A nocturnal visit from the lawyer

Kindness can have its inconveniences. When Studer invited Ludwig Farny to sleep in the same room, he did not know that the lad snored. He had only realized that during the previous night. Now it started up again. Scarcely had the sergeant put out the light than a groaning, sawing, rasping, snorting started up in the bed on the other side of the room. Studer threw his slipper across. For a minute there was silence, then the noise began again. The other slipper flew across the room, then the right shoe, the left shoe, one leather gaiter, the other leather gaiter. The silence on the other side of the room never lasted more than a minute. With a sigh Studer rolled over onto his other side, gritted his teeth, began to count, said his multiplication tables out loud . . . Ludwig continued to snore. The clock in the tower of the horticultural college struck half past two, the tinny bell of the poorhouse replied, they struck a quarter to, they struck three o’clock. Groaning, the sergeant switched the light back on and started to read the bits of the newspaper he’d missed.

The shutters were closed; their green wood shimmered through the windowpanes. The light in the room did not bother the young man. Suddenly Studer sat up with a start. He had the feeling someone had knocked at the door. He waited. Then he saw the handle pushed down from outside. Someone was trying to open the door – thank God it was locked.

Studer got out of bed and crept to the door. He pressed his ear against the wood, but he could hear nothing. Any noise was drowned out by Ludwig’s snores. Finally a soft voice outside enquired, “Studer, are you still awake?” It was the voice of Münch, the lawyer! The sergeant pushed back the bolt, unlocked the door and let his friend in.

“Don’t make too much noise,” he told the lawyer, “there’s someone sleeping in the other bed. He’s a good lad, he’s done his bit today and earned his sleep . . . He does rather snore, but then no one’s perfect.”

While he was speaking, Studer slipped back into bed and invited the lawyer to sit on it. Münch accepted his invitation, demanded a pillow, claiming the wall was hard, stuffed it behind his back and said, “Getting out of the poorhouse wasn’t easy.”

Studer showed no sympathy. He laughed and said it was healthy for lawyers to get a bit of exercise now and then. As it was, they spent all their time sitting at their desks cheating their clients.

Münch responded by pinching Studer’s calf, but his riposte got him nowhere because Studer suddenly stretched out his long legs and squashed his friend mercilessly against the foot of the bed until Münch begged for mercy.

What was he doing here so late? Studer asked in a whisper – although the whispering was unnecessary, Ludwig continued to snore undisturbed. Had something happened, over there in the poorhouse? And, anyway, what was a lawyer doing visiting Hungerlott? As far as he – Studer – was aware, the warden wasn’t exactly pure as the driven snow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know that, eh?” said Münch, twisting and craning his neck in his high collar.

“Know! Trying to play the private investigator, are we? There’s no complaint been made against Hungerlott so far, but as I understand it, you think the warden poisoned his wife with arsenic. Now if I should tell you we found one of the students at the college possessed the poison, what would you say then? And if I also tell you that yesterday that same student sent a warning: ‘Keep your fingers off our rösti’ smashing through my window, what would you say to that?”

“That you’re a mooncalf,” the lawyer said dryly.

“An old joke,” said Studer grumpily. “‘Mooncalf’ is what deputy governors and doctors call each other in Pfründisberg. Are you going to follow their example?”

You could tell, said the lawyer, that it was a long time since the sergeant had won at billiards; losing always had a deleterious effect on his mental faculties. Studer muttered an insult, then asked to what he owed the honour of such a late visit?

“Today,” said Münch, “you were in the Institute for Forensic Medicine. What did the tests on the handkerchiefs show?”

“For a lawyer you’re not as stupid as you look,” said Studer dryly. “Come on, out with it.”

Münch undid his coat, took a letter out of his wallet. “There, read that,” he said.

Studer read it:

Pfründisberg

17 November 19—

Dear Herr Münch,

Shortly after the death of my niece, Anna Hungerlott-Äbi, I made the following change to my will: the quarter of my estate that was to go to my niece was to be divided into two parts, one to go to Anna’s husband, Hungerlott, the warden of the poorhouse, and the other to Paul Wottli, a teacher at Pfründisberg Horticultural College. I find myself compelled to change this new clause, and I would ask you to come and see me tomorrow, 18 November, at 10 am. I would also ask you to bring my will, since I intend to replace it with a new one. I have already written a draft so that it will not take long. I beg you not to be late. A few days ago I told one of my acquaintances of this intended change and I am afraid he immediately spread the news around. The fact that other people know of my intention means my life is doubly endangered. A few months ago I chanced to make the acquaintance of one of your friends and told him then that my life was in danger. This friend of yours, Sergeant Jakob Studer, was somewhat sceptical about my claim. It therefore seemed advisable to turn to you, since you are a friend of the policeman. I would be very grateful if you would bring in Sergeant Studer, should anything happen to me. I am telling you this because it seemed necessary to explain briefly why I have turned to you in order to make my will.

Until tomorrow.

Yours faithfully

James Farny.

Studer examined the letter from all sides; it was typewritten.

