Anarchistbanjo's World

Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

While Ruprecht summoned old Johann and gave
his order, Schiereisen paced the room. He was
exhilarated, his thoughts flowing smoothly. He
drained half the glass in one gulp and resumed.
“So, while Jana undertakes a nocturnal errand in
your interest, if not by your order, he’s killed, but the
murder is disguised as an accident. Now comes the
classic criminologist’s question: cui bono? Who
benefits? Clearly, only a secret enemy keen to
prevent the solving of that big X, to keep the secret—
or, if discovered, to eliminate the discoverer. A secret
enemy, I say, plotting against you unbeknownst.
Or—unwanted to be known? Someone close,
blocking you from that secret. It must be a dangerous
secret, since murder is an extreme act, not risked
lightly. Surveying those around you, Lorenz stands
out at once.”
“Pardon, that’s not obvious to an impartial
observer.”
“No? Jana was killed with a blunt instrument,
necessary to avoid noticeable differences between
initial wounds and fall injuries. I examined your
servant’s body in the mortuary. The fall injuries—a
broken leg, a rib—were minor. The fatal wound was
a skull fracture at the back, impossible from such a
low fall. It came from a blow struck with tremendous
force by a pickaxe. The arm wielding it needed
savage strength. Only an extraordinarily powerful
man, an athlete, could dare attack Jana—a lithe,
sinewy fellow, cautious and alert on his secret
errand—with such a weapon. Among your entire
staff, only Lorenz has that strength and brutal force.
Add this: Jana’s body was found by that old, half-
mad maid at dawn. Lorenz was second on the scene,
so quickly, at an hour he never rose. I learned he was
nearly fully dressed. What does he do? He removes
the broken planks before the commission arrives.
Isn’t that odd? Consider, too, a hidden staircase from
Lorenz’s room leads directly to the passage by the
wooden bridge. The final link: the day before Jana’s
murder, Lorenz took a pickaxe from the cellar.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve no reason to hide it. Old Johann told me,
innocently sharing valuable details. He was there
when Lorenz came for the pickaxe, claiming he
needed to nail a loose floorboard in his room. Lorenz
first tried taking the axe a maid was using to split
wood, then settled for an older, unused one, too
heavy for the maids. It was rusty, but the maid
noticed the rust was nearly gone the next day, as if
Lorenz had polished it clean.”
“You believe Lorenz killed my Jana? I’m not sure
I agree entirely.”
Schiereisen stepped before Ruprecht, fixing him
with a steady gaze. “Don’t resist this insight, Herr
Baron. You’ve known it for a long time.”
“And why would Lorenz do it?” Ruprecht
barricaded himself behind the challenge of answering
this.
“Here we hit that unsolved X, the secret. I confess,
rarely has a case so clear in its foundations caused me
such trouble in its details.”
“But now… you’re at your goal?” Ruprecht asked.
His throat was dry, as if he’d breathed desert air. He
downed a glass of wine. Something unstoppable
loomed—a formless, monstrous threat, a menacing
cloud hiding judgment.
“I’ll tell you little you don’t already know or
suspect, Herr Baron. I ask your forgiveness if my
profession forces me to reveal things terrible for you.
But I esteem you too highly. I won’t act without first
explaining my reasons.”
“Speak,” Ruprecht said. “You’ll likely clarify
afterward who commissioned your efforts.”
“I see you’re bitter. You despise me. But I strive
to understand you. Some might find it
incomprehensible that you’ve stayed silent so long,
so long that… well, let’s not speak of it. I dare point
to a kinship between us. Like you, I find joy and need
in mastering people and things. For me, it’s in
penetrating them, wresting their secrets, exposing
their hidden truths.”
That thrill is gone, Ruprecht thought. I know
nothing of it anymore.
“I follow every criminal case in the newspapers
with great attention. I collect all I can about the
people involved and the events. Each figure in such a
mysterious drama gets their own file, and I don’t rest
until I know everything that clarifies their character.
