine Koch's thoughts when he read the name of Kant on the list and saw the articles that the philosopher had purchased. I held the cloth in the palm of my hand, folded it back, and stared at the needles. There were six of them.

'Whalebone ivory,' Herr Lutbatz said proudly. 'Such a lovely colour! Creamy white with an undertone of yellow.'

They were a fraction longer than the one that Anna Rostova had hidden, a fraction brighter, as if whoever had made them had polished them lovingly. There was a large eye-hole at one end, a sharp point at the other. My head was spinning and I offered no resistance as Herr Lutbatz picked up one of the needles, and weighed it in his hand.

'These are perfect. Light, well-balanced,' he said. 'They need careful handling, but they're far more robust than they look. A skilled worker can do an excellent job with one of these. Can I give them to Herr Kant if he calls before I leave?'

'I doubt he'll have much use for them after today,' I replied.

'He won't find better anywhere else,' Herr Lutbatz insisted with an impatient shrug of his shoulders. 'That's what Sergeant Koch said. He'd never seen such fine tools before. His wife would have loved them.'

'I am sure she would, Herr Lutbatz. You can put them away now,' I said, and watched as he rolled the needles up, placed them in their box, and returned them to the trunk from which he had taken them. 'Thank you, sir. You have been a great help.'

'Think nothing of it, Herr Procurator. I've done my duty, I hope. But may I ask you something?' He looked at me for a moment. 'Why are you so interested in Herr Kant?'

'Do you know who he is?' I countered.

Roland Lutbatz did not hesitate. 'I told you, sir. He's one of my customers. Not the most regular, but in my business you must count the pennies as well as the pounds.'

'Herr Professor Immanuel Kant is a famous man,' I added. 'He used to teach philosophy at the university here in Konigsberg.'

'Oh, that!' the haberdasher returned with a flutter of his eyebrows. 'He told me all about himself the first time he came to see me. It must be a year ago now. He was full of himself. A real peac.o.c.k, I'd say! He was a famous philosopher, he taught at the university, he'd published any number of important books. I didn't take him seriously, I must admit.'

'Whyever not?' I asked.

He hesitated, searching for a word. 'He told me that he was on...intimate terms with the King. Well, I played along, of course, but I didn't believe the half of it.'

'Did Herr Kant tell you the sort of work his wife did?' I asked.

'What a question, sir!' Lutbatz cried, clapping his hands together excitedly. 'Naturally, when he returned to me the second time, I asked him if his wife had found the needles to her liking.'

'And how did he reply?'

'I found him most evasive. She was little more than an amateur, he told me, but she enjoyed herself, which was good enough for him.'

I glanced out of the window. Dawn comes early in the North and the sky was a rippled pearly pink.

'Forgive me, Herr Lutbatz,' I said. 'I have robbed you of your sleep. Thank you for all that you have told me. It will be most useful.'

I was still speaking when Roland Lutbatz went scurrying across to that table on the other side of the room again. 'Before you go, Herr Procurator, I hope that you will leave an inscription in my autograph alb.u.m,' he said, carrying a volume across to me. 'I ask every visitor to sign his name and write a phrase to remember him by. It's a great comfort when you travel the world without a constant friend. I do hope you won't disappoint me? Sergeant Koch ran off without signing. But I won't be disappointed twice in one day!'

I took the book in my hands it was a small thing to do by way of thanks and examined the neat leather-bound volume. A large red velvet heart and the word 'Memories' had been embroidered diagonally across the cover in elegant white letters.

'I st.i.tched it myself,' Herr Lutbatz said proudly. 'All my own work!'

'It's quite remarkable,' I admitted. Indeed, any housewife would have been proud of such handiwork.

'Now, here's a pen, sir,' he said, bringing over a pot of ink and a quill, while I wondered what on earth to write. 'If you turn back a way, you'll see the phrase that Herr Kant inscribed with his own hand.'

My hands trembled as I turned the pages and saw what the visitor had written the night that he came to Roland Lutbatz to collect the instruments with which he would inflict sudden death on so many unsuspecting souls: Two things fill my mind with wonder the starry sky above my head, the obscurity deep within my soul.

The epigram was signed 'Immanuel Kant'.

'Go on, sir,' Herr Lutbatz urged with a shrill laugh of excitement, 'let's see if you can do better!'

I took the quill and in a few seconds I had composed and written the following phrase of my own: 'Reason has vanquished the clouds of Obscurity, bringing Light.' Then, as Immanuel Kant had done before me, I signed my name beneath the inscription.

The first rays of the rising sun caressed the dark horizon in a golden fan as I left The Blue Unicorn and walked out into the new morning with a lighter step, and an even lighter heart.

Chapter 30.

Did I truly believe that Immanuel Kant was the murderer? Even for a single instant? Had I been able to conjure up a mental picture of Roland Lutbatz chatting amiably away, while Professor Kant purchased six ivory needles for the purpose of ma.s.sacring the innocent citizens of Konigsberg in cold blood? At his age? In his frail physical condition?

If the idea had ever flitted across the ruffled surface of my troubled mind for the tiniest fraction of a second, that phrase written out so boldly in the merchant's autograph book saved me from taking a further plunge into unthinkable error. What I had read was a G.o.dless parody of the Immanuel Kant that all the world knew and respected. As I studied those ungainly letters written out so awkwardly, in such an immature and childlike hand, I suddenly realised that a familiar ghost had brushed my sleeve many times in the past few days, and that he had gained ground each time that I failed to recognise him.

