Daily contact with Kant's genius had evidently worked its magic on the uneducated valet. Never was such a simple instrument more useful. I laid the paper down on the snow next to the footprint to mark off the extension, then rested it on my knee and drew in the figure. There was a distinctive crosscut on the sole of the shoe the left foot of the pair which would be useful for the purpose of comparison. Warming to my task, I sketched out a plan of the garden and drew arrows to indicate the direction of the intruder's coming and going, while Johannes watched in silence.

'You heard nothing out of the ordinary last night, I suppose?' I asked him, as I was completing my sketch.

'No, sir, I...I did not,' he faltered.

I lifted my head and stared at him. His eyes shifted away from mine.

Had he let someone into the house, someone of whom his master might not have approved? But that was illogical. Would he have shown me the footprints if he knew for certain who had left them?

'Nothing at all, Johannes?' I insisted.

Might he have taken unfair advantage of the fact that his aged master was sleeping? Johannes was thirty years of age, no more. He might have a sweetheart or be married.

'Hold up that lantern,' I said, searching his face as he obeyed reluctantly. 'Believe me, Johannes, anything you choose to tell me, your master will know nothing of the matter. Did you invite someone into the house without asking the permission of Professor Kant?'

'Oh no, sir. No!' His denial was immediate. 'I would never dream of taking such a liberty. I give you my oath on it, sir.'

Despite this fervent plea of innocence, Johannes seemed to be on the verge of tears. I waited, watching in silence. It is a trick we magistrates favour.

'In truth, sir,' he added, 'I do have a...a minor confession to make. It means breaking faith, but...I...well, you ought to know of it.'

He set the lantern on the ground, rubbed his hands together, bunched them over the flaps of his pockets in tight fists, then stared unhappily into my face.

'Professor Kant could be in grave peril,' I reminded him.

'I...I was afraid to tell anyone, sir. Especially Herr Jachmann. I thought I'd lose my place if I told him. Herr Jachmann instructed me never to leave Professor Kant alone.'

'Quite right,' I said.

'And I have followed his instructions to the letter, sir. Except...'

'Except for what?'

'Except for Professor Kant himself.'

'What do you mean?'

'He asked me to leave him alone for an hour last night, sir. He gave me permission to visit my wife. You might say that he...insisted.'

'Alone, Johannes?' I was shocked. 'Why should he wish to send you away at night?'

'He's working on his book, sir. He said that he wanted no distractions. I tried to dissent, but he told me to make the most of the opportunity. Indeed,' he added, 'it has happened a number of times, sir.'

'When was the last time?'

'Why, yester-night...'

'Before that!' I hissed.

'A week, ten days ago, sir. He has released me from his service five or six times in the past month.'

I trembled to think of the mortal danger to which Professor Kant had exposed himself. I imagined the murderer spying on him alone in the house. Like a spider watching the fly that had fallen into its web. 'How could you?' I seethed. 'Alone in the house at night? At his age?'

Johannes was now in tears.

'What was I to do, sir?' he protested, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. 'Herr Professor was so kind to me. It would have been ungrateful to refuse him. I can't deny it, sir, living in this house I miss my wife and children.'

'You should have informed Herr Jachmann,' I said. 'It was your duty. He administers Professor Kant's domestic affairs.'

'I know it, sir. But Herr Jachmann comes no more.' He hesitated for a moment, then with peasant practicality he insisted, 'And Professor Kant is my master, sir. I had to obey him. It's put me in a very difficult position.'

He bowed his head and began to sob again like a child.

'You know what is happening in Konigsberg,' I said, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him. 'There is a murderer in the city. You must never forget it!'

Johannes bit his lip and choked back his emotion.

'I swear to you, sir! I'll never leave him alone again...'

'He is alone at this moment, is he not?' I said. 'Go back inside, Johannes. I will finish here. I'll send a squad of soldiers from the Fortress the instant that I arrive.'

He turned to go, then stopped. 'You won't tell Herr Jachmann, will you, sir?' he begged, looking back over his shoulder.

'I expect to hear from you at the first sign of danger,' I said, making no attempt to rea.s.sure him. 'Do not hesitate. Call the soldiers!'

