TWO 
 
 DEAD 
 
 MEN 
 
BORZOI MYSTERY STORIES 
 
 THE LOUDWATER MYSTERY 
 By Edgar Jepson 
 
 THE CASE AND THE GIRL 
 By Randall Parrish 
 
 THE WHISPERING DEAD 
 By Alfred GanachUly 
 
 By J. S. Fletcher: 
 
 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 
 
 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
 
 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY 
 
 SCARHAVEN KEEP 
 
 THE RAYNER-SLADE AMALGAMATION 
 
 RAVENSDENE COURT Un Preparation] 
 
 A descriptive circular of all Mr. Fletcher's 
 myxtery stories will be mailed upon request. 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 
 
 JENS ANKER 
 
 BY FRITHJOF TOKSVIG 
 
 NEW YORK ALFRED A KNOPF MCMXXH 
 
ESERVATION 
 PY ADDED 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
 ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. 
 
 Published, Hay, 1922 
 
 PBINTID IN THE UNITED STATES 0* AMERICA 
 
PT?/7.r 
 
 , rt 
 TWO 
 
 DEAD 
 
 MEN 
 
 590 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 ABOUT 9 o'clock one spring evening, 
 Thorvald Hansen, a small humpbacked 
 cobbler, was putting a room in order at 
 the back of his basement shop in Saxo street. 
 The window was covered by an old, ragged rug 
 heavy with dirt. It looked up into a funnel of a 
 court, one of a whole line of courts stretching up 
 to Dannebrog street. 
 
 A lamp with a chipped shade burned on the 
 bare pine table. Two crippled chairs with ragged 
 cloth seats were placed beside it. An unmade bed 
 was visible in the rear of the room, a rusty iron 
 skeleton filled with a heap of filthy rags. The 
 cobbler's father, the "Old One," as they called 
 him, had flung himself upon it and was snoring 
 off the effects of a recent drinking bout. Ordi- 
 narily he occupied a room up in the garret. 
 
 The air in the room was close and oppressive, 
 due partly to the Old One's exhalations, and 
 partly to the tobacco in the cobbler's well-chewed 
 
 [7] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 briar-pipe. A framed motto over the bed ex- 
 pressed the pious wish that God would hold His 
 Hand over this Home. 
 
 The cobbler had now swept the dust and dirt 
 into the corners and brushed the bread crumbs 
 off the table. He put the broom away outside in 
 the shop. 
 
 His father was tossing in an uneasy sleep and 
 snored. The cobbler lounged over to him and 
 suddenly clapped a hand on his shoulder and be- 
 gan shaking him: 
 
 "They may be here any minute now." 
 
 The old man half woke and wrenched himself 
 away. 
 
 "Let me alone, d'ye hear " 
 
 "No, I'll be damned if I will" and the son 
 gripped him again. 
 
 "Then give me just a little drop " begged the 
 old man, and raised himself on his elbow, "I am 
 so thirsty." 
 
 The cobbler did not loose his hold. But an evil 
 smile slipt over his pallid, fatty countenance un- 
 der the parted coal black hair. His eyes became 
 fixed. His brutal jaw with its blue-black stubble 
 tightened like a muscle. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear sir, anything you like 
 That's just what I'm here for, you know." 
 
 [8] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 He grinned sarcastically, evilly. But there was 
 a furious strength in his hands as with a sudden 
 snatch at the old man's shoulder, he tore him out 
 of bed: 
 
 "Get out of that!" 
 
 Hansen straightened the rags that served as 
 bedclothes. The Old One got up laboriously, 
 dragged himself over to one of the chairs and 
 slumped down on it, slapped his arms on the table, 
 and hid his face in his hands. 
 
 "Don't tip over that lamp," barked the cobbler 
 as he knocked his pipe out on the stove over by 
 the bed and filled it anew. The Old One sat sway- 
 ing and groaning. The cobbler grinned ma- 
 liciously. 
 
 "There is always a worm in the core, eh?" 
 
 The Old One suddenly took his hands away 
 from his face, blinked at the light and looked 
 about. First recognizingly, then surprised, then 
 disapprovingly. 
 
 "Why is everything tidied up so this evening?" 
 
 "Because we are going to have company," 
 grinned his offspring. 
 
 Slowly the old man remembered. 
 
 "Ah, that is true! Elly and her new intended 
 are coming." 
 
 "Intended!'" the cobbler leered. "It won't 
 [9] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 last long, I'll bet. She's a flighty one, is Elly. 
 She likes variety. He's a queer bird, anyway." 
 
 "A genius they say," grunted the old man. 
 
 "Genius yes, so she thinks. He's only a 
 printer, he is, and he hasn't even got a job. It'll 
 be hard going if they're going to live by his trade." 
 
 The Old One nodded and cleared his throat. 
 
 "Right you are, m'boy! Right you are a-ah, 
 my throat! If you only " 
 
 He looked beseechingly at his son who sat on 
 the edge of the bed. 
 
 "Hey?" asked that worthy crossly. 
 
 " could spare me a little drop " 
 
 "What are you whining for now?" demanded the 
 cobbler with a leer even more evil, if possible, 
 than before. 
 
 "You'll not get a drop to drink!" 
 
 A sudden rage seized the old man. He banged 
 the table with his fist and threateningly en- 
 deavoured to get up, but could only wave his arms 
 wildly. 
 
 "Do you know whom you are talking to?" he 
 gasped. "What, rogue a man with whom His 
 Majes " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know very well that His Majesty 
 shook hands with you," interrupted his son. "I 
 know the whole lesson. But even if the Pope him- 
 
 [10] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 self had kissed you, you wouldn't get another drop. 
 I don't want you any more drunk than you are 
 already. D'ye see?" 
 
 He had been rapping his pipe on the edge of 
 the bed to keep time to his words. . . . The Old 
 One had completely missed his heroic oration. 
 He simply sat and stared dully at the table. 
 
 "I am an old man, whom His Majesty " he 
 whimpered. 
 
 The cobbler rose and bent threateningly over 
 him. 
 
 "What are you muttering about?" he rasped. 
 
 Just then they heard a noise at the door to the 
 shop. They both froze and listened. Then came 
 a series of knocks. 
 
 The cobbler breathed easier. 
 
 "It's Elly's knock," he said and gave his father 
 a push in the ribs. "Straighten up now a bit. 
 D'ye hear?" 
 
 The Old One obeyed and the cobbler went into 
 the dark shop. Before he opened the door he 
 asked: 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 "It's me, Elly," he heard his sister say, "and my 
 friend." 
 
 Then Thorvald Hansen undid the door. 
 
 "God's peace and welcome," he bleated loudly. 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 "Cut out the play acting," said Elly. "Niel- 
 sen knows you from hearsay. Yes, he's here, 
 
 too." 
 
 Nielsen greeted him and went with Elly and the 
 cobbler into the back room. 
 
 "The Salvation Army often have people out here 
 in the street," grinned the cobbler to his sister, 
 "and souls must be saved. That is why I laid it 
 on a bit thick." 
 
 Nielsen ignored the cobbler's outstretched hand. 
 
 Thorvald Hansen regarded him covertly. His 
 appearance was anything but prepossessing. He 
 was tall, slender but broad-shouldered. His thick 
 brown hair was uncombed, and he wore eye-glasses 
 that seemed rooted to his nose but that did not in 
 the least obscure the glances from his keen eyes. 
 He was vilely unshaven, and his brutal mouth was 
 extremely disfigured by several long, yellow front 
 teeth which hung tusk-like over his lower lip. 
 
 And as for his clothes the cobbler was really 
 almost ashamed on his sister's account, when he 
 saw the dirty paper collar and dickey, the long 
 shabby Prince Albert, the greasy vest and the 
 baggy and wrinkled blue trousers badly frayed at 
 the bottom. 
 
 Not to speak of cuffs, which were missing. 
 [12] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 His boots were the only decent thing about him, 
 and even they were patched. And his tie, too, was 
 Worn and spoke of better days. 
 
 And Elly, who could play around with counts 
 if she wished. That one could sink so low! And 
 worse yet, she was in love with him. 
 
 "Nielsen has brought some cognac along," said 
 Elly and threw her hat and coat on the bed. 
 
 The cobbler smiled oilily and offered Nielsen 
 one of the lame chairs. 
 
 "I will fetch some glasses," he promised and 
 disappeared in the kitchen. 
 
 "Nielsen has brought two bottles so we had 
 better start in," said Elly. 
 
 The Old One's eyes gleamed a bit, bleared 
 though they were. 
 
 "A little night-cap," he mumbled feelingly and 
 turned suddenly toward the daughter, and ges- 
 tured majestically with his hand. 
 
 "Your father is proud of you," he said. 
 
 "Nonsense," smiled Elly. She was junoesque, 
 golden-haired, and fresh as if she had lived a life 
 among sunlight and flowers. 
 
 The cobbler returned with three glasses. What 
 was just right for three, was too little for four* 
 Elly poured her portion into a cup. 
 [13] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Welcome, brother-in-law," toasted the cobbler, 
 "and good luck to it." 
 
 "Luck to it," seconded the Old One. 
 
 They drank. Nielsen refilled the empty glasses. 
 
 "Is this all there is to the place," he asked and 
 his keen glances darted around the room and into 
 the darkened store. 
 
 "There is a little kitchen outside," and the cob- 
 bler indicated it with a gesture that he sought to 
 make superior. Nielsen irritated him. There 
 was something curt, almost commanding about 
 him. 
 
 "Let me see this kitchen," said the printer. 
 The cobbler emptied his glass, and got up and 
 opened the door to the kitchen. 
 
 "This is all there is of it," he said. 
 
 The room was small and pitch dark. 
 
 Nielson lit a match and looked about. There 
 was a little window on the court, thick with dust 
 and dirt. He tried the door to the kitchen stairs. 
 It was locked. 
 
 "Is it sound proof?" he asked and pointed to 
 the ceiling. 
 
 "As the grave," affirmed Hansen and added: 
 "You are a careful man, brother-in-law." 
 
 "Yes, careful," smiled Nielsen with a nod, "but 
 not afraid, as are some others who daren't open 
 [14] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 the door for their own sister, for fear that it might 
 he a detective." 
 
 "You haven't three years behind you, brother," 
 grumbled the cobbler, "and I don't want to do it 
 again, the devil take me. It's a real hell for my 
 lungs." The cobbler coughed. 
 
 "Isn't the Old One going soon?" asked Nielsen. 
 
 "I'll get him on his way," promised the cobbler. 
 
 "Let's go in again," said the printer. 
 
 As they stepped into the back-room, the Old One 
 stood swaying with the cognac bottle in his hand, 
 and had nearly emptied it. Elly was ready to 
 die with laughter at him. 
 
 "God! how delightful he is! He drank it as if 
 it was fresh milk." 
 
 Hansen tore the flask from his hand. 
 
 "The old swine," he snapped. 
 
 "Put him on the bed," proposed Nielsen, and ex- 
 amined the shop carefully. 
 
 The cobbler and Elly dragged the Old One over 
 to the bed. 
 
 " A man, with whom His Majesty has 
 talked and " muttered the cobbler's worthy 
 father. 
 
 Elly giggled. 
 
 "Now he is serving that up to us again." 
 
 They threw him onto the bed. 
 [15] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "What kind of a cupboard is this?" they heard 
 Nielsen say out in the shop. 
 
 The cobbler went out and opened the cupboard. 
 It was empty. 
 
 "Be so good as to look, brother-in-law," said 
 he and then slammed it demonstratively shut. 
 "Either you are an amateur or else pretty damn 
 careful." 
 
 "Suppose I were both," said Nielsen laughing 
 shortly. 
 
 "Then I should fear," answered the cobbler 
 somewhat scornfully, "that we would not make so 
 many coups together, such as you have proposed 
 to me through Elly." 
 
 "If you are not too much of a coward, we shall 
 start this very evening," said Nielsen, "and there's 
 big money to be made." 
 
 They had gone into the back-room again and 
 had seated themselves about the table. Elly filled 
 their glasses. Now and then as she looked at 
 Nielsen, there came into her eyes a gleam as of un- 
 veiled and passionate love and of anxiety. 
 
 The cobbler looked down into his glass. 
 
 "It is all right about the money," he remarked, 
 "and both the shoe business and the straight and 
 narrow is not worth that! There's nothing in it 
 
 [16] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 I can't make it go that way. But I won't get 
 in again. I'll croak if I get shut up." 
 
 "You won't get shut up," said Nielsen shortly. 
 "When you work with me, you risk nothing." 
 
 "May I ask then, why you don't work alone?" 
 asked the cobbler suspiciously. 
 
 Nielsen slowly emptied his glass. 
 
 "I'll tell you why. This work demands both 
 body and soul. And I can offer the soul only." 
 
 The cobbler whistled in comprehensive irony. 
 
 "You mean then, that I should face the music if 
 things go wrong. Fine. All you'd have to do 
 would be to lie your way out of it. Or have I 
 misunderstood you?" 
 
 Nielsen shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "In one way you've misunderstood me, in an- 
 other, no. I will be the brain, and you shall be 
 the hands that untie the hard knots. You'll get 
 half the swag. 
 
 "But mark you if you try to bunko or double- 
 cross me, you'll find it'll go hard with you. I 
 have a certain, dead-sure way for handling that 
 kind of case" Hansen rather squirmed in his 
 chair, and opened his mouth as though to speak, 
 but was silent. 
 
 "But perhaps you would rather work entirely on 
 [17] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 your own, or with your pals of the old days. It is, 
 of course, a bit risky, but " 
 
 The printer did not finish. He sat and watched 
 Hansen with his peculiar look, that seemed to bore 
 through one. 
 
 The cobbler had always had bad luck when he 
 worked alone, though a clever man in his own line, 
 and he had long ago parted from his comrades. 
 
 Therefore he said simply: "I agree." 
 
 Nielsen nodded curtly. 
 
 "You are a sensible man, Hansen." 
 
 Over in the bed, the Old One stirred. 
 
 " A man whom His Majesty " he mumbled 
 and began again his lusty snoring. 
 
 "We start tonight, then?" said the cobbler and 
 emptied his glass. 
 
 "Yes, now, tonight," replied Nielsen in a queer 
 ceremonious way. His eyes met Elly's for an in- 
 stant. Her eyes fell. 
 
 "Well, out with it," harried the cobbler. 
 
 Nielsen leaned whisperingly towards him. 
 
 "Now, get this carefully " 
 
 He talked for a long time, often interrupted 
 by the cobbler. Elly listened closely, and with 
 deeply interested eyes. Now and then she sipped 
 at her glass. 
 
 The light from the chipped shade fell remorse- 
 [18] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 lessly upon the three set and tense faces, so dis- 
 similar, and yet so alike in criminal ecstasy. 
 
 
 A short time afterward a burglary was com- 
 mitted in one of Copenhagen's best-known jewellery 
 concerns, which in a month's time was followed by 
 another. 
 
 During the summer and autumn four more rob- 
 beries occurred, quite as mysterious as the first, 
 evidently executed by the same criminals. The 
 police were at a loss either to prevent them, or to 
 find any solution when they occurred. 
 
 Then the robberies suddenly ceased. 
 
 [19] 
 
CHAPTER 1 
 
 A STORM had been raging over the city all 
 afternoon and evening. 
 Arne Falk sat writing. It was late. 
 Suddenly tKe outer door-bell rang. He looked up 
 from his work, glancing at the clock. It was half 
 past eleven. His house-keeper and the maid had 
 gone to bed long ago. 
 
 He laid the manuscript, some notes on criminal 
 statistics, aside, and went out to open the door. 
 
 It was Preben Miller, the author. 
 
 "Good evening," said Falk with a smile, "I 
 thought you were terribly angry with me." 
 
