The Case of The Pool of Blood in the Pastor\'s Study
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Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner >> The Case of The Pool of Blood in the Pastor\'s Study
"May I sit down also?" asked Muller.
Varna pushed forward a chair. His movements were like those of
an automaton.
"And now tell me how you like it here?" began the detective. Varna
answered with a low soft voice, "Oh, I like it very much, sir."
As he spoke he looked up at Gyuri, whose eyes still bore their
commanding expression.
"They treat you kindly here?"
"Oh, yes."
"The doctor is very good to you?"
"Ah, the doctor is so good!" Varna's dull eyes brightened.
"And the others are good to you also?"
"Oh, yes." The momentary gleam in the sad had vanished again.
"Where did you get this red scar?"
The patient became uneasy, he moved anxiously on his chair and
looked up at Gyuri. It was evident that he realised there would be
more red marks if he told the truth to this stranger.
Muller did not insist upon an answer. "You are uneasy and nervous
sometimes, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir, I have been--nervous--lately."
"And they don't let you go out at such times?"
"Why, I--no, I may not go out at such times."
"But the doctor takes you with him sometimes--the doctor or Gyuri?"
asked the detective.
"Yes."
"I haven't had him out with me for weeks," interrupted the attendant.
He seemed particularly anxious to have the "for weeks" clearly heard
by this inconvenient questioner.
Muller dropped this subject and took up another. "They tell me you
are very fond of children, and I can see that you are making toys for
them here."
"Yes, I love children, and I am so glad they are not afraid of me."
These words were spoken with more warmth and greater interest than
anything the man had yet said.
"And they tell me that you take gifts with you for the children
every time you go down to the village. This is pretty work here,
and it must be a pleasant diversion for you." Muller had taken up
a dainty little spinning-wheel which was almost completed. "Isn't
it made from the wood of a red yew tree?"
"Yes, the doctor gave me a whole tree that had been cut down in the
park."
"And that gave you wood for a long time?"
"Yes, indeed; I have been making toys from it for months." Varna
had become quite eager and interested as he handed his visitor a
number of pretty trifles. The two had risen from their chairs and
were leaning over the wide window seat which served as a store-house
for the wares turned out by the busy workman. They were toys,
mostly, all sorts of little pots and plates, dolls' furniture, balls
of various sizes, miniature bowling pins, and tops. Muller took up
one of the latter.
"How very clever you are, and how industrious," he exclaimed,
sitting down again and turning the top in his hands. It was covered
with gray varnish with tiny little yellow stripes painted on it.
Towards the lower point a little bit of the varnish had been broken
off and the reddish wood underneath was visible. The top was much
better constructed than the cheap toys sold in the village. It was
hollow and contained in its interior a mechanism started by a
pressure on the upper end. Once set in motion the little top spun
about the room for some time.
"Oh, isn't that pretty! Is this mechanism your own invention?"
asked Muller smiling. Gyuri watched the top with drawn brows and
murmured something about "childish foolishness."
"Yes, it is my own invention," said the patient, flattered. He
started out on an absolutely technical explanation of the mechanism
of tops in general and of his own in particular, an explanation so
lucid and so well put that no one would have believed the man
who was speaking was not in possession of the full powers of his
mind.
Muller listened very attentively with unfeigned interest.
"But you have made more important inventions than this, haven't
you?" he asked when the other stopped talking. Varna's eyes flashed
and his voice dropped to a tone of mystery as he answered: "Yes
indeed I have. But I did not have time to finish them. For I had
become some one else."
"Some one else?"
"Cardillac," whispered Varna, whose mania was now getting the best
of him again.
"Cardillac? You mean the notorious goldsmith who lived in Paris
200 years ago? Why, he's dead."
Varna's pale lips curled in a superior smile. "Oh, yes--that's
what people think, but it's a mistake. He is still alive--I am
--I have--although of course there isn't much opportunity here--"
Gyuri cleared his throat with a rasping noise.
"What were you saying, friend Cardillac?" asked Muller with a great
show of interest.
"I have done things here that nobody has found out. It gives me
great pleasure to see the authorities so helpless over the riddles
I have given them to solve. Oh, indeed, sir, you would never
imagine how stupid they are here."
