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Page 20
"Then he and Cardillac have been out together occasionally?"
"Oh, yes, quite frequently. But--pardon me--this is almost like
a cross-examination."
"I beg your pardon, doctor, it's a bad habit of mine. One gets so
accustomed to it in my profession."
"What is it you want?" asked Doctor Orszay, turning to a
fine-looking young man of superb build, who entered just then and
stood by the door.
"I just wanted to announce, sir, that No. 302 is quiet again!
"302 is Cardillac himself, Mr. Muller, or to give him his right
name, Lajos Varna," explained the doctor turning to his guest. "He
is the 302nd patient who has been received here in these twenty
years. Then Cardillac is quiet again?" he asked, looking up at the
young giant. "I am glad of that. You can announce our visit to
him. This gentleman wants to inspect the asylum."
Muller realised that this was the attendant Gyuri, and he looked at
him attentively. He was soon clear in his own mind that this
remarkably handsome man did not please him, in fact awoke in him a
feeling of repulsion. The attendant's quiet, almost cat-like
movements were in strange contrast to the massivity of his superb
frame, and his large round eyes, shaped for open, honest glances,
were shifty and cunning. They seemed to be asking "Are you trying
to discover anything about me?" coupled with a threat. "For your own
sake you had better not do it."
When the young man had left the room Muller rose hastily and walked
up and down several times. His face was flushed and his lips tight
set. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I do not like this Gyuri."
Dr. Orszay looked up astonished. "There are many others who do not
like him--most of his fellow-warders for instance, and all of the
patients. I think there must be something in the contrast of such
quiet movements with such a big body that gets on people's nerves.
But consider, Mr. Muller, that the man's work would naturally make
him a little different from other people. I have known Gyuri for
five years as a faithful and unassuming servant, always willing and
ready for any duty, however difficult or dangerous. He has but one
fault--if I may call it such--that is that he has a mistress who
is known to be mercenary and hard-hearted. She lives in a
neighbouring village."
"For five years, you say? And how long has Cardillac been here?"
"Cardillac? He has been here for almost three years."
"For almost three years, and is it not almost three years--"
Muller interrupted himself. "Are we quite alone? Is no one
listening?" The doctor nodded, greatly surprised, and the detective
continued almost in a whisper, "and it is just about three years now
that there have been committed, at intervals, three terrible crimes
notable from the cleverness with which they were carried out, and
from the utter impossibility, apparently, of discovering the
perpetrator."
Orszay sprang up. His face flushed and then grew livid, and he put
his hand to his forehead. Then he forced a smile and said in a
voice that trembled in spite of himself: "Mr. Muller, your
imagination is wonderful. And which of these two do you think it is
that has committed these crimes--the perpetrator of which you have
come here to find?"
"I will tell you that later. I must speak to No. 302 first, and I
must speak to him in the presence of yourself and Gyuri."
The detective's deep gravity was contagious. Dr. Orszay had
sufficiently controlled himself to remember what he had heard in
former days, and just now recently from the district judge about
this man's marvelous deeds. He realised that when Muller said
a thing, no matter how extravagant it might sound, it was worth
taking seriously. This realisation brought great uneasiness and
grief to the doctor's heart, for he had grown fond of both of the
men on whom terrible suspicion was cast by such an authority.
Muller himself was uneasy, but the gloom that had hung over him for
the past day or two had vanished. The impenetrable darkness that
had surrounded the mystery of the pastor's murder had gotten on his
nerves. He was not accustomed to work so long over a problem without
getting some light on it. But now, since the chance watching of the
spinning top in the street had given him his first inkling of the
trail, he was following it up to a clear issue. The eagerness, the
blissful vibrating of every nerve that he always felt at this stage
of the game, was on him again. He knew that from now on what was
still to be done would be easy. Hitherto his mind had been made up
on one point; that one man alone was concerned in the crime. Now he
understood the possibility that there might have been two, the
harmless mechanician who fancied himself a dangerous murderer, and
the handsome young giant with the evil eyes.
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