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1.
Mügli is situated on the shore of the Lake of Mügli and is famous in Switzerland as the most insignificant village in the Federation. It is never patronised by holiday-makers or tourists from abroad. It was to this place that Eddy took a bus in the hope of meeting Councillor Wollishoff.
He encountered no particular difficulties in the attempt. While he was taking dinner at the inn, the local citizenry stood patiently in an orderly queue outside the window, consumed with curiosity about the remarkable foreigner. In the circumstances, all Eddy had to do was to bestow a smile on the first kindly, honest and intelligent looking gentleman of mature years to enter the inn; Eddy immediately placed him as either the local magistrate or a naturalist, and in a matter of seconds he had made his first acquaintance. True, the man, whose name was Guggenheim, and who was a coroner, turned out to be merely a visitor, but that was no reason why Eddy should not obtain information from him.
"Do you know the local people, Herr Guggenheim?"
"Well... This is my district and so I know it pretty well. Last year, when we had an epidemic of typhoid fever, I worked here for a considerable time."
"Do you know Herr Wollishoff?"
"When did he die?"
"He is still alive - so far as I know."
"In that case I haven't had honour of meeting him. Generally speaking, it's only the dead that I meet in these parts. And of course the grocer. One of my in-laws. Apart from that, I don't go into society a great deal. You see, mine is an absorbing profession necessitating profound and concentrated study."
He launched into a glowing account of the coroner's generally maligned profession. He was no routine worker. He believed in his metier. He was sure that it was possible to put a great deal of individuality into the thing if you had a natural turn for it and adopted a critical approach, refusing to accept conventional patterns. Take cadaveric lividity...
"Some other time, my dear Herr Guggenheim. Some other time... For the moment, I should like first of all to meet Herr Wollishoff."
Eddy's obvious lack of interest momentarily damped Guggenheim's professional ardour and he refrained from going into details.
"I called at Wollishoff's place on one occasion though I have never met him personally. His care-taker died and I went to see the body; there were signs of injury and I decided to call in the police. Eventually his wife was arrested on suspicion and that was the last time I was in the house."
"And since then?"
"Since then she has been in jug, for the post-mortem revealed..."
"I think we ought to leave the dead to rest in peace."
"Agreed! But only after we have examined them. My principle, sir, is this: to keep an open mind until after the autopsy. Last year, in St. Gall..."
Eddy Rancing did not stay to learn what had happened to Herr Guggenheim in St. Gall the previous year, although that gentleman seemed to find it even more exciting than the case of the injured care-taker. Eddy Rancing paid his bill and left.
2.
Outside the inn, he began to consider possible excuses for calling on the assessor. He had not been reflecting two minutes when there appeared before him the nightmarish figure of a chambermaid. In normal circumstances the poor girl could have been no beauty and at this moment when one cheek was swollen to twice its size as a result of a poisoned tooth, she looked very like some evil spirit. She walked straight up to him.
"I am Victoria," said this apparition. "I'm Head Gardener Krüttikofer's wife."
"What can I do for you?"
"Herr Adalbert Wollishoff has sent me to tell you, sir, that he desires to speak to you, sir. But you'd better make sure that you shout good and hearty when you speak to Herr Gewerberat, because he's deaf, poor man. In the left ear. It's from the 'flu. Went under the knife, too, he did, last year."
Amazed, Eddy followed the swollen-cheeked female as she walked cautiously ahead in the darkness. At first, he thought she was being practical, but after he had stepped ankle-deep into a puddle for the fifth time he knew that Frau Vicky Kruttikofer's caution was due to her anxiety to keep her feet dry.
"Do you know why Herr Wollishoff has sent you for me?"
"What's happened..."
"I asked you," Eddy shouted nervously, "why your master has sent you for me."
"Oh. You see, Helli's not at home. She's gone to Erlenbach to fetch the papers. We take Zurich paper."
At that moment he stepped shin-deep into a puddle.
"You have to watch your step, sir. The road's wet," said Victoria unnecessarily. "It'll be paved with clinker bricks next year. They've already locked up two men for making off with the money. Now Hütrich's contracted for the work. He won't embezzle any, I'm sure, because he's had his share of jail already."
Eddy was now given a violent shove from behind which nearly dislocated his spine: it was a cow, which had tried to overtake them without due regard for traffic regulations.
