CHAPTER TWO. THE STORY OF THE NOTEBOOK
It was warm and comfortable in the little room where Muller sat. Heclosed the windows, lit the gas, took off his overcoat--Muller was apedantically careful person--smoothed his hair and sat down comfortablyat the table. Just as he took up the little book, the attendant broughtthe tea, which he proceeded at once to enjoy. He did not take up hislittle book again until he had lit himself a cigar. He looked at thecover of the dainty little notebook for many minutes before he openedit. It was a couple of inches long, of the usual form, and had a coverof brown leather. In the left upper corner were the letters A. L. ingold. The leaves of the book, about fifty in all, were of a fine qualityof paper and covered with close writing. On the first leaves the writingwas fine and delicate, calm and orderly, but later on it was irregularand uncertain, as if penned by a trembling hand under stress of terror.This change came in the leaves of the book which followed the strangeand terrible title, "How I was murdered."
Before Muller began to read he felt the covers of the book carefully. Inone of them there was a tiny pocket, in which he found a little piece ofwall paper of a noticeable and distinctly ugly pattern. The paper had adark blue ground with clumsy lines of gold on it. In the pocket hefound also a tramway ticket, which had been crushed and then carefullysmoothed out again. After looking at these papers, Muller replaced themin the cover of the notebook. The book itself was strongly perfumed withthe same odour which had exhaled from the handkerchief.
The detective did not begin his reading in that part of the book whichfollowed the mysterious title, as the commissioner had done. He beganinstead at the very first words.
"Ah! she is still young," he murmured, when he had read the first lines."Young, in easy circumstances, happy and contented."
These first pages told of pleasure trips, of visits from and to goodfriends, of many little events of every-day life. Then came someaccounts, written in pencil, of shopping expeditions to the city. Costlylaces and jewels had been bought, and linen garments for children by thedozen. "She is rich, generous, and charitable," thought the detective,for the book showed that the considerable sums which had been spent herehad not been for the writer herself. The laces bore the mark, "For ourchurch"; behind the account for the linen stood the words, "For thecharity school."
Muller began to feel a strong sympathy for the writer of these notices.She showed an orderly, almost pedantic, character, mingled withgenerosity of heart. He turned leaf after leaf until he finally came tothe words, written in intentionally heavy letters, "How I was murdered."
Muller's head sank down lower over these mysterious words, and his eyesflew through the writing that followed. It was quite a different writinghere. The hand that penned these words must have trembled in deadlyterror. Was it terror of coming death, foreseen and not to be escaped?or was it the trembling and the terror of an overthrown brain? It wasundoubtedly, in spite of the difference, the same hand that had pennedthe first pages of the book. A few characteristic turns of the writingwere plainly to be seen in both parts of the story. But the ink wasquite different also. The first pages had been written with a delicateviolet ink, the later leaves were penned with a black ink of unevenquality, of the kind used by poor people who write very seldom. Thewords of this later portion of the book were blurred in many places, asif the writer had not been able to dry them properly before she turnedthe leaves. She therefore had had neither blotting paper nor sand at herdisposal.
And then the weird title!
Was it written at the dictation of insanity? or did A. L. know, whileshe wrote it, that it was too late for any help to reach her? Did shesee her doom approaching so clearly that she knew there was no escape?
Muller breathed a deep breath before he continued his reading. Lateron his breath came more quickly still, and he clinched his fist severaltimes, as if deeply moved. He was not a cold man, only thoroughlyself-controlled. In his breast there lived an unquenchable hatred ofall evil. It was this that awakened the talents which made him thecelebrated detective he had become.
"I fear that it will be impossible for any one to save me now, butperhaps I may be avenged. Therefore I will write down here all thathas happened to me since I set out on my journey." These were the firstwords that were written under the mysterious title. Muller had just readthem when the commissioner entered.
"Will you speak to Amster; he has just returned?" he asked.
Muller rose at once. "Certainly. Did you telegraph to all the railwaystations?"
"Yes," answered the commissioner, "and also to the other policestations."
"And to the hospitals?--asylums?"
"No, I did not do that." Commissioner von Mayringen blushed, a blushthat was as becoming to him as was his frank acknowledgment of hismistake. He went out to remedy it at once, while Muller heard Amster'sshort and not particularly important report. The workingman wasevidently shivering, and the detective handed him a glass of tea with agood portion of rum in it.
"Here, drink this; you are cold. Are you ill?" Amster smiled sadly. "No,I am not ill, but I was discharged to-day and am out of work now--that'salmost as bad."
"Are you married?"
"No, but I have an old mother to support."
