by Ulf Durling
Thinking about this case again I find another unexplained point. Who was the Axel Nilsson who lived at the boarding-house one and a half months before the murder? You remember that Johan called Blom last Sunday night and discovered that Nilsson had stayed there six weeks ago. That information surprised us very much at the time. Now I’m no longer surprised.
Johan Lundgren is a close friend of mine. I like him a lot, but I suspect that some people in this town may not appreciate him to the same extent, the proprietor of The Little Boarding-House being one of them. My conclusion is that our phone call made Blom angrier and more upset than he already was. It goes without saying that he recognised Johan’s voice, with its rather characteristic whining tone, and realised immediately that the three of us were engaged in some kind of private murder investigation. So, in order to get us off his back, he decided to confuse us with a piece of false information. That’s why he told us that the name of the guest who occupied room number 5 in mid-September was… Axel Nilsson!
This is sheer speculation, for what it’s worth.
It’s getting late. Most people in town are asleep and gathering strength for tomorrow.
I have a strong suspicion that I shan’t sleep. I’ve had problems lately. It’s as if the hours in the night are too valuable to be slept away. You don’t know how many you may have left.
I can’t take anything for it. Johan drinks lukewarm milk. I’d rather stay awake. I could, of course, prescribe myself some pills, but then I may not wake up in time.
My surgery opens in a few hours.
POSTSCRIPT
Stadsparken, Saturday, November 1.
My Dear Dr. Nylander,
I’m sorry for writing to you like this. You will, I think, get the letter with the morning mail. I thought of something. The memory returns—exactly as you said it would.
It’s about the visit to Nilsson. We drank liquor, as I said. God help us, but I am not sure if he downed any red wine. I cannot swear that he did, but he said something about “sodding red dishwater.” I don’t remember if we ate much cheese either. Maybe we had some, that is possible, but I took some away with me, for there was a big chunk in my pocket that I was eating in the cottage.
This may not be of any importance but, since you were so kind to me the other day, I would like you to know that you were right about my returning memory.
Today I have relapsed into alcohol somewhat, but that is just for the time being and on Monday I will, thank Heaven, be sober again.
Maybe I should drop in this week sometime to be put on the sick-list? I’m too nervous to be able to work, unfortunately, and I still have difficulty with the amnesia. It will be better when I get rid of the alcohol, which is demoralizing for body and soul.
Elvy sends her greetings!
Yours sincerely,
Algot Emanuel Cronlund, former goldsmith.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
I wish to express my profound thanks to Bertil Falk for his exceedingly generous offer to translate this Swedish locked room classic.
Bertil is the editor and translator of Locked Rooms and Open Spaces: An Anthology of 150 Years of Swedish Crime and Mystery Fiction of the Impossible Sort, published in 2007 by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box (www.batteredbox.com).
Additionally, he has translated similar short stories by, among others, John Dickson Carr, Jacques Futrelle and Melville Davisson Post into Swedish, as well as the essay “The Grandest Game in the World” by Carr.
John Pugmire
New York
November 2015
