It was on Monday, the 27th of September, that Leopold Winkler was
murdered and robbed, and early on Tuesday, the 28th, his body was found.
That day the evening papers printed the report of the murder and the
description of the dead man, and on Wednesday, the 29th, Mrs. Klingmayer
read the news and went to see Winkler’s employer. By noon of that day
the body was identified and a description of the stolen purse and watch
telegraphed to police headquarters in various cities. A few hours later,
these police stations had sent out notices by messenger to all pawnshops
and dealers in second-hand clothing, and now the machinery of the
law sat waiting for some news of an attempt on the part of the
robber-and-murderer to get rid of his plunder.
On this same Wednesday, about the twilight hour, David Goldstamm, dealer
in second-hand clothing, stood before the door of his shop in a side
street of the old Hungarian city of Pressburg and watched his assistant
take down the clothes which were hanging outside and carry them into the
store. The old man’s eyes glanced carelessly up and down the street and
caught sight of a man who turned the corner and came hurrying towards
him. This man was a very seedy-looking individual. An old faded overcoat
hung about his thin figure, and a torn and dusty hat fell over his left
eye. He seemed also to be much the worse for liquor and very wobbly
on his feet. And yet he seemed anxious to hurry onward in spite of the
unevenness of his walk.
Then he slowed up suddenly, glanced across the street to Goldstamm’s
store, and crossed over.
“Have you any boots for me?” he asked, sticking out his right foot that
the dealer might see whether he had anything the requisite size.
“I think there’s something there,” answered the old man in his usual
businesslike tone, leading the way into the store.
The stranger followed. Goldstamm lit the one light in the little place
and groped about in an untidy heap of shoes of all kinds and sizes until
he found several pairs that he thought might fit. These he brought out
and put them in front of his customer. But in spite of his bleary eyes,
the man caught sight of some patches on the uppers of one pair, and
pushed them away from him.
“Give me something better than that. I can pay for it. I don’t have to
wear patched shoes,” he grunted.
Goldstamm didn’t like the looks of the man, but he felt that he had
better be careful and not make him angry. “Have patience, sir, I’ll find
you something better,” he said gently, tossing the heap about again, but
now keeping his face turned towards his customer.
“I want a coat also and a warm pair of trousers,” said the stranger in a
rough voice. He bent down to loosen the shabby boot from his right
foot, and as he did so something fell out of the pocket of his coat. An
unconscious motion of his own raised foot struck this small object and
tossed it into the middle of the heap of shoes close by Goldstamm’s
hand. The old man reached out after it and caught it. It was just an
ordinary brown leather pocketbook, of medium size, old and shabby, like
a thousand others. But the eyes of the little old man widened as if in
terror, his face turned pale and his hands trembled. For he had seen,
hanging from one side of this worn brown leather pocketbook, the end of
a yellow thread, the loosened end of the thread with which one side of
the purse was mended. The thread told David Goldstamm who it was that
had come into his shop.
He regained his control with a desperate effort of the will. It took him
but a few seconds to do so, and, thanks to his partial intoxication,
the customer had not noticed the shopkeeper’s start of alarm. But he
appeared anxious and impatient to regain possession of his purse.
“Haven’t you found it yet?” he exclaimed.
Goldstamm hastened to give it back. The tramp put the purse in his
pocket with a sigh of relief. Goldstamm had regained his calm and his
mind was working eagerly. He put several pairs of shoes before his
customer, with the remark: “You must try them on. We’ll find something
to suit you. And meanwhile I will bring in several pairs of trousers
from those outside. I have some fine coats to show you too.”
Goldstamm went out to the door, almost colliding there with his
assistant who was coming in with his arm full of garments. The old man
motioned to the boy, who retreated until they were both hidden from the
view of the man within the store.
“Give me those blue trousers there,” said Goldstamm in a loud voice.
Then in a whisper he said to the boy: “Run to the police station. The
man with the watch and the purse is in there.”