"I told you to watch your step, sir... Mustard, you scamp!! She's a real bohemian, this animal! Comes home every evening and always uses the footpath."
"Where is the footpath?" asked Eddy despairingly. He rescued his hat from the mud into which it had been hurled by a friendly wag of the cow's tail.
At last they reached the house.
As he entered the old-fashioned dining-room, delightfully furnished with heavy oak furniture, the first thing that struck him was the number of cats of various sizes with which the room seemed to be inhabited; there was also a red-crested parrot perched on a swing above the dense foliage of an evergreen plant. Seated demurely in one armchair was a girl of indeterminate age but nearer forty than twenty, doing some kind of embroidery. A hawk-nosed old gentleman with a white beard and a head quite bald except for a few absurdly long hairs, advanced to meet him, leaning on a stick, but he collapsed straight into Eddy's arms, having stepped on the trailing girdle of his dressing-gown. For a few seconds, the old gentleman rested in the visitor's arms, exhausted.
"I've told them over and over again to cut some of it off... But no, they think that would spoil it! One day, I'll break my neck on it... Pleased to meet you."
"The honour is mine."
"Who has sent you?"
Eddy shouted:
"My name is Edward Rancing!"
They were now joined by the girl.
"My name is Grete," she said. "You have to speak loudly to father, as he is somewhat hard of hearing. Sit down, please."
He sat down. Fraulein Grete told Eddy that a dozen people had rushed to see them after hearing him inquire for Herr Wollishoff at the inn. Thereupon her father had of course immediately sent for him. It was not long before the Wollishoffs invited Eddy to stay with them for a few days; they sent for his luggage, prepared a room for him and begged him to wash and change before the evening meal.
After dinner, they all took part in a friendly bawling-match for the rest of the evening. The old man had lost his hearing aid two years before, but could not find it in his heart to buy a new one.
At last, about eleven o'clock, Eddy ventured to mention the purpose of his visit. By now, three cats were dozing peacefully on his lap.
"I come from London and I'm an art collector."
"What does he say?" old Wollishoff asked his daughter wheezily, for he was a victim of asthma.
"He's an art collector!" Fraulein Grete screamed.
The old man nodded his head sympathetically several times.
"I have a nephew who is an optician," he confided.
Meanwhile a few more visitors had arrived - the chemist, the theatre manager and a playwright, Herr Maxl, who had for several years been working on a drama entitled William Tell and who made a living as a professional visitor to those houses in which he enjoyed a reputation as a widely travelled man. It was true that he had once travelled as far as Brno, on behalf of a cattle dealer.
3.
Later in the evening, Eddy drew Fraulein Grete aside. The girl had a small, pallid face reminiscent of a lemon. She wore a blue bow in her hair and when she smiled she looked like a newsreel version of a Japanese premier who has just handed in his resignation. She was exceedingly ugly and this was in no way mitigated by a set of false teeth.
"I collect the works of a number of English ceramic artists no longer living. Worthless stuff, as a matter of fact, but, you know, everybody has his little weakness."
"Ah, I know that. I have an aunt who is always washing her hands. She can't break herself of the habit. Can you tell me just what is the point of always washing one's hands?"
"As I was saying, I am an art collector..."
"But for heaven's sake, do tell me: what's the point of washing one's hands?"
Young Eddy had to restrain his fervent desire to aim a fast one at her citrus head.
"I am on the look-out for old pottery ornaments," he repeated faintly, much of his energy being employed in the inner conflict just mentioned. "I have consulted the sales ledger of one firm and discovered the names of people who bought some of the things I am particularly keen on. Seventeen years ago, Herr Wollishoff, your father, bought two pieces from Messrs. Longson & North, London."
"Those pieces were duly paid for!"
"No doubt they were. Quite so. That, however, is beside the point now. I am interested, among other things, in a piece called 'Harvesters'," he mentioned that piece on purpose, in an effort to make his inquiry less conspicuous, "also in a case surmounted by a statuette called 'Dreaming Buddha'."
"Ah, I gave that away as a present a long while ago!"
The room swam before Eddy's eyes. He had to sit down. At the same moment he became aware of a shooting pain in one ankle. He had trodden on a cat which was now taking revenge.
"For shame, Gürti," said Grete in the namby-pamby tones she might have used to a baby. "She's so frightfully whimsical."