"Leave your address with the commissioner. He may be able to find workfor you; we can always use good men here. But now drink your tea."Amster drank the glass in one gulp. "Well, now we have lost the trailin both directions," said Muller calmly. "But we will find it again. Youcan help, as you are free now anyway. If you have the talent for thatsort of thing, you may find permanent work here."
A gesture and a look from the workingman showed the detective that theformer did not think very highly of such occupation. Muller laid hishand on the other's shoulder and said gravely: "You wouldn't care totake service with us? This sort of thing doesn't rate very high, I know.But I tell you that if we have our hearts in the right place, and ourbrains are worth anything, we are of more good to humanity than manyan honest citizen who wouldn't shake hands with us. There--and now I ambusy. Goodnight."
With these words Muller pushed the astonished man out of the room, shutthe door, and sat down again with his little book. This is what he read:
"Wednesday--is it Wednesday? They brought me a newspaper to-day whichhad the date of Wednesday, the 20th of November. The ink still smellsfresh, but it is so damp here, the paper may have been older. I do notknow surely on what day it is that I begin to write this narrative. I donot know either whether I may not have been ill for days and weeks; I donot know what may have been the matter with me--I know only that I wasunconscious, and that when I came to myself again, I was here in thisgloomy room. Did any physician see me? I have seen no one until to-dayexcept the old woman, whose name I do not know and who has so little tosay. She is kind to me otherwise, but I am afraid of her hard face andof the smile with which she answers all my questions and entreaties.'You are ill.' These are the only words that she has ever said to me,and she pointed to her forehead as she spoke them. She thinks I aminsane, therefore, or pretends to think so.
"What a hoarse voice she has. She must be ill herself, for she coughsall night long. I can hear it through the wall--she sleeps in the nextroom. But I am not ill, that is I am not ill in the way she says. I haveno fever now, my pulse is calm and regular. I can remember everything,until I took that drink of tea in the railway station. What could therehave been in that tea? I suppose I should have noticed how anxious mytravelling companion was to have me drink it.
"Who could the man have been? He was so polite, so fatherly in hisanxiety about me. I have not seen him since then. And yet I feel that itis he who has brought me into this trap, a trap from which I may neverescape alive. I will describe him. He is very tall, stout and blond,and wears a long heavy beard, which is slightly mixed with grey. On hisright cheek his beard only partly hides a long scar. His eyes are hiddenby large smoked glasses. His voice is low and gentle, his manners mostcorrect--except for his giving people poison or whatever else it
was inthat tea.
"I did not suffer any--at least I do not remember anything exceptbecoming unconscious. And I seem to have felt a pain like an iron ringaround my head. But I am not insane, and this fear that I feel doesnot spring from my imagination, but from the real danger by which I amsurrounded. I am very hungry, but I do not dare to eat anything excepteggs, which cannot be tampered with. I tasted some soup yesterday, andit seemed to me that it had a queer taste. I will eat nothing that is atall suspicious. I will be in my full senses when my murderers come; theyshall not kill me by poison at least.
"When I came to my senses again--it was the evening of the day beforeyesterday--I found a letter on the little table beside my bed. It waswritten in French, in a handwriting that I had never seen before, andthere was no signature.
"This strange letter demanded of me that I should write to my guardian,calmly and clearly, to say that for reasons which I did not intendto reveal, I had taken my own life. If I did this my present place ofsojourn would be exchanged for a far more agreeable one, and I wouldsoon be quite free. But if I did not do it, I would actually be put todeath. A pen, ink and paper were ready there for the answer.
"'Never,' I wrote. And then despair came over me, and I may have indeedappeared insane. The old woman came in. I entreated and implored her totell me why this dreadful fate should have overtaken me. She remainedquite indifferent and I sank back, almost fainting, on the bed. She laida moist cloth over my face, a cloth that had a peculiar odour. I soonfell asleep. It seemed to me that there was some one else besides thewoman in the room with me. Or was she talking to herself? Next morningthe letter and my answer had disappeared. It was as I thought; therewas some one else in my room. Some one who had come on the tramway. Ifound the ticket on the carpet beside my bed. I took it and put it in mynotebook!!!!!
"I believe that it is Sunday to-day. It is four days now since I havebeen conscious. The first sound that I remember hearing was the blast ofa horn. It must come from a factory very near me. The old windows in myroom rattle at the sound. I hear it mornings and evenings and at noon,on week days. I did not hear it to-day, so it must be Sunday. It wasMonday, the 18th of November, that I set out on my trip, and reachedhere in the evening--(here? I do not know where I am), that is, I setout for Vienna, and I know that I reached the Northern Railway stationthere in safety.