"In other words, friend Cardillac, you are too clever for the
authorities here?
"Yes, that's it," said the insane man greatly flattered. He raised
his head proudly and smiled down at his guest. At this moment the
doctor came into the room and Gyuri walked forward to the group at
the window.
"You are making him nervous, sir," he said to Muller in a tone that
was almost harsh.
"You can leave that to me," answered the detective calmly. "And
you will please place yourself behind Mr. Varna's chair, not behind
mine. It is your eyes that are making him uneasy."
The attendant was alarmed and lost control of himself for a moment.
"Sir!" he exclaimed in an outburst.
"My name is Muller, in case you do not know it already, Joseph
Muller, detective. Gyuri Kovacz, you will do what I tell you to!
I am master here just now. Is it not so, doctor?"
"Yes, it is so," said the doctor.
"What does this mean?" murmured Gyuri, turning pale.
"It means that the best thing for you to do is to stand up against
that wall and fold your arms on your breast," said Muller firmly.
He took a revolver from his pocket and laid it beside him on the
turning-lathe. The young giant, cowed by the sight of the weapon,
obeyed the commands of this little man whom he could have easily
crushed with a single blow.
Dr. Orszay sank down on the chair beside the door. Muller, now
completely master of the situation, turned to the insane man who
stood looking at him in a surprise which was mingled with admiration.
"And now, my dear Cardillac, you must tell us of your great deeds
here," said the detective in a friendly tone.
The unfortunate man bent over him with shining eyes and whispered:
"But you'll shoot him first, won't you?"
"Why should I shoot him?"
"Because he won't let me say a word without beating me. He is so
cruel. He sticks pins into me if I don't do what he wants."
"Why didn't you tell the doctor?"
"Gyuri would have treated me worse than ever then. I am a coward,
sir, I'm so afraid of pain and he knew that--he knew that I was
afraid of being hurt and that I'd always do what he asked of me.
And because I don't like to be hurt myself I always finished them
off quickly."
"Finished who?"
"Why, there was Red Betty, he wanted her money."
"Who wanted it?"
"Gyuri."
The man at the wall moved when he heard this terrible accusation.
But the detective took up his revolver again. "Be quiet there!" he
called, with a look such as he might have thrown at an angry dog.
Gyuri stood quiet again but his eyes shot flames and great drops
stood out on his forehead.
"Now go on, friend Cardillac," continued the detective. "We were
talking about Red Betty."
"I strangled her. She did not even know she was dying. She was
such a weak old woman, it really couldn't have hurt her."
"No, certainly not," said Muller soothingly, for he saw that the
thought that his victim might have suffered was beginning to make
the madman uneasy. "You needn't worry about that. Old Betty died
a quiet death. But tell me, how did Gyuri know that she had money?"
"The whole village knew it. She laid cards for people and earned
a lot of money that way. She was very stingy and saved every bit.
Somebody saw her counting out her money once, she had it in a big
stocking under her bed. People in the village talked about it.
That's how Gyuri heard of it."
"And so he commanded you to kill Betty and steal her money?"
"Yes. He knew that I loved to give them riddles to guess, just as
I did in Paris so long ago."
"Oh, yes, you're Cardillac, aren't you? And now tell us about the
smith's swineherd."
"You mean Janos? Oh, he was a stupid lout," answered Varna
scornfully.
"He had cast an eye on the beautiful Julcsi, Gyuri's mistress, so
of course I had to kill him."
"Did you do that alone?"
"No, Gyuri helped me."
"Why did you cut the bridge supports?"
"Because I enjoy giving people riddles, as I told you. But Gyuri
forbade me to kill people uselessly. I liked the chance of getting
out though. The doctor's so good to me and the others too. Gyuri
is good to me when I have done what he wanted. But you see, Mr.
Muller, I am like a prisoner here and that makes me angry. I made
Gyuri let me out nights sometimes."
"You mean he let you out alone, all alone?"
"Yes, of course, for I threatened to tell the doctor everything if
he didn't."
"You wouldn't have dared do that."
"No, that's true," smiled Varna slyly. "But Gyuri was afraid I
might do it, for he isn't always strong enough to frighten me with
his eyes. Those were the hours when I could make him afraid--I
liked those hours--"
"What did you do when you were out alone at night?"
