The evening was already far gone when Muller entered Riedau’s office.
“You’re in time, the man isn’t here yet. The train is evidently late,”
said the commissioner. “We’re working this case off quickly. We will
have the murderer here in half an hour at the latest. He did not have
much time to enjoy the stolen property. He was here in Vienna this
morning, and was arrested in Pressburg this afternoon. Here is the
telegram, read it.”
Dr. von Riedau handed Muller the message. The commissioner was evidently
pleased and excited. The telegram read as follows: “Man arrested here in
possession of described purse containing four ten gulden notes and
four guldens in silver. Arrested in store of second-hand clothes dealer
Goldstamm. Will arrive this evening in Vienna under guard.”
The message was signed by the Chief of the Pressburg police.
Muller laid the paper on the desk without a word. There was a watch on
this desk already; it was a heavy gold watch, unusually thick, with the
initials L. W. on the cover. Just as Muller laid down the telegram, a
door outside was opened and the commissioner covered the watch hastily.
There was a loud knock at his own door and an attendant entered to
announce that the party from Pressburg had arrived He was followed by
one of the Pressburg police force, who brought the official report.
“Did you have any difficulty with him?” asked the commissioner.
“Oh, no, sir; it was a very easy job. He made no resistance at all,
and he seems to be quite sober now. But he hasn’t said a word since we
arrested him.”
Then followed the detailed report of the arrest, and the delivery of the
described pocketbook to the commissioner.
“Is that all?” asked Dr. von Riedau.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may go home now, we will take charge of the man.”
The policeman bowed and left the room. A few moments later the tramp was
brought in, guarded by two armed roundsmen. His guards remained at the
door, while the prisoner himself walked forward to the middle of the
room. Commissioner von Riedau sat at his desk, his clerk beside him
ready to take down the evidence. Muller sat near a window with a paper
on his lap, looking the least interested of anybody in the proceedings.
For a moment there was complete silence in the room, which was broken
in a rather unusual manner. A deep voice, more like a growl, although
it had a queer strain of comic good-nature in it, began the proceedings
with the remark: “Well now, say, what do you want of me, anyway?”
The commissioner looked at the man in astonishment, then turned aside
that the prisoner might not notice his smile. But he might have spared
himself the trouble, for Muller, the clerk, and the two policemen at the
door were all on a broad grin.
Then the commissioner pulled himself together again, and began with his
usual official gravity: “It is I who ask questions here. Is it possible
that you do not know this? You look to me as if you had had experience
in police courts before.” The commissioner gazed at the prisoner with
eyes that were not altogether friendly. The tramp seemed to feel this,
and his own eyes dropped, while the good-natured impertinence in
his bearing disappeared. It was evidently the last remains of his
intoxication. He was now quite sober.
“What is your name?” asked the commissioner.
“Johann Knoll.”
“Where were you born?”
“Near Brunn.”
“Your age?”
“I’m--I’ll be forty next Christmas.”
“Your religion?”
“Well, you can see I’m no Jew, can’t you?”
“You will please answer my questions in a proper manner. This
impertinence will not make things easier for you.”
“All right, sir,” said the tramp humbly. “I am a Catholic.”
“You have been in prison before?” This was scarcely a question.
“No, sir,” said Knoll firmly.
“What is your business?”
“I don’t know what to say, sir,” answered Knoll, shrugging his
shoulders. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life. I’m a cattle drover
and a lumber man, and I--”
“Did you learn any trade?”
“No, sir, I never learned anything.”
“Do you mean to tell me that without having learned any trade you’ve
gotten through life thus far honestly?”
“Oh, I’ve worked hard enough--I’ve worked good and hard sometimes.”
“The last few days particularly, eh?”
“Why, no, sir, not these last days--I was drover on a transport of pigs;
we brought ‘em down from Hungary, 200 of ‘em, to the slaughter house
here.”
“When was that?”
“That was--that was Monday.”
“This last Monday?”
“Yes, sir.
“And then you went to Hietzing?”
“Yes, sir, that’s right.”
“Why did you go to Hietzing?”
“Why, see here, sir, if I had gone to Ottakring, then I suppose you
would have asked why did I go to Ottakring. I just went to Hietzing.
A fellow has to go somewhere. You don’t stay in the same spot all the
time, do you?”
Again the commissioner turned his head and another smile went through
the room. This Hietzing murderer had a sense of humour.
