The mist was probably the reason why twilight fell so swiftly over the countryside. Studer switched the light on and drew the curtains. The barmaid was still sitting at the empty table, her chin resting in the hollow of her hands. When the sergeant looked more closely, he saw that large tears were running down her cheeks. And something she’d said came back to mind, something that was more like a question: “But you’re not going to arrest him, are you, Sergeant?”
James Farny’s room was well furnished, which meant there were at least two chairs. Since Huldi was sitting in one, he grasped the other, pulled it over to him, sat down astride it, leaned his arms on the backrest and his chin on his clasped hands.
“What’s wrong, my girl?” he asked.
The silent tears turned into loud sobs.
“Lu . . . Ludwig, Sergeant.”
“What’s the matter with Ludwig? Where is he?”
“In my . . . my room.”
“The things you’ve been getting up to,” said Studer. “Wait here, I’ll go and fetch Ludwig.”
He left the room, fairly surprised not to catch the innkeeper listening at the door. He went up to the first floor – empty bedrooms – then up to the attic. Huldi’s room was not difficult to find. There was dust on the floor outside the other doors, but at one it reflected the reddish light of the lamp. Studer knocked. No answer. He pressed down the handle and opened the door.
To the left of the window was a bed, with a blanket over the springs. To the right was a mattress on the floor. A young man, lying back with his head resting on his clasped hands, leaped up and stared at the sergeant. His hair was as yellow as straw, and his eyes such a dark blue they didn’t remind you of a spirit flame, more of a mountain lake . . . His cheap linen-mixture suit was crumpled . . . and he definitely hadn’t shaved for three days.
Studer gave a nod of satisfaction. The arrangement of the room clearly showed nothing unseemly had taken place. People were always shooting their mouths off about the immorality of modern youth – and here? Here a barmaid had slept on the springs to let her friend have the mattress. Studer’s moustache quivered as a faint smile crossed his lips. They had even shared out the sheets – one for the girl, one for the lad – and the blankets too . . . The girl would have spent the night shivering under her eiderdown and the lad under the blanket and his shabby coat.
“What’s your name?”
“Ludwig Farny.”
“Are you related to the dead man?”
“The dead man?”
“Yes. Don’t you know that the Chin . . . I mean that James Farny is dead?”
“Uncle Jakob?”
Studer pulled a face. Why did the Chinaman have to have the same first name as a detective sergeant from Bern?
“Yes, your Uncle Jakob.”
“Dead? Uncle Jakob dead? Is that so? He was good to me. He was the only person I had in the world.”
“Where were you living?”
“In Thurgau.”
“Certainly, Herr Studer.”
“You know me? You’ve known me for some time?”
Ludwig said nothing. His eyes were wide open. The sergeant turned off the light and went out into the corridor. The young man followed him.
In the corridor on the floor below they ran into the innkeeper. Studer said, “I’ve brought another guest for you, Brönnimann. Have another bed put in my room, in Farny’s room. Have you got that? And get the windowpane mended, I broke one.”
“In the dead man’s room? In the dead man’s room. You can’t mean it.”
“I certainly do. He’s not afraid. Are you, Ludwig?
“Of course not.”
Brönnimann coughed, then wiped his reddened eyes with a handkerchief and stared at the young man. Contemptuously he said, “What d’you want with this poorhouse scum, Sergeant?”
Ludwig Farny went bright red and clenched his fists. Studer grasped his arm and pushed him into the room. “Keep calm, lad,” he said quietly. “Just ignore the old man.”
He thought – here he turned to Huldi – it would be more comfortable if Ludwig slept in his room. It wasn’t healthy to spend the night on steel springs. You could catch your death of cold. While he spoke, Studer observed the girl and saw her blush. The colour suited her pale complexion well, he felt.
“Ludwig!” Huldi cried.
Now the lad blushed as well, embarrassment written all over his face.
“Er, yes,” said Studer. “Is there anything wrong? I found him, and I’m keeping him with me. I need him, and that’s that.”
“But, Herr Studer! Don’t you know that Ludwig knocked on my window last night – in the early morning, actually? He threw stones. The same night as our guest was murdered.”
Ludwig bowed his head. Yes, that was right, he said. But what was wrong with that? And in a low voice he added that he knew nothing about the murder, nothing at all.
“We’ll talk about that later,” said Studer. “Would you leave us for the moment, Huldi? We’ve got some talking to do . . . haven’t we, Ludwig?”
“Definitely, Herr Studer.”
“Sit yourself down on the bed. I’ve got to look for something.” Ludwig obeyed in silence.