"I just walked about. I set fire to a tree in the woods once, then
the rain came and put it out. Once I killed a dog and another time
I cut through the bridge supports. That took me several hours to do
and made me very tired. But it was such fun to know that people
would be worrying and fussing about who did it."
Varna rubbed his hands gleefully. He did not look the least bit
malicious but only very much amused. The doctor groaned. Gyuri's
great body trembled, his arms shook, but he did not make a single
voluntary movement. He saw the revolver in Muller's hand and felt
the keen grey eyes resting on him in pitiless calm.
"And now tell us about the pastor?" said the detective in a firm
clear voice.
"Oh, he was a dear, good gentleman," said No. 302 with an expression
of pitying sorrow on his face. "I owed him much gratitude; that's
why I put the roses in his hand."
"Yes, but you murdered him first."
"Of course, Gyuri told me to."
"And why?"
"He hated the pastor, for the old gentleman had no confidence in
him."
"Is this true?" Muller turned to the doctor.
"I did not notice it," said Orszay with a voice that showed deep
sorrow.
"And you?" Muller's eyes bored themselves into the orbs of the young
giant, now dulled with fear.
Gyuri started and shivered. "He looked at me sharply every now and
then," he murmured.
"And that was why he was killed?"
The warder's head sank on his breast.
"No, not only for that reason," continued No. 302. "Gyuri needed
money again. He ordered me to bring him the silver candlesticks
off the altar."
"Murder and sacrilege," said the detective calmly.
"No, I did not rob the church. When I had buried the reverend
gentleman I heard the cock crowing. I was afraid I might get home
here too late and I forgot the candlesticks. I had to stop to wash
my hands in the brook. While I was there I saw shepherd Janci coming
along and I hid behind the willows. He almost discovered me once,
but Janci's a dreamer, he sees things nobody else sees--and he doesn't
see things that everybody else does see. I couldn't help laughing at
his sleepy face. But I didn't laugh when I came back to the asylum.
Gyuri was waiting for me at the door. When he saw that I hadn't
brought the candlesticks he beat me and tortured me worse than he'd
ever done before."
"And you didn't tell anyone?"
"Why, no; because I was afraid that if I told on him, I'd never be
able to go out again."
"And you, quite alone, could carry the pastor's body out of his
room?"
"I am very strong."
"How did you arrange it that there should be no traces of blood to
betray you?"
"I waited until the body had stiffened, then I tied up the wound and
carried him down into the crypt."
"Why did you do that?"
"I didn't want to leave him in that horrid pool of blood."
"You were sorry for him then?"
"Why, yes; it looked so horrid to see him lying there--and he had
always been so good to me. He was so good to me that very evening
when I entered his study.
"He recognised you?
"Certainly. He sprang up from his chair when I came in through the
passage from the church. I saw that he was startled, but he smiled
at me and reached out his hand to me and said: 'What brings you here,
my dear Cardillac?' And then I struck. I wanted him to die with
that smile on his lips. It is beautiful to see a man die smiling,
it shows that he has not been afraid of death. He was dead at once.
I always kill that way--I know just how to strike and where. I
killed more than a hundred people years ago in Paris, and I didn't
leave one of them the time for even a sigh. I was renowned for
that--I had a kind heart and a sure hand."
Muller interrupted the dreadful imaginings of the madman with a
question. "You got into the house through the crypt?"
"Yes, through the crypt. I found the window one night when I was
prowling around in the churchyard. When I knew that the pastor was
to be the next, I cut through the window bars. Gyuri went into the
church one day when nobody was there and found out that it was easy
to lift the stone over the entrance to the crypt. He also learned
that the doors from the church to the vestry were never locked. I
knew how to find the passageway, because I had been through it
several times on my visits to the rectory. But it was a mere chance
that the door into the pastor's study was unlocked."
"A chance that cost the life of a worthy man," said the detective
gravely.
Varna nodded sadly. "But he didn't suffer, he was dead at once."
"And now tell me what this top was doing there?" No. 302 looked at
the detective in great surprise, and then laid his hand on the
latter's arm. "How did you know that I had the top there?" he asked
with a show of interest.
