The Case Of The Lamp That Went Out Part 9

"You come here frequently?" he began, to open the conversation.

"Yes, sir, since my master and myself have settled down here--we travelled most of the time until several years ago--I find this place very convenient. It's a cosy little room, the wine is good and not expensive, I'm near home and yet I can see some new faces occasionally."

"I hope the faces that you see about you at home are not so unpleasant that you are glad to get away from them?" asked Muller with a smile.

The old man gave a start of alarm. "Oh, dear, no, sir," he exclaimed eagerly; "that wasn't what I meant. Indeed I'm fond of everybody in the house from our dear lady down to the poor little dog."

Here Muller gained another little bit of knowledge, the fact that the lady of the house was the favourite of her servants, or that she seemed to them even more an object of adoration than the master.

"Then you evidently have a very good place, since you seem so fond of every one."

"Indeed I have a good place, sir."

"You've had this place a long time?"

"More than twenty years. My master was only eleven years old when I took service with the family."

"Ah, indeed! then you must be a person of importance in the house if you have been there so long?"

"Well more or less I might say I am," the old man smiled and looked flattered, then added: "But the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernaner, is even more important than I am, to tell you the truth. She was nurse to our present young master, and she's been in the house ever since. When his parents died, it's some years ago now, she took entire charge of the housekeeping. She was a fine active woman then, and now the young master and mistress couldn't get along without her. They treat her as if she was one of the family."

"And she is ill also? I say also," explained Muller, "because the landlord has just been telling me that your mistress is ill."

"Yes, indeed, more's the pity! our poor dear young lady has been miserable for nearly a year now. It's a shame to see such a sweet angel as she is suffer like that and the master's quite heart-broken over it.

But there's nothing the matter with Mrs. Bernaner. How did you come to think that she was sick?"

Muller did not intend to explain that the change in the housekeeper's appearance, a change which had come about between Tuesday morning and Thursday morning, might easily have made any one think that she was ill. He gave as excuse for his question the old man's own words: "Why, I thought that she might be ill also because you said yourself that the housekeeper--what did you say her name was?"

"Bernauer, Mrs. Adele Bernauer. She was a widow when she came to take care of the master. Her husband was a sergeant of artillery."

"Well, I mean," continued Muller, "you said yourself that when the gentleman's parents died, Mrs. Bernauer was a fine active woman, therefore I supposed she was no longer so."

Franz thought the matter over for a while. "I don't know just why I put it that way. Indeed she's still as active as ever and always fresh and well. It's true that for the last two or three days she's been very nervous and since yesterday it is as if she was a changed woman. She must be ill, I don't know how to explain it otherwise."

"What seems to be the matter with her?" asked Muller and then to explain his interest in the housekeeper's health, he fabricated a story: "I studied medicine at one time and although I didn't finish my course or get a diploma, I've always had a great interest in such things, and every now and then I'll take a case, particularly nervous diseases. That was my specialty." Muller took up his gla.s.s and turned away from the window, for he felt a slow flush rising to his cheeks. It was another of Muller's peculiarities that he always felt an inward embarra.s.sment at the lies he was obliged to tell in his profession.

The butler did not seem to have noticed it however, and appeared eager to tell of what concerned him in the housekeeper's appearance and demeanour. "Why, yesterday at dinner time was the first that we began to notice anything wrong with Mrs. Bernauer. The rest of us, that is, Lizzie the upstairs girl, the cook and myself. She began to eat her dinner with a good appet.i.te, then suddenly, when we got as far as the pudding, she let her fork fall and turned deathly white. She got up without saying a word and left the room. Lizzie ran after her to ask if anything was the matter, but she said no, it was nothing of importance.

After dinner, she went right out, saying she was doing some errands.

She brought in a lot of newspapers, which was quite unusual, for she sometimes does not look at a newspaper once a week even. I wouldn't have noticed it but Lizzie's the kind that sees and hears everything and she told us about it." Franz stopped to take a drink, and Muller said indifferently, "I suppose Mrs. Bernauer was interested in the murder case. The whole neighbourhood seems to be aroused about it."

"No, I don't think that was it," answered the old servant, "because then she would have sent for a paper this morning too."

"And she didn't do that?"

"No, unless she might have gone out for it herself. There's a news stand right next door here. But I don't think she did because I would have seen the paper around the house then."

"And is that all that's the matter with her?" asked Muller in a tone of disappointment. "Why, I thought you'd have something really interesting to tell me."

"Oh, no, that isn't all, sir," exclaimed the old man eagerly.

