And here, too, was the memory of those urged to kill themselves by voices louder and more commanding than any that ever issued from a human mouth. ‘Is convinced that thoughts are placed in his head by the local priest, then reported in the national press’; ‘Has been instructed by “the Scissor Man” to take his own life on numerous occasions. Says the Scissor Man is running out of patience.’ There seemed to have been many suicide attempts, though the number of deaths that had occurred on the premises was small, to judge by Bernthaler’s post-mortem notes.

At first, Anton was struck by the deformities of each mind, so distinctive in its perverse beliefs. But after a time, he could hear an echo between the old peasant man and the young city girl, between all of them in their varied forms, however grotesque, as if the same soul in torment lay behind each life; and it was as if this spirit passed like a conjuror’s coin between the locked deed boxes to reappear with a flourish in the next one he opened.

Occasionally there were letters to the Schloss from former patients, stamped with the word ‘Answered’ and a date in Sonia’s hand. Some reported improvement, marriage or everlasting gratitude; others only gradual progress, exhaustion or a desire, despite it all, to keep on living.

Anton sat down on the hard chair and rested his chin on his hands. He tried to push away the babel of imagined voices round his head, the excited storytellers from the past. It was hard to accept that the existence of each one, its every second, had been as real to them as his life was to him at that moment, on a warm morning with the aftertaste of the Seeblick’s breakfast coffee in his mouth. The weight of the idea was intolerable. Better to believe, like a child, that others were no more than painted figures jigsawed from a hardboard sheet, who ceased to exist once you had left the room or turned your gaze away from them.

He was deep in some correspondence between Sonia and a railway engineer when he heard a knock on the door. He turned with a start to see one of the maids with a tray.

‘I’m sorry it’s rather late,’ she said.

Anton looked at her uncomprehendingly.

‘Frau Eckert sent me.’

‘Of course. Thank you. You’re … you’re …’

‘Johanna.’

‘Yes, of course. The girl from Hungary.’

She had a humorous face with brown hair pulled back from a high forehead. She put the tray down on the table and took off a cloth to reveal some slices of sausage and cheese and an apple with bread rolls and a jug of water.

‘Do you like it here?’ said Johanna, standing by the table.

‘What? Yes. Yes … it’s interesting.’

‘We thought you were only staying a few days, but it’s been three weeks.’ Johanna looked a little like a horse when she smiled, he thought, as her lips rolled back to show her healthy teeth. Really, he should offer her the apple.