by Leo Perutz
"Calm yourself, Felix," said he. "I know exactly what I'm saying. I have considered it very carefully, and have come to the conclusion that the baron is innocent. You have done him a grave wrong, and all I ask is that you should listen to me, that's all."
The assurance with which he spoke had a calming effect on my nerves. I had, a feeling of liberation, the nightmare that had oppressed me a moment before had been dissipated. The idea that I had been seriously accused of murder now struck me as fantastic and absurd. Now that broad daylight, the light of reality, had begun to illuminate things, what I felt was merely a kind of tension that might be felt by an uninvolved spectator. All I felt was curiosity. How would it all turn out, I wondered. Who drove Eugen Bischoff to his death? Who is the guilty party? And by what strange concatenation of circumstances did that silent witness, my pipe, arrive in the room and end up on the table? At whom did it point the finger of suspicion?
That was what I wanted to know, that was what I had to find out, and I kept my eyes on the engineer, as if he knew the way out of this maze of unsolved riddles.
I don't know what was uppermost in my enemy's mind at that moment. Anger? Impatience? Irritation? Indignation or disappointment? Whatever it was, he managed to hide it. His face and manner expressed the same courtesy and cordiality as before, and the angry movement of his hand turned into a moderate, challenging gesture.
"You intrigue me, Waldemar," he said. "Let us hear what you have to say. But you'll be brief, won't you, because I think I can hear the police commission car."
Sure enough, there was honking outside in the street, but the engineer took no notice, and when he began speaking I remembered for a brief moment that my honour and my life were at stake. But the feeling of calm and confidence and complete non-involvement promptly returned, together with the conviction that the whole thing would turn out to have its natural explanation. It had become inconceivable to me that this dreadful suspicion could stick to me.
"When the shots rang out, Baron von Yosch was up in the house, wasn't he?" the engineer said. "Did you know that? He was on the terrace, talking to your sister. That must be our starting point."
"That may well be," Felix said in the tone in which one discusses trivialities. He was still listening to what was going on outside, but the honking had faded into the distance.
"It is an important point which we must bear in mind," the engineer went on, "for I have reason to believe that Eugen Bischoff's unknown visitor was still in the room here when the two shots were fired."
"Two shots? I heard only one."
"There were two. I haven't examined the revolver yet, but you will find that I am right."
He went over to the wall and pointed to the pale blue flowers and leaves and scrollwork of the pattern of the wallpaper.
"That's where the bullet went in," he said. "He tried to defend himself, Felix. He fired at his adversary and then turned the weapon against himself. That is what happened. At the critical moment the baron was up on the terrace. When we look for the unknown visitor he won't come into it, that's certain."
Dr Gorski bent over to the hole in the wallpaper and sought for the bullet with his pocket knife. I listened to the sound of his knife scratching the plaster. Felix was still listening to what was going on in the street.
"Is that so certain?" Dr Gorski said after a while without turning his head. "How did the unknown visitor get into the garden, can you tell me that? No-one saw him or heard the bell being rung. I know what you're going to say, your mysterious stranger had a spare key to the garden door, didn't he?"
The engineer shook his head.
"No. I rather think he had been waiting for Eugen Bischoff here in the pavilion for a long time, perhaps for hours."
"Oh? Then will you explain to me how he left the room? You say he was here when the first shot was fired. But there was only a second between the two shots, and when we arrived the door was bolted from the inside."
"I've put a great deal of thought to that," the engineer said with no trace of embarrassment. "The windows were shut too. I gladly admit that this is a weak point in my argument, so far the only one that might incriminate the baron."
"The only one?" exclaimed Felix. "What about his pipe? Who brought that English pipe here? Your mysterious visitor, or perhaps even Eugen himself?"
"At all events I would not exclude the second possibility," the engineer said.
Felix had an expletive ready on his lips, but Dr Gorski, who had been listening in silence, spoke first.
"I'm not sure, I might be mistaken," he said, "but I think I really saw the pipe for a moment in Eugen Bischoff's hand. As I said, I might be mistaken ..."
"Really, doctor?" Felix interrupted. "Do you remember having ever seen my brother-in-law smoking? No, doctor, he didn't smoke, he hated it . . ."
"I'm not saying he intended to smoke it," Dr Gorski interrupted. "He may merely have taken the pipe with him because he was holding it in his hand. Look, I myself once absent- mindedly walked out into the street with a big pair of scissors in my hand, and if I hadn't met some friends ..."
"No, doctor, you should take the trouble to look for plausible hypotheses. The pipe was still glowing when I came in. Look, there are still half-a-dozen burnt matchsticks on the floor. Someone had been smoking that pipe."
Dr Gorski had no answer to that, but the effect of those words on the engineer is hard to describe.
He jumped to his feet. Suddenly he was white as chalk. He stared at us one after the other and then cried:
"So the pipe was still smouldering. That's it, then. Don't you remember, Felix? There was a cigarette still alight on the desk."