"I was cold and felt a little faint--and then he offered me the tea--andwhat happened after that? Where am I? The paper that they gave me mayhave been a day or two old or more. And to-day is Sunday--is it thefirst Sunday since my departure from home? I do not know. I know onlythis, that I set out on the 18th of November to visit my kind oldguardian, and to have a last consultation with him before my coming ofage. And I know also that I have fallen into the hands of some one whohas an interest in my disappearance.
"There is some one in the next room with the old woman. I hear a man'svoice and they are quarrelling. They are talking of me. He wants her todo something which she will not do. He commands her to go away, but sherefuses. What does he mean to do? I do not want her to leave me alone. Ido not hate her any more; I know that she is not bad. When I listenedI heard her speaking of me as of an insane person. She really believesthat I am ill. When the man went away he must have been angry. Hestamped down the stairs until the steps creaked under his tread: I knowit is a wooden staircase therefore.
"I am safe from him to-day, but I am really ill of fright. Am I reallyinsane? There is one thing that I have forgotten to write down. WhenI first came to myself I found a bit of paper beside me on which waswritten, 'Beware of calling in help from outside. One scream will meandeath to you.' It was written in French like the letter. Why? Was itbecause the old woman could not read it? She knew of the piece ofpaper, for she took it away from me. It frightens me that I should haveforgotten to write this down. Am I really ill? If I am not yet ill, thisterrible solitude will make me so.
"What a gloomy room this is, this prison of mine. And such a strangeugly wall-paper. I tore off a tiny bit of it and hid it in this littlebook. Some one may find it some day and may discover from it this placewhere I am suffering, and where I shall die, perhaps. There cannot bemany who would buy such a pattern, and it must be possible to find thefactory where it was made. And I will also write down here what I cansee from my barred window. Far down below me there is a rusty tin roof,it looks like as if it might belong to a sort of shed. In front and tothe right there are windowless walls; to the left, at a little distance,I can see a slender church spire, greenish in colour, probably coveredwith copper, and before the church there are two poplar trees ofdifferent heights.
"Another day has passed, a day of torturing fear! Am I really insane? Iknow that I see queer things. This morning I looked towards the windowand I saw a parrot sitting there! I saw it quite plainly. It ruffledup its red and green feathers and stared at me. I stared back at it andsuddenly it was gone. I shivered. Finally I pulled myself together andwent to the window. There was no bird outside nor was there a trace ofany in the snow on the window sill. Could the wind have blown away thetracks so soon, or was it really my sick brain that appeared to see thistropical bird in the midst of the snow? It is Tuesday to-day; from nowon I will carefully count the days--the days that still remain to me.
"This morning I asked the old woman about the parrot. She only smiledand her smile made me terribly afraid. The thought that this thing whichis happening to me, this thing that I took to be a crime, may be onlya necessity--the thought fills me with horror! Am I in a prison? or isthis the cell of an insane asylum? Am I the victim of a villain? or am Ireally mad? My pulse is quickening, but my memory is quite clear; I canlook back over every incident in my life.
"She has just taken away my food. I asked her to bring me only eggs as Iwas afraid of everything else. She promised that she would do it.
"Are they looking for me? My guardian is Theodore Fellner, CathedralLane, 14. My own name is Asta Langen.
"They took away my travelling bag, but they did not find this littlebook and the tiny bottle of perfume which I had in the pocket of mydress. And I found this old pen and a little ink in a drawer of thewriting table in my room.
"Wednesday. The stranger was here again to-day. I recognised his softvoice. He spoke to the woman in the hall outside my room. I listened,but I could catch only a few words. 'To-morrow evening--I will comemyself--no responsibility for you.' Were these words meant for me? Arethey going to take me away? Where will they take me? Then they do notdare to kill me here? My head is burning hot. I have not dared to drinka drop of liquid for four days. I dare not take anything into which theymight have put some drug or some poison.
"Who could have such an interest in my death? It cannot be because ofthe fortune which is to be mine when I come of age; for if I die, myfather has willed it to various charitable institutions. I have norelatives, at least none who could inherit my money. I had never harmedany one; who can wish for my death?
"There is somebody with her, somebody was listening at the door. I havea feeling as if I was being watched. And yet--I examined the door, butthere is no crack anywhere and the key is in the lock. Still I seem tofeel a burning glance resting on me. Ah! the parrot! is this anotherdelusion? Oh God, let it end soon! I am not yet quite insane, but allthese unknown dangers around me will drive me mad. I must fight againstthem.
"Thursday. They brought me back my travelling bag. My attendant isuneasy. She was longer in cleaning up the room than usual to-day. Sheseemed to want to say something to me, and yet she did not dare tospeak. Is something to happen to-day then? I did not close my eyes allnight. Can one be made insane from a distance? hypnotised into it, asit were? I will not allow fear alone to make me mad. My enemy shall notfind it too easy. He may kill my body, but that is all--"
These were the last words which Asta Langen had written in her notebook,the little book which was the only confidant of her terrible need. Whenthe detective had finished reading it, he closed his eyes for a fewminutes to let the impression made by th
e story sink into his mind.
