“Forgive me,” said Christian. “It was an urgent appointment....” He
interrupted himself, as he observed that Niels Heinrich was in the room
alone.
“The young lady wants you to know that she took the boy and went to
Charlottenburg to go to church,” Niels Heinrich said.
Christian was amazed. He answered: “So much the better. That leaves us
undisturbed, and we can stay here.”
“That’s right. We’re undisturbed.” Next came a pause, and they looked
at each other. Christian went to the threshold of the little bedroom
to make sure that no one was within, then to the door that led to the
hall. He turned the key.
“Why do you lock the door?” Niels Heinrich asked, with raised brows.
“It is necessary,” said Christian, “because all the people who come to
see me are accustomed to finding the door open.”
“Then maybe you’d better blow out the lamp too,” Niels Heinrich jeered;
“that’d be the sensible thing to do, eh? Dark’s a good place for
secrets. And we’re going to fish for secrets, eh?”
Christian sat down on a chair at the opposite end of the table. He
purposely disregarded the other’s cynical remark; but his silence and
his tense expression aroused Niels Heinrich’s rage. Challengingly he
leaned back in his chair and spat elaborately on the floor. They sat
facing each other as though neither dared lose sight of the other for
a second. Yet Christian continued to show his obliging and friendly
attitude. Only a quivering of the muscles of his forehead and the
peering intensity of his gaze revealed something of what was passing
within him.
“Have you discovered anything new?” he finally asked, in his courteous
way.
Niels Heinrich lit another cigarette. “Aw, something,” he said, and
went on to tell that he had in the meantime discovered the woman who
had hidden the Jew boy. It had been Molly Gutkind, known as the Little
Maggot, and living at “Adele’s Rest.” He had followed the matter up and
got the girl to confess. But on that very day, as the devil would have
it, persons had come from the court and questioned her. The poor fool
had probably talked more than was good for her. Anyhow, she’d fallen
under suspicion and had been put in jail. There she’d evidently lost
what little brains she ever had and had hanged herself. She was dead
as a door-nail. That’s what he wanted to report, since the gentleman
seemed to be interested. Now the gentleman knew, and had an idea of
his, Niels Heinrich’s, willingness to oblige.
He blew clouds of smoke, and twirled his little beard with the fingers
of his left hand.
“I knew that,” said Christian. “I knew where Michael had been; he
confessed it himself. The girl’s death was reported to me this morning.
Nevertheless I thank you for the trouble you have taken.”
No trouble at all; didn’t amount to nothing. He was still at the
gentleman’s service. It seemed to him that the gentleman was given to
detective work. Maybe he meant to take it up professionally later.
Maybe the gentleman knew something more? He, Niels Heinrich, was quite
willing to be questioned. This was his expansive day. If there was
anything the gentleman wanted to know he was not to hesitate but fire
away.
He blinked and stared watchfully at Christian’s lips.
Christian reflected and lowered his eyes. “Since you’re so willing
to give information,” he answered softly, “tell me why you removed
the screw from the machine at Pohl and Pacheke’s works? You must
remember....”
Niels Heinrich’s mouth opened like a trap. The stark horror simply
caused his lower jaw to drop.
“You are surprised that I know of the incident,” Christian continued.
He did not want the other to think that he would try to make him pliant
by dealing in mysteries and surprises. “But it’s quite natural that I
should. The son of Gisevius is a foreman at Pohl and Pacheke’s. He told
me that you worked there for two days and that the accident happened on
one of them. He didn’t connect the two acts at all; he simply happened
to relate both to me. He had no suspicion; it was clear to no one
but myself that you must have done it. I can’t tell you the reason,
but I had an unmistakable vision of you fumbling at the machine and
loosening the screw. I was forced to think of it constantly and to see
it constantly. If I am wrong, you must forgive me.”
“Don’t understand....” The words came heavy with fear and in gasps from
Niels Heinrich’s lips. “Don’t understand that....”
“I had the feeling that the machine seemed to you a living and
organized being and therefore an enemy, and aroused in you a desire to
murder. Yes, quite clearly and irrefutably, I got the feeling of murder
from you. Am I mistaken?”
Niels Heinrich uttered no sound. He could not move. Roots seemed to
grow from the floor and entwine themselves about the chair on which he
sat, to creep about his legs, and hold him in an iron grip.
Christian arose. “All that is useless,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“What? What is useless?” Niels Heinrich murmured. “What? What then?”
The blood in his body grew chill.
His arms pressed to his side, his hands joining below, Christian stood
there, and whispered: “Speak! Tell me!”
What was he to speak of? What was he to tell? The neck of Niels
Heinrich was like an emptied tube, slack and quivering.
Their eyes met. Words died. The air roared.
Suddenly Christian blew out the lamp. The sudden darkness was like
the thud of an explosion. “You were right,” he said. “The light would
betray us to any passerby. Now we are quite secure, from any outside
thing, at all events. What happens here now concerns no one but
ourselves. You can do as you choose. You can draw your revolver as you
did the other day and fire. I am prepared for that. And since I shall
not move from where I sit, you cannot fail to hit me. But perhaps you
will wait until you have told me what is to be told and what I must
know.”
Silence.
“You murdered Ruth.”
Silence.
“It was you who lured her into that house and into that cellar, and
killed her there.”
Silence.
“And you made an accomplice of that poor simpleton, Joachim Heinzen,
and by a well-devised plan filled him so full of fear and anguish that
he deemed himself alone to be the murderer, and did not venture even to
utter your name. How did that come about?”
Silence.
“And how did it come about that Ruth found no mercy in your soul? Ruth!
Of all creatures! And that the knife ... that the knife in your hand
obeyed you ... and that thereafter you could go and speak and drink,
and decide on actions and go from one house to another. With that image
and with that deed within you? How is that possible?”
Silence.
Christian’s voice had nothing of its old coolness and reserve. It was
hoarse and passionate and naked. “What did you want of her? What was
your ultimate desire? Why did Ruth have to die? Why? What could she
give you by her death? What did you gain through murdering her?”
Suddenly Niels Heinrich’s voice uttered a scream and a roar: “Her
virginity, man!”
And now it was Christian’s turn to be silent.