Not one of us suspected where his train of thought had led him. What struck me most was that in his excitement he had spoken with a marked Slavonic accent. We looked at each other with surprise at the way he stood there, quite pale and beside himself, unable to speak clearly or explain but only to stammer, and at the same time having to fight a fit of anger, so that at first we were unable to grasp what he was trying to say.
Felix shook his head.
"You must be clearer, Waldemar," he said, "I haven't understood a word."
"And I was the first in the room," the engineer exclaimed. "Where the devil were my eyes? Be clearer? As if it weren't clear enough. He shut himself up in the room and bolted the door and when the landlady went in there was a burning cigarette on his desk. Do you understand now, or don't you want to understand?"
At last I realised what he was talking about. I had thought no more about the mysterious suicide of the naval officer who had been a friend of Eugen Bischoff's. With a slight shudder I realised the resemblance of the two cases, and the dark and alarming suspicion of a connection between them rose in me for the first time.
"The same external circumstances and the same course of events," the engineer said, drawing his hand across his furrowed brow. "Practically the same course of events, besides the total absence of any discernible motive in all three cases."
"And what conclusions do you draw from that?" asked Felix, disconcerted and not quite so sure of his case.
"Above all, that Baron von Yosch is completely innocent. Isn't that clear to you at last?"
"And whom do you suspect, Waldemar?"
The engineer took a long look at the body that lay covered on the floor, and for some strange reason he dropped his voice. Softly, almost in a whisper, he said:
"When he told us about his friend's fate he may have been only a step away from the solution of the mystery. He suspected it when he left the room, that's why he was so agitated, he was quite beside himself, don't you remember?"
"Well? Go on."
"That young naval officer went to his death after he hit on the reason for his brother's suicide. Eugen guessed the reason too. Perhaps that was why he too had to die ..."
The quiet was broken by the ringing of the garden doorbell. Dr Gorski opened the door and looked out. We heard voices.
Felix raised hi
s head. His expression had changed. He had recovered his composure.
"The police commission," he said in an entirely altered tone. "Waldemar," he said, "you obviously don't realise into what realms of fantasy you have soared. No, your theories don't hold water. You must excuse me now, I want to talk to these gentlemen alone."
He went over to Dr Gorski and shook his hand warmly.
"Good night, doctor," he said. "I shall never forget what you did today for Dina and me. What would we have done without you? You thought of everything. You kept your head, doctor."
Then he turned to me.
"I must again assure you, captain," he said casually, "that nothing has changed in this affair. Our agreement stands, doesn't it?"
I bowed silently.
NINE
The rest of what happened at Eugen Bischoff's villa that evening can be quickly told.
As we walked through the garden we met the police commission, which consisted of three gentlemen in civilian clothes, one of whom had a big brown leather briefcase under his arm. The deaf gardener led the way with his lantern. We stood aside to let them pass, and one of them, an elderly gentleman with a full face and a grey moustache — he was the district medical officer, as it turned out — stopped and exchanged a few words with Dr Gorski.
"Good evening, my dear colleague," he said, holding his briefcase in front of his face. "Rather cold for the time of year, isn't it? Were you called in?"
"No, I happened to be here."
"What's it all about? We know nothing yet."
"I don't want to anticipate your findings," Dr Gorski replied evasively, and as I walked on I didn't hear the rest of the conversation.
No-one seemed to have entered the music room since I had left it. The chair that had been knocked over was still in the doorway, my score sheets were scattered all over the floor, and Dina's shawl still hung over the back of a chair.
A cold, damp night wind came in through the open window, and I shivered as I buttoned up my jacket. As I bent to pick up the music my eyes fell on a sheet that bore the title "Trio in B major, Op. 8", and I felt as if we had only just finished the scherzo, and the final chords on the piano and the long- drawn-out final passage on the cello rang in my ear. An agreeable vision enabled me to imagine we were still sitting round the tea table, that nothing had happened, that the engineer was blowing blue smoke rings into the air, that Dina's even breathing was coming from the piano, and that Eugen Bischoff was pacing slowly up and down accompanied by his shadow gliding noiselessly across the carpet.
I started suddenly when a door slammed. I heard loud voices in the ante-room, my name was mentioned, the engineer and the doctor were talking about me, they seemed to think I had long since gone home.
"I could credit him with anything," I heard the doctor say emphatically, "there's no act of violence or wickedness I think him incapable of — good gracious, it's half past ten already — I even think him capable of murder, it wouldn't be his first. But lying on his word of honour? No."
"It wouldn't be his first?" said the engineer. "What do you mean by that?"
"Good gracious, he's a cavalry officer, isn't he? Am I to give you my views on duelling standing here in this draught? He's capable of ruthlessness to the point of brutality, I could tell you a tale about that — your overcoat's hanging on the rack over there — he can be in love with a horse or a dog, but I assure you that the life of a human being who stands in his way doesn't mean very much to him."
"I think you're quite wrong about him. My impression ..."
"Listen just a minute, I know him — wait a moment — I've known him for fifteen years ..."