Then he rose and put on his overcoat. He entered the commissioner's roomand took up his hat and cane.
"Where are you going, Muller?" asked Herr Von Mayringen.
"To Cathedral Lane, if you will permit it."
"At this hour? it is quarter past eleven! Is there any such hurry, doyou think? There is no train from any of our stations until morning. AndI have already sent a policeman to watch the house. Besides, I know thatFellner is a highly respected man.
"There is many a man who is highly respected until he is found out,"remarked the detective.
"And you are going to find out about Fellner?" smiled the commissioner."And this evening, too?"
"This very evening. If he is asleep I shall wake him up. That is thebest time to get at the truth about a man."
The commissioner sat down at his desk and wrote out the necessarycredentials for the detective. A few moments later Muller was in thestreet. He left the notebook with the commissioner. It was snowingheavily, and an icy north wind was howling through the streets. Mullerturned up the collar of his coat and walked on quickly. It was juststriking a quarter to twelve when he reached Cathedral Lane. As hewalked slowly along the moonlit side of the pavement, a man stepped outof the shadow to meet him. It was the policeman who had been sent towatch the house. Like Muller, he wore plain clothes.
"Well?" the latter asked.
"Nothing new. Mr. Fellner has been ill in bed several days, quiteseriously ill, they tell me. The janitor seems very fond of him."
"Hm--we'll see what sort of a man he is. You can go back to the stationnow, you must be nearly frozen standing here."
Muller looked carefully at the house which bore the number 14. It was ahandsome, old-fashioned building, a true patrician mansion which lookedworthy of all confidence. But Muller knew that the outside of a househas very little to do with the honesty of the people who live in it.He rang the bell carefully, as he wished no one but the janitor to hearhim.
The latter did not seem at all surprised to find a stranger asking forthe owner of the house at so late an hour. "You come with a telegram, Isuppose? Come right up stairs then, I have orders to let you in."
These were the words with which the old janitor greeted Muller. Thedetective could see from this that Mr. Theodore Fellner's consciencemust be perfectly clear. The expected telegram probably had somethingto do with the non-appearance of Asta Langen, of whose terrible fate herguardian evidently as yet knew nothing. The janitor knocked on one ofthe doors, which was opened in a few moments by an old woman.
"Is it the telegram?" she asked sleepily.
"Yes," said the janitor.
"No," said Muller, "but I want to speak to Mr. Fellner."
The two old people stared at him in surprise.
"To speak to him?" said the woman, and shook her head as if in doubt."Is it about Miss Langen?"
"Yes, please wake him."
"But he is ill, and the doctor--"
"Please wake him up. I will take the responsibility."
"But who are you?" asked the janitor.
Muller smiled a little at this belated caution on the part of theold man, and answered. "I will tell Mr. Fellner who I am. But pleaseannounce me at once. It concerns the young lady." His expression wasso grave that the woman waited no longer, but let him in and thendisappeared through another door. The janitor stood and looked at Mullerwith half distrustful, half anxious glances.
"It's no good news you bring," he said after a few minutes.
"You may be right."
"Has anything happened to our dear young lady?"
"Then you know Miss Asta Langen and her family?"
"Why, of course. I was in service on the estate when all the dreadfulthings happened."
"What things?"
"Why the divorce--and--but you are a stranger and I shouldn't talk aboutthese family affairs to you. You had better tell me what has happened toour young lady."
"I must tell that to your master first."
The woman came back at this moment and said to Muller, "Come withme, please. Berner, you are to stay here until the gentleman goes outagain."
Muller followed her through several rooms into a large bed-chamber wherehe found an elderly man, very evidently ill, lying in bed.
"Who are you?" asked the sick man, raising his head from the pillow. Thewoman had gone out and closed the door behind her.
"My name is Muller, police detective. Here are my credentials."
Fellner glanced hastily at the paper. "Why does the police send to me?"
"It concerns your ward."
Fellner sat upright in bed now. He leaned over towards his visitor as hesaid, pointing to a letter on the table beside his bed, "Asta's overseerwrites me from her estate that she left home on the 18th of November tovisit me. She should have reached here on the evening of the 18th, andshe has not arrived yet. I did not receive this letter until to-day."
"Did you expect the young lady?"
"I knew only that she would arrive sometime before the third ofDecember. That date is her twenty-fourth birthday and she was tocelebrate it here."
"Did she not usually announce her coming to you?"