“Well, then, we’ll go to Hietzing again, in our minds at least,” said
the commissioner, turning back to Knoll when he had controlled his
merriment. “You went there on Monday, then--and the day was coming to an
end. What did you do when you reached Hietzing?”
“I looked about for a place to sleep.”
“Where did you look for a place to sleep?”
“Why, in Hietzing.”
“That is not definite enough.”
“Well, in a garden.”
“You were trespassing, you mean?”
“Why, yes, sir. There wasn’t anybody that seemed to want to invite me
to dinner or to give me a place to sleep. I just had to look out for
myself.”
“You evidently know how to look out for yourself at the cost of others,
a heavy cost.” The commissioner’s easy tone had changed to sternness.
Knoll felt this, and a sharp gleam shot out from his dull little eyes,
while the tone of his voice was gruff and impertinent again as he asked:
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know well enough. You had better not waste any more time, but tell
us at once how you came into possession of this purse.”
“It’s my purse,” Knoll answered with calm impertinence. “I got it the
way most people get it. I bought it.”
“This purse?” the commissioner emphasised both words distinctly.
“This purse--yes,” answered the tramp with a perfect imitation of
Riedau’s voice. “Why shouldn’t I have bought this purse just like any
other?”
“Because you stole this purse from the man whom you--murdered,” was the
commissioner’s reply.
There was another moment of dead silence in the room. The commissioner
and Muller watched intently for any change of expression in the face
of the man who had just had such an accusation hurled at him. Even the
clerk and the two policemen at the door were interested to see what
would happen.
Knoll’s calm impertinence vanished, a deadly pallor spread over his
face, and he seemed frozen to stone. He attempted to speak, but was not
able to control his voice. His hands were clenched and tremors shook his
gaunt but strong-muscled frame.
“When did I murder anybody?” he gasped finally in a hoarse croak.
“You’ll have to prove it to me that I am a murderer.”
“That is easily proved. Here is one of the proofs,” said Riedan coldly,
pointing to the purse. “The purse and the watch of the murdered man are
fatal witnesses against you.”
“The watch? I haven’t any watch. Where should I get a watch?”
“You didn’t have one until Monday, possibly; I can believe that. But you
were in possession of a watch between the evening of Monday, the 27th,
and the morning of Wednesday, the 29th.”
Knoll’s eyes dropped again and he did not trust himself to speak.
“Well, you do not deny this statement?”
“No, I can’t,” said Knoll, still trying to control his voice. “You must
have the watch yourself now, or else you wouldn’t be so certain about
it.”
“Ah, you see, I thought you’d had experience with police courts before,”
said the commissioner amiably. “Of course I have the watch already.
The man whom you sold it to this morning knew by three o’clock this
afternoon where this watch came from. He brought it here at once and
gave us your description. A very exact description. The man will be
brought here to identify you to-morrow. We must send for him anyway, to
return his money to him. He paid you fifty-two gulden for the watch. And
how much money was in the purse that you took from the murdered man?”
“Three gulden eighty-five.”
“That was a very small sum for which to commit a murder.”
Knoll groaned and bit his lips until they bled.
Commissioner von Riedau raised the paper that covered the watch and
continued: “You presumably recognised that the chain on which this watch
hung was valueless, also that it could easily be recognised. Did you
throw it away, or have you it still?”
“I threw it in the river.”
“That will not make any difference. We do not need the chain, we have
quite enough evidence without it. The purse, for instance: you thought,
I suppose, that it was just a purse like a thousand others, but it is
not. This purse is absolutely individual and easily recognised, because
it is mended in one spot with yellow thread. The thread has become
loosened and hangs down in a very noticeable manner. It was this yellow
thread on the purse, which he happened to see by chance, that showed the
dealer Goldstamm who it was that had entered his store.”
Knoll stood quite silent, staring at the floor. Drops of perspiration
stood out on his forehead, some of them rolling like tears down his
cheek.
The commissioner rose from his seat and walked slowly to where the
prisoner stood. He laid one hand on the man’s shoulder and said in a
voice that was quite gentle and kind again: “Johann Knoll, do not
waste your time, or ours, in thinking up useless lies. You are almost
convicted of this crime now. You have already acknowledged so much, that
there is but little more for you to say. If you make an open confession,
it will be greatly to your advantage.”
Again the room was quiet while the others waited for what would happen.