The very first time I had not seen this ghostly presence was the day that I came to Konigsberg seven years before and found myself so unexpectedly invited to lunch at Professor Kant's home. His ancient valet was absent that day, attending the funeral of his sister. In thirty years of constant domestic service, it was the only day when he had not been present at Professor Kant's table. And just a short while after I returned home to Lotingen, the sixty-year-old servant had been summarily dismissed from the house, forbidden ever to return. Yet, Frau Mendelssohn had seen him repeatedly entering and leaving at all hours of the day and the night. She had told me so. She had seen Martin Lampe!

Lampe had managed to worm his way in and out of Professor Kant's drawing room soon after I had left it, or shortly before I entered. Martin Lampe and I had been like twin satellites in parallel orbits around the same mighty planet, always circling, never meeting. But why had Kant allowed Martin Lampe to return from banishment?

I could only guess. Maybe the servant had played on the generosity of his former master. Perhaps he had answered some need, given comfort in the form of the regularity and continuity of his visits, or provided that sense of order and fixity which seemed to be so essential to the ageing philosopher's well-being. What must have sounded to Kant like harmless chatter with an old, familiar confidant was the key to Martin Lampe's power. Like an alien cuckoo in the nest, one by one, he had thrown out all the other chicks. Kant's dearest friends had thought to unsaddle the valet, but he had pitched them headlong from the intimacy of his master. Martin Lampe had never distanced himself from Immanuel Kant. Not for one single moment. He had known my every move. As I began to displace him in his master's confidence, he had sought to eliminate me. He had killed Sergeant Koch in the belief that he was murdering me. That waterproof cloak had been the signal. Kant must have mentioned in pa.s.sing that he had given it to me; Martin Lampe could not have known that I had handed on the cloak to Sergeant Koch.

But why had Lampe killed the others? Had each one of them had some tenuous connection with Professor Kant that I had not yet been able to discover? That Professor Kant might consult a notary was certainly possible, but what about the others? Jan Konnen was a blacksmith, Paula-Anne Brunner sold eggs, Johann Gottfried Haase was a social derelict. And why had Kant himself said nothing about them if he knew these people?

I had identified the killer, but I could not fathom what had made him do it. I had to find him, and make him talk. But where should I start to look? Where did he live, where could he hide? I took out my fob-watch. It was half past five in the morning. Nevertheless, I walked away quickly down Konigstra.s.se in the opposite direction from the Fortress, a nervous litany running through my head.

'Dear G.o.d, forgive the Totzes, husband and wife. Pardon Anna Rostova for her sins and her crimes. Excuse the weakness of Lublinsky,' I intoned. They had all been savaged by my blundering incapacity.

'And help me stop Martin Lampe!' He had found a modus operandi and a weapon ideally suited to his physical condition and his age. Like a watchful spider, he had woven a web of cunning to immobilise his prey. When the fly was caught and helpless, he had struck with all the venom at his disposal.

'O Lord,' I spoke out loud, 'preserve the soul of Amadeus Koch.'

Koch would never know how close he had come to the truth. I prayed most fervently for his honest soul as I pulled my cloak more tightly against the freezing cold of dawn.

'And Heaven help me!' I thought finally, though there was more irony than piety in the notion. I had been deceived, but I had not been forced to pay for the error with my life.

I reached my destination, pushed open the creaking garden gate once again, and knocked more furiously on the door than I had intended. The servant came at last. While straightening his wig, he announced brusquely that it was too early for his master to receive a social call. 'It's barely six o'clock!' he added. 'And in any case, my master has a head cold. He'll be seeing no one today.'

'He will make an exception,' I insisted stubbornly. 'Tell him that Procurator Stiffeniis must speak to him on a matter of the greatest urgency.'

The fellow closed the door in my face, only to open it again a few minutes later. Without a word of apology for his rudeness, he stepped back, waved me into the hall, and pointed to the top of the stairs.

Herr Jachmann was propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows, his head covered by a grey woollen cap which was pulled low on his brow. The air in the room hung heavy with the fumes of camphor.

'You again?' he greeted me without warmth. 'The last nightmare of a long night.'

I sat down on a chair near the bed without apologising or waiting for an invitation. 'I have come about Martin Lampe,' I said.

Jachmann sat up quickly.

'I want you to tell me all that you know about him.'

Falling back against the pillows with a loud sigh, he closed his red-ringed eyes. 'I thought your task was to find a murderer, Stiffeniis, not gossip about the servants.'

'I need your help if I am to protect Professor Kant,' I said stiffly, and waited for him to open his eyes and look at me, though he remained silent and still. 'Do you know Frau Mendelssohn?' I ploughed on.

He nodded without speaking.

'She told me that she thought she had seen Martin Lampe entering Professor Kant's house on more than one occasion.'

Had I told Jachmann that an Arctic tiger was roaming unchained on the streets of Konigsberg, the effect could not have been more p.r.o.nounced. His eyes flashed open, and he glared at me angrily. 'Keep that man away from Kant,' he cried with such force that he was afflicted by a fit of coughing. The violence of his disavowal of Lampe disconcerted me.

'Have you told me everything I should know about him, Herr Jachmann?'

The old man did not answer, but fussed instead with the woollen cap on his head, pulling his shawl more tightly about his shoulders, as if I had brought the winter cold into the room with me.

'Lampe was not simply a servant,' Jachmann replied slowly. 'He was more, much more. Without him, Professor Kant was lost. Like a child without a mother. Kant's intellectual accomplishments are due in very large part to the contribution of Martin Lampe.'

The incredulity on my face must have been clear.