June twenty-first is the date for the premiere of Wagnerâs new opera, you see.â
âNew opera? I must have missed the announcement in the newspapers.â
âAh, Inspector Preiss, thatâs the point. There was no announcement in the newspapers. The date for the premiere is known at the moment by a mere handful of people ⦠people who are directly involved in the production. In fact, the June twenty-first date was disclosed by Maestro Wagner only yesterday following auditions for the principal male role.â
âAnd the new opera is â?â
âDie Meistersinger von Nürnberg,â Mecklenberg replied in a hushed voice, as though he was afraid that the very mention of the operaâs title might invite some sudden calamity.
âWell, sir, if indeed the date is known by a relatively few people at this point, then it stands to reason that the number of possible suspects is very limited. If I am correct in this assumption, then my job should be quite simple. No need to cast a broad net here; the fish, so to speak, are all close to the boat. At any rate, June twenty-first is some two months off which gives me plenty of time to ââ
âOn the contrary, Inspector, whoever wrote this note must be sought out and brought to justice immediately! Thereâs no time to waste!â The old manâs small bony fingers, gripping the brim of his hat, began to tremble.
âPlease, Herr Mecklenberg, this is not a life-and-death matter,â I said. âTrust me, sir. Iâve had years of experience ââ
âBut you have never been exposed to the likes of Richard Wagner, have you?â
âOf course I will need to interview him. Perhaps in a day or two. You might bring him round to my office at the Constabulary, Herr Mecklenberg. Say, uh, the day after tomorrow, at ten in the morning?â
âI donât think you understand, Inspector,â Mecklenberg said. âHe must see you now ⦠tonight . The note was slipped under the front door of his house late this afternoon and the man is beside himself. Please, Inspector Preiss, I have a carriage waiting ââ
Chapter Two
A man was striking the keyboard of a piano with his fists as though it were an anvil, sending clusters of notes flying discordantly into the air, while crying aloud in a high-pitched grating voice over and over, âNo no no!â the cries of a man at his witâs end, yet plaintive at the same time, a man desperately wanting something beyond his reach.
Mecklenberg and I had just taken our first steps into the entrance hall of Richard Wagnerâs house, admitted by his housekeeper, her hands protectively pressed against her ears and shaking her head as if to let us know sheâd been through these upheavals many times in the past. The clamor came at us even louder now, penetrating the closed doors of the drawing room beyond. Again â No no no! â followed this time with âThat is not what I want! You are not singing a national anthem, for Godâs sake! You are supposed to be lovers! â
âIâm afraid weâve caught your man at an inconvenient time,â I whispered to Mecklenberg. I had begun to unbutton my coat but stopped short. âPerhaps we should put this off until tomorrow.â
The old man seized my arm. âPlease, Inspector, itâs only a private rehearsal. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you. He prefers these intimate sessions; itâs just that he becomes a little irascible at times.â He shrugged and gave a weak smile. âYou know how geniuses carry on, Iâm sure.â
I expressed surprise that Wagner would be in a mood to rehearse with singers given the threatening note left earlier in the evening. âHeâs under extraordinary pressure,â Mecklenberg explained. âThe new opera opening soon, auditions, rehearsals, revisions and more revisions, financial arrangements, and so