 "Oh, because of that note you wouldn't in- 
 dorse?" said Miller, hanging up his hat and stick. 
 "Bosh! A little thing like that doesn't bother me." 
 
 "Thank the Lord," sighed Falk ironically, "but 
 come in where it's warm.' 1 ' 
 
 Mjiller followed him. 
 
 "I come, really," he said, "to take you along 
 on a slumming tour. My 'Darkest Copenhagen' 
 lacks a chapter with the heading 'Behind the 
 Scenes in the Dance Hells,' or something like that. 
 And Figaro is wide open tonight." 
 
 [20] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Falk looked at him in comic despair. 
 
 "You're much too greedy! For the last nine 
 months Fve been introducing you to all the crooks 
 of Copenhagen who amount to anything. You 
 know their hiding places and all their tricks. 
 And now you want the dregs of the dance halls 
 too! 
 
 "Let's put it off till another evening, old fellow. 
 Let's have a little whisky and a talk here instead. 
 Why it's snowing and storming outside, worse than 
 it ever did in any self-respecting December!" 
 
 Miller lit a cigar. 
 
 "It stopped snowing half an hour ago," he said. 
 "The storm has let up too." 
 
 Falk looked out. It was moonlight with a 
 crackling frost. 
 
 "And where's your overcoat?" he demanded, 
 turning to his friend. 
 
 "I'm toughening myself," smiled the writer, and 
 straightened his rather stooping shoulders, "and be- 
 sides my winter coat is in hock somewhere. I 
 have only my old one to wear, and I hate like the 
 deuce to risk my reputation as the best dressed 
 man in town. We all have our little weaknesses." 
 
 Falk put out the light. 
 
 "You are a silly ass," he said to Miller, pulling 
 on his overcoat. "You're one of the best of our 
 [21] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 myriad scribblers, and you're as prolific as a rat " 
 
 " and in spite ol that always broke," con- 
 tinued Miller with a sigh, and went down the stairs 
 followed by Falk. 
 
 "And why?" asked the latter. 
 
 "Ask my tailor and my favourite waiter," said 
 Miller languidly. He had an odd, lazy way of 
 speaking, and gave the general impression of being 
 rather easy-going. 
 
 "And your uncles," Falk went on, "and your 
 
 women." 
 
 "Suppose we stop there," suggested Miller. 
 "Anyway, you're a good one to preach." 
 
 Falk ignored the insinuation. 
 
 "Why don't you make a good match?" he asked. 
 
 Miller smiled, so that his gleaming white but 
 false front teeth were visible. His own had been 
 knocked out in a coasting accident at Dalarne in 
 Sweden. 
 
 "Why? Now you are talking. Who in the 
 wide world would have me?" 
 
 "Ada Stock, for example. There are others be- 
 sides myself who have been hoping that you two 
 would make a match of it. She is the daughter 
 of your late father's best friend you have known 
 each other from childhood, and then, Captain 
 Stock is quite wealthy " 
 
 [22] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I, too " sighed Miller, "hoped one time 
 well, you know. 
 
 "She has, you see, become engaged today. 
 Not that my heart is broken. But undeniably 
 it is, what one in certain circles which you have 
 done me the honour of acquainting me with 
 would call a black eye." 
 
 "Whom is she engaged to?" asked Falk with 
 surprise. 
 
 "To Lange, Einar Lange." 
 
 "Oh, the Futurist! How did he meet the 
 Stocks?" 
 
 "Well, Ada has artistic leanings. She has 
 studied under him. He told me himself about the 
 engagement this very evening. I took a little run 
 up to see old Saabye. Lange came just as I was 
 about to leave." 
 
 "Isn't Saabye his foster-father?" 
 
 "Yes, he has been a father to him since Lange 
 at seventeen entered the Academy, which he now 
 so heartily detests." 
 
 "Wasn't there a bit of a row between them about 
 a year ago?" 
 
 "Yes, Lange wanted to marry a girl who did 
 not suit his foster-father's taste. And Saabye isn't 
 the man to keep his opinions to himself. There 
 is nothing wrong with his intellect either. 
 
 [23] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "The girl had the lad going pretty strong, was 
 pretty expensive, and a Vestal Virgin she certainly 
 was not! Old Saabye prophesied that it would 
 come to no good, and said right out that if Einar 
 was bound on making himself a laughing-stock he 
 was not going to do it on his money at any rate, 
 etc., etc." 
 
 "And did Lange rage?" 
 
 "Of course! He was young, barely thirty, and 
 as temperamental as a Southerner. He told 
 Saabye to go to the Devil." 
 
 "But he didn't marry the girl, then?" 
 
 "No, she didn't really care for him anyway. 
 When he couldn't get any more money out of the 
 old man, she gave him the gate. And Lange didn't 
 commit suicide on her account." 
 
 "Who was she?" asked Falk. 
 
 "A child of the people," smiled Miller. "Gen- 
 uine Saxo street. But a remarkable woman, with 
 an uncanny attractiveness to men. Large, bloom- 
 ing, and blond. And with the same shining fresh 
 exterior that a worm-eaten fruit can have " 
 
 "You seem to know her," smiled Falk. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I do. Of course, I can't think 
 of her as a wife but " 
 
 "What is her name?" 
 
 [24] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Elly! Elly Hansen strictly lower-class 
 As a matter of fact, she's behaving quite well lately, 
 and I flatter myself that I am the cause of it. 
 "God help me, I think she's in love with me, old 
 
 man." 
 
 "Yes, miracles still happen," smiled Falk a 
 little maliciously. 
 
 They turned down Vesterbro's Passage. 
 
 "And so Lange is all fixed with Ada Stock," con- 
 tinued Falk, "and does the match suit the old 
 man?" 
 
 "Yes, he is all sunshine. Old Saabye, that is. 
 Because Stock senior is probably less enthusiastic 
 about it. He counts only army officers as human 
 beings, and understands absolutely nothing of 
 Futurism." 
 
 "Neither do I, thank the Lord," interjected Falk. 
 
 "And even if Lange," continued Miller, "has 
 talent (as he, as a matter-of-fact, is said to have! 
 What young painter is not full of talent?) he 
 doesn't earn very much by it. 
 
 "I can't help wondering," he remarked almost 
 peevishly, "how a cool lady like Ada Stock can 
 go and fall in love with an anarchistic individual 
 like Lange who goes around with baggy trousers 
 and no cuffs." 
 
 [25] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Falk smiled. 
 
 "Do the Stocks know anything about Lange's 
 former relation to Elly Hansen?" 
 
 "Are you mad?" Miller stared at him, as- 
 tounded. "Yes, Ada, maybe, or the mother at a 
 pinch! But the father! He is as prudish as an 
 old maid. His ideas about I. 0. U.'s, and the 
 erotic are on a par with the moral standards of a 
 Ladies' Aid Society." 
 
 "Isn't he a bit stingy, too?" 
 
 "Stingy! That's not the word for it," said Mil- 
 ler, shaking his head in denial. 
 
 "His wife fights a constant battle to get enough 
 money to run the house. But when it comes to 
 militarism, then his generosity borders on the in- 
 sane. If I judge him right, Lange himself will 
 have to pay for the whole outfitting, unless he 
 wants machine-guns in the living room and cannon 
 in the bed chamber." 
 
 "Maybe you can introduce him to your money- 
 lenders," laughed Falk. 
 
 "Oh, no, I have more than use for them myself," 
 sighed Miller and a shudder passed through him. 
 "Besides, I am freezing." 
 
 They had reached the corner of the street where 
 Preben Miller lived. 
 
 [26] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Run up and put your coat on," Falk advised 
 him. "I'll wait for you." 
 
 Miller reflected. Falk smiled a bit scornfully. 
 
 "You won't meet any of your imposing acquain- 
 tances tonight." 
 
 Miller still hesitated: 
 
 "I really cast it off a year ago. And the cut is 
 quite out of style oh, well, the deuce with it!" 
 
 He unlocked the door and went in. Falk went 
 back and forth in front of the house. There were 
 only a few people on the street, and the moonlight 
 made it seem still more deserted, the snow still 
 whiter. 
 
 He sauntered over to the other side, saw a light 
 flare up in his friend's room, and go out an instant 
 afterwards. Four or five minutes passed. Then 
 Miller opened the door. Falk went over to him. 
 When he reached his side, the author began to 
 tremble in spite of his overcoat. 
 
 "It is the heat up in the apartment," he said, 
 
 "one reacts." 
 
 They went down Vesterbro street. 
 
 "Do you suppose the Captain will give his con- 
 sent to the engagement?" Falk continued their 
 interrupted conversation. 
 
 "He has already given it," said Miller and lit 
 [27] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 a cigarette. "The engagement has been officially 
 announced. You'll find it in the papers to- 
 morrow, or the day after. You see, Ada has a 
 wonderful way of handling the old man. She 
 simply freezes him into obedience. You know, 
 she's rather frigid." 
 
 "Her mother has helped her, too, probably?" 
 
 Miller shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "She's very sweet, this Mrs. Stock, but she 
 hasn't a word to say about anything." 
 
 "It reminds me of a proverb," said Falk, "that 
 that woman is a goose who does not understand 
 how to manage her husband." 
 
 "Yes, and the one that does not do it," continued 
 Miller, "a saint. It so happens that she is 
 neither." 
 
 "It's the daughter then " began Falk but 
 stopped short and gripped Miller by the arm. 
 "Isn't that Lange?" he asked and pointed to a 
 young man who had wrenched open the door of 
 No. 12, and at that very instant passed them, in 
 the middle of the road, running swiftly. 
 
 His clothes hung on him as if he had dressed 
 in furious haste. His shoestrings were untied, his 
 vest unbuttoned and his tie fluttered wildly. He 
 was without his overcoat despite the frost. 
 
 "Yes, that's he," Miller broke out, astounded, 
 [28] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 and looked after him. He was already down near 
 Old Kingsway. "The Lord knows what's the mat- 
 ter with him. His face was quite pale did you 
 notice it?" 
 
 Falk nodded. 
 
 "Does Saabye live there?" he asked, and 
 pointed to No. 12. 
 
 "Yes, and Lange was to stay there tonight on 
 account of the bad weather," explained Miller. 
 "He lives away out in Hellerup, and there are no 
 taxis out tonight." 
 
 They stopped outside the street door. Miller 
 stepped back several paces, and looked up. 
 Everything was dark at Saabye's. 
 
 "He didn't even have time to light the hall- 
 light," substantiated Falk. 
 
 "Let us go up," proposed Miller. 
 
 They went in by the front door. Falk lit the 
 light. On one of the lower steps lay something 
 which he bent over and picked up. He handed 
 it to Miller. 
 
 "Do you recognize this?" 
 
 "That's his stick-pin. He must have lost it as 
 he ran down the stairs." 
 
 "And why such wild haste?" grunted Falk, "and 
 why did he seem so excited?" 
 
 The author shrugged his shoulders. 
 [29] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Who knows?" 
 
 They went up the stairs. Falk examined every 
 step without, however, finding anything. 
 
 Saabye lived on the second floor. When they 
 had reached it, the hall-light went out. Falk lit 
 it again. The hall door stood wide open. 
 
 "That's not at all like Saabye," said Miller, as- 
 tonished, and shook his head. 
 
 Falk preceded him into the corridor. The door 
 of the study was also open. They both saw the 
 fire-light from the old-fashioned porcelain stove 
 rest like a dull gold covering on the thick 
 Smyrna carpet that reached almost to the thresh- 
 old. 
 
 "Where's the switch?" asked Falk as he stepped 
 into the room, followed by Miller. 
 
 The latter, accustomed to the house, turned it on. 
 The room in an instant lay bathed in a cosy, dark 
 yellow light. A bed had been made up on the 
 sofa but the bedclothes lay in fantastic disorder, 
 as if Lange, who doubtless had lain there, had been 
 torn from his bed or else had left it in nervous 
 haste. 
 
 "We'd better wake Saabye," said Falk. "Some- 
 thing or other has happened here. Where's his 
 bedroom?" 
 
 [30] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Miller reflected a moment. 
 
 "I am not quite sure about it," he said, "because 
 I have never been in any other room but this. But 
 I think it is at the end of this corridor." 
 
 He opened the door to a long, carpeted hall, and 
 found, after some searching, a switch there, and 
 threw it on. 
 
 "Where does this door to the left lead to?" whis- 
 pered Falk. 
 
 "Probably out to the kitchen, and to the house- 
 keeper's rooms." 
 
 "And what is this?" 
 
 Falk pointed to a wire, which, quite indepen- 
 dent of the lighting connection, ran along the ceil- 
 ing to stop abruptly or rather disappear in the 
 wall of the study. 
 
 "I don't know," and Miller shook his head. 
 Bending over, he picked something up: 
 
 "Here is a knife." 
 
 He handed it to Falk. The blade was nicked as 
 if it had been used to cut metal. Falk looked up 
 and followed the mysterious wire with his eyes. 
 By the door to the study where Miller had found 
 the knife, he discovered that the wire had been cut! 
 
 Falk's usually cheerful face became suddenly 
 grave. 
 
 [31] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Go out and lock the front door," he bade softly, 
 "and take the key in with you. I will wake 
 Saabye in the meantime." 
 
 Miller disappeared in the study. Falk again 
 examined the wire where it had been cut. He 
 carefully assured himself of its thickness, hard- 
 ness and so on. He compared the wire with the 
 knife and muttered, "That is strange." But 
 finally he abandoned his reflections, and knocked on 
 the door of Saabye's room first softly, then louder 
 and louder. 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 Then he shouted: "Hello, Mr. Saabye!" and 
 pounded on the door. 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 Then he opened the door. Miller had in the 
 meantimje returned. Falk held him back. 
 
 "Stay out here." 
 
 Miller waited and saw Falk turn on the light in 
 the bedroom. An instant later he heard him utter 
 a low cry of horror. He rushed in and recoiled 
 horror-stricken. 
 
 Saabye lay murdered in his bed! With his 
 throat cut from ear to ear. 
 
 "Ring up police headquarters and get some one 
 down here, preferably Jensen-Skandrup, if he is 
 there." 
 
 [32] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Miller staggered through the corridor into the 
 study where the telephone was. 
 
 Falk bent over the dead man. He had been 
 murdered beyond the slightest doubt. And the 
 slash had been made by a sure hand. He had bled 
 to death almost instantaneously. 
 
 Falk looked inquiringly about. 
 
 On the floor before the bureau lay Saabye's 
 pocket knife, keys, and watch. The criminal had, 
 no doubt, dropped them in his haste. 
 
 He looked at the watch. It had stopped at fif- 
 teen minutes of twelve. It was now twelve o'clock. 
 A quarter of an hour ago Saabye had been mur- 
 dered ! 
 
 Falk examined the watch closely. To all ap- 
 pearances it had been wound for the night and had 
 stopped only owing to the jar it had sustained 
 when it fell. 
 
 He heard Miller come back, and appearing to 
 hesitate as he stepped into the bedroom. 
 
 "They'll be here in a few minutes," he said, 
 and avoided the corpse with his eyes. 
 
 Falk smiled involuntarily. Miller had always 
 talked scornfully of people who could not stand 
 blood nor the sight of a corpse. 
 
 "Here is a safe," said his friend. 
 
 Falk nodded. 
 
 [33] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I was just about to look it over." 
 
 He examined it minutely. It was locked. 
 Miller stood and stared at it. Falk noticed the 
 sweat on his forehead, and how pale his face was. 
 
 "I think you had better ," he began but stopped 
 suddenly with a: "Shh!" 
 
 Both were still. They heard a door creak out 
 in the corridor leading to the bedroom. Falk tip- 
 toed to the door and stood face to face with a 
 pudgy, elderly woman in negligee. 
 
 She moaned as she saw him. Her face became 
 fixed and wooden with fright. To save her life 
 she could not have moved a muscle. 
 