"No, she liked to surprise me. Three days ago I sent her a telegramasking her to bring certain necessary papers with her. This brought theanswer from the overseer of her estate, an answer which has caused megreat anxiety. Your coming makes it worse, for I fear--" The sick manbroke off and turned his eyes on Muller; eyes so full of fear and griefthat the detective's heart grew soft. He felt Fellner's icy hand on hisas the sick man murmured: "Tell me the truth! Is Asta dead?"
The detective shrugged his shoulders. "We do not know yet. She was aliveand able to send a message at half past eight this evening."
"A message? To whom?"
"To the nearest police station." Muller told the story as it had come tohim.
The old man listened with an expression of such utter dazed terror thatthe detective dropped all suspicion of him at once.
"What a terrible riddle," stammered the sick man as the other finishedthe story.
"Would you answer me several questions?" asked Muller. The old gentlemananswered quickly, "Any one, every one."
"Miss Langen is rich?"
"She has a fortune of over three hundred thousand guldens, andconsiderable land."
"Has she any relatives?"
"No," replied Fellner harshly. But a thought must have flashed throughhis brain for he started suddenly and murmured, "Yes, she has onerelative, a step-brother."
The detective gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Why are you astonished at this?" asked Fellner.
"According to her notebook, the young lady does not seem to know of thisstep-brother."
"She does not know, sir. There was an ugly scandal in her family beforeher birth. Her father turned his first wife and their son out of hishouse on one and the same day. He had discovered that she was deceivinghim, and also that her son, who was studying medicine at the time, hadstolen money from his safe. What he had discovered about his wife madeLangen doubt whether the boy was his son at all. There was a terriblescene, and the two disappeared from their home forever. The woman diedsoon after. The young man went to Australia. He has never been heard ofsince and has probably come to no good."
"Might he not possibly be here in Europe again, watching for anopportunity to make a fortune?"
Fellner's hand grasped that of his visitor. The eyes of the two mengazed steadily at each other. The old man's glance was full of suddenhelpless horror, the detective's eyes shone brilliantly. Muller spokecalmly: "This is one clue. Is there no one else who could have aninterest in the young lady's death?"
"No one but Egon Langen, if he bear this name by right, and if he isstill alive."
"How old would he be now?"
"He must be nearly forty. It was many years before Langen marriedagain."
"Do you know him personally?"
"Have you a picture of Miss
Langen?"
Fellner rang a bell and Berner appeared. "Give this gentleman MissAsta's picture. Take the one in the silver frame on my desk;" the oldgentleman's voice was friendly but faint with fatigue. His old servantlooked at him in deep anxiety. Fellner smiled weakly and nodded to theman. "Sad news, Berner! Sad news and bad news. Our poor Asta is beingheld a prisoner by some unknown villain who threatens her with death."
"My God, is it possible? Can't we help the poor young lady?"
"We will try to help her, or if it is--too late, we will at least avengeher. My entire fortune shall be given up for it. But bring her picturenow."
Berner brought the picture of a very pretty girl with a brightintelligent face. Muller took the picture out of the frame and put it inhis pocket.
"You will come again? soon? And remember, I will give ten thousandguldens to the man who saves Asta, or avenges her. Tell the police tospare no expense--I will go to headquarters myself to-morrow."
Fellner was a little surprised that Muller, although he had alreadytaken up his hat, did not go. The sick man had seen the light flash upin the eyes of the other as he named the sum. He thought he understoodthis excitement, but it touched him unpleasantly and he sank back,almost frightened, in his cushions as the detective bent over him withthe words "Good. Do not forget your promise, for I will save Miss Langenor avenge her. But I do not want the money for myself. It is to go tothose who have been unjustly convicted and thus ruined for life. It maygive the one or the other of them a better chance for the future."
"And you? what good do you get from that?" asked the old gentleman,astonished. A soft smile illumined the detective's plain features andhe answered gently, "I know then that there will be some poor fellow whowill have an easier time of it than I have had."
He nodded to Fellner, who had already grasped his hand and pressed ithard. A tear ran down his grey beard, and long after Muller had gone theold gentleman lay pondering over his last words.
Berner led the visitor to the door. As he was opening it, Muller asked:"Has Egon Langen a bad scar on his right cheek?"
Berner's eyes looked his astonishment. How did the stranger know this?And how did he come to mention this forgotten name.
"Yes, he has, but how did you know it?" he murmured in surprise. Hereceived no answer, for Muller was already walking quickly down thestreet. The old man stared after him for some few minutes, then suddenlyhis knees began to tremble. He closed the door with difficulty, andsank down on a bench beside it. The wind had blown out the light of hislantern; Berner was sitting in the dark without knowing it, for a suddenterrible light had burst upon his soul, burst upon it so sharply thathe hid his eyes with his hands, and his old lips murmured, "Horrible!Horrible! The brother against the sister."