"But I know a little about human nature, too. He has never given me the impression of ruthlessness or brutality. On the contrary, he strikes me as a very sensitive individual, living only for his music, basically shy and retiring ..."
"My dear engineer, which of us can be summed up in a few simple characteristics? You can't sum up the whole character of a human being in a few catch-phrases. Human character is not such a simple thing as one of your green bobbins, charged with either positive or negative electricity. It may be perfectly true that he's sensitive or over-sensitive, and he may be shy and retiring, but there's room for plenty of other things too, believe me."
I was standing bent over a sheet of music and I dared not move, as the door was ajar and the slightest movement might betray my presence. I wasn't interested in their discussion, all I wanted was that they should go away as quickly as possible, for having to play the eavesdropper was painful to me. But they went on talking, and I had to listen, whether I wanted to or not.
"But telling a lie on his word of honour, no," the doctor said. "There are inner moral imperatives that even the greatest cynic does not infringe. Social status, family tradition, sense of honour — no, a Baron von Yosch does not tell a lie on his word of honour. Felix is wrong."
"Felix is wrong," the engineer repeated. "That was obvious to me from the first moment. We find an old trail, and instead of following it right back to its source, instead of taking the most obvious course, the course that lies nearest to hand ..."
"What on earth has the baron to do with the suicide of that Academy student? That's a question Felix ought to have asked . . . Eugen Bischoff is dead, I still can't grasp the fact."
"We'll get to the bottom of it, doctor, it's our duty. Are you willing to help me?"
"Help you? What can we do except to let things take their course?"
"Oh? Let things take their course?" the engineer exclaimed loudly and excitedly. "No, doctor, that's something I've never done in my life. To me letting things take their course has always been the most loathsome of the disguises assumed by sloth. Letting things take their course means saying: I'm too stupid, too lazy or too heartless ..."
"Thank you," said Dr Gorski. "You really are a good judge of human nature. "
"Perhaps, doctor. You see, the baron whom you call a ruthless man of action, a man without conscience or inhibitions — believe me, doctor, he strikes me as being like one of our Russian borzois. Do you know the breed? Slender, proud, not very active mentally, but thoroughly aristocratic, they look as if you ought to be wary of them, though actually if their life is threatened in any way they are utterly helpless. We must think for him, doctor. Do you really propose to leave him in the lurch? If things are left to take their course, they'll inevitably turn against him, and at the end of that road there's the revolver, bear that in mind. Haven't there been enough sacrifices, doctor?"
Dr Gorski did not answer. For a whole minute I heard him rummaging about, and then something crashed to the floor. This was followed by some angry muttering, which gave way to a series of very expressive curses.
"What are you looking for?" asked the engineer.
"My stick, where on earth did I leave it? The worst of it is that it isn't mine, it's my caretaker's. Here's my rheumatism again. I should have gone to Pistyan for the waters a long time ago. It's a brown stick with a thick horn handle, have you seen it anywhere?"
This alarmed me, because a brown stick with a horn handle was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.
I had been hoping that the two of them would go away without noticing me, but there was no hope of that now, for the doctor was bound to come and look for his stick here. So I had to anticipate him.
I rose and casually dropped the music sheets on the table. Then I went to the piano and noisily shut the lid of the violin case. Let the two of them realise that I was there and had heard every word of their careless talk.
Dr Gorski's angry muttering stopped immediately, and all I could hear was the ticking of the clock; no doubt the two were looking aghast at each other. I imagined their dismayed and embarrassed faces, and for a moment I vividly pictured the doctor, a gnome turned into a Biblical pillar of salt in his caped cloak and galoshes.
Eventually they seemed to regain the power of speech.
Excited whispering began, and then I heard the engine
er's firm and energetic footsteps.
I went to meet him very casually indeed, for the situation was far more embarrassing for him than for me. I was just about to open the door when the telephone rang next to me.
Quite automatically I picked up the receiver. It did not occur to me until later that the call could not possibly have been for me.
"Hallo," I said.
"Who's there?" said the voice at the other end of the line. It was a voice that I knew; I immediately had the impression that I was talking to a quite young girl, and that idea was associated with the memory of a strange perfume, the odour of ether or ethereal oils. For a second I wondered where I had heard that voice before.
The lady on the line became impatient.
"To whom am I speaking?" she said irritably, and I became confused, because the door had been pushed open and the engineer was standing in the doorway in his overcoat and with his hat in his hand. He looked at me inquiringly.
"This is the Bischoff villa," I said eventually.
"There's my stick," Dr Gorski exclaimed with great satisfaction. He had forced his way past the engineer in the doorway and was standing in the room rubbing his leg.
"Is the professor there?" asked the lady on the telephone.
"The professor?" I could not think whom she meant. My first thought was that it was a wrong number, and I remembered that Dina had once complained that her number was always being confused with that of the senior registrar at the eye hospital.
"Here it goes again," the doctor complained. "What I need is a couple of weeks of sulphur baths but, believe it or not, this summer I couldn't manage that even once."
"Whom do you want?" I asked.
"Professor Bischoff, Eugen Bischoff."