Part 9

Then Cara spoke at last, falling back on her chair. “Hull murdered!...” she exclaimed, and she sank fainting from the chair to the ground.

For the moment Wenk was taken aback; then he decided that this fainting-fit was assumed. He raised her on to the couch, then went away without attending to her further. Going out, he ordered the constables to keep a sharp eye on the lady, and not let anyone at all go into the ante-room. They were to keep their weapons fixed.

He drove back to the central police-station and informed the divisional surgeon, requesting him to drive to the guard-room, and to search the girl’s clothing without exciting suspicion. He then wrote out the order for her arrest, and handed it over. He gave orders at the Police Information Bureau that any journalist who came seeking for news was to be sent to him direct.

By this time it was daylight. Wenk had a bath and then drove to the office of the Central News Agency, the editor-in-chief of which had rung him up on the telephone.

When Wenk had told him all that had occurred, he said: “The reason that emboldened me to lay claim to some of your time, was this. If it were an isolated murder I would, although unwillingly, let the reporting of it proceed in the usual manner. But behind this assault we are confronted by a gang having at their head a man of apparently enormous and comprehensive powers. He must have secured to himself an organized set of followers whose only aim is to guard him while he carries out his crimes. The letter, which he himself may have handed into your office, discloses the fact that he desires the affair to be made known in the way that suits his ends. He means it as a warning. The victim himself told me not long ago that he had come across him in very peculiar circumstances, and this he knew. It is his aim to surround his dark deeds by a wall of dread; folks are to realize that no one who makes any attempt against _him_ can escape with his life. You can readily see how great a danger such a man is; at a time when the war has left folks weak and emotional on the one hand and more readily incited to evil on the other. We cannot altogether suppress such an occurrence as this, but I desire that it should be announced apart from the connecting circumstances known to me, so that the imagination may not make popular heroes out of murderers. In this I am counting on the assistance of yourself and your colleagues. May I beg you most earnestly not to make known _anything_ concerning the Hull affair which has not first been seen by me? We are living in an age of mental and spiritual epidemics, and those who would help to bring healing must be prepared to sacrifice themselves.”

“I will certainly act as you desire,” said the editor-in-chief.

“At the same time,” Wenk went on, “I wouldn’t on any account allow the impression to get about that such a course is due to more complete knowledge of the circumstances, or the exercise of authority on the part of the law, you understand.”

“I quite follow you there,” said the sympathetic editor.

“Then I am grateful to you, and can only hope for good results from our combined efforts. Our nation is in evil case.”

When he got home Wenk was anxious to go to bed and enjoy a few hours of much-needed rest. It was already ten o’clock, but just then his chauffeur, who acted as his personal attendant, brought him a visiting-card bearing the name of Countess Told.

“I am quite disengaged,” said Wenk immediately, and the Countess was ushered in.

“Is there any possibility of our being interrupted here by an anxious wife who is not _au courant_ of the matter which is engaging our attention?” she asked, as she gave Wenk her slender hand cordially.

“The happiness of possessing a partner for life has never been mine!” answered Wenk, feeling a delicious sweetness in the proximity of this woman. And yet she stood before him as something dreamlike, connected with a life which he seemed to have led not long before. Between this hour and that lay the mysterious occurrences of the night, and he was unable to conceive that these feelings of love and longing could be actually real.

She stood before him, and he found no word to say to her, while she herself, insensibly influenced by the man’s force of character and lofty aims, felt embarrassed by this silence, because it seemed to be a confirmation of her own sensations. “Yes,” she confessed to herself, “the feeling I have for him is ...,” but she would not utter the word “love.” She blushed at the thought, a blush which Wenk saw. A tremor passed through him, and he struggled with himself as he bent low over her hand.

Then suddenly the vision of the murdered man rose before him, and he no longer felt bold enough to betray by word or gesture the infatuation which possessed him. He offered the Countess a chair, and while he fetched another for himself his imagination was fired by an idea which afforded a solution of the conflict waging within him. This woman, whom he loved and to whom he was evidently not wholly indifferent, should be associated with him in his undertaking, and their common endeavour might bring about their own harvest. Then he said to her seriously:

“During this last night an acquaintance known to both of us, Edgar von Hull, has been murdered. His friend Karstens is severely wounded, and I only escaped because I had happened to leave, two hours earlier, the locality into which we had been enticed. I believe I know the instigator of this crime. It is once more the sandy-bearded man and the old Professor. Its actual perpetrators have escaped, but we have made one arrest, of a person who is also known to you. I mean Cara Carozza, the dancer, whose liaison with Hull you are aware of. At present I have hardly more than a profound conviction that she has had some share in the crime, but I have thought of a way by which we might loosen her tongue. If you, Countess, would undertake the unpleasant enterprise of allowing yourself to be arrested, I would take care to arrange for your being put into the same cell as Carozza. She does not know you as Countess Told, but as a lady who frequents her own circles. Represent your offence as a very trifling one, and say that you will soon be set free, even if you are found guilty of taking part in an illicit game.... Promise to help her, perhaps by flight ... and you must previously have informed her that her situation is a very serious one, and one never can tell what may happen to persons arrested in such circumstances as hers.... She will then probably tell you who would be able to arrange for her escape, and you understand the rest, Countess. Are you willing to play the part?”

“I will carry out your wishes,” said the Countess, without stopping an instant for reflection, and her voice sounded eager.

Wenk was sensibly touched by the haste, the ready zeal with which this gracious and beautiful woman accepted his suggestion.

“Up to now,” she said lightly, “there has never been a chance for me to do anything really useful, to engage in a bold enterprise with life at stake, to study life at first hand.”

“And that is what you have been seeking in the gambling-dens?” he asked.

“I do not rightly know. I felt at home in those places, because there seemed to be no barriers. In my own circle I could perceive the horizon everywhere, and I could not endure that. I feel I owe you much....”

There was a smarting in Wenk’s eyes. He was overcome with a sensation of longing; it took possession of him and tormented him, and he asked, almost roughly, “And your husband?”

She answered calmly, “In every marriage, although you cannot know it by experience, there is something of what the heart has sought left unfulfilled. I rob my husband of nothing, if I try to find what I am seeking without him.”

“I honour and esteem you,” cried Wenk, his voice trembling slightly.

“It is nothing but the natural law,” she countered; “and now tell me what I am to do.”

“On a certain day, which you shall appoint, I will take you in my car to the governor of the prison and we will arrange everything with him. When would it suit you?”

“Next Saturday at this time.” She rose.

“The grey prison walls will begin to shine!” said Wenk.

“Because of such odd proceedings,” laughed she.

“No, Countess, your beauty will light them up,” and Wenk suddenly felt as if he loved her with a passion which must be shining in his eyes. He bent so low over her hand in adieu that he concealed his face from her, and she yielded it to him in a gracious gesture that was almost like the confession of a mutual understanding between them, then hastened away.

Out in the street the blood mounted to her cheeks, and half unconsciously she murmured the word she had suppressed, “love ... love,” while in Wenk’s room there remained a scent of her which he eagerly inhaled. Then pressing both hands to his face, and indulging his secret and mysterious presentiments, he whispered ardently into the darkness that concealed his vision, “Death and love ... death and love!”

* * * * *

In the course of the day the report of the murder ran through the city. It arose from the dark quarter where Hull had yielded up his useless and trivial existence. A dark patch remained there, and the pavement was coloured with the blood that had been shed. The thaw had made the gutters moist and muddy, and they had sucked in the dark evidences of the crime, till from a mere patch it became a monster, reaching from its own narrow corner to spread throughout the town. Folks came to seek its source, drinking in on the spot the full horrors of the deed. They saw the monster rear its head, rush towards them and through them, leaving disorder, abuse and dread in its wake. Like a dragon it wound itself through the alleys to the broad Ludwigstrasse, crept through the squares to the very heart of the city, and began to overflow all quarters, to escape from the streets to the houses. Like an underground drain it ran all day long, its gloomy current and dismal stench striking terror into men’s hearts or drawing thence a force which could but find its outlet in evil.

Three days later a woman of the streets was murdered in the night, and the assassin was caught the very next day. He was an “out-of-work,” one of those relics of war-time, who had fallen into a state approaching savagery. He confessed that he did not know what he was doing when he pressed his fingers deep into the girl’s throat. Something seemed to seize upon him in the dark when he came round that corner by the Jägerstrasse, and drove him to do it.

The town was enveloped as in a misty fog, impressionable and passionate as the human heart, and the spring beyond it was obscured. The lights thrown on life became glaring, its shadows of a wild and overwhelming blackness. Men’s hearts were torn in two, and everywhere there was internal conflict.

