The Case of the Pool of Blood in the Pastor's Study

by Auguste Groner

was no traceof any kind here either. The door into the vestry was not locked. It wasseldom locked, they had told him, for the vestry itself was closed bya huge carved portal with a heavy ornamented iron lock that could beopened only with the greatest noise and trouble. This door was lockedand closed as it had been since yesterday morning. Everything in thevestry was in perfect order; the priest's garments and the censersall in their places. Muller assured himself of this before he left thelittle room. He then opened the glass door that led down by a few stepsinto the church.

  It was a beautiful old church, and it was a rich church also. It wasbuilt in the older Gothic style, and its heavy, broad-arched walls, itsmassive columns would have made it look cold and bare had not handsometapestries, the gift of the lady of the manor, covered the walls. Fineold pictures hung here and there above the altars, and handsome stainedglass windows broke the light that fell into the high vaulted interior.There were three great altars in the church, all of them richlydecorated. The main altar stood isolated in the choir. In the open spacebehind it was the entrance to the crypt, now veiled in a mysterioustwilight. Heavy silver candlesticks, three on a side, stood on thealtar. The pale gold of the tabernacle door gleamed between them.

  Muller walked through the silent church, in which even his lightsteps resounded uncannily. He looked into each of the pews, into theconfessionals, he walked around all the columns, he climbed up into thepulpit, he did everything that the others had done before him yesterday.And as with them, he found nothing that would indicate that the murdererhad spent any time in the church. Finally he turned back once more tothe main altar on his way out. But he did not leave the church as heintended. His last look at the altar had showed him something thatattracted his attention and he walked up the three steps to examine itmore closely.

  What he had seen was something unusual about one of the silvercandlesticks. These candlesticks had three feet, and five of them wereplaced in such a way that the two front feet were turned toward thespectator. But on the end candlestick nearest Muller the single footprojected out to the front of the altar. This candlestick therefore hadbeen set down hastily, not placed carefully in the order of things aswere the others.

  And not only this. The heavy wax candle which was in the candlestickwas burned down about a finger's breadth more than the others, forthese were all exactly of a height. Muller bent still nearer to thecandlestick, but he saw that the dim light in the church was notsufficient. He went to one of the smaller side altars, took a candlefrom there, lit it with one of the matches that he found in his ownpocket and returned with the burning candle to the main altar. The stepsleading up to this altar were covered by a large rug with a white groundand a pattern of flowers. Looking carefully at it the detective saw atiny brown spot, the mark of a burn, upon one of the white surfaces.Beside it lay a half used match.

  Walking around this carefully, Muller approached the candlestick thatinterested him and holding up his light he examined every inch of itssurface. He found what he was looking for. There were dark red spotsbetween the rough edges of the silver ornamentation.

  "Then the body is somewhere around here," thought the detective and camedown from the steps, still holding the burning candle.

  He walked slowly to the back of the altar. There was a little tablethere such as held the sacred dishes for the communion service, and thelittle carpet-covered steps which the sexton put out for the pastor whenhe took the monstrance from the high-built tabernacle. That was all thatwas to be seen in the dark corner behind the altar. Holding his candleclose to the floor Muller discovered an iron ring fastened to one of thebig stone flags. This must be the entrance to the crypt.

  Muller tried to raise the flag and was astonished to find how easilyit came up. It was a square of reddish marble, the same with which theentire floor of the church was tiled. This flag was very thin and couldeasily be raised and placed back against the wall. Muller took up hiscandle, too greatly excited to stop to get a stick for it. He feltassured that now he would soon be able to solve at least a part of themystery. He climbed down the steps carefully and found that they ledinto the crypt as he supposed. They were kept spotlessly clean, aswas the entire crypt as far as he could see it by the light of hisflickering candle. He was not surprised to discover that the air wasperfectly pure here. There must be windows or ventilators somewhere,this he knew from the way his candle behaved.

