“Can you read me what was in the letter? The State agent for prosecutions is speaking!”
“Yes, certainly, sir, one moment. The letter runs: ‘Edgar Hull, Esquire, was attacked and murdered in the Jägerstrasse in the early hours of this morning. The criminals have escaped. It appears to have been an act of revenge, for the murdered man frequented gambling circles.’ That’s all there is.”
“Does anybody in the newspaper staff know about this letter?”
“No.”
“Can you bring this letter to me yourself immediately? I will send a Service car for you.”
“But, sir, that would be a very difficult matter. I am alone here, and I must complete the Press matter.”
“What is your name?”
“Grube.”
“Well, Herr Grube, there’s no difficulty in the matter, when I tell you very decidedly that your coming here is of the utmost importance, far and away more important than that tomorrow morning every Tom, Dick and Harry should be able to discuss such a piece of news while he eats his breakfast.”
“But my duty is …” he began, but Wenk interrupted him.
“Don’t take it ill that my time won’t permit of my saying any more now, save that the police car is on its way to bring you here. The constable is furnished with the necessary authority. Arrange your Press matter so that the sheet can be printed without the information you have just given me about a murder. Au revoir, Herr Grube. Ring off, please.”
Wenk sent off the car immediately.
“Well, now, Wasserschmidt, to continue. The lady offered resistance. How did she do that?”
“She ran a few paces from me towards the wall of the Wittelsbach Palace, to which the criminals had hurried, and then called out, ‘George.’ ”
“You heard that yourself?”
“Yes, quite distinctly, and she pronounced the name ‘Georsh.’ And as she began to run towards the wall too, I did not wait any longer, but I tied her hands together.”
“And what did she do then?”
“Then she became quieter, and let us take her away. As we were going, she said again, ‘I shall certainly be able to speak to Herr von Wenk, shall I not?’ ‘Well, you will have to wait till after he has had his breakfast,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I could telephone to him?’ but I said that wasn’t very likely.”
“And then later? Where is the lady now?”
“Still at the guardroom. She spoke quite calmly and said, ‘You have made a very serious mistake, my good man; but I hope to be able to set you right with Herr Wenk, for, after all, you are only doing what you conceive to be your duty. I was with the gentleman who has been attacked, and the State Attorney was there too, but he went home a little earlier, or else he would have been in it as well.’ ‘Let us wait and see!’ was all I said to that.”
“Did you happen to tell her why you had arrested her?”
“No, not a word.”
“That’s right. Wait in the next room.”
Wenk interviewed others, and finally the assistant-editor arrived. He protested loudly against this high-handed action of the authorities, and said that his newspaper. …
“If it is the duty of your newspaper to serve its readers up the latest scandal, whether it be a murder or the unlucky ending of a love-affair, merely because it is a scandal, in as hasty and disconnected a fashion as it was reported to you … you would be right to protest. But you have no right to hinder the authorities whose duty it is to deal with infinitely more important matters so that you may satisfy fools with a thirst for gossip.”
“But,” stammered the editor, in an excited tone, “but you are trying to stifle the Press. We are not living under the old system, you know. The Republic will. …”
“I have no time to bother about what the Republic will do. Be so good as to give me the letter you telephoned me about!”
“I am sorry,” said the editor, with a confident and self-satisfied air. “These are Press secrets.”
“Pardon my saying so, editor, but you really are very foolish. I respect any Press secrets which protect the interests of the community, but your refusal to give me this letter only injures them. Before I take it from you by force (an action which would lay you open to a penalty for resisting the law), I will tell you that this letter is the only piece of evidence we have at present of an unusually serious crime. Perhaps then you will become more reasonable, and not entrench yourself behind the plea of your professional duty, which, as I have already stated, I do recognize, though I place it far below the interests which I represent.”
Grube felt uncertain how to act. Finally he brought out the document, saying, “I deliver it under protest, and. …”
“Did you see anything of the man who brought it? Could you recognize him?”
“There was very little light on the street from my window. I could only see that he was well dressed, and he certainly wore an opera hat. A little while after he had disappeared from sight, I heard a car drive off in the direction he took on leaving our office, and I imagine it was his.”
“Herr Grube, you will be so kind as to leave this letter in my hands. You will be an important witness in one of the most notable criminal prosecutions of recent years. I beg you, upon your honour, to preserve absolute silence about this letter and everything connected with it.”
Grube, under the spell of the horror which had seized upon him, now became more pliable, and grew as eager about the affair as he had previously been obdurate. He handed over the document, exclaiming, “There it