“I’m sure he’ll have kept a copy.”

“So am I,” the lawyer agreed.

“But I didn’t find the copy among his things.”

“Nor did I,” said the lawyer innocently.

“Oh, so you searched the room, did you?”

Münch shrugged his shoulders. “I just happened to get there before the police. It does sometimes happen that lawyers get up before detectives . . .”

Studer scratched his neck, at a loss. His nightshirt – the collar was embroidered with little red flowers – was open, revealing his powerful chest.

“Was the body already on the grave when you arrived?” he asked.

Again the lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you there. I went straight to the inn and asked for Farny’s room. The waitress showed me there, and then I just waited – until twelve o’clock. Eventually I got fed up with waiting, and the police were making a racket in the inn, so I went over to the poorhouse. You should have seen the welcome I got! The warden asked me to stay, put a room at my disposal, invited me to lunch. I’d never have thought you could have such a good lunch in the poorhouse. He was very friendly, was Hungerlott, and lamented bitterly the loss of his wife. And I have to say losing your wife is very hard indeed . . .”

Studer looked at his friend. The lawyer was smiling, and it would have been a definite exaggeration to call it a sympathetic smile.

“Gastric influenza!” Münch said. “Gastric influenza . . . that name can hide a multitude of sins, don’t you think, Studer?”

“Hmm,” Studer muttered. “The Marsh test was pretty clear . . . and Dr Malapelle in Forensic was sure.”

“Arsenic?” Münch asked. “Hmm, hmm.”

It would have been very quiet in the room, had it not been for Ludwig Farny’s resounding snores.

“You’ve got a good alarm clock there,” said Münch, pointing with his thumb at the other bed.

Studer sighed. “He’s not had a great life, you know. He was put into service with a farmer as a boy, then he came into Hungerlott’s tender care, ran off and lived in the woods with a girl. Perhaps he’ll come into some money now . . . I wouldn’t begrudge it him.”

“Me neither,” said Münch. Then he picked up his wallet again, took out a handwritten document and handed it to Studer. In brief, it said that James Farny, born on such and such a date, place of origin Gampligen, bequeathed his estate, consisting of English and American currency as well as precious stones kept in a safe-deposit box at the Crédit Lyonnais, in equal parts to his sister, Elisa, the wife of Arnold Äbi, to her illegitimate son, Ludwig Farny, and to her legitimate children, Ernst and Anna. Should one of the four die before the death of the testator, the estate was to be divided up among the remaining heirs. Arnold Äbi, the husband of Elisa, née Farny, had no claim on the inheritance. A codicil dated 10 November contained the following clause: the husband of his niece, Anna, would inherit his wife’s portion, if she should die; half of it, however, was to be handed on to Paul Wottli, a teacher at Pfründisberg Horticultural College. The executor was Münch.

“The will is dated 25 July,” said Studer. “Were you there when it was drawn up?”

Münch nodded. He had his hands clasped round his shins, and his chin was rubbing against his drawn-up knees.

“On 25 July,” he said reflectively. “I never really managed to explain it. Why, for example, had James Farny come to me? Why did he mention you? Who had told him we were friends? Do you remember we played billiards together, Jakob, on the 20th and the 21st, in our usual café? Did anything strike you on either evening?”

Studer suppressed a yawn. Then he shook his head. “When I’m playing billiards,” he said in bored tones, “I forget my profession. I’m not going to check who’s watching when I’m making a ten-point break, am I?”

“I realize that,” said Münch. “that’s why I didn’t tell you that Farny came to see me on the 25th, at eleven in the morning, and questioned me about you first. He wanted to know all kinds of things. Whether you’d been successful in your career, why you’d only made it to sergeant and more along the same lines. So I sang your praises and said that the only people who got on in this country were people who belonged to some political party. Studer had never belonged to any party, on the contrary! Once he’d ended up with egg all over his face because of some business with a bank that was meant to be hushed up because a few well-known people had been compromised in it. ‘Aha!’ Farny had said to that, ‘that’s interesting.’ – ‘Not for Studer,’ I said, ‘because he lost his job and had to start from scratch again.’ Studer, I told him, would probably never get beyond sergeant. In the first place he hadn’t got any relatives (in Switzerland we call nepotism ‘nephewism’) and in the second place we like to keep competent people in subordinate positions and only use them when it’s absolutely necessary. Then we can order them around, so everything’s OK. ‘So if it’s a complicated case, Studer will be put in charge of the investigation?’ Farny asked. – ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I can guarantee that. They assign him to such cases on his own until they’re solved, and the superintendent at CID as well as the Chief of Police support him and let him do as he likes. Then he’s shunted off into the sidings again for a rest . . .’ – ‘Oh,’ Farny said, ‘that’s interesting. I think that’s the way things are all over the world. Good, let’s draw up that will.’