 Despite the tragedy behind him, Falk had to 
 smile. His smile unlocked her terror. She 
 shrieked. 
 
 "Thieves! Thieves! Help! Help!" she shrilled, 
 and was about to disappear in the room behind 
 her when Falk reassuringly put his hand on her 
 arm: 
 
 "We are no thieves," said he, "we are friends 
 of your master." 
 
 But she screamed steadily on: "Thieves!" and 
 tore her arm away: "Help, help!" 
 
 Falk gripped her by the wrist. 
 
 "Stop your yelling now," he said. "You're the 
 house-keeper, aren't you?" 
 
 [34] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 She nodded wildly. Her eyes wandered irreso- 
 lutely. 
 
 "A dreadful thing has happened," said Falk. 
 Just then Miller appeared on the threshold of the 
 bedroom. 
 
 "Shut the door," Falk said to him. Miller did 
 so. 
 
 The house-keeper glanced at the door in terror. 
 Then she shut her eyes, and seemed about to faint. 
 Falk supported her. 
 
 "He is dead, my poor master is dead." 
 
 "How do you know that?" Falk looked at her 
 sharply. 
 
 "I had a frightful dream," she groaned. "I 
 was gathering up money. Heaps of money. In 
 the mire and slush. That means misfortune. Oh, 
 I knew it the minute I woke up. Misfortune on 
 this house." 
 
 Falk tried to calm her. 
 
 "Didn't you hear any noise or screaming about 
 a quarter of an hour ago?" he asked. 
 
 She again shook her head. 
 
 "Where is your bedroom?" 
 
 " 'Way out by the kitchen," she stammered 
 finally. 
 
 Suddenly she remembered and burst out appre- 
 hensively: "But Mr. Lange must have " 
 [35] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "We met him running away from here as we 
 came," Falk interrupted. 
 
 She stared horror-stricken at him. 
 
 "Running away! Running away!" 
 
 Falk nodded. 
 
 "He did it," she whispered suddenly and shud- 
 dered. "He did it." 
 
 "What makes you think that?" 
 
 "He has such a hasty temper. I'll never forget 
 one night last year when he and the master quar- 
 reled. He all but struck him. I saw it myself, 
 and thank God that he stayed away from here after 
 that." 
 
 "But what makes you think that he should have 
 gone so far just this very evening when he came 
 to be reconciled to your master?" 
 
 The house-keeper's eyes still wavered from 
 fright but she nodded secretively: 
 
 "He came up here for quite another reason." 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 "To borrow money of the master." 
 
 "And you think that your master refused? He 
 wasn't ordinarily considered a stingy man." 
 
 The housekeeper, Mrs. Rosenkvist, hesitated a 
 little before she answered. 
 
 "I think he did, however," she said. "Maybe 
 he asked for too large a sum." 
 
 [36] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Did your master usually keep large amounts of 
 money here?" asked Falk. 
 
 "No, he always put it in the bank the same day 
 that it was paid to him. You know, he owned this 
 house, and the house next door, the poor dead mas- 
 ter! But today he couldn't deposit it. He had 
 a bit of a cold, and the weather was so dreadful. 
 Oh, God! Oh, God!" she moaned in her fright- 
 ened way again and stared fearfully at the bed- 
 room door. There was a slight pause. 
 
 "Do you know the combination for the safe?" 
 Falk asked suddenly. 
 
 She started as if he had touched an open wound. 
 She could only nod affirmatively. 
 
 "Perhaps you have put money in it for your 
 master now and then?" asked Falk. She nodded 
 again. 
 
 "Do you know Lange?" 
 
 She nodded for the third time. 
 
 "Do you know where the keys are?" 
 
 "Yes," she managed to say: "The master always 
 carried them in his pocket, the poor, poor " 
 
 Falk opened the door to the bedroom. 
 
 "Do me the favour," he bade her, "of opening 
 the safe for us." 
 
 She merely stared at him as if he were mad, 
 and clutched the knob of the door she was stand- 
 [37] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 ing by. Not for all the world would she go in 
 that room. 
 
 "Take a towel," Said Falk to Miller, "and put 
 it over his face." 
 
 Miller went into the room. 
 
 "Come on then," said Falk to the house-keeper, 
 "there's nothing to be afraid of now." 
 
 She reluctantly let go of the door knob, and 
 followed him into the bedroom,. She did not look 
 towards the side where the bed stood although she 
 fairly tingled with fearful curiosity. 
 
 Falk found the keys at once, and handed them to 
 her: 
 
 "Now, open the safe." 
 
 She obeyed mechanically. Several seconds 
 passed, funereal in their silence. Then the door 
 of the safe sprang open. 
 
 "The money's gone," she cried, and began to sob 
 hysterically. 
 
 "Are you sure that Saabye didn't put it in his 
 pocket-book?" asked Falk. "Take a look, Miller." 
 
 She shook her head vigorously and sobbed : 
 
 "I was in here myself making the bed when the 
 master put it in the safe. There was about 4000 
 kroner." 
 
 "There is only about 50 kroner in the pocket- 
 book now," asserted Miller. 
 
 [38] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "We must search the premises," said Falk 
 firmly. "You go first," he ordered the house- 
 keeper, who still sniffling, hurried out into the 
 corridor. 
 
 Miller followed her silently. Falk put out the 
 light. 
 
 "It is the burglar alarm from the safe that has 
 been cut," he said to Miller, and pointed to the 
 wire over in the corner of the corridor. "I was 
 blind before or feebleminded." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenkvist's two rooms and the kitchen 
 were hurriedly searched. However, nothing of 
 any interest appeared. It was clear that no one 
 but the house-keeper had occupied them. 
 
 "Just stay in here," Falk proposed, "and try to 
 be a little mjore calm. We can expect the police 
 any moment. If your presence is needed, you 
 will be sent for." 
 
 The house-keeper looked at him timidly. She 
 was comparatively quiet, however, when they left 
 her. 
 
 "This room we haven't searched at all," said 
 Falk as they stepped into the study. "For once, 
 Mister Author, you're on the spot of the crime. 
 Use your eyes but what is this?" 
 
 Falk bent over and picked up a crumpled bit of 
 paper. 
 
 [39] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "A ten kroner note!" he unfolded it, "and 
 bloody." 
 
 "There's something, too," said Miller, and 
 pointed to a couple of half -charred notes that lay 
 before the stove. Evidently they had fallen out 
 of the fire onto the floor. 
 
 "If it was Lange who did this," said Falk, 
 "everything seems to indicate that either he was 
 seized by a fear of being discovered or else by hor- 
 ror at his deed. First he threw the bills into the 
 fire, then rushed insanely away. To get away at 
 all cost!" 
 
 Falk fell suddenly on his knees: 
 
 "A-ah, lift the lamp a little," he commanded. 
 Miller did so immediately. The carpet had a 
 grey-blue ground colour. Consequently the spots 
 that dotted it could be seen quite clearly. Some 
 spots were yet moist. They reached from the 
 wash-stand, which had been converted from a 
 card table, over to the writing desk. 
 
 Close by this the spots stopped, but Falk dis- 
 covered instantly the continuation of them. 
 
 "Here we have them again," he showed Miller 
 who, deeply engrossed, followed his investigation. 
 He pointed to a sheet of paper lying on the desk. 
 This too was spotted: 
 
 "And the water is bloody," said Falk as he used 
 [40] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 his magnifying glass, "and the shelf, too, is wet 
 and the lip of the vase here." 
 
 It was a Japanese vase that stood on top of one 
 of the desk's pigeon holes. Falk, lightning-like, 
 plunged his hand in it, and pulled it out again. 
 
 "Here is the instrument of murder," he said tri- 
 umphantly, and showed Miller a blood bespattered 
 razor. "Since the murderer left it here, it must be 
 Saabye's own razor." 
 
 Miller regarded it with something closely ap- 
 proaching horror. 
 
 "I wouldn't finger it too much," warned Falk 
 and laid it on the table. 
 
 "You needn't be afraid of that!" and Miller 
 made a most comical grimace. 
 
 Falk bent over the improvised wash-stand: 
 
 "He washed his hands afterwards," he affirmed. 
 "The towel is still quite damp and bloody." 
 
 He ceased his examination abruptly. "That's 
 strange," he muttered, but went on with it almost 
 instantly, "and here is blood on the edge of the 
 wash basin. I wonder where ?" 
 
 Falk took the cover off the slop pail. "Hm! I 
 thought as much,''' he smiled, "he didn't use that." 
 
 Falk looked around the room. Over by the 
 window stood a large potted plant. He nodded 
 almost jovially: 
 
 [41] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 "I'll bet anything," said he, "that the earth 
 around that plant is soaking wet, even if it is a 
 fortnight since our lovable house-keeper watered 
 
 it." 
 
 Miller looked at him in astonishment, and stuck 
 his finger in the soil, but drew it quickly out again: 
 
 "You're right," he gasped, quite grey in the 
 face. 
 
 "Did you burn yourself?" smiled Falk. "But, 
 look here, for God's sake, you're not going to 
 faint?" 
 
 Miller wiped his brow. He was, indeed, sway- 
 ing, but regained self-control and tried to smile: 
 
 "You must really excuse me, but I'm a little less 
 used to murder than you are and when I 
 stuck " 
 
 He stopped abruptly. The front door bell 
 shrilled loudly, again and again. 
 
 "That is not the police," said Falk astounded. 
 
 Miller and he stood for several seconds staring 
 silently at each other. The ringing became more 
 and more persistent. 
 
 "Who in the world," Falk looked as if he 
 sought in vain to solve a riddle. A riddle whose 
 solution was a point of honour with him. Then he 
 seemed to give it up, and went out in the corridor 
 and opened the door. 
 
 [42] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 Miller heard him utter a cry of amazement. 
 Falk stood as if paralyzed, with his hand on the 
 door knob. Miller, too, stiffened with surprise. 
 
 The light was lit in the hall. It was no hallu- 
 cination they saw before them, and they were both 
 sober. And yet for a moment they doubted their 
 own sight and reason! The person who had 
 rung was no other than Lange, Einar Lange, the 
 artist! 
 
 The murderer? 
 
 [43] 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 LANGE looked at them in utter perplexity. 
 "I don't understand ," he began halt- 
 ingly. 
 
 His eyes were anxious despite their surprised 
 look, and he panted as if from running. 
 
 Falk quietly shut the door behind him: 
 
 "Let us go inside," he proposed. 
 
 "Your friend Mr. Miller persuaded me to come 
 up here with him. My name is Arne Falk. We 
 saw you rush away, and as you seemed so ex- 
 cited" 
 
 Lange nodded nervously: 
 
 "It was my sweetheart," he stammered. "Some- 
 one called up said she was fatally ill I should 
 come out at once I jumped into my clothes and 
 
 ran" 
 
 Falk listened attentively, and sat with half -shut 
 
 eyes. 
 
 "And was reassured?" he asked. 
 
 Lange shook his head negatively. 
 
 "The door was locked," he said, "and the whole 
 
 [44] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 house was dark. Then I hurried back to tele- 
 phone to ask if she was any better " 
 
 He looked at Falk and Miller as if he expected 
 that they would go. The latter stood with bent 
 head overwhelmed by the painful situation. 
 
 "Who called you up?" asked Falk. 
 
 Lange regarded him with surprise: 
 
 "It was, as I told you before, some one at Cap- 
 tain Stock's who called me up." 
 
 "Was it the Captain himself?" 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 "Who then?" 
 
 "To tell the truth, I don't know," answered 
 Lange a little impatiently. 
 
 "How long have you been calling at their 
 house?" 
 
 Falk spoke so politely that Lange could not but 
 answer. 
 
 "For the last nine months," said he, "about 
 every day." 
 
 "Have you often talked with the members of 
 the family over the telephone?" 
 
 "Yes, very often but" 
 
 "And yet you don't know who called you up?" 
 
 Lange shook his head impatiently. 
 
 "I didn't give it a thought when I received such 
 bad news." 
 
 [451 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Have you any objection to my ringing up Cap- 
 tain Stock about it? I'll explain afterwards why I 
 have such a deep interest in this telephoning." 
 
 "No, go ahead," Lange's astonishment appar- 
 ently grew minute by minute. But it was also 
 mixed with anxiety. 
 
 "What's their number?" asked Falk. 
 
 "Vester 112,562." 
 
 Falk rang and gave the number. 
 
 "Hurry please!" he told the operator, and 
 waited. Some seconds passed. 
 
 "Where is the Captain's telephone placed?" 
 asked Lange. 
 
 "In the living-room but at night they move it 
 into their bedroom." 
 
 Falk still sat and waited. 
 
 "That's rather strange, as it well, here we 
 are hello! Is this Captain Stock's? Is this the 
 Captain himself?" 
 
 Falk heard a sleepy voice roar out an oath ask- 
 ing who the devil it was that dared to disturb him, 
 Captain Stock, in his night's rest? 
 
 "I am calling from Mr. Lange's." 
 
 Falk heard a wordless grunt. 
 
 "The Captain or his wife," he said respectfully 
 and with a reserved smile at the other's rudeness, 
 "called him up barely a half hour ago and told 
 
 [46] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 him to hurry over as your daughter lay at the point 
 of death." 
 
 Falk stopped a moment. He was overcome by 
 the storm of indignation that raged over the wire. 
 Was somebody playing jokes on him. Captain 
 Stock! Somebody was crazy, etc. 
 
 Falk cut him short: 
 
 "You did not ring then?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And your daughter is not sick?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Is there anything to it at all then?" 
 
 "No. 
 
 "If I only could get a night's rest. Never have 
 I heard " Then the Captain slammed up the 
 phone. 
 
 Falk hung up and turned towards Lange who, 
 perplexed, had listened to the conversation. 
 
 "He denies having called you." 
 
 "I don't understand it." Lange shook his head. 
 "But thank God that Ada is well." 
 
 "Have you a telephone yourself?" asked Falk. 
 
 Lange answered in the negative. 
 
 "Did Miss Stock or her parents or any one else 
 at all there in the house, know that you were going 
 to spend the night with your foster-father?" 
 
 "No, of course not. I didn't know it myself be- 
 [47] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 cause father yes, I call him father suggested it 
 himself, the weather being so bad." 
 
 "How could any one at Stock's, then, think of 
 ringing you up here?" 
 
 "No, that is quite true," said Lange. "I hadn't 
 thought of that. They couldn't." 
 
 There was a second's pause. Neither Falk nor 
 Miller stirred. Lange moved in embarrassment. 
 
 "Now that you have cleared that up or rather " 
 He stammered a little. He was bewildered and 
 there was something in the air that made him ap- 
 prehensive. 
 
 "In other words, you are asking us to go," said 
 Falk. 
 
 Lange nodded in relief. 
 
 "It is late and I am afraid that we will wake 
 Mr. Saabye." 
 
 "You needn't be afraid of that," said Falk 
 drily. "Mr. Saabye will wake no more in this 
 life." 
 
 Lange became as pale and stiff as a corpse. He 
 hardly breathed. He stared at Falk. At first 
 with fear, and little by little more calmly. He wet 
 his lips. 
 
 "Did I understand you correctly?" he asked. 
 
 Falk nodded: "Yes, Mr. Saabye is dead." 
 
 Then Lange was overcome. Sobs choked him. 
 [48] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Dead! Dead!" He actually writhed in his 
 sorrow. 
 
 Falk gazed at him, almost awed. 
 
 If this was acting, then 
 
 "I am going in to him," shouted Lange suddenly 
 and ran to the door opening on the bedroom corri- 
 dor. 
 
 Falk jumped in front of him. 
 
 "You're going to stay here," he ordered. 
 
 Lange's eyes blazed: 
 
 "Are you mad, man? How dare you stop me, 
 me, his son !" 
 