The next morning was clear and bright. Muller was up early, for he hadtaken but a few hours sleep in one of the rooms of the station, beforehe set out into the cold winter morning. At the next corner hefound Amster waiting for him. "What are you doing here?" he asked inastonishment.
"I have been thinking over what you said to me yesterday. Your professionis as good and perhaps better than many another."
"And you come out here so early to tell me that?"
Amster smiled. "I have something else to say."
"Well?"
"The commissioner asked me yesterday if I knew of a church in the citythat had a slender spire with a green top and two poplars in front ofit."
Muller looked his interest.
"I thought it might possibly be the Convent Church of the Grey Sisters,but I wasn't quite sure, so I went there an hour ago. It's all right,just as I thought. And I suppose it has something to do with the case oflast night, so I thought I had better report at once. I was on my way tothe station."
"That will do very well. You have saved us much time and you have shownthat you are eminently fitted for this business."
"If you really will try me, then--"
"We'll see. You can begin on this. Come to the church with me now."Muller was no talker, particularly not when, as now, his brain was busyon a problem.
The two men walked on quickly. In about half an hour they foundthemselves in a little square in the middle of which stood an oldchurch. In front of the church, like giant sentinels, stood a pair oftall poplars. One of them looked sickly and was a good deal shorter thanits neighbour. Muller nodded as if content.
"Is this the church the commissioner was talking about?" queried Amster.
"It is," was the answer. Muller walked on toward a little house built upagainst the church, which was evidently the dwelling of the sexton.
The detective introduced himself to this official, who did not lookover-intelligent, as a stranger in the city who had been told that theview from the tower of the church was particularly interesting. A brightsilver piece banished all distrust from the soul of the worthy man. Withgreat friendliness he inquired when the gentlemen would like to ascendthe tower. "At once," was the answer.
The sexton took a bunch of keys and told the strangers to follow him. Afew moments later Muller and his companion stood in the tiny belfry roomof the slender spire. The fat sexton, to his own great satisfaction,had yielded to their request not to undertake the steep ascent. Thecloudless sky lay crystal clear over the still sleeping city and thewide spread snow-covered fields which lay close at hand, beyond thechurch. On the one side were gardens and the low rambling buildingsof the convent, and on the other were huddled high-piled dwellings ofpoverty.
Muller looked out of each of the four windows in turn. He spent sometime at each window, but evidently without discovering what he lookedfor, for he shook his head in discontent. But when he went once more tothe opening in the East, into which the sun was just beginning to pourits light, something seemed to attract his attention. He called Amsterand pointed from the window. "Your eyes are younger than mine, lend themto me. What do you see over there to the right, below the tall factorychimney?" Muller's voice was calm, but there was something in his mannerthat revealed excitement. Amster caught the infection without knowingwhy. He looked sharply in the direction towards which Muller pointed,and began: "There is a tall house near the chimney, to the right ofit, one wall touching it. The house is crowded in between other newerbuildings, and looks to be very old and of a much better sort thanits neighbours. The other houses are plain stone, but this house hascarvings and statues on it, which are white with snow. But the house isin bad condition, one can see cracks in the wall."
"And its windows?"
"I cannot see them. They must be on the other side of the house, towardsthe courtyard which seems to be hemmed in by the blank walls of theother houses."
"And at the front of the house?"
"There is a low wall in front which shuts off the courtyard from anarrow, ill-kept street."
"Yes, I see it myself now. The street is bordered mainly by gardens andvacant lots."
"Yes, sir, that is it." Muller nodded as if satisfied. Amster lookedat him in surprise, still more surprised, however, at the excitementhe felt himself. He did not understand it, but Muller understood it. Heknew that he had found in Amster a talent akin to his own, one of thosenatures who once having taken up a trail cannot rest until they reachtheir goal. He looked for a few moments in satisfaction at the assistanthe had found by such chance, then he turned and hastened down the stairsagain.
"We're going to that house?" asked Amster when they were down in thestreet. Muller nodded.
Without hesitation the two men made their way through a tangle of dingy,uninteresting alleys, between modern tenements, until about ten minuteslater they stood before an old three-storied building, which had afrontage of four windows on the street. "This is our place," said thedetective, looking up at the tall, handsome gateway and the rocococarvings that ornamented the front of this decaying dwelling. It wasvery evidently of a different age and class from those about it.
Muller had already raised his hand to pull the bell, when he stopped andlet it sink again. His eye caught s
ight of a placard pasted up on thewall of the next house, and already half torn off by the wind. Thedetective walked over, and raising the placard with his cane, read thewords on it. "That's right," he said to himself. Amster gave a look onthe paper. But he could not connect the contents of the notice withthe case of the kidnapped lady, and he shook his head in surprise whenMuller turned to him with the words: "The lady we are looking for is notinsane." On the paper was announced in large letters that a reward wouldbe offered to the finder of a red and green parrot which had escapedfrom a neighbouring house.
