As Studer entered the corridor to the two greenhouses he saw Ludwig Farny standing by the cement table. He was picking up sand in his right hand and letting it trickle into his left hand; tears were running down his cheeks. The sergeant went up to him, patted him on the shoulder and asked, “What’s the matter?”
Haltingly Ludwig told him that Ernst had always stood by him. As he spoke, he pointed to the dead body lying in the darkness. Once, he said, when he was having a difficult time and Barbara was ill, he’d written to Ernst for money. Fifty francs he’d asked for, and Ernst had sent him the money without further ado, even though he wasn’t well off himself. And then Ernst always protected their mother and when he was at home his father – his stepfather – had never dared lay a hand on her. There had even been a fight once, he went on, because old Äbi had been drunk and had started to go on at their mother. At the time Ernst had only been sixteen, but he was strong as an ox and the next morning his father had had a black eye.
“That’ll do for the moment,” said Studer. Could one imagine a better motive? The old man must have hated his son. Studer knew that type, men who, when they were drunk, liked to torment their wives. There must be some need for power behind it, since the tormentors were usually poor wretches. They were downtrodden, no wonder they bullied their wives to show them how strong they were.
“Do you know where the boiler room is, Ludwig?” The lad nodded and led the way. In one corner some steps led down into the basement. Ludwig turned on a switch – a light went on down below. Ernst must have changed the bulb before he died . . .
The boiler was dusty; to the right of it was a heap of ashes mixed with cinders. In the adjoining room on the left was a pile of coke. Studer took off his coat and hung it on a nail. Among several pairs of overalls he found one that fitted and put it on. There was a riddle leaning against the wall. “We’re going to have to sieve the ashes, Ludwig,” the sergeant said. “Put one of those on over your clothes.” He was assuming Ludwig was wearing his one and only Sunday suit.
It was an unpleasant task they had undertaken. The air in the small room was soon thick with dust, breathing was difficult, and it made Studer cough. But the heap was getting smaller – although the sergeant did not really know what he hoped to find in it. Ludwig swept up the last of the ashes, the two men shook the riddle and finally, among the cinders, the sergeant found three objects: a half-burnt button, a whole button and a burnt-out cartridge case. Studer put the three objects in the palm of his hand and looked at them.
“You see that button, Ludwig?” he said. “That’s from a department store. While this one,” – he pointed at the undamaged button – “is good quality, a coat button, perhaps even from an English tailor. And do you recognize that?”
Ludwig nodded. When he was a boy he’d picked up cartridge cases like that at the firing range, he said. Only those’d been bigger. If he might venture an opinion, he’d say it was a cartridge case from a handgun, a large-calibre gun.
“Quite right, Ludwig, quite right. The cartridge probably came from the American revolver we found by your uncle’s hand in the graveyard.”
Ludwig nodded sagely. A smile appeared on his gaunt face, and his blue eyes shone.
Studer had switched on his torch and was sweeping the beam round the walls. He stopped beside the entrance to the coal cellar, went up until his eyes were close to the wall.
“Come and have a look,” he cried. Ludwig came over, and the sergeant pointed to some splashes that were clearly visible against the dark wall.
“Have you got an old knife?” he asked his assistant. Ludwig nodded, although it took him some time before he could extract a knife with a notched blade from his trouser pocket.
Studer took out an old envelope and scratched off the wall covering with the suspicious splashes. Then he sealed the envelope and treated his assistant to a lecture:
The way he imagined it was as follows, he said. Ludwig’s uncle had been lured to the boiler room. And he’d been got out of bed. Proof? The button from a good tailor. His uncle had probably thrown a coat over his pyjamas and followed the man who had called him. That man knew that your uncle always carried a gun. How the murderer had managed to get the gun off him was a mystery that would presumably not be solved until the murderer made his confession. To cut a long story short, James Farny had been shot, there in that boiler room, with a small-bore gun, but the big revolver had also been fired. And they had to assume that there had not been just the one murderer – at least one accomplice must have been present. The accomplice had gone to Farny’s room and brought a shirt, a suit and a collar. They dressed the dead body in the boiler room, carried it to the graveyard and placed it on Anna Hungerlott’s grave. Ludwig should bear in mind that their intention was to get the authorities to think it was suicide caused by a lover’s sorrow. But they had made a mistake. They had forgotten that the coat, waistcoat and shirt were undamaged. The deputy governor had immediately pointed out that it was impossible for a man with a bullet through his heart to button up his clothes.
“Their first mistake, Ludwig. If they’d thought a little, they could have avoided it. We won’t talk about their second mistake – the key – just now. You’re tired, and Sergeant Studer’s an old gasbag. Let’s get some sleep. Come on . . .” They went up the steps, Ludwig turned off the light. The corridor was empty. The runes Studer had traced hours ago in the peat piled up on the cement table were still there. He rubbed them out and the coolness felt good on his hot hand. By the outside door Ludwig turned off the last switch. Now the glasshouse was dark; inside Ernst lay undisturbed, sleeping the lonely sleep of the dead, while the two living men set off for their beds, after Studer had locked the outside door. The moon had already set and the sky shimmered with a faint, silvery glow. When Studer took out his pocket watch, he saw that it was two hours after midnight.