It was already half past eleven when Studer left the inn to go and find Ludwig Farny. He was standing outside the door to the glasshouse, talking to two men. One, short and lively, was smoking a cigarette; the other, who looked like a retired champion wrestler, was sucking a cigar. They both waved when they saw Studer appear and strolled over to meet him.
“So there you are,” said the sergeant. “You got here quickly. And you’ve already met my assistant?”
Murmann, who had given up his post as the village policeman in Gerzenstein a year ago because his wife preferred living in the city, nodded and tapped his cigar with his forefinger. Young Ludwig knew what he was doing, he said. The short, lively officer – his name was Reinhardtt – agreed.
Had the body already been collected? Studer asked. The two nodded. Murmann walked on Studer’s right, Reinhardtt on his left; Ludwig Farny came and handed the sergeant the key to the glasshouse door.
“There was no one else here?” he asked. A shake of the head. “Good, then you two can have a rest today. I won’t be needing you until tomorrow. You can go back to Gampligen, if you like. I presume you came on your bike, Murmann? Yes?” The ex-champion wrestler nodded.
“Stay in one of the inns in Gampligen – I think the Crown’s quite good – and wait there. If I need you today, I’ll give you a ring. I’m going to finish this off tomorrow. There’re people coming to visit the poorhouse, that’ll be a good opportunity. It means we’ll have an audience and witnesses. I’m looking forward to it. Is any of our lot coming?”
“The superintendent said he’d been invited. The clerk to the Poor Board’s giving him a lift in his car.”
“Who else’s coming?”
“A few members of the Canton parliament, a secretary from the Department and two junior doctors, one from Meiringen, I don’t know where the other’s from.”
“Mhm . . . Right, see you tomorrow.”
The two policemen said goodbye.
“Come on, Ludwig, help me with the search.” They went into the glasshouse, opened the door that had been locked – from inside – the previous day, and Studer slowly walked round the square table, one half of which was enclosed in six-inch planks. The soil that was piled up inside them was covered with a layer of wood shavings; it was probably intended to help stop the plants’ roots from drying out.
“This is where Ernst was lying,” Studer said, musing. “And that’s where your stepfather was standing – or would you rather I called him Äbi?” Ludwig just nodded. “Let’s search here. There’s a hand fork; we can use that. Studer started to work on the wood shavings with the prongs of the fork. He worked slowly and methodically, all the time talking to Ludwig.
“Wottli brought you your supper last night. Can you remember whether Ernst drank any of the coffee?”
Ludwig looked up in surprise. “How do you know, Herr Studer?”
The sergeant paused in his work. “What did you say, Ludwig?” Ludwig blushed.
“How do you know?” A pause, then, “Studer?”
“That’s better. How do I know? I’ll show you when the time comes. Now let’s get on with the search.”
Ludwig dug his nails into the soil that had been turned over. Suddenly he said, “Here!” and held out a rusty key to the sergeant. Studer picked it up between his thumb and index finger, took it to the light and gave the end a long and reflective examination. “It’s true. Come on, Ludwig.”
Outside, Studer locked the door and set off for the inn. “That’s one of the locales sorted out,” he muttered, “now let’s go and deal with the second. We’ll leave the third until tomorrow.”
Studer halted at the foot of the stone steps and looked across to the graveyard. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Come on, Ludwig,” he said, “we’ve got to get shaved. You’re getting a beard.”
He went into the kitchen and demanded some hot water. Huldi promised to bring a jug. Then he went to the room where, not so long ago, the Chinaman had lived.
The waitress brought the water he’d asked for, and the sergeant lathered his cheeks, then handed Ludwig the brush. “You might as well use the razor too – if you’d like.”
He could tell from the look on Ludwig’s face that he felt as if he had just received the accolade. To be allowed to use the same razor as the sergeant!
“Meerci . . . Yes, I would . . . Studer,” the lad stammered, flushing bright red.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Studer wheezed as he wiped the foam out of his ears. The innkeeper appeared. “Sergeant! Wottli’s gone!”
“He has, has he?” said Studer, drying his face. “Then we can go up to his room.” He sat down on the bed and waited for Ludwig to finish. “I don’t need you, Brönnimann. When can we eat? Soon? Say in half an hour? I’m going to fetch a friend.”
The innkeeper left, and they could hear him giving orders in the kitchen.
“Let’s go, Ludwig.” The two of them went up the stairs, opened the door of the empty room and went in. The books were still on the shelves that were fixed to the walls. Studer went over to them. There was a small glass tube by a fat tome. The sergeant picked it up, went over to the window and read the label. He removed the cork, shook out one of the tiny pills into the palm of his hand and murmured, “No taste, no smell. Good medicine, covered by the law on the use of narcotics, of course . . . Did you feel a bit dizzy when you woke up yesterday evening? Did you, Ludwig?”
Yes, the lad replied, he’d not felt very well.
“Poor old Wottli! He must have seen Ernst together with his father. Perhaps he suspected something. And in order to be left in peace he tried to send you both to sleep. If Ernst had drunk his coffee, he wouldn’t have died.”
“So you think . . . er . . . Studer, that Ernst committed suicide? Is that what Wottli told you?”
“Wottli thought so – because he didn’t know we’ve found the key. Go down to the bar and wait for me there. I’m going to fetch the lawyer.”
“Which lawyer?”
“You slept well last night.” Studer laughed, went to the door, then stopped. “We’ve finished with the second locale now. How will we get on with the third?”
Fifteen minutes later Studer returned. With a black look on his face. He seemed not to notice Ludwig, went straight to the telephone, dialled a number, asked to speak to Reinhardt of the Cantonal Police and waited. Then: “You’re both to come back here. Leave the bike a couple of hundred yards before the inn. Then search the woods. Münch has disappeared. They told me they’d seen him set off for his office in Bern, but I know that’s not true. I interrogated the warder in the poorhouse and a few of the inmates. No one saw Münch this morning, and Hungerlott claims he left at eight. There’s something wrong there.”
The sergeant was proved right. He sat in the bar the whole afternoon. At six the telephone rang. Since there was no one in the room apart from himself and Ludwig, he answered it himself. Murmann spoke – Studer nodded. Then the sergeant said quietly, “Let Reinhardt go back on foot, and you take the injured man on your bike. Look after him and bring him here tomorrow morning.”
That night Studer’s sleep was deep and untroubled. But Ludwig sat there in the dark watching over the friend who was like a father to him.