I watched him return along the path to the front of the house. As I followed him some moments later, I heard the entrance door close behind him, the heavy bolts sliding into place. As I hurried away in the direction of the town, the urgency of danger p.r.i.c.kled at my scalp. Servant and master were alone in the house, while a killer was stalking the streets of the city. He had set his sights on Professor Kant, and the soldiers had yet to be sent. Again, I felt the overwhelming burden on my shoulders. Before it had concerned the safety of the whole of Prussia. Now, the person that I loved and admired more than any other in the world. Except for my wife and my children.

I left Magisterstra.s.se, and turned down the dark lane which led towards the city centre and the Fortress. As I strode purposefully through the deserted, tree-lined streets, I was aware that the person who had dared to violate the sancta sanctorum of Immanuel Kant must have followed the same route that I was now treading. He could be hiding behind any one of those trees. I glanced around anxiously and increased my pace, the image of a large gla.s.s jar flashing before my eyes, my head floating inside it, while Doctor Vigilantius casually washed my sticky blood from his hands and put his knives away.

Slipping and falling on the icy surface more than once, my frantic progress matched the furious thundering of my heart. I did not pause to catch my breath until the flickering lanterns outside the Fortress appeared through the gloom on the far side of Ostmarktplatz. But as I began to advance again, more slowly now, a sudden movement in the shadows caught my eye.

A man was standing near the main gate in the freezing cold.

He looked up, saw me, and began to run in my direction, mindless of the ice and the snow which covered the cobblestones.

A sensation of helplessness possessed me then. I felt like a wooden puppet with a human brain. And an unknown, malignant hand had just jerked tightly on my strings.

Chapter 17.

Sergeant Koch came slithering to a halt in front of me. His face was pale, drawn, his mouth gaping, puffing out clouds of milk-hued air as he fought to catch his breath.

'What's wrong?' I gasped, my heart racing like a cornered hare. My nerves were raw. The mysterious footprints in Kant's garden. The palpable sense of danger in the city which came with darkness. Each new fear was greater than the last.

'There's been a mishap, sir.'

'What's happened?' I shouted, catching at the lapels of Koch's pea-coat and shaking him.

He grasped my wrists with a strength that I did not expect and lifted my hands away. 'We could do nothing to save them, sir,' he said.

'To save whom?' I cried.

'Totz and his wife, sir. Half an hour ago. They killed themselves.'

The implications of this news flashed upon me. Two people whom I had accused of murder, conspiracy and sedition, two people whom I had thrown into prison, intending to torture the truth out of them, had taken the final decision into their own hands.

'I gave instructions to keep them apart,' I managed to say.

Koch took me by the arm and led me towards the gate. 'And so they were, sir. I spoke to Stadtschen. He vowed that your order had been obeyed to the letter. When Totz was taken down, he was obliged to pa.s.s the cell where his wife was being held. They must have exchanged some sign, a signal. It was all decided in an instant.'

Koch banged on the entrance, the gate swung open, and we stepped into the torch-lit inner court. 'I instructed the guards to bring the bodies up before the other prisoners catch on,' he said. 'They have six senses down there, they smell death like starving wolves. At all costs, we must avoid a riot. General Katowice won't stand for it. He'll hang the lot of them. Fortunately, the ship that's taking them to Siberia is on its way, Herr Procurator. It should arrive tomorrow, depending on the weather. Stadtschen is making arrangements for the Section D prisoners to be taken to the port in Pillau. They'll pa.s.s the night there. It'll be a darned sight safer than keeping them here in the Fortress, sir.'

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

'We have been lucky. Really, sir, if the word might be permitted,' he went on. 'Totz was in a cell by himself. His wife was with two women, and they were both asleep when she took her life. She didn't make a sound. A guard found the husband first, then went to check...' He stopped suddenly and looked beyond my shoulders. 'But here they come.'

Soldiers were crossing the courtyard with two heavily laden, grey blankets slung between them.

'They'll be buried in the morning,' Koch added.

The fixed expression on Gerta Totz's lips flashed through my mind. Had she smiled in that same ingratiating fashion while taking her own life? The urge to see was irresistible. I strode across the courtyard.

'Lay them on the ground!' I ordered. 'Throw those blankets off.'

The signs of violence were written clearly on the corpses. Gerta Totz's face was black, swollen to bursting, her eyes popping out, as if she had just been told something very rude. The strip of dress she had used to hang herself was tightly knotted round her throat, sliced above the knot when they had cut her down from the cell-grating. Her nostrils were still ringed with the blood that my punch had drawn. Otherwise, the distorting hand of death had wiped everything familiar from her features. That hideous grin was gone forever.

