XXII
“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.