IX

At four o’clock there was a telephone call from Frankfurt. “George Strümpfli, artist, was born in Basle in 1885, and lived at the address indicated from January 1st to December 10th last year. He has now gone abroad, his whereabouts being unknown. In the records he is entered as of Swiss nationality, and he is a married man.”

From the register of the town inhabitants Wenk learnt that Cara Carozza was described as follows: “Maria Strümpfli, formerly Essert, known as Cara Carozza, dancer, born in Brunn, May 1, 1892, arrived in Munich from Copenhagen.”

Wenk wondered how the pronunciation of “Georsh” instead of George could have arisen, for both these people were South Germans by speech, and “Georsh” was only heard in North Germany.

He went again to see the dancer, who was now in a prison cell.

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” she said in a harsh voice to Wenk. “You say you are going to help me, and yet you put me in prison.”

“It was not I: that is a mistake on your part. It is the examining counsel, as I told you at once. I am only here to clear up one difficulty in the case, and that is the name you called out. That is the point at issue.”

“Indeed! you seem rather concerned about the verdict.”

“Yes, of course we are. If you were prepared to help us we might get over the difficulty. Let me see, you said your husband’s name was Carl ... Carl Strümpfli, wasn’t it?”

“In case you forget it again, his name is George.”

“He is a Swiss?”

“You have evidently been inquiring about him.”

“Certainly,” said Wenk. “And so he is called George. Now tell me, although you may think it a foolish question, had you any special name for him?”

“No.”

“You never called him anything but....”

“George. No, only George. When can I get away from here?”

“Ah, that depends upon the examining counsel.”

“Well then, he ought to be here. It is shameful that a well-known artiste like me should....”

“You see, unfortunately everything must take its prescribed course. ‘Without respect of individuals,’ as the legal phrase runs. I cannot promise you any more than my own help.”

“You are going away again? And without me?”

“For the moment I cannot do anything else.”

The dancer turned away.

Wenk went to the scene of the crime. He had previously studied the list of those living in its vicinity, and especially those in the Finkenstrasse. He took two plain-clothes policemen with him, one of them being the constable who had pursued the criminals as far as the park wall. They examined the wall by daylight; it showed scratches from the tips of shoes, and on the top was a trace of blood. Possibly someone had been lifted up who grasped the top with his hands. In the clear February day the light fell pitilessly on that trace of the murdered Hull.

Wenk entered the houses, many of which, he perceived, led at the back to the park. He spoke to all their occupants separately. Some had heard a noise in the night, but they did not consider that anything unusual, and in the houses themselves, as they told Wenk, they had heard nothing.

He examined the park on the other side of the wall. There was nothing to be seen there beyond a trace of many footprints in one spot, where they had apparently jumped down, for some of the impressions were fairly deep. But this spot had been raked, and carbolic acid thrown upon it. There was an empty tin near, which from its smell had evidently contained carbolic. This precaution was doubtless taken in case the police hounds should be requisitioned, and it might have been put there beforehand, but he did not quite understand the reason, and decided to test it by means of a hound. It took up the scent in the Jägerstrasse, ran to the wall and jumped up on it, but when they lifted it on the other side it went no further. It turned away in disgust at the smell of the carbolic, ran up and down the wall and then back again, always in the same direction, and yet always as if irresolute. It tried to spring into the air.

Wenk had it lifted over the wall again, but when the hound was on the top, and the man on the other side ready to receive it, it escaped from him and ran, barking furiously, along the top. It did not run far, but remained in one spot, barking, with its head downwards, towards the yard of one of the houses, trying to jump down there. Then with one spring the hound was over, running towards the house, where it stood still at the outer wall. This Wenk examined closely, perceiving marks of scratches occurring at regular intervals upwards. Here undoubtedly people had climbed up by means of a ladder, and the tracks led to a window on the first floor. The room it belonged to was empty, and he asked the people of the house how long it had been so. Then all the other lodgers were astonished, for they said it was occupied. One of them exclaimed, “But Georsh is living there!”

Wenk’s heart gave a sudden leap.

“Who?” he said quickly. “What was his name?”

Again the answer was “Georsh.”

“Did you know him?” he asked of one woman.

“Certainly I knew Georsh!” she replied.

“Was that his surname?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who used to call him that?”

“The fellows who were always coming to see him.”

“So his name was George?” went on Wenk, desirous of being quite certain.

“No, he was called Georsh,” answered one of them.

“Has he lived here long?”