For a moment the tramp stood silent, with the commissioner’s right hand
resting on his shoulder. Then there was a sudden movement, a struggle
and a shout, and the two policemen had overpowered the prisoner and held
him firmly. Muller rose quickly and sprang to his chief’s side. Riedau
had not even changed colour, and he said calmly: “Oh, never mind,
Muller; sit down again. The man had handcuffs on and he is quite quiet
now. I think he has sense enough to see that he is only harming himself
by his violence.”
The commissioner returned to his desk and Muller went back to his chair
by the window. The prisoner was quiet again, although his face wore a
dark flush and the veins on throat and forehead were swollen thick. He
trembled noticeably and the heavy drops besprinkled his brow.
“I--I have something to say, sir,” he began, “but first I want to beg
your pardon--”
“Oh, never mind that. I am not angry when a man is fighting for his
life, even if he doesn’t choose quite the right way,” answered the
commissioner calmly, playing with a lead pencil.
Knoll’s expression was defiant now. He laughed harshly and began again:
“What I’m tellin’ you now is the truth whether you believe it or not. I
didn’t kill the man. I took the watch and purse from him. I thought he
was drunk. If he was killed, I didn’t do it.”
“He was killed by a shot.”
“A shot? Why, yes, I heard a shot, but I didn’t think any more about it,
I didn’t think there was anythin’ doing, I thought somebody was shootin’
a cat, or else-”
“Oh, don’t bother to invent things. It was a man who was shot at, the
man whom you robbed. But go on, go on. I am anxious to hear what you
will tell me.”
Knoll’s hands, clenched to fists and his eyes glowed in hate and
defiance. Then he dropped them to the floor again and began to talk
slowly in a monotonous tone that sounded as if he were repeating a
lesson. His manner was rather unfortunate and did not tend to induce
belief in the truth of his story. The gist of what he said was as
follows:
He had reached Hietzing on Monday evening about 8 o’clock. He was
thirsty, as usual, and had about two gulden in his possession, his wages
for the last day’s work. He turned into a tavern in Hietzing and ate and
drank until his money was all gone, and he had not even enough left to
pay for a night’s lodging. But Knoll was not worried about that. He was
accustomed to sleeping out of doors, and as this was a particularly fine
evening, there was nothing in the prospect to alarm him. He set
about finding a suitable place where he would not be disturbed by the
guardians of the law. His search led him by chance into a newly opened
street. This suited him exactly. The fences were easy to climb, and
there were several little summer houses in sight which made much more
agreeable lodgings than the ground under a bush. And above all, the
street was so quiet and deserted that he knew it was just the place for
him. He had never been in the street before, and did not know its name.
He passed the four houses at the end of the street--he was on the
left sidewalk--and then he came to two fenced-in building lots. These
interested him. He was very agile, raised himself up on the fences
easily and took stock of the situation. One of the lots did not appeal
to him particularly, but the second one did. It bordered on a large
garden, in the middle of which he could see a little house of some kind.
It was after sunset but he could see things quite plainly yet for the
air was clear and the moon was just rising. He saw also that in the
vacant lot adjoining the garden, a lot which appeared to have been
a garden itself once, there was a sort of shed. It looked very much
damaged but appeared to offer shelter sufficient for a fine night.
The shed stood on a little raise of the ground near the high iron fence
that protected the large garden. Knoll decided that the shed would make
a good place to spend the night. He climbed the fence easily and walked
across the lot. When he was just settling himself for his nap, he heard
the clock on a near-by church strike nine. The various drinks he had had
for supper put him in a mood that would not allow him to get to sleep
at once. The bench in the old shed was decidedly rickety and very
uncomfortable, and as he was tossing about to find a good position, a
thought came into his mind which he acknowledged was not a commendable
one. It occurred to him that if he pursued his investigations in the
neighbourhood a little further, he might be able to pick up something
that would be of advantage to him on his wanderings. His eyes and his
thoughts were directed towards the handsome house which he could see
beyond the trees of the old garden.
The moon was now well up in the sky and it shone brightly on the
mansard roof of the fine old mansion. The windows of the long wing which
stretched out towards the garden glistened in the moonbeams, and the
light coloured wall of the house made a bright background for the dark
mask of trees waving gently in the night breeze. Knoll’s little shed was
sufficiently raised on its hillock for him to have a good view of the
garden. There was no door to the shed and he could see the neighbouring
property clearly from where he lay on his bench. While he lay there
watching, he saw a woman walking through the garden. He could see her
only when she passed back of or between the lower shrubs and bushes.