 "Your foster-father is murdered," said Falk as 
 quietly as he could. 
 
 Lange became quiet immediately. 
 
 "Murdered! Good God! who did it? Who 
 did it?" 
 
 Again his emotions gripped him. Miller had to 
 help Falk hold him. He would go in to his father. 
 He shrieked and yelled, was like an inconsolable 
 child. Suddenly he collapsed, stupid, powerless. 
 
 Falk locked the door to the corridor. 
 
 "I have some questions to ask you," he said, 
 and turned to Lange. "If you will answer them?" 
 
 Lange nodded dully: 
 
 "When was when did he die?" he asked softly. 
 
 "About a quarter to twelve," said Falk. "About 
 [49] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 five or ten minutes before you were called up, as 
 you say." 
 
 Lange raised his head incredulously. 
 
 "That is impossible!" he said. 
 
 He wet his dry lips and broke down again. 
 
 "Oh, poor father! poor father!" 
 
 "When did you go to bed?" asked Falk un- 
 moved by the other's despair. 
 
 "A little before eleven," answered Lange. "I 
 happen to know it precisely. I always put my 
 watch, and whatever I have in my pockets, aside 
 before I go to bed, and I happened to look at it 
 then." 
 
 "You insist, then, that you laid these things 
 aside this evening also?" asked Falk. "Think a 
 moment." 
 
 "I laid them on the table there," explained 
 Lange, who now had become more calm but was 
 terribly pale: "my watch, a cigar-clipper, a pencil 
 and my pocket-knife." 
 
 "And you have not been outside the room here, 
 before you after the mysterious telephone call 
 ran down the stairs? Not in your foster-father's 
 room?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Do you know this knife?" asked Falk and 
 [50] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 handed him the knife he had found in the bed- 
 room corridor. 
 
 "Yes, it is mine," admitted Lange. 
 
 "How did it get out in the corridor leading to 
 Mr. Saabye's bedroom then?" 
 
 Lange shook his head, completely at a loss, and 
 was about to put the folded pen-knife in his pocket. 
 Falk stopped him. 
 
 "We'll let the police have that," said he. "By 
 the way, what condition are its blades in?" 
 
 Lange looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "You can easily find out yourself by opening 
 it," he said. 
 
 "Just now, I prefer," smiled Falk, "to learn it 
 from you!" 
 
 Lange gave a shrug. 
 
 "It has only one blade and there Is nothing the 
 matter with that." 
 
 "Is it nicked at all?" 
 
 "No, not a bit." 
 
 Falk showed him the damaged knife. 
 
 "I don't understand it," said Lange. "The 
 blade was all right when I put it on {he table." 
 
 "Perhaps you can explain better," said Falk 
 somewhat sharply, "where this smear of blood on 
 the wash basin comes from, and why the water is 
 
 [51] 
 
TWO DE^AD MEN 
 
 emptied not in the slop pail but on the potted plant 
 there." He pointed to the Pelargonia. 
 
 "I don't understand that either," admitted 
 Lange, and the colour rushed to his face: 
 
 "But what business is this of yours, anyway? 
 Am I being cross-examined?" 
 
 Falk shook his head. 
 
 "No, not at all. But you probably soon will be. 
 The police ought to be here soon." 
 
 Lange became quiet at once. 
 
 "You talk to me," he said to Falk, "as if I were 
 a- criminal. It can't be that you are silly enough 
 to believe that I am mixed up in this crime. 
 In a vile crime against an old man! And a man 
 who has done me all the good in his power! Who 
 has been a father to me!" 
 
 Falk looked at him calmly without answering. 
 
 Miller shrugged his shoulders sorrowfully. 
 With a nervous laugh, Lange took out his hand- 
 kerchief to dry his damp forehead. All the colour 
 had vanished from his face. "Madness! Mad- 
 ness!" he mumbled. 
 
 Hardly had he said it when Falk tore the hand- 
 kerchief out of his grasp and held it up to the 
 light. 
 
 "Look there!" 
 
 The three looked. 
 
 [52] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 It was bloody. 
 
 "And your coat?" And he drew the wellnigh 
 nerveless Lange over to the light. 
 
 His light grey coat was sprinkled with large, 
 dark spots! 
 
 Lange stared at them. He saw clearly that it 
 was dried blood. . . . The blood roared in his 
 ears. He felt consciousness slipping away from 
 him. He swayed slightly. 
 
 "Take hold of him!" cried Falk to Miller who 
 stood nearest. Miller seized him but instantly let 
 go again, Lange fell to the floor. 
 
 "It was the blood," stammered Miller. "The 
 blood on his coat. This will cause me many a 
 sleepless hour. I wish the deuce we had gone to 
 the Figaro instead." 
 
 Falk had got Lange over to the sofa, and was 
 bathing his temples with water from the pitcher. 
 Miller looked on silently. 
 
 "Is Lange Saabye's heir?" asked Falk suddenly. 
 
 "Yes, he is the sole heir. Saabye told me so 
 this very evening as we talked about him. The 
 old man had made no alteration in the will. He 
 was a fine old fellow." 
 
 The front door bell rang, a short, quick ring. 
 
 "That is the police," said Falk. "Go out and 
 open the door." 
 
 [53] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Lange began to stir as Inspector Jensen-Skan- 
 drup and several detectives stepped in the room 
 accompanied by Miller and a physician, Dr. Fed- 
 ersen. 
 
 Jensen-Skandrup nodded jovially: 
 
 "Still on the job," he said and greeted Falk re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 "Where is the body?" asked Dr. Pedersen. 
 
 "Stay here a minute," Falk told Preben Miller. 
 
 One of the detectives began to search the room. 
 
 Falk showed the others into the bedroom. 
 "Phew!" grunted the Inspector as he saw the dead 
 man. "They certainly did a good job. That 
 was made by a sure hand. It didn't tremble 
 much." 
 
 He accompanied Falk out into the corridor. 
 The doctor began his examination, and the men 
 from the identification bureau tried to find finger- 
 prints and so on. 
 
 "Have you any clues?" he asked Falk. 
 
 "Plenty of them," answered the latter, and told 
 the Inspector of Lange's flight from the house, the 
 discovery of the murder, the finding of the bloody 
 ten crown notes, and the blood spots on Lange's 
 coat and handkerchief. 
 
 "Could you wish any more evidence?" 
 
 "No, that's clear enough," said Jensen-Skan- 
 [54] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 drup, "although it was the Devil and not our Lord 
 who invented circumstantial evidence." 
 
 Falk nodded smilingly. It was one of his own 
 bon mots which the Inspector absent-mindedly had 
 used. 
 
 The door to the study opened. It was Preben 
 Miller. "Lange has come to himself again," he 
 said. "He wishes to talk to the Inspector." 
 
 They went in. Lange sat on the sofa looking 
 very bewildered. 
 
 "I am Inspector Jensen-Skandrup," said the de- 
 tective somewhat harshly. "You wish to speak 
 to me?" 
 
 Lange nodded. 
 
 "I have a question to ask you. Yes, for Mr. 
 Falk has probably told you what has happened? 
 Do you take me for the murderer?" 
 
 Jensen-Skandrup shrugged his shoulders: 
 
 "I really haven't formed any opinion of that 
 yet. I must, however, hold you in custody, for it is 
 a fact that you are the only male person outside 
 of the murdered man, who was in the house at the 
 time of the crime. Mr. Falk and his friend 
 searched the place a few moments after you ran 
 away from here with a bloody coat and handker- 
 chief. It's easy to see that the kitchen door has 
 been locked since the house-keeper went to bed. 
 [55] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 And the lock on the street door can not be opened 
 with false keys." 
 
 Lange, perplexed, sought a way out. 
 
 "Couldn't the murderer have secured the keys to 
 the front door?" he asked and suddenly thought 
 of something: 
 
 "Mrs. Rosenkvist, the house-keeper, was saying 
 last night that she thought she had lost her keys. 
 Father was a little angry about it, for she is always 
 losing or forgetting something. He showed her a 
 third bunch of keys that always hang in the cor- 
 ridor and gave her permission to use them if she 
 could not find her own. But he told her to take 
 care of them. Mrs. Rosenkvist probably went out 
 yesterday afternoon. Maybe the murderer fol- 
 lowed and stole the keys from her!" 
 
 "Go in and get the house-keeper," ordered Jen- 
 sen-Skandrup. The detective who was searching 
 the room went out into the corridor. They heard 
 him knock on the door to Mrs. Rosenkvist's rooms. 
 
 "You insist then," and the Inspector turned to 
 Lange, "that you slept right from 11 o'clock when 
 you went to bed, until 12 o'clock when you were 
 awakened?" 
 
 Lange nodded: "Yes!" 
 
 "You heard no noise of any description from 
 your foster-father's room?" 
 
 [56] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "The murderer must have passed by this room 
 here both going in and back. You heard nothing 
 of him then?" 
 
 Lange again shook his head. 
 
 "Neither," continued the Inspector with a more 
 and more insinuating smile, "when he entered the 
 house or when he left it?" 
 
 "No, you see, I sleep very heavily," explained 
 Lange. 
 
 The Inspector nodded with a sarcastic smile. 
 
 "Very heavily," he repeated. 
 
 "And yet I think I was half awake at some time 
 or other," Lange recalled without having noticed 
 the Inspector's ironical suspicion. 
 
 "Is that so?" Jensen-Skandrup still smiling 
 nodded encouragingly to him. 
 
 "Until this minute," explained Lange. "I con- 
 sidered it a dream but it is all too real to have been 
 a dream. No, I was awake or rather half awake 
 when" 
 
 He sat and stared straight in front of him, as if 
 he were calling back the picture of that moment. 
 Jensen-Skandrup gave Falk a meaning look. 
 
 "Well, what happened?" he asked Lange with 
 apparent scepticism. 
 
 "It all seems to me," Lange strove to remember, 
 [57] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "like a blurred photograph. But there was some- 
 thing, a bright object or a streak of light in the 
 middle of it and something long and pale like 
 a hand and then a slight noise of something or 
 other and constantly a rushing and roaring as of 
 music or of a storm." 
 
 "You can't define it more clearly?" asked Falk 
 with marked interest. 
 
 "That Mr. Lange can not, I am sure," said Jen- 
 sen-Skandrup scornfully. He did not believe a 
 word of the painted, fantastic account, as it 
 seemed to him. 
 
 "But here is the house-keeper," he said, and 
 turned towards the door that had been opened be- 
 hind him. "Now we can get matters cleared up 
 about those keys." 
 
 The house-keeper, nodding and curtseying, 
 came into the room. She was dressed as if she 
 were going to a festival. 
 
 "She absolutely would change her clothes," 
 whispered the detective to Jensen-Skandrup. The 
 house-keeper glanced at the latter in confusion. 
 He began to question her about the keys: 
 
 "Do you think it is possible that some one has 
 stolen them from you?" 
 
 "No, for I have already found them," explained 
 Mrs. Rosenkvist in a shaky voice. 
 
 [58] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Where were they?" 
 
 "On the stand out in the corridor leading to 
 my room." 
 
 Einar Lange bowed his head despondently the 
 Inspector smiled in triumph. 
 
 "Good," he said to the house-keeper, "you will 
 be notified when to report in court." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenkvist made a curtsey, and backed 
 hurriedly out of the room. 
 
 "It didn't work, did it?" asked Jensen-Skan- 
 drup. Lange jumped to his feet in protest, but 
 managed to control himself. 
 
 Dr. Pedersen and the officer from the identifica- 
 tion bureau now appeared. Falk drew the physi- 
 cian to one side. 
 
 "May I see the death certificate?" 
 
 Dr. Pedersen gave it to him. Falk studied it 
 closely. He stopped at the description of the 
 wound: 
 
 "The throat cut in an absolutely death-dealing 
 gash from left to right. Wound made by a razor, 
 and followed by almost instantaneous death." 
 
 He also noted the doctor's temporary report of 
 the probable moment of death which about coin- 
 cided with the time the watch had shown. 
 
 "It's a sad affair," said Dr. Pedersen. 
 
 He might as well have said that the weather was 
 [59] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 cold. He had written too many death certificates 
 to be moved by one more. 
 
 "No finger prints!" Falk heard Jensen-Skan- 
 drup burst out. "I'll be damned!" 
 
 The detectives substantiated it: 
 
 "Only the dead man's," they said, "and the 
 house-keeper's." 
 
 "Let's go then," and Jensen-Skandrup turned to- 
 wards Lange. 
 
 "I'm going to stay here a few minutes," said 
 Falk. 
 
 "All right, have a good time! And good 
 night!" The Inspector went out with Lange and 
 the two detectives. The third remained to search 
 the house more thoroughly. 
 
 "I'll see Dr. Pedersen on his way," said Miller 
 and gave Falk his hand: "I've had enough of this 
 murder-laden air for the evening." 
 
 Falk stood by the window and saw the automo- 
 bile with Lange and the detectives drive away. 
 Miller and Dr. Pedersen sauntered, chatting, down 
 toward Vesterbro Market. Falk turned away at 
 an exclamation from the detective whom he had 
 heard rattling the coal-scuttle while replenishing 
 the fire. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 The detective took something out of the scuttle 
 [60] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 and laid it on the table. A pair of blood stained 
 gloves with the initials E. L.! Falk whistled 
 softly. That was why there had been no finger 
 prints, neither on the safe nor the razor! And 
 that was why the towel had been so bloody. The 
 murderer had God only knows for what reason 
 washed and dried his hands with the bloody 
 gloves on. The detective shook his head in be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 "I never came up against anything like this be- 
 fore," he said, "such a mixture of the professional 
 and the amateur." 
 
 Falk offered him a cigar and lit one himself. 
 
 "Have you any objection to my spending a few 
 minutes in the bedroom?" Falk asked. 
 
 "No, not at all, Mr. Falk. Only don't touch 
 anything in there." 
 
 "No fear, I won't!" 
 
 The man eagerly continued his search, and Falk 
 opened the door to the bedroom. He turned on 
 the light there, looked around and then put it out 
 again. Then he raised the roller shade. The 
 moon shone into the room, and shed its light over 
 the head of the bed. Falk lifted the cloth that had 
 been laid over the head of the corpse, and exam- 
 ined the wound carefully. 
 
 The room had the form of a parallelogram 
 [61] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 whose four corners were right angles. The bed 
 stood up against the long wall and directly op- 
 posite the door. Its head was towards the win- 
 dow in the short wall on the right, and separated 
 from it by the wash-stand. The safe stood against 
 the wall on the left. 
 
 Falk hastily visualized the murder. From the 
 door the murderer had moved softly to the right 
 toward the head of the bed. Over by the win- 
 dow, he must have stopped a moment, probably 
 from fear of waking his victim. For Falk saw 
 that the curtain on the right side of the window 
 had been stepped on and had sagged a little. The 
 noise must have been very slight. But the mur- 
 derer in spite of that had stopped and waited until 
 the old man's regular breathing had assured him 
 that he slept. After which he had stolen over to 
 the wash stand upon whose glass top the razor had 
 lain. And of which the murderer must have 
 Known beforehand. 
 
 He had thus obtained the knife, and then had 
 tiptoed over behind the head of the bed. Saabye, 
 who had a slight tendency to asthma, always slept 
 with somewhat low-cut night-shirts. It had been 
 easy for the murderer, then, to see his throat, and 
 to calculate his stroke. Now he had bent over 
 the somewhat low bedstead. And in the same in- 
 
 [62] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 slant that he, with one stroke from left to right, had 
 cut the throat of his victim, he had with his be- 
 gloved hand choked the cry that he feared Saabye 
 would utter. 
 