"You gave it away! Oh... Yes, whimsical. Rather."
"Yes, I gave it away. I never liked that 'Harvesters' piece."
Under the narcotic effect of his reviving hope, Eddy managed not to feel the persistent clawing of the cat.
"And what about the 'Dreaming Buddha'? "
"That's only worthless junk. I keep it in my bedroom. If you would like to see it I'll fetch it for you."
"If you don't mind. It'd be awfully nice of you."
The moment she was gone, the whimsical cat Gürti was sent flying along a graceful curve stretching from Eddy's foot to behind the jardinière of evergreens. A plaintive miaow interrupted the fireside vociferation of the local intelligentsia.
When Grete returned she held in her hands the statuette! The Buddha! He was represented sitting on the lid of a small enamelled case, head bowed in contemplation.
Eddy stretched out his hand and casually, not even looking at it, she handed it to him. In another moment he held the precious object in his hand!
The intelligentsia came over to admire it. Old Wollishoff, having in some obscure fashion gained the impression that Eddy too was deaf, shouted into the poor fellow's ear at the top of his voice.
"That's nothing! You ought to see the marble statue of Pestalozzi and his wife - on the plinth in Zurich Square!"
"Yes, that is a fine piece, to be sure," she said.
Eddy continued to hold in his hand the ceramic statuette containing the fabulous diamond. He had only to dash the little piece of pottery to the floor and he would be able to see it glint in the light of day. But then everyone else would see it too. He longed to run off with it without another word.
"Keep cool, Eddy," he told himself. "You must summon all your wits now and preserve your sang-froid."
"This is not in the least valuable, but I am extremely fond of this sort of thing," he told Grete. "If you will let me have it I'll give you a very nice wrist-watch in exchange. I wouldn't offend you by offering you money."
"I wouldn't even give it away," she said. "It's my sewing-box." She opened the square box on which the statuette rested and revealed an assortment of sewing cottons, thimbles, a pair of small scissors, and needles. "Besides, this used to belong to Mama. It's a keepsake. I won't let you have this one. But if you'll buy me a wrist-watch I'll let you have the Karlsbad cup. That's a very fine piece too, and we don't use it."
All Eddy's offers were of no avail. He begged, promised, cajoled, but he was only wasting his breath.
Eddy felt completely frustrated. Here he was, holding the Buddha in his hand and yet unable to secure it for himself. The diamond might be enclosed within the statuette but the statuette was as it were enclosed in the girl's obstinacy and protected by her hideous grin, which reminded him of a church gargoyle, and which, for all he knew, might even be a symptom of weak-mindedness. For the moment he had failed.
4.
He now set himself to devise some other scheme.
It should not be too difficult. Police records inform us that it is possible to break into strong rooms, dynamite one's way through walls and prise open iron doors. It should therefore be a comparatively simple matter to get hold of a Hindu deity attached to a sewing-kit which was kept in the unlocked room of a deaf technical consultant's half-witted daughter.
Eddy decided that the simplest procedure would be to conceal himself in the lumber-room opposite the girl's room on the third floor, which he had observed when saying good night to her.
"Whose room is this?" he had asked her lightly.
"It's occupied by all kinds of old lumber," she had replied, laughing. "And our gardener keeps his Sunday Best in there, too."
Eddy opened the door of the lumber-room a little, and peered in. The gardener's leisure clothes were hanging near the door. Judging by that Sunday Best, the gardener must be the most down-at-heel citizen in the Federation. The lumber-room would be a very good place in which to hide, he decided.
Eddy wished his hostess good night and as soon as she had closed the door of her bedroom, dived into the lumber-room. He knew very well that in an hour's time, Grete would go downstairs again to fetch a supply of food from the larder. He had made this extraordinary observation the day before. At dinner, she had hardly touched the dishes, merely nibbling now and then like a little bird. But during the night, Eddy had had a headache and went out to take a turn in the garden; looking casually through the window of the drawing-room he had seen Grete sitting at the table with half a Bologna sausage and a fantastic pile of potato salad in front of her. She was eating so greedily that Eddy thought she must surely choke any minute.