Muller leaned forward, really interested now, while Franz continued: "She was uneasy all the afternoon yesterday. She walked up and down stairs and through the halls--I remember Lizzie making some joke about it--and then in the evening to our surprise she suddenly began a great rummaging in the first story."

"Is that where she lives?"

"Oh, no; her room is in the wing out towards the garden. The rooms on the first floor all belong to the master and mistress. This morning we found out that Mrs. Bernauer's cleaning up of the evening before had been done because she remembered that the master wanted to take some papers with him but couldn't find them and had asked her to look for them and send them right on."

"Well, I shouldn't call that a sign of any particular nervousness, but rather an evidence of Mrs. Bernaner's devotion to her duty."

"Oh, yes, sir--but it certainly is queer that she should go into the garden at four o'clock this morning and appear to be looking for something along the paths and under the bushes. Even if a few of the papers blew out of the window, or blew away from the summer house, where the master writes sometimes, they couldn't have scattered all over the garden like that."

Muller didn't follow up this subject any longer. There might come a time when he would be interested in finding out the reason for the housekeeper's search in the garden, but just at present he wanted something else. He remembered some remark of the old man's about the "poor little dog," and on this he built his plan.

"Oh, well," he said carelessly, "almost everybody is nervous and impatient now-a-days. I suppose Mrs. Bernauer felt uneasy because she couldn't find the paper right away. There's nothing particularly interesting or noticeable about that. Anyway, I've been occupying myself much more these last years with sick animals rather than with sick people. I've had some very successful cures there."

"No, really, have you? Then you could do us a great favour," exclaimed Franz in apparent eagerness. Muller's heart rejoiced. He had apparently hit it right this time. He knew that in a house like that "a poor dog"

could only mean a "sick dog." But his voice was quite calm as he asked: "How can I do you a favour?"

"Why, you see, sir, we've got a little terrier," explained the old man, who had quite forgotten the fact that he had mentioned the dog before.

"And there's been something the matter with the poor little chap for several days. He won't eat or drink, he bites at the gra.s.s and rolls around on his stomach and cries--it's a pity to see him. If you're fond of animals and know how to take care of them, you may be able to help us there."

"You want me to look at the little dog? Why, yes, I suppose I can."

"We'll appreciate it," said the old man with an embarra.s.sed smile. But Muller shook his head and continued: "No, never mind the payment, I wouldn't take any money for it. But I'll tell you what you can do for me. I'm very fond of flowers. If you think you can take the responsibility of letting me walk around in the garden for a little while, and pick a rose or two, I will be greatly pleased."

"Why, of course you may," said Franz. "Take any of the roses you see there that please you. They're nearly over for the season now and it's better they should be picked rather than left to fade on the bush.

We don't use so many flowers in the house now when the family are not there."

"All right, then, it's a bargain," laughed Muller, signalling to the landlord. "Are you, going already?" asked the old servant.

"Yes, I must be going if I am to spend any time with the little dog."

"I suppose I ought to be at home myself," said Franz. "Something's the matter with the electric wiring in our place. The bell in the master's room keeps ringing. I wrote to Siemens & Halske to send us a man out to fix it. He's likely to come any minute now." The two men rose, paid their checks, and went out together. Outside the cafe Muller hesitated a moment. "You go on ahead," he said to Franz. "I want to go in here and get a cigar."

While buying his cigar and lighting it, he asked for several newspapers, choosing those which his quick eye had told him were no longer among the piles on the counter. "I'm very sorry, sir," said the clerk; "we have only a few of those papers, just two or three more than we need for our regular customers, and this morning they are all sold. The housekeeper from the Thorne mansion took the very last ones."

This was exactly what Muller wanted to know. He left the store and caught up with the old butler as the latter was opening the handsome iron gate that led from the Thorne property out onto the street.

"Well, where's our little patient?" asked the detective as he walked through the courtyard with Franz.

"You'll see him in a minute," answered the old servant. He led the way through a light roomy corridor furnished with handsome old pieces in empire style, and opened a door at its further end.

"This is my room."

It was a large light room with two windows opening on the garden. Muller was not at all pleased that the journey through the hall had been such a short one. However he was in the house, that was something, and he could afford to trust to chance for the rest. Meanwhile he would look at the dog. The little terrier lay in a corner by the stove and it did not take Muller more than two or three minutes to discover that there was nothing the matter with the small patient but a simple case of over-eating.

But he put on a very wise expression as he handled the little dog and looking up, asked if he could get some chamomile tea.

"I'll go for it, I think there's some in the house. Do you want it made fresh?" said Franz.