Then I move them like chess pieces, letting their
natures interact according to the events. That’s my
method, and it rarely fails. Recently, I pursued a truly
gripping case—an authentic American tale…”
“Please, don’t speak in disguise. Don’t use a
foreign case. Tell me what you believe you’ve found
here.”
“I’d prefer if you allowed me. I’m telling you
nothing new by pointing out that you’re Frau
Helmina’s fourth husband.”
Ruprecht nodded. The menacing cloud drew
closer.
“Frau Helmina’s first and second husbands died
after very short marriages. Herr Dankwardt was
married to her for about six years. Suppose someone
suspected—let’s call it a vague hunch, a creeping
distrust for now—that Frau Helmina disposed of her
husbands. This suspicion applies especially to Herr
Dankwardt’s death.”
“I see. You were hired by his relatives.”
“Yes. So, I first needed a clear picture of Frau
Helmina’s personality. I had to delve into her past. I
don’t know how much you know.”
“Not much. She comes from modest
circumstances. She was a conservator, then her father
died, and the money ran out. She worked in an
office.”
“Let’s not get lost in details, Herr Baron.”
Ruprecht nodded.
“Hear me out calmly! I can show proof for my
claims later, if you wish. Your wife is an
extraordinarily clever woman. She has tact, taste, and
a sure sense of style. She has, so to speak, an inner
rhythm. She’s among those who light up their
surroundings, spreading joy with a smile and, when
they love, blinding one to all else.”
“You think I’m not prepared enough, Herr
Schiereisen?”
“I know you love your wife. Despite… what you
may have noticed. It’s hard to tell you everything.
My inquiries revealed Frau Helmina came from very
humble beginnings. She told the truth there. I know
you have no aristocratic prejudices. That wouldn’t
bother you. But Helmina soon broke free from that
narrow life. Spare me the details. She began to rise
swiftly. She didn’t lose herself in a frivolous life, like
others who chase pleasure. Helmina had another goal.
Her years of public display were merely a means. By
the way, she avoided performing in Germany and
Austria. France, Spain, and Romania were her
domains. A certain Anton Sykora traveled with her as
her manager.”
“Anton Sykora… isn’t that…?”
“Yes, Herr Baron, the owner of the ‘Fortuna’
matchmaking agency in Vienna. I must stress my
investigations showed Helmina stood out
everywhere, not just for her beauty but for her
impeccable conduct. The owners of the
establishments where she performed still recall her
with astonishment. They thought it a brilliant ploy.
What Helmina expects and intends, happens. In
Bucharest, a wealthy industrialist falls for her. He
doubts her virtue, but everyone confirms it. His own
failures prove her unshakeable. So, Herr Hellpach
becomes Helmina’s first husband. He brings her to
Austria, where no one knows her. He buys this castle
and sets up lavishly. Frau Helmina adapts so
perfectly, no one could guess her origins. The local
nobility, however, remain suspicious to this day.
Now, pay attention, Herr Baron. After a few months,
Herr Hellpach takes his annual Alpine trip. A
passionate mountaineer, he always climbs without a
guide. Frau Helmina stays in Bozen, feeling unwell.
Hellpach goes for a short hike in the Dolomites. In
Sankt Ulrich in Gröden, a man joins him. They climb
the Marmolata together. Hellpach falls; loose scree
on a narrow ledge gives way, and he plunges two
hundred meters into a gorge. His companion brings
the news to the valley. Frau Helmina is a widow and
heiress.”
“I know, Herr Schiereisen. An accident! What are
you implying?”
“It’s an accident like the one that struck Jana, Herr
Baron.”
“Your profession leads you to such hypotheses.”
“I understand you’d prefer they were hypotheses.
But my suspicions have substance. They link hand in
hand, forming a chain. Hear me further. I traced
Hellpach’s route and sought his tracks. I carried two
photographs in my breast pocket—one of Herr
Hellpach. I showed them to innkeepers and hoteliers
where he stayed. They recognized Hellpach and his
companion in my photos. Innkeepers have a keen
memory for faces. They all agreed on Hellpach.
Opinions varied on the other. Some insisted it was
him; others hesitated, saying the photo only bore a
strong resemblance.”