The Greatest Murder Mysteries - Dorothy Fielding Collection. Dorothy Fielding

a Professor Charteris, who we know passed through this part of the world a fortnight ago. I found his murdered body to-day."

      The sub-prefect, who had been listening as one listens to foreigners, intent on letting no strangely pronounced word slip past him unrecognised, his hands pressed back to back between his knees, relaxed, to throw them out in horror.

      "Murdered?"

      "Murdered. Now the guide who led me to the body as soon as he heard the description of the man, was Ladiner Toni."

      He told Toni's story very carefully, and the corroboration of the chamois hunter.

      "They are children," the sotto-prefetto said, shaking his head, "but it has an ugly sound."

      "It has, signore, but there is a private matter behind all this. His daughter was murdered on Thursday in England. He on the Tuesday morning, here in Tirol."

      "Alto Adige," corrected the Italian official immediately.

      "That was why Scotland Yard decided to hunt out the father—as a matter of routine," continued Pointer. Whenever he insisted on doing something in his own way, he referred to it as the Yard's doing, and himself, by inference, as the straw blown hither or thither by a higher power.

      "Private affair? A vendetta?"

      "We don't know. It's a very mysterious story altogether. But it would suit us to keep the fact that he has been murdered quiet for a while yet. If you could seal up that rock and leave him there—and let the matter rest awhile? It has nothing to do with Toni, that I'll stake my position on. There's an inheritance mixed up in the affair, and that may be at the bottom of the two murders. This part of the world is famous for its absence of crime—"

      "Smugglers thick as flies on honey," murmured the sotto-prefetto, but he was pleased at the tribute.

      "I was speaking of serious crimes, and it is only fair that the good name of Tir—the Alto Adige, should not be tarnished because of a crime undoubtedly unconnected with it. Connected quite certainly with the other affair. Now, could I see the charge-sheet for Monday morning?"

      The papers were laid before him. Pointer learnt that on that Monday had taken place:

      (1) A bicyclist fined for riding on a footpath.

      (2) A pane of glass broken.

      (3) A street accident.

      It was not a hopeful-sounding list for two murders.

      The broken pane of glass was in a cake shop. The criminals, two little boys. Remained the street accident.

      A wealthy Bulgarian gentleman, a rose-grower of Kazanlik, had been run over by a runaway cart-horse. He had died at the hospital, or just before. His papers were all in order, and his body had been at once claimed and taken on home by his friends.

      Pointer rose. This was his last hope. That gone, there remained only some chance meeting, some stray letter.

      The Bulgarian had been taken to Bolzano's one hospital. Thither Pointer went and made further inquiries about this Mr. Drinoff.

      The sister in charge, a quaint, tubby little person, in her ugly habit, looked up the records for him. They were very ordinary. The gentleman was dead when he got there, so he had been sent at once to the mortuary chapel. Some of his friends had arrived a little, later and claimed him, and after that—she did not know exact particulars. They had taken him back to Bulgaria eventually. If Pointer wanted dates, she could only refer him to Doctor Sanftl. He would know. He had hoped to save him at first, for the man was barely dead. What hour was this? just before dinner, about eleven, or possibly half-past. The sister's dinner was at twelve, and she had had a very sketchy one in consequence.

      Had a friend come with him?

      Not a friend, a kindly passer-by had come in. Another Bulgarian who spoke German very well.

      "Was he by any chance tall, thin, and elderly?"

      "Eben! Tall, thin, and elderly. Some sort of a professor, judging by his scholarly face."

      She was quite sure he could not be English?

      Put point-blank to her like that, the sister could only say that she had taken it for granted, being a foreigner, that he was also a Bulgarian, but she had no real grounds for that belief. Doctor Sanftl would know. Doctor Sanftl had talked to the gentleman a good deal.

      Could Pointer see the doctor?

      He was no longer at the hospital. He had left only a week ago and was now at the Mariahilf hospital in Innsbruck, but the gentleman could write.

      He could, and he could also travel, and that by the next train, Pointer thought.

      Doctor Sanftl had liked him immensely, that elderly foreigner, and had asked him to come again in the afternoon, he had something he wanted to show him, but the gentleman had to go on—some excursion he wanted to make, some ruins he wanted to see, if she remembered aright.

      Pointer took the next train up the wild Brenner Pass and on to Innsbrück. Next morning he drove out to the hospital standing outside the town, all dreary and dirty in its summer gray.

      "A friend of Professor Charteris, of the professor with the interesting views on chemical affinities? Gruss Gott!" The doctor shook hands warmly.

      What could he do for the professor's friend? "Nothing, judging by your looks," he added, "though you've been worrying over something lately."

      Pointer, who took all his cases very hard, was surprised at the big stout man's acumen.

      Yes, he had been worrying—about the professor.

      They had had no news of him since he had arrived in Bolzano. Was the doctor sure that the dead Bulgarian had been a stranger to the professor?

      The doctor was quite sure.

      "Where are my notes of the case—ah, I remember, they're at Bolzano."

      "The sister said not."

      "Which sister? Bright eyes, nose rather beaky?" Pointer-could not cope with this description in a foreign tongue, but he described her laboriously.

      "Freilich! Freilich! That's the one. Well, she ought to know. Wonderfully accurate woman." The doctor thought hard, his hands deep in his long white overall. "I know! Of course! As the man was dead, my notes on his injuries were never asked for. I stuck them into my laboratory locker, and there they are still. I forgot to clear that out when I came on here." He suddenly flushed. "Alle welt noch 'mal! I do believe the man's letter-case is there, too. Oh, no money! But a couple of Bulgarian letters. I asked your friend to go over them for me in the afternoon, as he knew Bulgarian, but, as a matter of fact, we didn't need them. The man's passport and papers were at his hotel and all in perfect order.

      "The professor could not come that afternoon, but he promised to look at them next morning. He was going out to the Grödner Tal. But he, too, forgot! Sister Fini did remind me of that locker, but I was in a bit of a rush at the last. I've the key still here." He dived into a pocket like a kit-bag. "No, not here. Here," he pulled open the table drawer, "here it is. I must send it back, and get them to send on the letter-case to its owner."

      Pointer said that he was on his way back at once, and would hand the key over.

      "Famos! That saves me a letter. Care to look over the wards?"

      Pointer declined that treat, and caught the train. Sister Fini sniffed as she took the key.

      "Just like him! He's a very clever doctor, but forgetful! I remember his putting down some one's name twice for the same operation. Here is the locker. The letter-case is your friend's, you say. If he left it behind him, and spoke of coming back in the afternoon, it would be just like Doctor Sanftl to drop it into his cupboard and never think of it again. It's not one he often goes to." She opened the locker. Pointer picked up at once a letter-case folded in three. Inside were a couple of business-looking letters. Otherwise it seemed empty. The letters had pictures and doubtless the name of some Bulgarian firm on both