"I found its traces in the room, and it was those traces that led
me here to you," answered Muller.
"How strange!" remarked Varna. "Are you like shepherd Janci that
you can see the things others don't see?"
"No, I have not Janci's gift. It would be a great comfort to me
and a help to the others perhaps if I had. I can only see things
after they have happened."
"But you can see more than others--the others did not see the
traces of the top?"
"My business is to see more than others see," said Muller. "But
you have not told me yet what the top was doing there. Why did you
take a toy like that with you when you went out on such an errand?"
"It was in my pocket by chance. When I reached for my handkerchief
to quench the flow of blood the top came out with it. I must have
touched the spring without knowing it, for the top began to spin.
I stood still and watched it, then I ran after it. It spun around
the room and finally came back to the body. So did I. The pastor
was quite still and dead by that time."
"You have heard everything, Dr. Orszay?" asked the detective, rising
from his chair.
"Yes, I have heard everything," answered the venerable head of the
asylum. He was utterly crushed by the realisation that all this
tragedy and horror had gone out from his house.
Varna rose also. He understood perfectly that now Gyuri's power
was at an end and he was as pleased as a child that has just
received a present. "And now you're going to shoot him?" he asked,
in the tone a boy would use if asking when the fireworks were to
begin.
Muller shook his head. "No, my dear Cardillac," he replied
gravely. "He will not be shot--that is a death for a brave
soldier--but this man has deserved--" He did not finish the
sentence, for the warder sank to the floor unconscious.
"What a coward!" murmured the detective scornfully, looking down at
the giant frame that lay prostrate before him. Even in his wide
experience he had known of no case of a man of such strength and
such bestial cruelty, combined with such utter cowardice.
Varna also stood looking down at the unconscious warder. Then he
glanced up with a cunning smile at the other two men who stood
there. The doctor, pale and trembling with horror, covered his
face with his hands. Muller turned to the door to call in the
attendants waiting outside. During the moment's pause that ensued
the madman bent over his worktable, seized a knife that lay there
and dropped on one knee beside the prostrate form. His hand was
raised to strike when a calm voice said: "Fie! Cardillac, for
shame! Do not belittle yourself. This man here is not worthy of
your knife, the hangman will look after him."
Varna raised his loose-jointed frame and looked about with
glistening eyes and trembling lips. His mind was completely
darkened once more. "I must kill him--I must have his
blood--there is no one to see me," he murmured. "I am a
hangman too--he has made a hangman of me," and again he bent
with uplifted hand over the man who had utilised his terrible
misfortune to make a criminal of him. But two of the waiting
attendants seized his arms and threw him back on the floor, while
the other two carted Gyuri out. Both unfortunates were soon
securely guarded.
"Do not be angry with me, doctor," said Muller gravely, as he
walked through the garden accompanied by Orszay.
Doctor Orszay laughed bitterly. "Why should I be angry with you
--you who have discovered my inexcusable credulity?"
"Inexcusable? Oh, no, doctor; it was quite natural that you should
have believed a man who had himself so well in hand, and who knew
so well how to play his part. When we come to think of it, we
realise that most crimes have been made possible through some one's
credulity, or over-confidence, a credulity which, in the light of
subsequent events, seems quite incomprehensible. Do not reproach
yourself and do not lose heart. Your only fault was that you did
not recognise the heart of the beast of prey in this admirable human
form."
"What course will the law take?" asked Orszay. "The poor
unfortunate madman--whose knife took all these lives--cannot be
held responsible, can he?"
"Oh, no; his misfortune protects him. But as for the other, though
his hands bear no actual bloodstains, he is more truly a murderer
than the unhappy man who was his tool. Hanging is too good for him.
There are times when even I could wish that we were back in the
Middle Ages, when it was possible to torture a prisoner.
"You do not look like that sort of a man," smiled the doctor through
his sadness.
"No, I am the most good-natured of men usually, I think--the
meekest anyway," answered Muller. "But a case like this--. However,
as I said before, keep a stout heart, doctor, and do not waste
time in unnecessary self-reproachings." The detective pressed the
doctor's hand warmly and walked down the hill towards the village.