 Falk seemed to see the death certificate before 
 him: 
 
 "The throat cut in an absolutely death-dealing 
 gash from left to right " 
 
 And beside it, a picture of Lange at the instant 
 when Falk had handed him the pocket knife, and 
 he stood with it in his hand. Falk grew pale from 
 excitement But did he remember correctly? 
 And lastly what did this array of evidence mean 
 that had loomed up against Lange: the flight, the 
 telephoning, his knowledge of the safe combina- 
 tion, the bloody coat and handkerchief, the bloody 
 gloves, etc., etc.! 
 
 But still 
 
 Falk covered the face of the dead man and left 
 the room. As he passed the little mahogany stand 
 in the hall, he stopped. Of course, the murderer 
 could have stolen the house-keeper's keys during 
 the afternoon, and could have laid them here after 
 he had killed Saabye. The motive, however, 
 seemed a little obscure. 
 
 Falk knocked on Mrs. Rosenkvist's door, who 
 instantly appeared, pale and distracted. 
 
 [63] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Do you usually put the keys on the stand 
 there?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, I have often put them there. But mostly 
 here in my bureau drawer or out in the entry." 
 
 Falk wished her a friendly good night. There 
 was no information of any value to be obtained 
 here. 
 
 As he entered the study, the detective was bent 
 over something on the carpet quite over by the fire- 
 place. 
 
 Some cigarette ashes! 
 
 "I don't know," and he turned uncertainly to 
 Falk. "if this has any bearing on the case.' 1 ' 
 
 Falk recognized the blue-green ashes at once. 
 
 "I'm afraid not," he smiled, "the man who 
 dropped those ashes it is of a very rare cig- 
 arette called 'Sunka,' which is frightfully expen- 
 sive ano\ tastes beastly has, it is true, killed 
 various persons, but the police can do nothing to 
 him." 
 
 The detective looked at Falk in amazement. 
 
 "Why not?" he asked. 
 
 "Because he is a writer, and his name is Pre- 
 ben Miller." 
 
 The detective gaped, and still did not under- 
 stand. 
 
 "And," finished Falk, "last but not least be- 
 cause it's in his books that he kills people." 
 [64] 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE next day, the anteroom outside the 
 Criminal Court was filled with witnesses 
 in the Saabye murder case. 
 
 During the preliminary examination, Einar 
 Lange had denied everything, in a most defiant, 
 most ridiculous manner. The examination had 
 ended with the District Attorney putting him under 
 arrest, and the examination of the witnesses be- 
 gan a few minutes after. Falk and Miller came 
 out of the offices after they had submitted their evi- 
 dence. It was afternoon but still light. They 
 both went over to the window. The snow slanted 
 down from an unseen sky. 
 
 "Stock is here," said Falk quietly. Preben Mil- 
 ler nodded. He'd also seen him. 
 
 "I am so sorry for Ada," he said. "She sits 
 there looking like a veritable Snow-Queen. She 
 is so damnably proud. Nobody can guess what 
 she is suffering." 
 
 Arne Falk still looked out of the window. Mil- 
 ler took out his watch. "We'd better be going?" 
 [65] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I'm waiting for Lange, he ought to be here 
 right away." 
 
 "What the deuce do you want with him?" 
 
 "I want him to substantiate or strengthen an 
 idea that I have." 
 
 Miller smiled slightly. 
 
 "You are so secretive, you sleuths! But other- 
 wise, I suppose, no one would believe in you." 
 
 Falk imitated his smile. 
 
 "We must, even as you worthy authors, make 
 ourselves ridiculous to convince the public that we 
 have talent. It's all merely suggestion " 
 
 Miller's smile became a little forced. 
 
 Captain Stock sat on one of the benches with his 
 wife and daughter and growled. The mere fact 
 that he had been ordered to appear by a non- 
 militaristic institution peeved him greatly. 
 
 And they dared to make him wait in the bar- 
 gain! Nearly a quarter of an hour passed since 
 the stipulated time! Somebody should just have 
 tried that when he was in the Service! He would 
 get solitary confinement were he a hundred times 
 a District Attorney! But now he had passed the 
 age limit! Was past active service! Oh, hum! 
 Hm! But the Fiend fly away with him, anyway, 
 if he would sit here ! 
 
 His growling rose to a roar. His somewhat 
 [66] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 brow-beaten spouse blinked at him with red- 
 rimmed eyes. But he would not look. Then she 
 whispered to him: 
 
 "Do be quiet, dear Frederick, it will be our 
 
 turn soon." 
 
 The Captain swallowed an oath: 
 
 "What times we live in!" he bellowed. "Mur- 
 der and robbery and unpunctuality! People re- 
 fuse to go to war! They refuse to become sol- 
 diers! But they slit folks's gullets from behind! 
 And then they talk of progress! Progress!" 
 
 Mrs. Louise Stock soothed him as best she could, 
 and looked anxiously about. She had heard many 
 terrible tales of how people were treated up here. 
 And her dear Frederick had such a hasty temper. 
 Her frightened, worried glance rested on the 
 benches. How disgustingly dusty they were. 
 Were they never cleaned? Her very fingers 
 itched at the sight, but then she happened to look 
 at her daughter and forgot everything else. 
 
 "Poor little Ada," she whispered very low, and 
 pressed her daughter's hand. The Captain also 
 looked over at Ada but looked hurriedly away 
 again, and hemmed and hawed fiercely. Mrs. 
 Stock stared fixedly in front of her. It was so 
 dreadfully sad. Ada had become quite pale and 
 rigid. As if she were frozen in her very inner- 
 [67] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 most heart. But then she, her mother, knew how 
 good and loving she was for all her cold exterior, 
 and how deeply she cared for that unfortunate per- 
 son. She sneaked her handkerchief out Tears 
 filled her eyes. 
 
 "Louise!" the Captain's whisper echoed like a 
 suppressed howl. It made her start. Everybody 
 looked their way, and her husband looked at the 
 innocent handkerchief as if he would burn it up 
 with his eyes. 
 
 "Louise! No bawling! Do you hear? An 
 officer's wife does not cry." 
 
 She hurriedly put away her handkerchief al- 
 though her eyes were quite wet. 
 
 "But Ada, dear!" 
 
 Her daughter had gripped her hand and held it 
 as if she would crush it. But she did not look at 
 her mother. She stared straight at the broad, old- 
 fashioned stairway. Some one was coming down! 
 Mrs. Stock started. She could have sunk through 
 the floor from shame. And yet she liked him so 
 much. 
 
 It was Einar Lange, and a policeman. 
 
 The Captain had also seen him, and sat stiffly, 
 looking as if he stood hopeless but fearless before 
 a firing squad. Only the beard around his mouth 
 quivered a little. 
 
 [68] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "There he is," said Falk quietly and left his 
 place by the window. 
 
 Lange was very pale but calm. Instead of the 
 blood-stained coat he wore one of somewhat worn 
 black cloth. The police had searched his lodgings 
 immediately after his arrest and they had brought 
 it along. His head was bowed slightly. As he 
 stopped in front of Ada Stock, he held it suddenly 
 erect. Her face was like ice, without expression 
 and full of coldness. She looked through him. 
 
 "Ada," he said, in a low voice. 
 
 She opened her mouth slightly and then grimly 
 closed it. 
 
 "Ada," he repeated and would have said more 
 but gripped at the empty air and was about to fall, 
 weakened as he was from a perplexed and sleep- 
 less night and anxious over the suspicious coldness 
 he seemed to read in her face. 
 
 "A glass of water," cried the policeman. "The 
 carafe is over there by the window." 
 
 Miller poured out some water, but Falk tore the 
 glass from his hand and gave it to Lange. The 
 latter took it with a shaking hand, emptied it and 
 walked, staring stiffly in front of him, into the Dis- 
 trict Attorney's office. The door closed behind 
 him with a bang. 
 
 Miller looked at Falk in amazement: 
 [69] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Why the deuce did you take the glass " he 
 began but stopped quickly. 
 
 Falk was smiling broadly. 
 
 "What in the world are you smiling about?" 
 
 "Let us go," said Falk without answering him. 
 They greeted the Captain and his family as they 
 passed. Ada Stock did not recognize them. 
 
 "Poor girl," said Falk, and grew suddenly mel- 
 ancholy: 
 
 "It is not I who am a genius," he said, "but you 
 others who are so unutterably stupid." 
 
 "Beg pardon," Miller stammered. 
 
 "Oh, I was only joshing," said Falk and smiled 
 again. 
 
 "What was the matter with you before?" and 
 Miller gazed at him thoughtfully. 
 
 "I made a discovery," confided Falk, "an ex- 
 ceedingly important discovery." 
 
 "And what was it?" asked the other indiffer- 
 ently. 
 
 "Of something that you have known for many 
 years," teased Falk. 
 
 Miller shook his head and lit a cigarette: 
 
 "I am no good at riddles," he said without press- 
 ing Falk for any further explanation. 
 
 They went silently down the courthouse steps. 
 As they came out on the street, the snow ceased fall- 
 
 [70] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 ing. The street lamps were being lit around them. 
 They turned down the boulevard. A fur-coated 
 gentleman with a black drooping moustache swung 
 his silk hat in a respectful greeting to Preben Mil- 
 ler who barely acknowledged it. Falk looked 
 after the fur clad man in surprise: 
 
 "Wasn't that Hempel? Your chief creditor?" 
 
 "Yes! There ought to be a law against vermin 
 of his sort greeting one on the street," Miller 
 growled. 
 
 "He was deucedly polite! Did he cash that last 
 note?" 
 
 "Yes, thank the Lord!" Miller sighed in relief. 
 
 "Whose name did you put on the back of it this 
 time?" smiled Falk. "Luckily I won't do." 
 
 Miller took him jovially by the arm. 
 
 "What a world we live in, when Arne Falk's 
 name is not good enough for the back of a false 
 
 note." 
 
 They walked in silence for some minutes. The 
 light and bustle around them refreshed them. 
 They were both men of the metropolis. 
 
 "What do you think of the case, anyway?" asked 
 Miller suddenly. 
 
 "To be quite honest with you, for once, I haven't 
 the slightest idea where it is leading to." 
 
 "But the discovery you made?" 
 [71] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 " only led me away from one clue without 
 pointing to another " 
 
 Up in the courthouse District Attorney Jorgen- 
 sen struggled with Einar Lange. The small, fiery 
 official was really angry: 
 
 "I consider you too intelligent a man to per- 
 sist in this ridiculous system of denial. But let 
 me tell you, you shall have time enough to figure 
 things out if we prolong your custody indefinitely." 
 
 Einar Lange merely shrugged his shoulders. 
 He hardly heard him. He constantly saw Ada's 
 stony face before him. 
 
 "You still deny then," persisted the prosecutor, 
 "that you paid the deceased this visit for the sole 
 purpose of borrowing money from him." 
 
 "Yes, absolutely." 
 
 The District Attorney made a hopeless gesture. 
 
 "What are your plans in regard to your mar- 
 riage with Miss Stock? You see I can have no re- 
 gard for your feelings in a case like this." 
 
 "We had intended to be married in the course 
 of a few months," said Lange. 
 
 Jorgensen smiled triumphantly. 
 
 "You make quite a little on your pictures then? 
 The taste for them is well a bit hm! orig- 
 inal" 
 
 [72] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I've done fairly well this last year," said 
 Lange. "But my parents 1 " 
 
 The District Attorney interrupted him. 
 
 "Thanks, I didn't ask you about that but what 
 do you call doing fairly well," he continued. 
 
 "Oh, a couple of thousand kroner a year." 
 
 Jorgensen stretched out his hand to one of the 
 clerks. 
 
 "Income tax returns," he ordered and got them. 
 "You were taxed for twenty-one hundred kroner 
 last year. Did you make more or less this year?" 
 
 "Almost the same, maybe a couple of hundred 
 
 more." 
 
 The prosecuter placed the blanks carefully to- 
 gether: 
 
 "Miss Stock," said he, "is the daughter of a rich 
 man. It was expected then that your father-in- 
 law-to-be would help you out with a yearly 
 sum?" 
 
 "No, I won't accept charity, no matter how 
 kindly it is offered." 
 
 "Which it probably wasn't?" 
 
 Lange shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "There's been no talk of anything of that nature 
 between Captain Stock and myself." 
 
 "And you really have no intention of proposing 
 such an arrangement?" 
 
 [73] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "No, no more than I have of receiving anything 
 whatsoever from him." 
 
 "You're not in sympathy with Mr. Stock, then?" 
 
 "No, we have different ideas about everything 
 under the sun. I told Ada, my fiancee, already a 
 week ago our engagement was not officially an- 
 nounced then, that I would take over both the 
 wedding expenses and the trousseau, and she 
 agreed with me. However, I don't see " 
 
 The other interrupted him. 
 
 "That's all right. But maybe you can under- 
 stand that it's impossible, hopelessly impossible, 
 for you to marry a lady like Miss Stock on an 
 average income of 2000 kroner a year." 
 
 "That is something that concerns only Miss 
 Stock and myself," Lange flared up. 
 
 "No, not at all," sneered Jorgensen and turned 
 to the court officer. "Bring the house-keeper, 
 Mrs. Rosenkvist, in here." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenkvist was almost ready to faint with 
 fright as she stood before the bar. She did not 
 like the atmosphere of the room. It smelled too 
 much of crime. 
 
 "You know this gentleman here?" asked the 
 District Attorney and pointed to Lange. 
 
 Mrs. Rosenkvist stammered a half -choked: 
 [74] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Yes, to my sorrow." 
 
 "Do you maintain your assertion that he visited 
 the deceased last evening in order to borrow money 
 from him?" 
 
 The house-keeper nodded uneasily and glanced 
 at Lange who, half surprised, half angry, ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 "But what in the world " 
 
 The prosecutor interrupted him: 
 
 "Be so kind as to answer only when you are 
 spoken to." 
 
 With that he turned to the house-keeper: 
 
 "Mr. Lange considers your testimony a down- 
 right lie," he said to urge the cowed lady to a 
 more spirited declaration, and it did not fail. At 
 first the house-keeper was staggered by the bare 
 audacity of the statement, but she soon found her 
 tongue. Like a top she whirled around to Lange, 
 her face flaming with indignant anger. 
 
 "Mr. Lange has perhaps quite forgotten that I 
 Btood in Mr. Saabye's bedroom while he and my 
 poor master were over by the safe Or maybe 
 you have forgotten what you said to the master 
 then?" 
 
 Lange smiled wanly: 
 
 "I have forgotten neither I asked father as 
 [75] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 a joke, of course to teach me the combination of 
 the safe so that if he should show himself stingy, 
 I could help myself to the contents." 
 
 "There was some talk of money then?" con- 
 cluded the District Attorney. 
 
 "Yes, there was," admitted Lange, "but with- 
 out any designs on my part whatsoever." 
 
 "Did the deceased then show you the combina- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did you learn it by heart?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The other looked at him in surprise; he had ex- 
 pected a denial. 
 
 "Did you see that there was money in the safe? 
 Or did you know about it beforehand?" 
 
 "I saw my father put it away, besides he had 
 told me earlier that he had been unable to get to 
 the bank with it on account of the bad weather, 
 and that there was about 4000 kroner." 
 
 The house-keeper stirred uneasily. 
 
 "Is there something you would like to say?" 
 Jorgensen asked her. 
 
 "Yes, about a remark that Mr. Lange made as 
 the money was put in the safe." 
 
 Lange shook his head a bit irritably. 
 [76] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I said," he cut short the house-keeper's will- 
 ing information, "that I ought to learn the com- 
 bination. So much more so as I might have use 
 for the money that very night." 
 
 "Which was not without reason," continued the 
 District Attorney, "partly because you needed it, 
 either for your wedding or otherwise! And 
 partly because your foster-father rarely had so 
 large a sum on hand." 
 
 "It was all in joking, of course," answered 
 Lange. 
 
 Jorgensen smiled scornfully. 
 
