The Chinaman by Friedrich Glauser

Author:Friedrich Glauser [Glauser, Friedrich; Mitchell, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781904738480
Publisher: Bitter Lemon Press

In the glasshouse

“It’s not my fault, Herr Studer! It was Ernst, he gave me the slip. I know I should have kept watch, but I was so tired, Herr Studer, so tired. I’ve been concentrating all day, I wanted you to be pleased with me. But I fell asleep, Herr Studer, after Herr Wottli locked us in again. Ernst went to bed too and snored like anything. Now I know he was just pretending, but at the time I thought he was really asleep. Really. God knows, it wasn’t my fault.”

The sergeant sat down astride a chair, rested his forearms on the back and said nothing. If confusion reigned, then he was going to think everything through calmly first of all and then decide what was to be done. Paul Wottli had begun the fumigation at six; at six-fifteen he’d finished. Then he’d taken the two lads – why was it he’d only talked about Ernst and not mentioned Ludwig? – anyway, he’d taken the two lads back to the sickbay and locked them in. Yes, but he’d told Studer he’d gone to fetch Ernst at half past five. Even assuming the preparations for the fumigation took a quarter of an hour, that still left a quarter of an hour unaccounted for. Hungerlott claimed he’d met his father-in-law at a quarter to six at the railway station, so the earliest he could have arrived, if he’d driven fast, would have been at five past six. Since, however, it had been foggy, he would certainly have taken longer and probably not reached Pfründisberg until around half past six. Studer recalled that the station clock had said ten to seven when he had driven past and that it had been a quarter to nine when he had finished his dinner. So he had taken at least fifty minutes on his motorbike to get from Bern to Pfründisberg. Ten minutes for his conversation with Wottli outside the inn; thirty minutes to eat his dinner; fifteen minutes for his cigar and the evening paper. So he must have arrived between half past seven and a quarter to eight . . .

“Sit yourself down, Ludwig,” he said and, turning to the waitress, “Huldi, bring him a beer.”

And Studer waited until the lad had finished his beer before telling him to wipe his brow. “You rushed over as fast as you could?”

“Yes, I did.” Ludwig nodded a few times. He said he’d thought it was urgent.

Studer shrugged his powerful shoulders. Urgent! Once someone was in a place filled with hydrogen cyanide gas, getting him out wasn’t urgent. Three minutes, that was enough. After that any attempt to rescue him would be in vain.

“Now tell me exactly what happened. It was not necessary to hurry.” Ludwig Farny opened his blue eyes wide in astonishment and stared at the broad-shouldered sergeant. It was the first time he had heard him speak formal German. He tried to follow suit.

“I heard this racket,” he said, paused then corrected himself, “I heard a loud noise and that woke me up.

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