Muller rang the bell and they had to wait some few minutes before thedoor opened with great creakings, and the towsled head of an old womanpeered out.
"What do you want?" she asked hoarsely, with distrustful looks.
"Let us in, and then give us the keys of the upstairs rooms." Muller'svoice was friendly, but the woman grew perceptibly paler.
"Who are you?" she stammered. Muller threw back his overcoat and showedher his badge. "But there is nobody here, the house is quite empty."
"There were a lady and gentleman here last evening." The woman threwa frightened look at Muller, then she said hesitatingly: "The lady wasinsane and has been taken to an asylum."
"That is what the man told you. He is a criminal and the police arelooking for him."
"Come with me," murmured the woman. She seemed to understand thatfurther resistance was useless. She carefully locked the outside door.Amster remained down stairs in the corridor, while Muller followed theold woman up the stairs. The staircase to the third story was made ofwood. The house was evidently very old, with low ceilings and many darkcorners.
The woman led Muller into the room in which she had cared for thestrange lady at the order of the latter's "husband." He had told herthat it was only until he could take the lady to an asylum. One look atthe wall paper, a glance out of the window, and Muller knew that thiswas where Asta Langen had been imprisoned. He sat down on a chair andlooked at the woman, who stood frightened before him.
"Do you know where they have taken the lady?"
"No, sir.
"Do you know the gentleman's name?"
"No, sir.
"You did not send the lady's name to the authorities?" *
"No, sir."
* Any stranger taking rooms in a hotel or lodging house must be registered with the police authorities by the proprietor of the house within forty-eight hours of arrival.
"Were you not afraid you would get into trouble?"
"The gentleman paid me well, and I did not think that he meant anythingbad, and--and--"
"And you did not think that it would be found out?" said Muller sternly.
"I took good care of the lady."
"Yes, we know that."
"Did she escape from her husband?"
"He was not her husband. But now tell me all you know about thesepeople; the more truthful you are the better it will be for you."
The old woman was so frightened that she could scarcely find strength totalk. When she finally got control of herself again she began: "He camehere on the first of November and rented this room for himself. But hewas here only twice before he brought the lady and left her alone here.She was very ill when he brought her here--so ill that he had to carryher upstairs. I wanted to go for a doctor, but he said he was a doctorhimself, and that he could take care of his wife, who often had suchattacks. He gave me some medicine for her after I had put her to bed. Igave her the drops, but it was a long while before she came to herselfagain.
"Then he told me that she had lost her mind, and that she believedeverybody was trying to harm her. She was so bad that he was taking herto an asylum. But he hadn't found quite the right place yet, and wantedme to keep her here until he knew where he could take her. Once he lefta revolver here by mistake. But I hid it so the lady wouldn't see it,and gave it to the gentleman the next time he came. He was angry atthat, though I couldn't see why, and said I shouldn't have touched it."
The woman had told her story with much hesitation, and stoppedaltogether at this point. She had evidently suddenly realised that thelady was not insane, but only in great despair, and that people insuch a state will often seek death, particularly if any weapon is leftconveniently within their reach.
"What did this gentleman look like?" asked Muller, to start her talkingagain. She described her tenant as very tall and stout with a longbeard slightly mixed with grey. She had never seen his eyes, for he woresmoked glasses.
"Did you notice anything peculiar about his face?"
"No, nothing except that his beard was very heavy and almost covered hisface."
"Could you see his cheeks at all?"
"No, or else I didn't notice."
"Did he leave nothing that might enable us to find him?"
"No, sir, nothing. Or yes, perhaps, but I don't suppose that will be anygood."
"What was it? What do you mean?"
"It gave him a good deal of trouble to get the lady into the wagon,because she had fainted again. He lost his glove in doing it. I have itdown stairs in my room, for I sleep down stairs again since the lady hasgone."
Muller had risen from his chair and walked over to the old writing deskwhich stood beside one window. There were several sheets of ordinarybrown paper on it and sharp pointed pencil and also something notusually found on writing desks, a piece of bread from which some of theinside had been taken. "Everything as I expected it," he said to himself."The young lady made up the package in the last few moments that she wasleft alone here."
He turned again to the old woman and commanded her to lead him downstairs. "What sort of a carriage was it in which they took the ladyaway?" he asked as they went down.
"A closed coupe."
"Did you see the number?"
"No, sir. But the carriage was very shabby and so was the driver."
"Was he an old man?"
"He was about forty years old, but he looked like a man who drank. Hehad a light-coloured overcoat on."