 "Of course " Lange began. 
 
 "You will be told when we wish further infor- 
 mation," and he turned to the house-keeper who, 
 curtseying deeply, left the room. 
 
 "You have some debts," he continued his exam- 
 ination of Lange. 
 
 "Only very little." 
 
 "No pressing obligations?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The prosecutor smiled maliciously, and showed 
 Lange a letter: 
 
 "What do you call this?" 
 
 Lange grew white and red by turns but did not 
 answer. 
 
 [77] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 "If you care to listen," said Jorgensen with 
 ironical politeness, and began to read the letter: 
 
 Mr. Einar Lange, 
 
 As I hear that you are about to become engaged to 
 Miss Ada Stock, I suggest in all friendship that we 
 settle a little affair that still exists between us. In 
 which you owe me 1000 kroner. This, I think, you will 
 not deny. However, I will not wait any longer for 
 the money. I will give you a week to get it in. If I 
 have not received it by that time, I shall be forced to 
 go to your future father-in-law, the rich Captain Stock. 
 I hope, however, that this will not be necessary. He 
 is said to be somewhat prudish, and would surely dis- 
 approve of that letter of a year ago in which you made 
 me an offer of marriage and also of the fact that you 
 have loaned money to a girl like me however, you will 
 have no trouble getting the money, I am sure. In a 
 week's time then. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 ELLY HANSEN. 
 
 "The week was up yesterday," continued the 
 District Attorney coldly. "Is it clear to you what 
 would happen if this Elly Hansen went to your 
 fiancee's father?" 
 
 Einar Lange nodded stupidly. 
 
 "And it has always been clear to you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You forgot about this very pressing obligation 
 before." 
 
 [78] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I didn't mention it because this letter is nothing 
 but a downright attempt at blackmail." 
 
 "You deny, then, owing this Elly Hansen 2000 
 kroner?" 
 
 "Yes of course." 
 
 "Perhaps you don't know this lady at all?" 
 
 "Unfortunately, yes. I was at one time so 
 youthfully in love with her that I did offer to 
 marry her. But, thank the Lord, she jilted me." 
 
 "Bring Elly Hansen in here," ordered the pros- 
 ecutor. 
 
 "And show the accused into the next room." 
 
 The court officer hurriedly thrust Lange in the 
 side room to which the official had pointed. 
 
 Elly Hansen stepped in before the bar clad in 
 an elegant grey fur cloak. She exhaled an odour 
 of fleur d'amour. She smiled winningly at the 
 District Attorney. 
 
 "This was the letter," he said, "do you acknowl- 
 edge it as your own?" 
 
 "Yes, I certainly do. Are you in doubt?" 
 
 "It smells strongly of blackmail, my dear Elly 
 Hansen." 
 
 She laughed scornfully. 
 
 "It is just as much blackmail as if you wrote to 
 some one who owed you money, if you were in 
 need of it." 
 
 [79] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The District Attorney nodded sceptically; 
 
 "How did Mr. Lange come to owe you so much 
 money?" 
 
 "Oh, I can't say for sure. For travelling and 
 cafe expenses. First class hotels are costly in the 
 long run, and I never drank anything but cham- 
 pagne." 
 
 "Have you any proof of the debt?" 
 
 "Proof and proof!" Elly Hansen shrugged her 
 shoulders. "I have always had confidence in the 
 men I have known. A gentleman does not cheat 
 a poor woman " 
 
 " who can loan a 1000 kroner," continued 
 the prosecutor ironically. 
 
 "It was indeed all my savings," she insisted 
 undaunted. 
 
 "Has the accused had any reason to believe that 
 you would make good your threat and go to Cap- 
 tain Stock if he did not pay you the money?" 
 
 "Yes, Einar Lange knows me well. He knows 
 I have plenty of backbone. I don't threaten. I 
 do." 
 
 "That's all," said the District Attorney in dis- 
 missal. "Thank you." 
 
 She left the room like a condescending queen. 
 
 "Open the window!" snarled the District Attor- 
 [80] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 ney. "She has poisoned the air with her damn per- 
 fume!" 
 
 The winter air quickly filled the room. 
 
 "Captain Stock and wife," was the attorney's 
 next order. 
 
 The court officer opened the door for them an 
 instant after. The Captain was a reddish blue 
 from indignation over having waited so long. He 
 gave Jorgensen a furious look: 
 
 "I was told to be here at two-thirty " he began 
 to roar when he was stopped by the prosecutor's 
 short: 
 
 "You are Captain Stock, are you not?" 
 
 "Yes," he boomed. 
 
 "And this lady is your wife?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I will not inconvenience you long, Captain. 
 We have sent for you and your wife in order to 
 clear up, if possible, this matter of the mysterious 
 telephoning that Mr. Lange insists has taken 
 place Do you lock the door to your bedroom at 
 night?" 
 
 Captain Stock cleared his throat embarrassedly. 
 
 "Yes, you see my wife is easily frightened. She 
 has not as I have been " 
 
 "Did you lock it last night?" 
 [81] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The Captain grunted in peevish assent. He 
 was angry at the interruption. 
 
 "Are you sure?" continued the District Attor- 
 ney undisturbed, "that there was no one in there 
 or that no one could have gotten in while you and 
 your wife slept, who could have sent this myste- 
 rious message?" 
 
 The Captain cleared his throat again: 
 
 "Yes, quite sure," he mumbled. "As an old 
 soldier I realize the importance of keeping my 
 post. And these are unquiet times, so " 
 
 "We always search the room before we go to 
 bed," interjected Mrs. Stock anxiously. "And my 
 husband sleeps very lightly. He would have awak- 
 ened at once if anybody had come in the room. 
 Particularly as there is only one and the same door 
 to t he" 
 
 "And as I," continued the Captain interrupt- 
 ing her, "following my wife's wishes, placed va- 
 rious articles against the door which would have 
 been crushed if the door (which opens inwardly) 
 had been opened from the outside." 
 
 "You believe then that it was impossible 
 that anybody could have rung up from your 
 house?" 
 
 "Yes, absolutely." 
 
 The District Attorney got up and said politely: 
 [82] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Thank you for your information. You will 
 not be bothered again." 
 
 The Captain, with a gracious nod, bustled out of 
 the room, followed by his wife. 
 
 "Miss Ada Stock," called the District Attorney. 
 
 The court officer opened the door of the ante- 
 room and repeated the call. She came at once. 
 He shut the door behind her. 
 
 "Offer the lady a chair," he ordered. 
 
 She nodded gratefully and sank into it. She 
 was pale as a corpse, but not a muscle moved in 
 her face. 
 
 Jorgensen's voice was friendly and sympa- 
 thetic as he asked; 
 
 "Hasn't your fiance a hasty temper?" 
 
 She nodded, trying in vain to speak. 
 
 "Pardon me if I ask," said the prosecutor, "but 
 is your approaching marriage his or your plan?" 
 
 "It is his," she stammered : "I advised against 
 it; I am young and can easily wait. But he 
 wouldn't hear of it." 
 
 "Didn't his pecuniary circumstances make you 
 reflect on such a hasty marriage?" 
 
 "Yes, and I spoke to him about it. But he said 
 that we could manage very well without help 
 from anybody." 
 
 "Not even from his foster-father?" 
 [83] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "No, not from him either." 
 
 "Do you believe in your lover's innocence?" 
 
 She looked slowly up at him. 
 
 "I hope for it," she whispered. "But if he is 
 guilty he has done it in a fit of insanity. He's 
 hasty tempered and also a little thoughtless. But 
 otherwise he is the best man in the world." 
 
 Jorgensen saw that she was about to cry. 
 
 "Thanks, that's all," he said. 
 
 He heard her sob as the door to the anteroom 
 closed behind her. The District Attorney knit his 
 brows. 
 
 "Why do the best women always love the worst 
 men?" he muttered slowly, and then suddenly hit 
 the desk a blow with his fist. 
 
 "Bring Einar Lange in here!" 
 
 The door to the side room opened. Lange's eyes 
 were moist. He had heard Ada Stock defend him. 
 He had wept. 
 
 "Rag!" sneered Jorgensen without looking at 
 him, "well, have you wisely reconsidered things 
 in the meantime?" 
 
 "If you by 'wisely reconsidering' mean a con- 
 fession," said Lange quietly, "I have not re- 
 considered." 
 
 "You are only wasting time by your obstinacy," 
 [84] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 said the attorney in a not unfriendly tone. "Let 
 us try to come to an understanding. 
 
 "You are quite poor and have a comparatively 
 small income. In spite of this you intend to 
 marry the daughter of a wealthy man from whom 
 you cannot expect, or, in accordance with your own 
 words, cannot think of help. You know that your 
 fiancee as the only daughter and child of the afore- 
 said wealthy man is somewhat spoiled. You know 
 also that a change in your pecuniary status is - 
 highly problematical. And although you are 
 neither heartless, insane or known as an impostor, 
 you, who I have heard really love your fiancee, 
 will nevertheless drag her down to your poverty 
 and the bitter struggle for existence. I refuse to 
 believe in such conduct towards a person one is 
 fond of. And I find it still more to be con- 
 demned. I believe you to have committed this 
 crime with the understandable, if not justifiable 
 motive of securing enough money to insure your 
 future wife ,a carefree existence. But perhaps 
 you will still insist that the thought never struck 
 you, that you would become rich at your foster- 
 father's death." 
 
 "No, not in connection with the plans for my 
 marriage." 
 
 [85] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Not in connection with the letter from Elly 
 Hansen either? As you well knew from your 
 foster-father's antipathy to this lady that he 
 would not help you about it." 
 
 "No, -not that time either. I did not think that 
 she would do anything about it. I regarded the 
 letter of so little consequence, that I threw it into 
 the waste-basket at once where your people no 
 doubt found it." 
 
 The District Attorney, with a shrug, resumed 
 quietly: 
 
 "After a quarrel with your foster-father of a 
 year's standing, you visit him one evening. You 
 have some days before received a let us call it 
 a threatening letter, which menaces that connec- 
 tion that you consider essential to your life's suc- 
 cess. 
 
 "After a year's separation between people who 
 are fond of each other, the confidence between 
 them usually grows much greater. I will there- 
 fore quite overlook your statement that you did 
 not speak to Mr. Saabye about your letter from 
 Elly Hansen. I consider likewise your affirmed 
 disregard of the danger it represents, to be false. 
 You have talked to your father about the letter, 
 and asked him to help you out with 1000 kroner. 
 Yes, and I also venture to state that you un- 
 
 [86] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 dertook to make this visit of reconciliation with 
 the understandable and human motive of getting 
 your foster-father to help you out of the delicate 
 situation which the lady had caused. You have a 
 hasty temperament. Your late father had also a 
 hasty temper. An old wound has been opened up, 
 and all this has happened after the house-keeper 
 has gone to bed, and directly before you and your 
 father retired. As the house-keeper's bedroom is 
 out by the kitchen, she has heard nothing of the 
 bickering. 
 
 "But you realize that you have gone too far, and 
 see clearly that you will not get the money for Elly 
 Hansen, and that the new breach will at any rate 
 temporarily make it difficult for you to ask your 
 father for any kind of financial assistance. 
 
 "I will skip the intermediate happenings and 
 only emphasize the fact that you are the only male 
 person in the house when your foster-father was 
 murdered. You know the combination of the safe. 
 You know that there is money in it. You know 
 where the murder instrument, the razor, is kept. 
 
 "The door cannot be opened by a stranger, and 
 all the keys have been proved to have been in the 
 house. The telephone call has been shown to be 
 false. Your terror-stricken flight, however, is a 
 fact, to which is joined the nicked knife with which 
 [87] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 you cut the burglar alarm wire. Your bloody 
 coat and handkerchief, your bloody gloves and " 
 
 Jorgensen stopped a moment and laid some 
 money down in front of Lange "these bloody 
 notes which were found in your coat pocket." 
 
 Lange shook his head in pained bewilderment. 
 
 "It is all like an evil dream," said he, "but you 
 forget or rather overlook a somewhat essential 
 thing." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You constantly emphasize that I am not insane, 
 but who but an insane person would have commit- 
 ted this murder in such an unheard of and idiotic 
 manner? Besides it would be ridiculous for me 
 to steal the money which would be mine anvway 
 after my father's death. As the sole heir to quite 
 a large fortune, it would have also have been quite 
 easy for me to have borrowed a thousand kroner 
 for Elly Hansen even the day after." 
 
 "If I am forgetful," Jorgensen resumed, "you 
 are no less so. You are not the first example of 
 the logical criminal who has built up the whole 
 deed so very carefully and who in the instant when 
 he stands face to face with his crime forgets all 
 and everything through very horror and only flees." 
 
 "I'm no criminal!" insisted Lange hotly, 
 "neither logical nor illogical." 
 
 [88] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "You still deny everything in spite of all evi- 
 dence; in spite of evident guilt?" 
 
 "Yes, I deny having any knowledge or participa- 
 tion in this murder." 
 
 "Thanks, that'll do," sneered the District At- 
 torney, and winked at the recorder as if to say, 
 "Hurry it up a little." 
 
 The record was read for the accused in furious 
 haste. He corrected it in various details. The 
 prosecutor sat and glared at him, half surprised, 
 half angry. He had never seen the like of such 
 impudence, and in an amateur. 
 
 "Out with him!" He motioned to the prison 
 guard. 
 
 The man opened the door for Lange. The win- 
 dow in his anteroom was open. The fresh, frosty 
 air streamed into the close arid empty place with 
 its flickering night lights. The noises of the street 
 came up to them; the measured music of a detach- 
 ment of soldiers. 
 
 The sweeping tones of the "Internationale." 
 
 Einar Lange stopped suddenly on the threshold, 
 and stood motionless and listened. His eyes were 
 closed. They all looked at him in surprise. He 
 turned quickly on his heel, and went into the court 
 room again quite over to the bar. The District 
 Attorney was putting on his overcoat. 
 
 [89] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "What the Devil is the matter with you?" 
 
 "I have some information to give," said Einar 
 Lange, "which I ask be affixed to the register. I 
 have already told you about my supposed dream 
 last night. Now I know that I also heard music, 
 and the piece that was played was the 'Inter- 
 nationale,' and without doubt on a piano." 
 
 The testimony was entered on the record. 
 
 "I don't believe a word of it," uttered Jorgen- 
 sen, "but I will be no less zealous about having it 
 looked into The next time we meet, I hope, for 
 your own sake, that you have changed your tactics." 
 
 Einar Lange was brought back into custody. 
 When he was alone in his cell, he went completely 
 to pieces, and wept like a child. 
 
 Even Ada Stock's defence of him had been full 
 of doubt as to his innocence. They all condemned 
 him beforehand. Both people and the law! 
 
 And he wasn't a murderer. He wasn't! 
 
 Or had he in a fit of insanity ? 
 
 He shuddered from cold and horror. He was 
 bewildered. He could do nothing; but merely sat 
 with his dying destiny between his shaking hands, 
 and was unable to breathe warmth or life into its 
 soul. 
 
 [90] 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 ARNE FALK turned down Helgolands 
 Street. It was about eight o'clock. The 
 snow fell again. He glanced up towards 
 the corner where the Stocks lived. All the win- 
 dows were dark except one where the light burned 
 low, as if in a sick room. He had heard that Ada 
 Stock had suddenly become ill after the court ex- 
 amination. He felt so sorry for her. He knew 
 this outwardly cold type of woman who could go 
 around with an aching heart and a conventional 
 smile on her lips. 
 
 She also considered Lange to be the murderer 
 just as the law and the whole city did. The evi- 
 dence was too overwhelming, and people had had 
 less cause for killing a man than Einar Lange had 
 had; he who would have gained a fortune and a 
 bride, and warded off an overhanging danger by 
 his crime. The motive had been very clear. The 
 unusual clumsiness about the execution of the deed 
 must simply be put down to the fact that Lange 
 had after the murder become horror-stricken at 
 his deed. 
 