  The ancient vault had a high arched ceiling and heavy massive pillars.It was a subterranean repetition of the church above. There hadevidently been a convent attached to this church at one time; for herestood a row of simple wooden coffins all exactly alike, bearing each oneupon its lid a roughly painted cross surrounded by a wreath. Thus wereburied the monks of days long past.

  Muller walked slowly through the rows of coffins looking eagerly to eachside. Suddenly he stopped and stood still. His hand did not tremble buthis thin face was pale--pale as that face which looked up at him out ofone of the coffins. The lid of the coffin stood up against the wall andMuller saw that there were several other empty ones further on, waitingfor their silent occupants.

  The body in the open coffin before which Muller stood was the body ofthe man who had been missing since the day previous. He lay there quitepeacefully, his hands crossed over his breast, his eyes closed, a lineof pain about his lips. In the crossed fingers was a little bunch ofdark yellow roses. At the first glance one might almost have thoughtthat loving hands had laid the old pastor in his coffin. But the redstain on the white cloth about his throat, and the bloody disorder ofhis snow-white hair contrasted sadly with the look of peace on the deadface. Under his head was a white silk cushion, one of the cushions fromthe altar.

  Muller stood looking down for some time at this poor victim of a strangecrime, then he turned to go.

  He wanted to know one thing more: how the murderer had left the crypt.The flame of his candle told him, for it nearly went out in a gust ofwind that came down the opening right above him. This was a window aboutthree or four feet from the floor, protected by rusty iron bars whichhad been sawed through, leaving the opening free. It was a small window,but it was large enough to allow a man of much greater size than Mullerto pass through it. The detective blew out his candle and climbed uponto the window sill. He found himself outside, in a corner of thechurchyard. A thicket of heavy bushes grown up over neglected gravescompletely hid the opening through which he had come. There were thornson these bushes and also a few scattered roses, dark yellow roses.

  Muller walked thoughtfully through the churchyard. The sexton sathuddled in an unhappy heap at the gate. He looked up in alarm as he sawthe detective walking towards him. Something in the stranger's face toldthe little hunchback that he had made a discovery. The sexton sprang up,his lips did not dare utter the question that his eyes asked.

  "I have found him," said the detective gravely.

  The hunchback sexton staggered, then recovered himself, and hurried awayto fetch the magistrate and the doctor.

  An hour later the murdered pastor lay in state in the chief apartmentof his home, surrounded by burning candles and high-heaped masses offlowers. But he still lay in the simple convent coffin and the littlebunch of roses which his murderer had placed between his stiffeningfingers had not been touched.

  Two days later the pastor was buried. The Count and his family led thetrain of numerous mourners and among the last was Muller.

  A day or two after the funeral the detective sauntered slowly throughthe main street of the village. He was not in a very good humour, hisanswer to the greeting of those who passed him was short. The childrenavoided him, for with the keenness of their kind they recognised thefact that this usually gentle little man was not in possession of hishabitual calm temper. One group of boys, playing with a top, did notnotice his coming and Muller stopped behind them to look on. Suddenlya sharp whistle was heard and the boys looked up from their play,surprised at seeing the stranger behind them. His eyes were gleaming,and his cheeks were flushed, and a few bars of a merr
y tune came ina keen whistle from his lips as he watched the spirals made by thespinning top.

  Before the boys could stop their play the detective had left the groupand hastened onward to the little shop. He left it again in eager hasteafter having made his purchase, and hurried back to the rectory. Theshop-keeper stood in the doorway looking in surprise at this grown manwho came to buy a top. And at home in the rectory the old housekeeperlistened in equal surprise to the humming noise over her head. Shethought at first it might be a bee that had got in somehow. Then sherealised that it was not quite the same noise, and having alreadyconcluded that it was of no use to be surprised at anything this strangeguest might do, she continued reading her scriptures.

  Upstairs in the pastor's study, Muller sat in the armchair attentivelywatching the gyrations of a spinning top. The little toy, started at acertain point, drew a line exactly parallel to the scratch on the floorthat had excited his thoughts and absorbed them day and night.

