“He had cast an eye on the beautiful Julcsi, Gyuri’s mistress, so of course I had to kill him.”
“Did you do that alone?”
“No, Gyuri helped me.”
“Why did you cut the bridge supports?”
“Because I enjoy giving people riddles, as I told you. But Gyuri forbade me to kill people uselessly. I liked the chance of getting out though. The doctor’s so good to me and the others too. Gyuri is good to me when I have done what he wanted. But you see, Mr. Muller, I am like a prisoner here and that makes me angry. I made Gyuri let me out nights sometimes.”
“You mean he let you out alone, all alone?”
“Yes, of course, for I threatened to tell the doctor everything if he didn’t.”
“You wouldn’t have dared do that.”
“No, that’s true,” smiled Varna slyly. “But Gyuri was afraid I might do it, for he isn’t always strong enough to frighten me with his eyes. Those were the hours when I could make him afraid—I liked those hours—”
“What did you do when you were out alone at night?”
“I just walked about. I set fire to a tree in the woods once, then the rain came and put it out. Once I killed a dog and another time I cut through the bridge supports. That took me several hours to do and made me very tired. But it was such fun to know that people would be worrying and fussing about who did it.”
Varna rubbed his hands gleefully. He did not look the least bit malicious but only very much amused. The doctor groaned. Gyuri’s great body trembled, his arms shook, but he did not make a single voluntary movement. He saw the revolver in Muller’s hand and felt the keen grey eyes resting on him in pitiless calm.
“And now tell us about the pastor?” said the detective in a firm clear voice.
“Oh, he was a dear, good gentleman,” said No. 302 with an expression of pitying sorrow on his face. “I owed him much gratitude; that’s why I put the roses in his hand.”
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