 [91] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 It was all as clear as sunlight. One only won- 
 dered at such a hopeless denial. Falk had a 
 slightly different opinion. It seemed quite ob- 
 vious to him that the case was far more difficult 
 than appeared upon the surface, but if he doubted 
 Einar Lange's guilt, yes, even his participation in 
 the murder then it was because his experience 
 led him at once to the band who in the spring and 
 summer had committed so many trackless rob- 
 beries, and who had eluded the police so success- 
 fully. 
 
 Their gain had happened to be comparatively 
 small, but it could not be denied that their opera- 
 tions had been conducted in a manner so traceless 
 that it pointed to the direction of a high criminal 
 intelligence. 
 
 What if this band was in back of the whole 
 crime? Falk easily perceived how fantastic his 
 hypothesis was, but if Lange was innocent, which 
 he was almost inclined to think, then this band's 
 criminal cleverness was the only one that Falk 
 could consider on a par with the mystery of the 
 crime. 
 
 Some one greeted him and stopped. It was In- 
 spector Jensen-Skandrup. 
 
 "Good evening!" he shook hands cordially. 
 
 "How goes it?" 
 
 [92] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Tonight he is to be confronted with the body," 
 said the Inspector. "That'll make him talk all 
 right. We put something of the dramatic into it, 
 you see. Most all of them fall for it. Besides, 
 he's admitted that he knew the will was unchanged 
 in spite of the bad feeling between him and 
 Saabye. His foster-father had told him that him- 
 self, so he shows there what he did when he well. 
 But you haven't heard the latest. You remember 
 his fairy-tale about a dream with a hand and a 
 light and some noise. To tell the truth, I don't 
 believe a word of it. But I'll be damned if it 
 hasn't turned out to be an actual fact. Some of it 
 at any rate." 
 
 Falk smiled: 
 
 "So you believe in that too?" 
 
 "Yes, I pretty nearly have to. We have gone 
 into the matter, and it has been shown, first, that 
 the moonlight at the time the murder was commit- 
 ted really did shine through an opening in the cur- 
 tain, and fell on the writing desk as he said. But 
 the noise could be at least satisfactorily explained 
 by the razor being put in the vase on the writing 
 desk shelf. And the hand could have been his 
 own eh eh?" 
 
 "Did you also clear up that rushing and roaring 
 he spoke about?" asked Falk. 
 [93] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Yes, barely an hour ago; it sounded a bit fishy 
 but now it is as clear as brandy." 
 
 "And what was it then?" 
 
 "Music." 
 
 "What music?" 
 
 "Well, he suddenly thought of it this afternoon. 
 It was this here what d'you call it 'Inter- 
 nationale.' ' 
 
 "And you have substantiated that he had or 
 could have heard it?" 
 
 "Yes, that's just what we have. There is only 
 one little peculiarity about it?" 
 
 "And what's that?" asked Falk. 
 
 "We inquired about," explained the Inspector, 
 "both in No. 10, 12, 14 and the house on the back 
 and side, and there is really one of the musical 
 ladies or gents there, but still only one who plays 
 the 'Internationale.' She lives, by the way, in 
 No. 10, the house next door." 
 
 "And that one?" 
 
 "Insists that she played the tune at a quarter to 
 twelve, at which time she closed the piano and 
 went to bed." 
 
 "That is, a full half hour before Saabye was 
 murdered and before the murder instrument 
 could have been put in the vase." 
 [94] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Yes, just! The lady has a mantel-piece clock 
 that was wound up three days ago and is absolutely 
 correct. 
 
 "Well," Jensen-Skandrup continued, "I don't 
 know what you think. But I think that the whole 
 story is just something that the fellow has cooked 
 up to bewilder us. And it is clearly nothing but 
 thoughtlessness that made him drag this music into 
 it I don't believe that the money is burned either. 
 He found some place all right on his way to Stock's 
 where he could hide it. Burning several thou- 
 sand kroner! There is a limit, by God, to how 
 idiotic a person can be." The Inspector was quite 
 indignant at the thought. 
 
 "I am of the same opinion as you," nodded Falk. 
 "The money was not destroyed." 
 
 Jensen-Skandrup swelled like a pouter pigeon. 
 Falk had through various experiences become his 
 very ideal of a detective. 
 
 "We two, eh?" he grinned. "We can solve any- 
 thing. If we have time enough." 
 
 "Apropos, time!" Falk stopped abruptly but 
 continued again: 
 
 "There is always somebody at the house?" 
 
 "Yes, of course." 
 
 Falk nodded genially. 
 
 [95] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Well, I must be going." 
 
 Jensen-Skandrup raised his hat absent-mindedly, 
 and looked after him for a long time: 
 
 "He has something or other up his sleeve," 
 he mumbled half regretfully, half wonderingly. 
 "Another wild goose chase! He's full of sur- 
 prises, that fellow. Heaven only knows what he 
 meant by 'apropos, time'!" 
 
 The Inspector drifted grumblingly into a res- 
 taurant and ordered his dinner and ruminated 
 about Falk . 
 
 The latter had already turned down Isted Street 
 which he followed almost to the corner of Saxo 
 Street. A couple of houses from it he stopped and 
 went into a plain, unpretentious rooming-house. 
 He had got the idea after the court examination 
 that perhaps Elly Hansen could put him on the 
 track of something, or rather she was the only 
 point of suspicion in so far as she could have been 
 the cause of the crime. If Lange, that is, had had 
 something to do with it. 
 
 She lived on the second floor in a three-room 
 flat. The door knob was brightly polished. Falk 
 rang and waited. No one came. He repeated 
 his ring but still nobody came. He was about to 
 give up for the time being, when he heard some one 
 
 [96] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 below carefully open the street door, and creep 
 quietly up the stairs. There was something so 
 very cautious about the footsteps that he became 
 suspicious. A man was only so careful when he 
 did not wish to meet any of the people of the 
 house. 
 
 Falk leaned over the banister. The cautious 
 one was a small humpbacked man. He was 
 nearly at the first landing now. By the light of the 
 dull gas jet, Falk could see his face, and recog- 
 nized it at once. The cobbler from Saxo Street. 
 He had (been very quiet during this past year but 
 the year before he had been very well known to 
 the police. It was said that he'd got religion. 
 Just now, however, something beside pure Chris- 
 tianity shone out of his unshaven face. It was un- 
 deniably a bit sinister. 
 
 Falk went up to the next landing. A passing 
 street car luckily drowned his steps so that the 
 other could not hear them. Falk silently blessed it. 
 The cobbler stopped on the second landing, and 
 knocked softly on Elly Hansen's door. What in 
 the deuce was he doing down there? When no 
 one came to the door he rang. Four short rings. 
 A certain pre-arranged signal? But still no one 
 came. 
 
 [97] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Falk heard him mutter several blistering oaths. 
 What under the sun did the cobbler want of Elly 
 Hansen? One of her cavaliers he certainly was 
 not! She had or at any rate had had a well 
 cultivated taste for comfort and a filled pocket- 
 book, and was not hindered by that romantic, 
 protective idea which made so many of the city's 
 fly-by-nights dependent on a lover of their own 
 status in society. 
 
 Falk was silent as the grave. The cobbler rang 
 once more. Then the street door opened, and he 
 heard some one come up the stairs humming cheer- 
 fully, pass the first landing and go on. He looked 
 down cautiously. It was Elly Hansen. He saw 
 her stop on the landing, and regard the cobbler 
 with an almost hostile look: 
 
 "What do you want here?" he heard her burst 
 out. "Didn't I tell you once and for all not to 
 be following me around?" 
 
 The humpbacked gnome bowed in artificial 
 humbleness. 
 
 "I know you are mad with me, Elly," he ad- 
 mitted. "But I am, after all, your own brother, 
 and I must speak with you." 
 
 "About what?" Her tone was still cold but she 
 talked in the same low voice as her brother. 
 
 [98] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "It's so hard for father and me to get along," 
 he whined. "We don't know which way to turn, 
 and we have hardly a bite to eat." 
 
 "Well, what's that got to do with me?" 
 
 "I thought maybe that you " 
 
 "Didn't I make it clear last time? I'm not going 
 to help you any more. I've other uses for my 
 money." 
 
 "I'll have to talk to Nielsen then," and her 
 brother straightened himself suddenly. His glit- 
 tering black eyes gleamed evilly. 
 
 "I don't know where he is," said Elly frostily 
 and turned to open the door. 
 
 The cobbler placed himself in the way. 
 
 "You'd better find out pretty quick," he snarled 
 threateningly. "Or else " 
 
 "Or else else " she said scornfully. 
 
 "We must use other means!" 
 
 "You bum!" She glared at him. "Do you think 
 Nielsen is afraid of you? Of you?" 
 
 "I can make him afraid," her brother smiled 
 wickedly. 
 
 She pushed him to one side. 
 
 "All right, all right! Beat it." 
 
 "Then we may hope that very soon " 
 
 "Yes, I'll tell him to look you up but I haven't 
 [99] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 seen him since yesterday afternoon. Good-bye." 
 
 She slammed the door in his face. The cobbler 
 looked at it with a malicious smile. 
 
 "I'll get the best of you yet, old girl," he whis- 
 pered hoarsely and spat. "You slut!" 
 
 He went noisily down the stairs. Falk followed 
 him. The cobbler's close relationship to Elly 
 Hansen opened up unthought-of possibilities. A 
 crook who played religious was capable of any- 
 thing. Such was Falk's belief anyway. 
 
 "What if the cobbler!" 
 
 He dismissed the thought hurriedly. 
 
 In that case, he would not have been in such dire 
 straits as was evidenced from his begging from his 
 sister. It was quite another thing, though, if he 
 had some connection or other with the real crim- 
 inal. 
 
 Just at present, the grounds for suspicion were 
 rather weak. Any one of the city's thousands of 
 crooks could just as well be implicated in the mur- 
 der as he. But Falk followed him anyway. 
 
 The cobbler turned down Saxo Street, and dis- 
 appeared in his cellar. Falk waited until he saw 
 a light lit in the room back of the shop. Then he 
 knocked and went in without waiting for an an- 
 swer. 
 
 [100] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The cobbler popped up in the doorway at that 
 instant like some dwarf of the underworld. 
 
 "Who is it?" he asked harshly. 
 
 Falk stepped into the belt of light that was 
 thrown by the lamp on the table. 
 
 "It is I," he said. "Good evening. It is quite 
 a while since we have had one of our little 
 chats." 
 
 The cobbler stood as if rooted to the threshold 
 and barred the way to the back room. 
 
 "This is an honour, Mr. Falk," he purred, "but 
 my poor father is sick. It rests in God's hand, 
 His almighty hand, whether he will ever arise from 
 his bed of pain." 
 
 "Is he as stewed as all that?" smiled Falk and 
 pushed the cobbler merrily but firmly aside, and 
 went into the back room. A grunting sound came 
 from the darkness where the cobbler's bed stood. 
 
 Falk lit a cigar. 
 
 "So your old man is still hitting the booze?" 
 
 The cobbler despondently shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 "I try to hide it from the eyes of the world. 
 God forgive me!" He folded his hands. "His 
 flesh is still sinful, but the Lord Christ will save 
 him." 
 
 [101] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Don't you think a temperance cure would be 
 better?" 
 
 "I believe in the Lord," chanted the cobbler. 
 "He who knows all has both refuge and salvation 
 for a worthy old man." He bent down over his 
 father. 
 
 "Shouldn't we rather say a worthy old scoun- 
 drel?" said Falk coolly. "But you have become 
 converted?" 
 
 "I have sought the Lord Jesus and I have found 
 him," brayed the cobbler. 
 
 "But does it bring in any cash?" Falk still 
 smiled. 
 
 "A man whom His Majesty " grunted the old 
 man from his corner " whom His Majesty shook 
 hands with " 
 
 "Has your father had an audience lately?" 
 asked Falk. 
 
 The cobbler did not seem to understand: 
 
 "Father is a little childish," he said with a syr- 
 upy smile. 
 
 "He is!" exclaimed Falk, inwardly wondering 
 at a childishness that had led its possessor from 
 one prison to another. 
 
 "You see His Majesty God save him was 
 once on a visit through the coops the prisons! 
 [102] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 and met father and shook his hand and he 
 can't" 
 
 "How touching," said Falk. "What prison was 
 it?" 
 
 "Ah, humanity is but weak. But the Lord God 
 is a merciful judge," exclaimed the cobbler 
 piously. 
 
 "Last night you weren't so holy. Things weren't 
 running so very smoothly then." 
 
 The cobbler bowed his head in remorse. 
 
 "The spirit is willing," he said, "but the flesh 
 is weak." 
 
 "What were you doing out on Osterbro so late? 
 It was eleven thirty." 
 
 The cobbler looked up in surprise. 
 
 "I wasn't on Osterbro last night. I haven't set 
 foot there in the last two weeks." 
 
 "Oh, yes, it was you," insisted Falk, "but maybe 
 it was a little later than eleven thirty." 
 
 "You were mistaken," protested the other. 
 "The old man and I sat at Nikola j sen's from nine 
 until closing time at twelve o'clock. That was 
 mostly for father's sake," he added with sham con- 
 cern. "I don't go there very much myself but 
 one has some responsibility, and he is helpless 
 when he has had too much." 
 
 [103] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Does he live with you?" 
 
 "No, he has a room in the attic that goes with 
 the basement here, but he often rests down here. 
 For he is old and weak. Ah, the world is, indeed, 
 sinful." 
 
 "What does he live by?" asked Falk. 
 
 The cobbler tried with no success to appear un- 
 concerned. 
 
 "Oh, the 'Army' helps him a little, and then 
 he helps me in the shop now and then. But that 
 doesn't amount to much. Still the Lord, the Al- 
 mighty " 
 
 Falk interrupted him quietly. 
 
 "Look here, I always respect the instinct of 
 self-preservation no matter how filthily it may be 
 masquerading. Whether it's in crime or religion. 
 But I also wish to have my intelligence respected 
 or my instinct. Whatever you wish to call it. 
 And it tells me: First, that this nauseating cloak 
 of religion is a sham. Secondly, that you are in 
 the game again. Your protests are superfluous. 
 I know very well that your lungs can't stand it. 
 But the law can't either, and one of these days 
 you'll get it, but until then I'll give you a chance. 
 There is a case that I'm interested in. Can you 
 guess which?" 
 
 The cobbler did not try to play stupid. 
 [104] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "The murder case last night," he said sullenly. 
 His piousness had utterly slipped from him. 
 
 Falk nodded: 
 
 "I hope and do not believe that you yourself 
 had anything to do with it. But perhaps you have 
 heard something or other. You move just as I 
 do in certain circles. And they are a little more 
 open to you. In other words, there is some money 
 to be made." 
 
 The cobbler reflected a moment. His voice 
 dropped as he said oilily: 
 
 "I'll do the best I can. Of course, it's a dirty 
 
 __ 99 
 
 He stopped suddenly and listened. A cautious 
 knock was heard outside of the shop. The cob- 
 bler opened the door to the kitchen and smiled 
 crookedly. 
 
 "If you will be so kind as to step this way?" 
 
 "Do you expect ladies?" 
 
 The cobbler smiled again. "I am but a man, 
 thank the Lord." He still stood with his hand on 
 the knob of the open door. A gust of cold, 
 clammy air filled the room. 
 
 "I hate back stairways," said Falk. "I'll close 
 my eyes as the ladies go by." 
 
 The cobbler closed the kitchen door. For a 
 moment he was clearly nonplussed, but as the 
 [105] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 knocking continued, he turned sullenly, and hur- 
 ried out in the shop. 
 