Studer took the clothes out of the wardrobe: five pairs of pyjamas in raw silk, six elegant shirts, a dozen silk ties, underwear, silk and woollen socks, handkerchiefs. The Chinaman’s camelhair smoking jacket was on a clothes hanger; beside it were two grey suits with the label of an English tailor and, finally, a fur-lined winter coat. Studer placed all these items of clothing neatly on the table and began to search the pockets. In the side pocket of the smoking jacket he found a letter:
Amriswil, 15 October
Deer Uncle – Deer Patron and Helper,
How are you and what are you doing? I hope you are stil in good health and feeling well. As I am. Now I will tel you how things have been going so far. From Gampligen I went to Zurich, I stayed there until the next Wednesday and looked for work. I didn’t find any. I was compeled to go to Herisau on the 1st of August. I only stayed there for 2 weeks. It was a complete waste of time. After that I went to Amriswil. That’s quite diferent. I have 13 beests to look after. 70 Fr in the summer, 60 in the winter, and enough work as I can do. They learned me to drive a tractor this summer. You don’t have to rush about all the time, just press the peddles, but you have to watch what you’re doing or it stops or goes too fast, but it’s nice sitting at the steering wheel. I’ve been by myself up in the high meadows with the machine or the cart a lot and mown large bits. We also grow vegetables. I can give a hand there too. And another thing, I hope the horseshoes I dug up from under the lime tree will bring me luck, I went to the expense of buying a few lotery tickets, let’s see if fortune will smile on me and that’s all I have to tel.
Goodbye, dear Uncle, thank you for all your help. And warm regards from
Your Ludwig.
If you need me, just write to Amriswil.
The letter took up three sides of writing paper. On the fourth and last side the lad had written his address:
Herr Ludwig Farny,
Labourer,
Amriswil,
Thurgau Canton,
Switzerland,
Europe.
Studer was sitting in his favourite posture, elbows on his splayed thighs, with the letter in his hand. Of course. Not everyone knew that Amriswil was in Thurgau Canton, and it was not well known abroad that Thurgau was part of Switzerland, and – better safe than sorry – if you had an uncle who liked to travel, then it was a good idea to point out that Switzerland was in Europe. The lad could not see the smile that was tugging at the corners of the Studer’s lips, but, for the sergeant, the letter gave off a feeling of honesty, of decency that did him good. If his instinct was not deceiving him, Studer could cross Herr Ludwig Farny, Labourer from Amriswil, off his list of suspects for the murder. Anyway, he could always put it to the test . . .
“Ludwig,” Studer called out. When the young man came over, he stuck the letter under his nose. “Did you write this?”
The lad had a curious way of blushing. First of all a flush rose up his throat, flooding his chin, cheeks and temples. Finally it reached his forehead, making his face look like one of those bizarre crustaceans that crawl around on the bottom of the sea and go deep red when thrown into boiling water.
“Yes, I did write to him. Anything wrong in that?”
“No, why ever should there be? But did your uncle reply?”
“You bet he did!”
“Show me the letter.”
They were all the same, these farm labourers who didn’t have much money. They didn’t carry their wallet in the inside pocket of their jacket, like fine gentlemen, but in the lining of their waistcoat, inside, over their heart. It took some time, therefore, before Ludwig Farny had unbuttoned various articles of clothing and produced the battered wallet, which he had probably acquired by a swap. Ludwig extracted his uncle’s reply from one of the compartments:
Dear Ludwig,
I have only got round to answering your letter today. It would be good if you could give up your job in Amriswil immediately and come here. I need you. Why, I will explain when you come. I presume you have enough money for the journey. I expect you on the 18th at the latest. You will live with me. As far as I can tell, someone is out to kill me. I trust you.
With best wishes,
Uncle James
“Hm,” said Studer, putting the letters next to each other on the table. “Your uncle wrote on the fifteenth. When did you get the letter?”
“The boss only gave it me on the seventeenth, at lunch. I grabbed a few things and set off. I got to Bern by that evening. I’ve a friend there and he lent me his bicycle. I rode off straight away, but it was about three in the morning by the time I got to Pfründisberg. I met one person on the road; he was on a motorbike and driving like hell. For a moment I thought I knew him, but then it wasn’t who I thought it was. Huldi let me in, because I threw stones at her window, and let me sleep in her room – nothing happened between us!”
“Of course, of course – nothing happened between you.”
“And now Huldi thinks I killed Uncle Jakob – probably because I arrived just after she heard the shot. I’m glad I’ve had the chance to talk to you, Herr Studer.”
“Had the chance!” Studer growled. “Had the chance to talk to me! Do you think I didn’t recognize you, Ludwig? When was it I escorted you to the poorhouse? Three years ago? Two?” Studer had clasped his hands and was staring at the floor. Cold air was seeping in through the shattered windowpane. “Tell Huldi to come and light the stove, then bring a pot of glue and we can make the window draught-proof. Afterwards you can tell me your story.”