This was the secret knowledge on which Eddy now based his plan of campaign. He would bide his time until she went downstairs and began to tuck in; then he would dive into her room, grab the Buddha and make a get-away with his prize. He was just pondering over the quickest way to leave the district, as he crouched in a battered bath-tub which, along with some garden tables and a chair with three legs, occupied the back of the lumber-room, when the gardener popped in to don his Sunday Best. Quietly the old fellow changed his clothes mumbling to himself all the time about a certain person who believed that a gardener was God who, if he wished, could make even a penny tulip bulb burst into bloom. The name of that certain person seemed to remind him of a number of rather insulting terms, which he solemnly uttered before hanging up his working clothes. Then he departed and - locked the door from the outside!
Now who could have imagined anyone locking a lumber-room?
For a second, as the sweat broke out on Eddy's brow, it seemed to the young man crouched in the bath-tub that the lumber-room had indeed turned into a bathroom. He clambered out of the bath and tried the door. It was certainly locked, and there was no window in the room. His first reaction to this imprisonment was to feel ravenous hunger and an overwhelming urge to ram the door with his head.
In impotent rage, he shook his raised fists at the ceiling as if blaming the sheets suspended there to dry. Then he kicked aside a garden gnome so that he could pace up and down.
When he discovered that he had left his matches downstairs, his rage knew no bounds and he almost chewed his cigarette-case to pieces. Next he caught his finger in a mousetrap. Some time later, he heard the girl steal out of her room on her surreptitious nocturnal raid of the larder, intent, no doubt, on gobbling up the remains of the Bologna and any potato salad that might have been left from the night before. When he sat down on a broken candlestick he nearly cried out with pain. He picked it up and hurled it at the head of the garden gnome he had just tossed out of his way.
Morning came at last. A key turned in the door, and the old gardener reappeared to put on his working clothes to save his precious Sunday Best. It was about five o'clock, still dark, and through the open door came the autumn smell of wet earth.
Suddenly, the gardener stopped in his tracks, puzzled. He stared in amazement at the majolica garden gnome on whose head he was in the habit of hanging his cap and saw that this had been replaced by a dilapidated cluster-candlestick. The gnome had moved since he saw it the previous evening! He looked at the grinning gnome as he puzzled out the mystery of the candlestick and slowly came to the conclusion that the lumber-room was occupied by someone other than himself.
At this stage he would undoubtedly have turned to flee, but before he could do so, the presence in the lumber-room of some other person was confirmed in no uncertain manner: a violent blow on the back of his head sent him sprawling among the exposed springs of an ancient relic of a couch and his head pierced the canvas of a picture depicting the family of bears which had given to the City of Berne its name.
The old man let out a yell which brought the kitchen boy, a box of floor-polish still in his hand, scurrying along the passage and into the lumber-room. Eddy leapt into the passage, collided with the kitchen boy and knocked him to the ground. And now, in the darkness, the kitchen boy joined the gardener in his cries for help.
The pyjama-clad figure of the door-keeper appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Eddy flung himself downstairs and at the eighth step from the bottom leapt upon the man. Together they crashed to the floor but Eddy was on his feet in no time, and dashed through the door. He raced down the drive into the early morning obscurity of the garden.
Thither he was pursued by the kitchen boy, still clutching his box of floor polish, the gardener, wearing his workaday clothes plus the conversation-piece depicting the ancestral namesake of the City of Berne and the pyjama-clad door-keeper. As dawn began to break, the cook, a superstitious woman, glimpsed at the strange carnival procession, and it was weeks before she got over the shock.
Suddenly, as luck would have it, the pursuers were favoured by the appearance of a hay waggon which effectively blocked the fugitive's path.
Unable to go forward, Eddy dived through the hedge and landed flat on his face on the other side of the ditch, only a few yards from his pursuers. He zigzagged his way among the trees, and suddenly found himself on the shore of the lake. Gently he lowered himself into the cold water. He took a deep breath, then dived and swam underwater as far as he could.
The pursuers therefore heard no splash and in the dim light of dawn, the sheet of water lay smooth before their eyes.
They turned and went back to the house.
Half an hour later, Eddy Rancing, exhausted, heaved himself ashore at Schwacht bei Zungli am See, a small town famous as the birthplace of two trade association chairmen.
It was daylight now and frogs were croaking happily in the reeds. But Eddy, blue with cold and dripping wet, sat down on a rock at Schwacht bei Zungli am See, and cried bitterly.
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