He went at once to the office of the magistrate and made his report,
then returned to the rectory and packed his grip. He arranged for
its transport to the railway station, as he himself preferred to
walk the inconsiderable distance. He passed through the village
and had just entered the open fields when he met Janci with his
flock. The shepherd hastened his steps when he saw the detective
approaching.
"You have found him, sir?" he exclaimed as he came up to Muller.
The men had come to be friends by this time. The silent shepherd
with the power of second sight had won Muller's interest at once.
"Yes, I found him. It is Gyuri, the warder at the asylum."
"No, sir, it is not Gyuri--Gyuri did not do it."
"But when I tell you that he did?"
"But I tell you, sir, that Gyuri did not do it. The man who did
it--he has yellowish hands--I saw them--I saw big yellowish
hands. Gyuri's hands are big, but they are brown."
"Janci, you are right. I was only trying to test you. Gyuri did
not do it; that is, he did not do it with his own hands. The man
who held the knife that struck down the pastor was Varna, the crazy
mechanician."
Janci beat his forehead. "Oh, I am a foolish and useless dreamer!"
he exclaimed; "of course it was Varna's hands that I saw. I have
seen them a hundred times when he came down into the village, and
yet when I saw them in the vision I did not recognise them."
"We're all dreamers, Janci--and our dreams are very useless
generally."
"Yours are not useless, sir," said the shepherd. "If I had as much
brains as you have, my dreams might be of some good."
Muller smiled. "And if I had your visions, Janci, it would be a
powerful aid to me in my profession."
"I don't think you need them, sir. You can find out the hidden
things without them. You are going to leave us?"
"Yes, Janci, I must go back to Budapest, and from there to Vienna.
They need me on another case."
"It's a sad work, this bringing people to the gallows, isn't it?"
"Yes, Janci, it is sometimes. But it's a good thing to be able to
avenge crime and bring justice to the injured. Good-bye, Janci."
"Good-bye, sir, and God speed you."
The shepherd stood looking after the small, slight figure of the
man who walked on rapidly through the heather. "He's the right one
for the work," murmured Janci as he turned slowly back towards the
village.
An hour later Muller stood in the little waiting-room of the railway
station writing a telegram. It was addressed to Count ----.
"Do you know the shepherd Janci? It would be a good thing to
make him the official detective for the village. He has high
qualifications for the profession. If I had his gifts combined
with my own, not one could escape me. I have found this one
however. The guards are already taking him to you. My work
here is done. If I should be needed again I can be found at
Police Headquarters, Vienna.
"Respectfully,
"JOSEPH MULLER."
While the detective was writing his message--it was one of the rare
moments of humour that Muller allowed himself, and he wondered
mildly what the stately Hungarian nobleman would think of it--a
heavy farm wagon jolted over the country roads towards the little
county seat. Sitting beside the driver and riding about the wagon
were armed peasants. The figure of a man, securely bound, his face
distorted by rage and fear, lay in the wagon. It was Gyuri Kovacz,
who had murdered by the hands of another, and who was now on his
way to meet the death that was his due.
And at one of the barred windows in the big yellow house stood a
sallow-faced man, looking out at the rising moon with sad, tired
eyes. His lips were parted in a smile like that of a dreaming
child, and he hummed a gentle lullaby.
In his compartment of the express from Budapest to Vienna, Joseph
Muller sat thinking over the strange events that had called him to
the obscure little Hungarian village. He had met with many strange
cases in his long career, but this particular case had some features
which were unique. Muller's lips set hard and his hands tightened
to fists as he murmured: "I've met with criminals who used strange
tools, but never before have I met with one who had the cunning and
the incredible cruelty to utilise the mania of an unhinged human
mind. It is a thousand times worse than those criminals who, now
and then throughout the ages, have trained brute beasts to murder
for them. Truly, this Hungarian peasant, Gyuri Kovacz, deserves a
high place in the infamous roll-call of the great criminals of
history. A student of crime might almost be led to think that it
is a pity his career has been cut short so soon. He might have
gone far.
"But for humanity's sake" (Muller's eyes gleamed), "I am thankful
that I was able to discover this beast in human form and render him
innocuous; he had done quite enough."