"Good. Is this your room?"
"Yes, sir."
They were now in the lower corridor, where they found Amster walking upand down. The woman opened the door of the little room, and took a glovefrom a cupboard. Muller put it in his pocket and told the woman not toleave the house for anything, as she might be sent for to come to thepolice station at any moment. Then he went out into the street withAmster. When they were outside in the sunlight, he looked at the glove.It was a remarkably small size, made for a man with a slender, delicatehand, not at all in accordance with the large stout body of the mandescribed by the landlady. Muller put his hand into the glove and foundsomething pushed up into the middle finger. He took it out and foundthat it was a crumpled tramway ticket.
"Look out for a shabby old closed coupe, with a driver about forty yearsold who looks like a drunkard and wears a light overcoat. If you findsuch a cab, engage it and drive in it to the nearest police station.Tell them there to hold the man until further notice. If the cab is notfree, at least take his number. And one thing more, but you will knowthat yourself,--the cab we are looking for will have new glass in theright-hand window." Thus Muller spoke to his companion as he put theglove into his pocket and unfolded the tramway ticket. Amster understoodthat they had found the starting point of the drive of the night before.
"I will go to all coupe stands," he said eagerly.
"Yes, but we may be able to find it quicker than that." Muller took thelittle notebook, which he was now carrying in his pocket, and took fromit the tramway ticket which was in the cover. He compared it with theone he had just found. They were both marked for the same hour of theday and for the same ride.
"Did the man use them?" asked Amster. The detective nodded. "How canthey help us?"
"Somewhere on this stretch of the street railroad you will probably findthe stand of the cab we are looking for. The man who hired it evidentlyarrived on the 6:30 train at the West Station--I have reason to believethat he does not live here,--and t
hen took the street car to thiscorner. The last ticket is marked for yesterday. In the car he probablymade his plans to hire a cab. So you had better stay along the line ofthe car tracks. You will find me in room seven, Police Headquarters,at noon to-day. The authorities have already taken up the case. You mayhave something to tell us then. Good luck to you."
Muller hurried on, after he had taken a quick breakfast in a littlecafe. He went at once to headquarters, made his report there andthen drove to Fellner's house. The latter was awaiting him with greatimpatience. There the detective gathered much valuable information aboutthe first marriage of Asta Langen's long-dead father. It was old Bernerwho could tell him the most about these long-vanished days.
When he reached his office at headquarters again, he found telegrams ingreat number awaiting him. They were from all the hospitals and insaneasylums in the entire district. But in none of them had there beena patient fitting the description of the vanished girl. Neither thecommissioner nor Muller was surprised at this negative result. Theywere also not surprised at all that the other branches of the policedepartment had been able to discover so little about the disappearanceof the young lady. They were aware that they had to deal with a criminalof great ability who would be careful not to fall into the usual slipsmade by his kind.
There was no news from the cab either, although several detectives wereout looking for it. It was almost nightfall when Amster ran breathlesslyinto room number seven. "I have him! he's waiting outside across theway!" This was Amster's report.
Muller threw on his coat hastily. "You didn't pay him, did you? Ona cold day like this the drivers don't like to wait long in any oneplace."
"No danger. I haven't money enough for that," replied Amster with asad smile. Muller did not hear him as he was already outside. Butthe commissioner with whom he had been talking and to whom Muller hadalready spoken of his voluntary assistant, entered into a conversationwith Amster, and said to him finally: "I will take it upon myself toguarantee your future, if you are ready to enter the secret serviceunder Muller's orders. If you wish to do this you can stay right on now,for I think we will need you in this case."
Amster bowed in agreement. His life had been troubled, his reputationdarkened by no fault of his own, and the work he was doing now hadawakened an interest and an ability that he did not know he possessed.He was more than glad to accept the offer made by the official.
Muller was already across the street and had laid his hand upon the doorof the cab when the driver turned to him and said crossly, "Some oneelse has ordered me. But I am not going to wait in this cold, get in ifyou want to."
"All right. Now tell me first where you drove to last evening with thesick lady and her companion?" The man looked astonished but found histongue again in a moment. "And who are you?" he asked calmly.
"We will tell you that upstairs in the police station," answered Mullerequally calmly, and ordered the man to drive through the gateway intothe inner courtyard. He himself got into the wagon, and in the courseof the short drive he had made a discovery. He had found a tiny glassstopper, such as is used in perfume bottles. He could understand fromthis why the odour of perfume which had now become familiar to him wasstill so strong inside the old cab. Also why it was so strong on thedelicate handkerchief. Asta Langen had taken the stopper from the bottlein her pocket, so as to leave a trail of odour behind her.
The Case of the Pocket Diary Found in the Snow Page 3
