Part 15

Varna rose also. He understood perfectly that now Gyuri’s power was at an end and he was as pleased as a child that has just received a present. “And now you’re going to shoot him?” he asked, in the tone a boy would use if asking when the fireworks were to begin.

Muller shook his head. “No, my dear Cardillac,” he replied gravely. “He will not be shot--that is a death for a brave soldier--but this man has deserved--” He did not finish the sentence, for the warder sank to the floor unconscious.

“What a coward!” murmured the detective scornfully, looking down at the giant frame that lay prostrate before him. Even in his wide experience he had known of no case of a man of such strength and such bestial cruelty, combined with such utter cowardice.

Varna also stood looking down at the unconscious warder. Then he glanced up with a cunning smile at the other two men who stood there. The doctor, pale and trembling with horror, covered his face with his hands. Muller turned to the door to call in the attendants waiting outside. During the moment’s pause that ensued the madman bent over his worktable, seized a knife that lay there and dropped on one knee beside the prostrate form. His hand was raised to strike when a calm voice said: “Fie! Cardillac, for shame! Do not belittle yourself. This man here is not worthy of your knife, the hangman will look after him.”

Varna raised his loose-jointed frame and looked about with glistening eyes and trembling lips. His mind was completely darkened once more. “I must kill him--I must have his blood--there is no one to see me,” he murmured. “I am a hangman too--he has made a hangman of me,” and again he bent with uplifted hand over the man who had utilised his terrible misfortune to make a criminal of him. But two of the waiting attendants seized his arms and threw him back on the floor, while the other two carted Gyuri out. Both unfortunates were soon securely guarded.

“Do not be angry with me, doctor,” said Muller gravely, as he walked through the garden accompanied by Orszay.

Doctor Orszay laughed bitterly. “Why should I be angry with you--you who have discovered my inexcusable credulity?”

“Inexcusable? Oh, no, doctor; it was quite natural that you should have believed a man who had himself so well in hand, and who knew so well how to play his part. When we come to think of it, we realise that most crimes have been made possible through some one’s credulity, or over-confidence, a credulity which, in the light of subsequent events, seems quite incomprehensible. Do not reproach yourself and do not lose heart. Your only fault was that you did not recognise the heart of the beast of prey in this admirable human form.”

“What course will the law take?” asked Orszay. “The poor unfortunate madman--whose knife took all these lives--cannot be held responsible, can he?”

“Oh, no; his misfortune protects him. But as for the other, though his hands bear no actual bloodstains, he is more truly a murderer than the unhappy man who was his tool. Hanging is too good for him. There are times when even I could wish that we were back in the Middle Ages, when it was possible to torture a prisoner.

“You do not look like that sort of a man,” smiled the doctor through his sadness.

“No, I am the most good-natured of men usually, I think--the meekest anyway,” answered Muller. “But a case like this--. However, as I said before, keep a stout heart, doctor, and do not waste time in unnecessary self-reproachings.” The detective pressed the doctor’s hand warmly and walked down the hill towards the village.

He went at once to the office of the magistrate and made his report, then returned to the rectory and packed his grip. He arranged for its transport to the railway station, as he himself preferred to walk the inconsiderable distance. He passed through the village and had just entered the open fields when he met Janci with his flock. The shepherd hastened his steps when he saw the detective approaching.

“You have found him, sir?” he exclaimed as he came up to Muller. The men had come to be friends by this time. The silent shepherd with the power of second sight had won Muller’s interest at once.

“Yes, I found him. It is Gyuri, the warder at the asylum.”

“No, sir, it is not Gyuri--Gyuri did not do it.”

“But when I tell you that he did?”

“But I tell you, sir, that Gyuri did not do it. The man who did it--he has yellowish hands--I saw them--I saw big yellowish hands. Gyuri’s hands are big, but they are brown.”

“Janci, you are right. I was only trying to test you. Gyuri did not do it; that is, he did not do it with his own hands. The man who held the knife that struck down the pastor was Varna, the crazy mechanician.”

Janci beat his forehead. “Oh, I am a foolish and useless dreamer!” he exclaimed; “of course it was Varna’s hands that I saw. I have seen them a hundred times when he came down into the village, and yet when I saw them in the vision I did not recognise them.”

“We’re all dreamers, Janci--and our dreams are very useless generally.”

“Yours are not useless, sir,” said the shepherd. “If I had as much brains as you have, my dreams might be of some good.”

Muller smiled. “And if I had your visions, Janci, it would be a powerful aid to me in my profession.”

“I don’t think you need them, sir. You can find out the hidden things without them. You are going to leave us?”

“Yes, Janci, I must go back to Budapest, and from there to Vienna. They need me on another case.”

“It’s a sad work, this bringing people to the gallows, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Janci, it is sometimes. But it’s a good thing to be able to avenge crime and bring justice to the injured. Good-bye, Janci.”

“Good-bye, sir, and God speed you.”