As far as he could see, she came from the main building and was walking
towards a pretty little house which lay in the centre of the garden.
Knoll had imagined this house to be the gardener’s dwelling and as it
lay quite dark he supposed the inmates were either asleep or out for the
evening. It had been this house which he was intending to honour by a
visit. But seeing the woman walking towards it, he decided it would not
be safe to carry out his plan just yet awhile.
A few moments later he was certain that this last decision had been a
wise one, for he saw a man come from the main building and walk along
the path the woman had taken. “No, nothing doing there,” thought Knoll,
and concluded he had better go to sleep. He could not remember just how
long he may have dozed but it seemed to him that during that time he
had heard a shot. It did not interest him much. He supposed some one
was shooting at a thieving cat or at some small night animal. He did
not even remember whether he had been really sound asleep, before he was
aroused by the breaking down of the bench on which he lay. The noise of
it more than the shock of the short fall, awoke him and he sprang up in
alarm and listened intently to hear whether any one had been attracted
by it. His first glance was towards the building behind the garden.
There was no sound nor no light in the garden house but there was a
light in the main building. While the tramp was wondering what hour it
might be, the church clock answered him by ten loud strokes.
His head was already aching from the wine and he did not feel
comfortable in the drafty old building. He came out from it, crept along
to the spot where he had climbed the fence before, and after listening
carefully and hearing nothing on either side, he climbed back to the
road. The Street lay silent and empty, which was just what he was hoping
for. He held carefully to the shadow thrown by the high board fence over
which he had climbed until he came to its end. Then he remembered that
he hadn’t done anything wrong and stepped out boldly into the moonlight.
The moon was well up now and the street was almost as light as day.
Knoll was attracted by the queer shadows thrown by a big elder tree,
waving its long branches in the wind. As he came nearer he saw that part
of the shadow was no shadow at all but was the body of a man lying in
the street near the bush. “I thought sure he was drunk” was the way
Knoll described it. “I’ve been like that myself often until somebody
came along and found me.”
When he came to this spot in his story, he halted and drew a long
breath. Commissioner von Riedau had begun to make some figures on the
paper in front of him, then changed the lines until the head of a pretty
woman in a fur hat took shape under his fingers.
“Well, go on,” he said, looking with interest at his drawing and
improving it with several quick strokes.
Johann Knoll continued:
“Then the devil came over me and I thought I better take this good
opportunity--well--I did. The man was lying on his back and I saw a
watch chain on his dark vest. I bent over him and took his watch
and chain. Then I felt around in his pocket and found his purse. And
then--well then I felt sorry for him lying out in the open road like
that, and I thought I’d lift him up and put him somewhere where he could
sleep it off more convenient. But I didn’t see there was a little ditch
there and I stumbled over it and dropped him. ‘It’s a good thing he’s so
drunk that even this don’t wake him up,’ I thought, and ran off. Then I
thought I heard something moving and I was scared stiff, but there was
nothing in the street at all. I thought I had better take to the fields
though and I crossed through some corn and then out onto another street.
Finally I walked into the city, stayed there till this morning, sold the
watch, then went to Pressburg.”
“So that was the way it was,” said the commissioner, pushing his drawing
away from him and motioning to the policemen at the door. “You may take
this man away now,” he added in a voice of cool indifference, without
looking at the prisoner.
Knoll’s head drooped and he walked out quietly between his two guards.
The clock on the office wall struck eleven.
“Dear me! what a lot of time the man wasted,” said the commissioner,
putting the report of the proceedings, the watch and the purse in a
drawer of his desk. “When anybody has been almost convicted of a crime,
it’s really quite unnecessary to invent such a long story.”
A few minutes later, the room was empty and Muller, as the last of the
group, walked slowly down the stairs. He was in such a brown study that
he scarcely heard the commissioner’s friendly “goodnight,” nor did he
notice that he was walking down the quiet street under a star-gilded
sky. “Almost convicted--almost. Almost?” Muller’s lips murmured while
his head was full of a chaotic rush of thought, dim pictures that came
and went, something that seemed to be on the point of bringing light
into the darkness, then vanishing again. “Almost--but not quite. There
is something here I must find out first. What is it? I must know--”