The boy understood and set off at once at a fast pace, while the old man
returned to his store with a heavy heart. He wondered whether he would
be able to keep the murderer there until the police could come. And he
also wondered what it might cost him, an old and feeble man, who would
be as a weak reed in the hands of the strong tramp in there. But he knew
it was his duty to do whatever he could to help in the arrest of one who
had just taken the life of a fellow creature. The realisation of this
gave the old man strength and calmness.
“A nice sort of an eye for size you have,” cried the tramp as the old
man came up to him. “I suppose you’ve brought me in a boy’s suit? What
do you take me for? Any girl could go to a ball in the shoes you brought
me to try on here.”
“Are they so much too small?” asked the dealer in an innocent tone.
“Well, there’s plenty more there. And perhaps you had better be trying
on this suit behind the curtain here while I’m hunting up the shoes.”
This suggestion seemed to please the stranger, as he was evidently in a
hurry. He passed in behind the curtain and began to undress. Goldstamm’s
keen eyes watched him through a crack. There was not much to be seen
except that the tramp seemed anxious to keep his overcoat within reach
of his hand. He had carefully put the purse in one of its pockets.
“We’ll get the things all together pretty soon,” said the dealer. “I’ve
found a pair of boots here, fine boots of good quality, and sure to
fit.”
“Stop your talk,” growled the other, “and come here and help me so that
I can get away.”
Goldstamm came forward, and though his heart was very heavy within
him, he aided this man, this man about whom so many hundreds were now
thinking in terror, as calmly as he had aided his other poor but honest
customers.
With hands that did not tremble, the dealer busied himself about his
customer, listening all the while to sounds in the street in the hope
that his tete-e-tete with the murderer would soon be over. But in spite
of all his natural anxiety, the old man’s sharp eyes took cognizance
of various things, one of which was that the man whom he was helping to
dress in his new clothes did not have the watch which was described in
the police notice. This fact, however, did not make the old man’s heart
any lighter, for the purse mended with yellow thread was too clearly the
one stolen from the murdered man found in the quiet street in Hietzing.
“What’s the matter with you, you’re so slow? I can get along better
myself,” growled the tramp, pushing the old man away from him. Goldstamm
had really begun to tremble now in spite of his control, in the fear
that the man would get away from him before the police came.
The tramp was already dressed in the new suit, into a pocket of which he
put the old purse.
“There, now the boots and then we’re finished,” said the dealer with an
attempt at a smile. In his heart he prayed that the pair he now held in
his hand might not fit, that he might gain a few minutes more. But the
shoes did fit. A little pushing and stamping and the man was ready to
leave the store. He was evidently in a hurry, for he paid what was asked
without any attempt to bargain. Had Goldstamm not known whom he had
before him now, he would have been very much astonished at this, and
might perhaps have been sorry that he had not named a higher sum. But
under the circumstances he understood only too well the man’s desire to
get away, and would much rather have had some talk as to the payment,
anything that would keep his customer a little longer in his store.
“There, now we’re ready. I’ll pack up your old things for you. Or
perhaps we can make a deal for them. I pay the highest prices in the
city,” said Goldstamm, with an apparent eagerness which he hoped would
deceive the customer.
But the man had already turned towards the door, and called hack over
his shoulder: “You can keep the old things, I don’t want them.”
As he spoke he opened the door of the store and stood face to face with
a policeman holding a revolver. He turned, with a curse, back into the
room, but the dealer was nowhere to be seen. David Goldstamm had done
his duty to the public, in spite of his fear. Now, seeing that the
police had arrived, he could think of his duty to his family. This duty
was plainly to save his own life, and when the tramp turned again to
look for him, he had disappeared out of the back door.
“Not a move or I will shoot,” cried the policeman, and now two others
appeared behind him, and came into the store. But the tramp made no
attempt to escape. He stood pale and trembling while they put the
handcuffs on him, and let them take him away without any resistance.
He was put on the evening express for Vienna, and taken to Police
Headquarters in that city. He made no protest nor any attempt to escape,
but he refused to utter a word on the entire journey.