  "It was a top--a top" repeated the detective to himself again and again."I don't see why I didn't think of that right away. Why, of course,nothing else could have drawn such a perfect curve around the room,unhindered by the legs of the desk. Only I don't see how a toy like thatcould have any connection with this cruel and purposeless murder. Why,only a fool--or a madman--"

  Muller sprang up from his chair and again a sharp shrill whistle camefrom his lips. "A madman!--" he repeated, beating his own forehead. "Itcould only have been a madman who committed this murder! And thepastor was not the first, there were two other murders here within acomparatively short time. I think I will take advantage of Dr. Orszay'sinvitation."

  Half an hour later Muller and the doctor sat together in a summer-house,from the windows of which one could see the park surrounding the asylumto almost its entire extent. The park was arranged with due regard toits purpose. The eye could sweep through it unhindered. There were nobushes except immediately along the high wall. Otherwise there werebeautiful lawns, flower beds and groups of fine old trees with talltrunks.

  As would be natural in visiting such a place Muller had induced thedoctor to talk about his patients. Dr. Orszay was an excellent talkerand possessed the power of painting a personality for his listeners.He was pleased and flattered by the evident interest with which thedetective listened to his remarks.

  "Then your patients are all quite harmless?" asked Muller thoughtfully,when the doctor came to a pause.

  "Yes, all quite harmless. Of course, there is the man who strangelyenough considers himself the reincarnation of the famous Frenchmurderer, the goldsmith Cardillac, who, as you remember, kept all Parisin a fervour of excitement by his crimes during the reign of Louis XIV.But in spite of his weird mania this man is the most good-natured ofany. He has been shut up in his room for several days now. He was amechanician by trade, living in Budapest, and an unsuccessful inventionturned his mind."

  "Is he a large, powerful man?" asked Muller.

  Dr. Orszay looked a bit surprised. "Why do you ask that? He does happento be a large man of considerable strength, but in spite of it I have nofear of him. I have an attendant who is invaluable to me, a man of suchstrength that even the fiercest of them cannot overcome him, and yetwith a mind and a personal magnetism which they cannot resist. He canalways master our patients mentally and physically--most of them areafraid of him and they know that they must do as he says. There issomething in his very glance which has the power to paralyse evenhealthy nerves, for it shows the strength of will possessed by thisman."

  "And what is the name of this invaluable attendant?" asked Muller with astrange smile which the doctor took to be slightly ironical.

  "Gyuri Kovacz. You are amused at my enthusiasm? But consider my positionhere. I am an old man and have never been a strong man. At my age Iwould not have strength enough to force that little woman there--shethinks herself possessed and is quite cranky at times--to go to her ownroom when she doesn't want to. And do you see that man over there in theblue blouse? He is an excellent gardener but he believes himself tobe Napoleon, and when he has his acute attacks I would be helpless tocontrol him were it not for Gyuri."

  "And you are not afraid of Cardillac?" interrupted Muller.

  "Not in the least. He is as good-natured as a child and as confiding. Ican let him walk around here as much as he likes. If it were not for theabsurd nonsense that he talks when he has one of his attacks, and whichfrightens those who do not understand him, I could let him go freealtogether."

  "Then you never let him leave the asylum grounds?

  "Oh, yes. I take him out with me very frequently. He is a man ofconsiderable education and a very clever talker. It is quite a pleasureto be with him. That was the opinion of my poor friend also, my poormurdered friend."

  "The pastor?"

  "The pastor. He often invited Cardillac to come to the rectory with me."

  "Indeed. Then Cardillac knew the inside of the rectory?"

  "Yes. The pastor used to lend him books and let him choose them himselffrom the library shelves. The people in the village are very kind to mypoor patients here. I have long since had the habit of taking some ofthe quieter ones with me down into the village and letting the peoplebecome acquainted with them. It is good for both parties. It givesthe patients some little diversion, and it takes away the worst ofthe senseless fear these peasants had at first of the asylum and itsinmates. Cardillac in particular is always welcome when he comes, for hebrings the children all sorts of toys that he makes in his cell."

