The Lonely House

by Adolf Streckfuss

Both kitchen and dining-room in the "Golden Vine" were crowded with guests--a very unusual thing of a week-day. The report of the murder in the Lonely House had spread quickly, not only in the little town, but also in the surrounding villages, and, naturally, all were eager to hear further particulars, and could find no better place for gratifying this desire than in the inn, the home of the Judge, who was sure to be there in the evening.

In the spacious kitchen, which was the gathering place of guests of the lower classes, peasants and small tradesmen, there was quite a crowd. Some were even obliged to drink their wine standing; all the benches and chairs were occupied. Here not a German word was to be heard; the talk was entirely in Slavonic; even around the hearth where Frau Franzka received her intimate friends, all spoke in that tongue.

Nearly twenty men, principally petty tradesmen from Luttach, were sitting and standing around the huge hearth listening respectfully to Frau Franzka's words, who, as she cooked and broiled, was obliged to give all the details of the terrible deed which the "German fly-catcher"--such was the name that had already been bestowed upon me in Luttach--had discovered. When I passed through the kitchen to go to the dining-room, I was most politely and kindly greeted by all present, while they looked at me with undisguised curiosity.

In the dining-room there was a far larger assembly than usual. All the tables were occupied, but principally the great round one at which the Burgomaster presided. All the gentlemen to whom I had been presented on the previous evening were present, with the exception of the Captain. The District Physician, two gentlemen (strangers to me), and, oddly enough, Franz Schorn, were also there; the last sat next the Judge's assistant.

I had evidently been expected. A chair beside the District Judge had been reserved for me, and when I appeared--quite too late to suit the impatience of those present--I was cordially received. Even Franz Schorn rose from his seat, and when the other gentlemen offered me their hands, he held out his--not the right hand, but the left, like the Judge, who had protected his wounded hand with a black glove. I remarked that Franz Schorn did not use his right hand, but kept it concealed in the breast of his coat, which was closely buttoned.

The conversation was hardly interrupted by my arrival. Naturally it had been concerning the murder in the Lonely House, and it so continued after I had taken my place at the table. It was to me that all inquisitive inquiries were now addressed--to me instead of to the Judge or his assistant or to the physician. I was obliged to relate all that I had seen. I was questioned about the smallest details; the most insignificant interested every one.

The Judge, the assistant and Franz Schorn alone were silent. I could inform the two first of nothing new; there was no need for them to question me, and Franz Schorn probably did not wish to thrust himself forward with inquiries.

It was evident, however, that he listened with intense interest to everything that I related. As I spoke I narrowly observed the behaviour of the Judge and of Franz Schorn, the two rivals. Herr Foligno appeared scarcely to hear what I was saying. His eyes were fixed gloomily on his wineglass, and he seemed to take no part in what was going on, but from time to time as he looked up I could see that he heard every word that I said. Franz Schorn kept his eyes riveted upon me as I spoke. The description of my first discovery of the murdered man evidently horrified him; he was more agitated by it than any of my other hearers.

After I had ended my narrative, and it had been completed by the physician, the question of course was discussed as to who the murderer could be, whence he had come, how he had entered the locked house, whither he had fled, and what had been the amount of his robbery. In this discussion, however, the Judge and his assistant and Franz Schorn took no part, although they listened with close attention.

The physician defended with much acuteness his own theory that only an intimate acquaintance of old Pollenz could have committed the crime; on the other hand, many present maintained that the murderer must be some Italian from Trieste, for neither in Luttach nor in the surrounding country was there a man capable of such a deed.