“He told me what he wanted, I dictated it to him and he wrote it down. Then he left the will with me. Before he went, as he had his hand on the doorknob, he said he would probably be murdered. By one of his relatives, by one of his acquaintances, it was all uncertain. But he could have been killed twice already, if he hadn’t been used to keeping his eye open. Yes . . . That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“Meerci, Hans.” It was only rarely that the sergeant called his friend by his first name, and today he found it particularly difficult because he remembered that the cock that had been dissected had been called Hans too. And he felt something like fear welling up inside him. Hadn’t one man already died because he knew too much? Äbi, the student at the horticultural college? Was the lawyer in danger?

“Listen, Hans,” he said, “you just watch out nothing happens to you. D’you understand?”

“Yes, yes. Don’t you worry.”

“So the will says that Farny’s estate is to be divided up into four parts. That’s right, isn’t it? Two of the heirs have died, which means that Ludwig, who’s had such a bad time of it, will inherit one half and his mother the other.”

“Wrong! You’re tired, Jakob. You can’t count. It’s to be divided up into three: Ludwig Farny, Elisa Äbi and Vinzenz Hungerlott. And the warden’s share is to be divided up, Wottli’s to get half of that.”

“Does Wottli know that?”

“From Farny’s letter it sounds likely. But it may be that only Hungerlott knows and Wottli doesn’t. So, now I’m off. Have a good sleep.”

Could he keep the letter and the will? Studer asked. Münch nodded. Then, as a kind of finale to his nocturnal visit, he added, “You know, Jakob, as things stood, I wouldn’t have been able to come to see you before this evening. The Warden hasn’t let me out of his sight ever since I arrived yesterday. I was given a room that was next to his bedroom and only had one door. If I wanted to go out I had to go past Hungerlott’s bed. But I was moved this evening because a new guest arrived, and he must be very important, because I’ve been forgotten. That’s how I managed to slip out.”

Again Studer was overcome with the inexplicable feeling of fear. “Take care, Hans,” he said, and the lawyer gave him an astonished look.

“What could happen to me?” he asked.

Studer shrugged his shoulders. Then he got up and accompanied his friend to the door.

“Just don’t fall down the stairs, right?” Münch just laughed.

Studer lay in his bed (it was nice to be able to stretch out at last), stared at the light and thought . . . He must be careful not to jump to conclusions. After all, even though Hungerlott’s wife had died, it did not make him any better off. It was a complicated business. He’d played cards with Hungerlott that evening and established that the man played well. He needed a trump up his sleeve, for it had been easy to see that the warden played well, he played his cards according to plan, not at random. If he knew what was in the will, then surely he would have some countermove ready to put Wottli out of the reckoning. After all, a man does not risk twenty years in jail for poison merely to get his hands on a fortune he knows he’s going to have to share. Studer’s mind was quite clear, and the snoring of his roommate did not disturb him in the least; it was more like a pleasant musical accompaniment to his thinking.

And there was one more thing he had to remember: members of parliament and doctors were coming to visit the poorhouse in the morning. Was that his trump?

Just a minute! He must be careful not to make the mistake of concentrating on the one suspect. Wottli also had an interest in the inheritance. He might be a pleasant enough fellow who had worked his way up and looked after his old mother, but that didn’t mean he was innocent. Some things pointed to him. The inheritance from the man by Lake Thun, for example. The bloodstained pyjamas that had been wrapped up in paper with his address on it – and the address had been scored out. And who knew that the glasshouse was being fumigated with hydrogen cyanide gas? The teacher, Herr Wottli. Who always had the key to the glasshouse on him? Wottli. The only thing in his favour was the fact that his motive was not clear. What could have driven the teacher to commit two murders? But, after all, he was the one who had the new preparation for a plant disinfectant in his possession, he was testing it out . . . Could one not imagine that he had fallen in love with Frau Hungerlott, been rejected and poisoned her out of revenge? And if some of the students knew, then Ernst Äbi would know more than most. Had he known what was going on? Perhaps Ludwig knew something?

“Ludwig!” The snoring grew quieter. “Ludwig!”

He sat up in bed. “Eh? Has something happened?”

“Listen, lad. Did you notice anything suggesting Wottli was in love with Frau Hungerlott?”

Ludwig rubbed his eyes. At first he couldn’t understand what Studer was going on about, and the sergeant had to repeat his question three times. Finally he cottoned on. Yes, on that 18 July he’d seen the two of them; they’d been out for a walk together.

What kind of woman had Frau Hungerlott been? the sergeant wanted to know.

“Beautiful!” The lad’s eyes shone. A fine figure, he said. She’d also been strict, but she’d always worn fine clothes, and she often used to go to the hairdresser’s in Bern to get her hair done, and she used to paint her fingernails . . .

“Oh, and one other thing. She did the bookkeeping.”

“Aha . . . Did she now? The bookkeeping,” said Studer. This time his yawn was loud and long, a yawn without any ulterior motive. He felt his eyelids grow heavy.

“Don’t snore too much, Ludwig.”

“No, Sergeant.”

“And put the light out.” Five minutes later both were asleep, and neither disturbed the other. In fact, it would have been difficult to say whose snoring was the louder, the sergeant’s or Ludwig Farny’s.