Nobody knew exactly; some thought it was about a year, but he was hardly ever at home. He tried to get a description of the man, but then a curious fact came to light. Even about the colour of his hair they could not agree. One said he was blue-eyed, another declared his eyes were dark. He was rather tall and thin, and dressed like a sailor. Again, he looked rather like an athlete.

“What was he then? What was his calling?”

“They said he was a commercial traveller.”

It was curious that there was no mention of this Georsh as an occupant of the house; he was not on the list given to Wenk.

Wenk went to the Town Register Office, and with the help of the officials he ascertained that one occupant of the house had been a George Hinrichsen from the Elbe district. He had left the place about a month before, and said he was going to Ravensburg, and after that the room had been taken by a commercial traveller named Poldringer.

It was quite clear to Wenk that Hinrichsen and Poldringer the traveller were one and the same person. It was just a month ago that Hull had had that memorable conversation with Wenk. And Hinrichsen and Poldringer were the same individual as the murderer of Hull, or at least the person who directed the murder, and it was his name that the dancer had called out. Possibly the direction Hinrichsen had taken in departure also agreed with this, for Constance lay near Ravensburg, and Switzerland could be reached from there.

Wenk telegraphed to the Constance head-office, with special reference to the passport stations. A few hours later the police officials there telegraphed back that a man named Poldringer had notified his arrival there. He gave Bavaria as his native State, and this had struck the registering official as curious, because the man used a dialect that was unmistakably North German. On that account the police kept him under surveillance. They ascertained that he frequented the society of people who were suspected of smuggling goods across the Swiss frontier. He often travelled by the steamer to Lindau. “Expect me to-day in Constance,” telephoned Wenk finally.

Wenk immediately prepared for a journey. He could reach Constance before night if the little monoplane belonging to a friend of his, which was always at his service, were ready for a flight. He telephoned to him and ascertained that it was.

At four o’clock he departed, and in the deepening twilight he descended at the Petershaus aerodrome near Constance. The police described the locality in which these profiteers and smugglers were to be found. He disguised himself as a chauffeur and went to one of their inns to get some supper. He addressed one man whom he thought to be of their party, saying that he could get hold of two cars, and also some sort of export licence, as long as it wasn’t looked at too closely, but if he had the help of one or, better still, of two bold fellows it could be done quite easily. There would be a profit of about ten thousand in it, for the cars were bought in the autumn of 1918 and had been kept hidden ever since. They were first-class cars that had belonged to two generals.

The other did not take long to consider. He would broach the matter to a friend of his, and the three of them would soon pull it off. They went together later to another tavern, which the friend often frequented, but he did not appear.

“What is his name?” asked Wenk. “Perhaps I know him.”

“He is called Ball, but you may have known him under some other name. Most of us find it convenient to have one or two different names here; you know all about that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” said Wenk.

Then he grew suddenly pale, for just then a man entered, in whom he thought he recognized the chauffeur who had driven him to Schleissheim in the car filled with poison gas. Everything was at stake. Wenk’s disguise was rather a sketchy one. Supposing this man were the Ball they were expecting! If he came to their table and sat down, he would probably recognize Wenk, and the whole story would come out. He employed all his powers to regain his self-control, and tried to disguise his features by contracting his facial muscles. He had already taken the precaution of seating himself in a dark corner.

But the new-comer sat down at some distance from him at a large table where several young fellows were already sitting. He had his back to Wenk, but the lawyer felt he must not venture any further, and promising a rendezvous for the next evening, he hastily took his leave.

He went to the police-station, stated where he had been, and described the suspected man. The sergeant of police sent for a constable, who said that according to the description the man must be Poldringer.

“Could we be certain of that? I should like the fact established during the night. But I beg of you to proceed cautiously in the matter, for this man is armed at all points!” urged Wenk.

Then he thought it would be better not to go there, said the constable. It was but a small town, and all the police officials, even the plain-clothes men, knew these profiteers. His sudden appearance might give the alarm.

“Well then, I must manage without that. Do you know where he lives?”

“Certainly.”

“Then take me there at once.”

The sergeant took Wenk to a byway where stood a shabby old inn, which was divided into many courtyards at the back. Wenk at once recognized that it would be extremely difficult to carry through any arrest here without a large body of police, and so many constables could not be quickly and easily procured in a small town like this.

Opposite the house was an iron-foundry. Here Wenk spent the next forenoon in company with a constable who knew Poldringer, the two concealing themselves behind a dust-begrimed window.