  The detective had listened attentively and once his eyes flashed and hislips shut tight as if to keep in the betraying whistle. Then he askedcalmly: "But the patients are only allowed to go out when you accompanythem, I suppose?"

  "Oh, no; the attendants take them out sometimes. I prefer, however, tolet them go only with Gyuri, for I can depend upon him more than uponany of the others."

  "Then he and Cardillac have been out together occasionally?"

  "Oh, yes, quite frequently. But--pardon me--this is almost like across-examination."

  "I beg your pardon, doctor, it's a bad habit of mine. One gets soaccustomed to it in my profession."

  "What is it you want?" asked Doctor Orszay, turning to a fine-lookingyoung man of superb build, who entered just then and stood by the door.

  "I just wanted to announce, sir, that No. 302 is quiet again!

  "302 is Cardillac himself, Mr. Muller, or to give him his right name,Lajos Varna," explained the doctor turning to his guest. "He is the302nd patient who has been received here in these twenty years. ThenCardillac is quiet again?" he asked, looking up at the young giant. "Iam glad of that. You can announce our visit to him. This gentleman wantsto inspect the asylum."

  Muller realised that this was the attendant Gyuri, and he looked athim attentively. He was soon clear in his own mind that this remarkablyhandsome man did not please him, in fact awoke in him a feeling ofrepulsion. The attendant's quiet, almost cat-like movements were instrange contrast to the massivity of his superb frame, and his largeround eyes, shaped for open, honest glances, were shifty and cunning.They seemed to be asking "Are you trying to discover anything about me?"coupled with a threat. "For your own sake you had better not do it."

  When the young man had left the room Muller rose hastily and walked upand down several times. His face was flushed and his lips tight set.Suddenly he exclaimed: "I do not like this Gyuri."

  Dr. Orszay looked up astonished. "There are many others who do not likehim--most of his fellow-warders for instance, and all of the patients.I think there must be something in the contrast of such quiet movementswith such a big body that gets on people's nerves. But consider, Mr.Muller, that the man's work would naturally make him a little differentfrom other people. I have known Gyuri for five years as a faithfuland unassuming servant, always willing and ready for any duty,however difficult or dangerous. He has but one fault--if I may call itsuch--that is that he has a mistress who is known to be mercenary andhard-hearted. She lives in a neighbo
uring village."

  "For five years, you say? And how long has Cardillac been here?"

  "Cardillac? He has been here for almost three years."

  "For almost three years, and is it not almost three years--" Mullerinterrupted himself. "Are we quite alone? Is no one listening?" Thedoctor nodded, greatly surprised, and the detective continued almost ina whisper, "and it is just about three years now that there havebeen committed, at intervals, three terrible crimes notable fromthe cleverness with which they were carried out, and from the utterimpossibility, apparently, of discovering the perpetrator."

  Orszay sprang up. His face flushed and then grew livid, and he put hishand to his forehead. Then he forced a smile and said in a voicethat trembled in spite of himself: "Mr. Muller, your imagination iswonderful. And which of these two do you think it is that has committedthese crimes--the perpetrator of which you have come here to find?"

  "I will tell you that later. I must speak to No. 302 first, and I mustspeak to him in the presence of yourself and Gyuri."

  The detective's deep gravity was contagious. Dr. Orszay had sufficientlycontrolled himself to remember what he had heard in former days, andjust now recently from the district judge about this man's marvellousdeeds. He realised that when Muller said a thing, no matter howextravagant it might sound, it was worth taking seriously. Thisrealisation brought great uneasiness and grief to the doctor's heart,for he had grown fond of both of the men on whom terrible suspicion wascast by such an authority.

  Muller himself was uneasy, but the gloom that had hung over him forthe past day or two had vanished. The impenetrable darkness that hadsurrounded the mystery of the