Ulrich Totz's face was a b.l.o.o.d.y mask.

'He smashed his head against the cell wall with extraordinary violence,' Koch explained.

'More than once to produce such devastation,' I added with a shiver.

A river of dried blood cascaded from his crushed nose to his white linen shirt-front. He had succeeded in smashing his pate or breaking his neck. I stared at the bodies for some moments, then turned away. How should I consider them? As the fifth and sixth victims of the monster of Konigsberg, or, like Morik, were they the victims of my own bungling?

'Take them away,' I murmured. I watched the soldiers frog-march across the yard with their burden, and struggled to shake off my depression. 'Send a patrol at once to Magisterstra.s.se, Sergeant,' I ordered. 'Someone has been prowling in Professor Kant's garden. It could well be the murderer.'

Koch knit his brow. 'Kant's not been harmed, I hope?'

'He's well. But not safe. He won't be out of danger until this affair is over,' I muttered, grinding my teeth. 'It seems that the killer is growing bolder.'

'Do you really think he'd try to kill the Professor sir? This monster has always chosen his victims at random. That was his strength. No one knew where or when he would strike next. So, why decide to attack a specific target all of a sudden?'

'Perhaps he has changed his strategy,' I replied helplessly. 'The killer is faceless, hidden by anonymity, yet he knows who we are. Clearly, he knows that Kant is involved, and also where he is to be found at any hour of the day or night. He rarely leaves the house.'

'I'll give orders to the duty officer, Herr Procurator,' said Koch. He ran away across the yard and an armed patrol left by the main gate at a half-trot a few minutes later. Relief swept over me like a ma.s.sive wave, but I felt no better when that sea subsided. All that had happened that day in Konigsberg, and all that might still happen, seemed to weigh on me like a granite tombstone. Darkness crowded in upon me. Darkness, and a terrible sense of responsibility. Three people were dead, and the fault was mine. I closed my eyes to block the awful vision out.

'You do look pale, sir.'

Koch was standing before me, an expression of concern on his face.

'You must keep your strength up. It's been a long day, sir, there's food in the regimental kitchen. You have not eaten a bite since breakfast.'

'Thank you, Koch,' I said, and attempted to smile. 'You are better than a wet-nurse.'

His imperturbable face relaxed a little. 'Follow me, sir.'

I was beginning to think that, if nothing else, I had made one wise decision in the past two days. Sergeant Koch had shown the better side of himself after the difficulties of our first few hours together. Throwing open a door, he led me into a large, vaulted room which was excessively heated by a ceramic stove of gargantuan proportions.

'The garrison refectory,' he explained.

Human sweat and the odour of boiled mutton hung ripe in the air, but I felt at home with the stench. After the pungent stink of methyl alcohol and human decay in Kant's laboratory, this smell was healthy. It came from living beings doing vital things: working, eating, drinking, protecting the city and its inhabitants.

Koch sat me down, then went out again, returning some minutes later with a young soldier in a white ap.r.o.n who laid a tray on the table before me. A bowl of mutton broth with k.n.o.bs of fatty gristle, black bread, red wine. A soldier's repast. I fell on it with appet.i.te, while Koch stood looking on like a proud restaurateur.

I felt brighter almost immediately.

'Not for a delicate stomach, Koch,' I said between mouthfuls, 'but the most invigorating dish I ever ate in my life. Now, what have you to report about this woman who found the first corpse and about the gendarme who spoke to her?'

I gulped another spoonful of broth. 'What's his name?'

'Lublinsky, sir.'

'Did you speak to him?'

He nodded. 'A most singular person, Herr Procurator,' Koch replied.

I stopped eating and looked up at him. 'What do you mean?'

'You'd better see for yourself, sir,' he smiled uncomfortably. 'It was a mistake to leave such delicate business in the hands of rough soldiers, in my opinion. Give them a battle, they know exactly what to do. Ask 'em to speak to a woman, you cannot guess what might come of it.'

'Is he quartered here?' I asked, sipping wine.

'He's in the infirmary, sir.'

'Is he ill?'

'Not ill, as such. One of the walking wounded.' Koch jabbed a finger at his cheek. 'Just about here, sir. He looks as if he's been stabbed.'

'Been duelling, has he?'

'Lublinsky would probably deny it, Soldiers deny everything as a rule.'