 Falk heard him open the door and exclaim with 
 disappointment : 
 
 "Is it only you, Nielsen? I thought it was Jen- 
 
 sine." 
 
 Falk went out in the shop. As he did so he saw 
 the man whom the cobbler called Nielsen throw 
 the cigarette butt he was smoking up on the street 
 and tramp into the shop, rubbing his benumbed 
 fingers. 
 
 He started as he saw Falk, but merely greeted 
 him with a sullen pull at his slouch hat, and 
 lounged into the back room while the cobbler, bow- 
 ing humbly, ushered Falk out and locked the door 
 behind him. 
 
 The light from the street lamp fell on the snowy, 
 icy sidewalk. A cigarette butt lay there, the one 
 Nielsen had thrown away. It had such a unique 
 look that Falk bent over and picked it up, looked 
 at it in surprise and put it in his pocket. 
 
 "I'll be hanged," he murmured thoughtfully 
 and cut across the street to Nikola j sen's Cafe and 
 went in. 
 
 The little, smoky place with the sanded floor, 
 the beer advertisements on the walls, and the red- 
 [106] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 checked tablecloths was nearly empty. Some of 
 the neighbourhood's "messieurs des femmes" were 
 playing pool in the next room. They were in 
 their pink striped shirt sleeves, and wrist watches 
 gleamed golden on their fat, pale wrists. Nikolaj- 
 sen watched the game with interest until he no- 
 ticed Falk. The latter ordered whiskey. 
 
 "Well, well, good evening, Mr. Falk." He 
 rolled over to his distinguished visitor smiling his 
 welcome. "To what do I owe this honour? A 
 bit of a chase, eh?" 
 Falk shrugged. 
 
 "Life is nothing but a chase, Nikolajsen." 
 Nikolajsen laughed in assent: "So 'tis, by 
 Gawd! So 'tis!" 
 
 "I also took a little run over to the cobbler's," 
 Falk told him. "He comes here quite often, doesn't 
 he?" 
 
 "Yes, he gives me all his trade." 
 "He had a nice jag last night, eh?" 
 "A little bird must have told you that. But it 
 was mostly the old man. I could hardly get him 
 out although it was after twelve. He can't carry 
 a load like he used to." 
 
 The host shrugged his shoulders in compassion- 
 ate disdain. 
 
 [1071 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 "No, it's not given to all of us to last as long as 
 you, Nikolajsen. You've got it down to a 
 
 science." 
 
 "B' Gawd, so I have," boasted the host. "But 
 I'm no spring chicken any more." 
 
 "And they started in the middle of the after- 
 noon?" continued Falk visibly impressed. 
 
 "The cobbler and his old man," protested Nik- 
 olajsen, "didn't get here until nine thirty but then 
 they did get busy." 
 
 "Then they actually sat here for two hours and 
 tipped the bottle?" 
 
 "Yes, you can bet your boots they did. They 
 crooked their elbows all right. But we made an 
 evening of it too. And the cobbler soon forgot 
 his religion." 
 
 Falk lifted the shade and looked out. 
 
 "Are you afraid of the snow?" and motioned 
 to the waiter. 
 
 "Two shots here, Severinsen." 
 
 "Yes, I hate a snowstorm," nodded Falk. 
 
 From the window where he sat, he had when he 
 lifted the shade a very good view of the cobbler's 
 cellar. Quite often while enjoying his second 
 drink, he peeped out from behind it. But he was 
 not afraid of the snowstorm. He was waiting for 
 Nielsen, the printer. 
 
 [108] 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 WHEN the cobbler had locked the door 
 behind Falk, he went sullenly into 
 the back room where Nielsen waited 
 for him, smoking a fresh cigarette. 
 
 His dirty fingers seemed to caress it as he took it 
 from his mouth, to remark with a sarcastic smile: 
 
 "Well, you've had a visit. A visit by law and 
 order." 
 
 The cobbler fidgeted. 
 
 Suddenly the other's smile became icy and his 
 voice cold and cutting as he said: 
 
 "Look out, don''t burn yourself!" 
 
 The cobbler protested: 
 
 "I'd no idea he was coming." His sullenness 
 had changed to humble and eager explanation. 
 There was something so strange about this Nielsen. 
 One felt insignificant beside him. It was as if he 
 could read all your thoughts. 
 
 "You didn't!'" said Nielsen scornfully. 
 
 "No, I tell you. And I was expecting you any 
 minute. So if I had been going to get the bulls, I 
 would have had him come at some other time." 
 [109] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "But it's a dog's life," he added, "and maybe it 
 wouldn't be a bad idea to have a surer way of 
 making a living." 
 
 Nielsen smiled poisonously. 
 
 "Yes, maybe! Elly tells me that you're dissat- 
 isfied with me." 
 
 The cobbler looked away: 
 
 "It's only that it's so devilish hard to get along," 
 he muttered, "and the four or five jobs we've 
 pulled off together didn't get us much." 
 
 "No, because you're so thick and didn't use 
 your head. When a fellow is out on a job and 
 there's 2000 kroner in a bureau drawer, it's the 
 usual thing to open the drawer and nail the money 
 The last time you were drunk and nearly 
 spoiled everything. I've no use for drunks. I'd 
 sooner lay low. I have kept my promise. 
 You're the one who's broken the contract.' 1 ' 
 
 The cobbler looked up in sudden resolution. 
 
 "That makes no difference," he said. "We 
 have worked together and you must help me now 
 or we'll starve to death." 
 
 "You have your religion," mocked Nielsen, "and 
 your stool pigeons. You'll get more pity too if 
 you're not too fat. No one will starve to death in 
 this country if he's sufficiently pious." 
 
 The cobbler stared at him. His voice rose to 
 [110] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 a growl as he said: "If you won't help us, I'll go 
 elsewhere." 
 
 "Where, may I ask?" Nielsen was visibly 
 amused. 
 
 "To the gentleman you saw a little while ago," 
 threatened the cobbler, egged on by the other's 
 scorn. "He's a man who'll pay big for some 
 good dope." 
 
 Nielsen calmly knocked the ashes off his cigar- 
 ette. 
 
 "I make no threats, Hansen. But if you ever 
 do say anything concerning me to this man, I 
 advise you to look around for a grave at once. 
 For God strike me dead, if I don't kill you." 
 
 Nielsen had got up from his seat and his eyes 
 blazed so behind his glasses that the cobbler began 
 to shake. 
 
 "I didn't mean just that," he mumbled, and 
 offered the printer his hand. "You and I are 
 pals." 
 
 Nielsen seated himself again. He was pale 
 with excitement and did not seem to notice the 
 cobbler's outstretched hand. 
 
 "You forget, too," he continued more calmly, 
 "that you have a couple of years to your credit 
 and your lungs. Even at the best, you too would 
 have to rot in jail." 
 
 [in] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The cobbler nodded humbly: 
 
 "I know it, Nielsen. I know it. It was only 
 that I was so upset " 
 
 "I'll give you a ten-spot," said the other shortly 
 and began to search through an old worn wallet. 
 He handed the cobbler a crumpled bill. "I can't 
 spare any more." 
 
 The cobbler looked at it disappointedly but did 
 not dare to ask for more. His father turned over 
 and grunted. But the son did not notice, only 
 stared at the bill, then suddenly took his eyes from 
 it and put the note in his pocket. 
 
 Nielsen had not noticed his face. He Sorted 
 some of the papers in the wallet. Then he closed 
 it, put it in his pocket and stood up: 
 
 "Good night," he said and was about to go. 
 
 The cobbler fawningly shook his hand. 
 
 Suddenly he asked: "Have you cut yourself?" 
 
 Nielsen looked at him in surprise: 
 
 "Gut myself?" 
 
 "Yes, or had a nosebleed?" 
 
 "Are you fooling?" sneered the other. "What 
 in hell makes you think I've cut myself or had a 
 nosebleed??' 
 
 "Let's see your hands?" leered the cobbler. 
 
 Nielsen held them out in the lamplight, ostenta- 
 tiously willing. 
 
 [112] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Don't you want to see my belly too? Or my 
 legs? 
 
 "What in hell's name is the matter with you?" 
 
 Nielsen drew his hands away as if he had burnt 
 them. 
 
 "Why do you ask if I have cut myself?" 
 
 ^Because there is blood on the bill," grinned 
 the cobbler. 
 
 "Nonsense!" Nielsen grew quite pale. 
 
 "Nonsense," he repeated, "let's see it." 
 
 "So that you'd swipe it from me," the other 
 smiled craftily. "No, we won't play that way." 
 
 The printer shrugged his shoulders but said 
 nothing. His eyes did not leave the cobbler's ill- 
 shaven face for one instant. 
 
 "You saw Elly last night, didn't you?" re- 
 marked the other quietly. 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "Elly told me herself." 
 
 "Maybe she lied." 
 
 "And why should she lie?" the cobbler's smile 
 broadened. 
 
 "I don't know," said Nielsen* evasively. 
 "Women often lie for the sake of lying." 
 
 "Yes, and men," nodded the cobbler, "usually 
 have weightier reasons than that." 
 
 He filled his pipe, lit it, and calmly seated him- 
 [113] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 self on the edge of the bed as if it was a matter of 
 course that they would continue their conversation. 
 
 "You were at Elly's last night then?' 1 ' 
 
 "What business is it of yours?" 
 
 "And between eleven and twelve?" grinned the 
 cobbler unabashed, and went on quickly without 
 waiting for an answer: 
 
 "Did you read about the murder last night? A 
 lot of money is* said to have disappeared. 1 " 
 
 Nielsen pulled his hat over his eyes. 
 
 "I must be going," he said. 
 
 "If there is blood on any of it," continued the 
 cobbler, "the fellow that took it had better watch 
 out." 
 
 Nielsen smiled wickedly. 
 
 "What is the meaning of all this nonsense? Is 
 it your honoured belief that the money I gave you 
 is from the mysterious safe?" 
 
 The cobbler had suddenly become silent. 
 
 "Or that it is me that killed him?" continued 
 Nielsen. "If I had I would be better off than I 
 am now. Come, what do you say? 1 " 
 
 "I didn't mean anything," grunted the cobbler. 
 
 Nielsen nodded curtly. 
 
 "And the better it is for you," he said and went 
 out in the shop. "Stick to your religion. That 
 hurts nobody, And remember what I said before: 
 [114] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 No tricks! Or I'll cure you of the talking habit for 
 life." 
 
 The cobbler opened the door for him. When 
 the other was half way up the steps, he whispered : 
 
 "Wash your fingers' better! There's blood un- 
 der your nails!" and quickly slammed the door. 
 
 Nielsen stretched out his hand in the lamplight 
 and gazed at it. He heard a mocking laugh from 
 the cellar. He shook himself, put his hands in 
 his pockets, and lounged down towards Isted 
 Street. 
 
 Just then a man came out of Nikola j sen's Cafe. 
 The street was white and deserted. It was there- 
 fore more than difficult for him to follow the printer 
 without his knowing it. The man waited until 
 the printer had turned the corner of Isted Street, 
 then he hurried after him. 
 
 It was Arne Falk. He stopped at the corner 
 and saw Nielsen stop outside of Elly Hansen's 
 house and look up at her lighted window- then 
 open the street door and lock it behind him. 
 
 On the other side of the street, Falk discovered 
 a book-seller's window that interested him deeply, 
 and none the less because from there he had a fine 
 view of the place where Elly Hansen lived. Her 
 windows were the only ones in the whole house 
 that were lit up. Then he saw the printer's 
 [115] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 shadow slip past the window shade's yellow sur- 
 face, with an apparently excited gesture. 
 
 What the deuce was happening up there? 
 Now the light went out. In the frosty air of the 
 quiet street, sounds travelled quickly. Falk heard 
 the door up there open and hurriedly shut again, 
 and the foot-steps of some one coming down the 
 stairs. Steps that he seemed to know! He 
 slipped over to the street door which was sud- 
 denly opened by Preben Miller! 
 
 He recognized Falk at once. 
 
 "Good evening. What are you sniffing around 
 for?" 
 
 "I'm getting some fresh air," laughed Falk, 
 "and you?" 
 
 "I've just visited a mutual acquaintance of ours 
 Miss Elly Hansen." 
 
 "But the idyll was interrupted?" smiled Falk. 
 
 "Beg pardon?" Miller looked at him in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Isn't the lady engaged to a printer called Niel- 
 sen?" 
 
 Miller slipped and dropped his stick: 
 
 "By Satan, but it's icy here! How the deuce 
 do you know him?" 
 
 "I was, you might say, introduced to him last 
 fall down at the cobbler's." 
 [116] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "The cobbler's?" 
 
 "Yes, one of those Saxo Street birds." 
 
 "I haven't had the honour," complained Miller 
 smilingly. 
 
 "Nielsen, however, I have met several times. 
 He's not just what you might call attractive." 
 
 "He's jealous, perhaps." 
 
 "It looks as if he is." Miller lit a cigarette. 
 
 "May I have it a moment?" asked Falk. 
 
 Miller gave it to him in surprise. Falk began 
 to compare it with the cigarette stub that Nielsen 
 had thrown away: 
 
 "They are both Sunkas," he said and showed 
 them to Miller. They stood under a street light. 
 
 "Where did you find that butt?" asked the 
 writer. 
 
 "Nielsen threw it away as he went in the cob- 
 bler's place." Miller whistled softly. 
 
 "Now I understand why I always miss cigarettes 
 when I visit Elly. She simply grabs them for 
 him. I'll just put a stop to that! They cost too 
 damn much to be wasted on a bum like him.' 1 ' 
 
 They had gone some yards from the house. 
 Falk stopped: 
 
 "I'm going the other way," he said, "good 
 night." 
 
 "Good night.' 1 ' Miller sauntered down the street. 
 [117] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Falk stood still and lit a cigar. Then he loitered 
 over to the other side of the street. A sign over 
 the door advertised the fact that there was a pay 
 telephone within. By looking in the directory he 
 found that Elly Hansen had a telephone, and from 
 the telephone booth nearest the door he had a fine 
 view of her house directly across the way. He 
 asked for her number. "Hurry, please," he 
 added. Several seconds passed. Then a light 
 was lit in the house across the street, and he saw 
 Elly Hansen as a fleeting shadow on the shade 
 pass the window on the way to the telephone. 
 
 "Hello," Falk made his voice sound rough. 
 
 A clicking hello came from the other end of 
 the wire. 
 
 "Is this Miss Elly Hansen?" 
 
 "Yes," The voice was more reserved now. 
 
 "Is Nielsen there?" 
 
 Falk heard something like a smothered scream. 
 She must have been frightened at something or 
 other. Her voice shook, too, as, in response to 
 his repeated question about Nielsen, she countered 
 with a question as to whom she was speaking. 
 
 "This is one of his friends, Printer Petersen." 
 
 "There must be a mistake somewhere. I don't 
 know any one named Nielsen." 
 
 Falk heard her slam down the receiver. He 
 [118] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 looked out. The light still burned in her room. 
 He waited about half a minute and then again gave 
 her number. 
 
 "Line's busy," Central answered. 
 
 Falk gasped. She had then instantly called 
 somebody up! Unless the remarkable coinci- 
 dence had happened that she herself just at 
 this instant and so late at night had been called 
 up. This latter theory he was disinclined to be- 
 lieve. 
 
 Some mioments passed. Falk tried again to 
 get her number. But Central still reported 
 "busy." She was certainly having a long conver- 
 sation. Or perhaps she was constantly ringing a 
 number up trying to get connections. 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 Falk was not in doubt about that. It was his 
 questioning about Nielsen that had frightened her. 
 His standing probably wasn't in, the best order 
 either. His friends were bad, and his "trade" 
 was no doubt worse. He was probably both a 
 crook and an "Alfonsf" which did not coincide 
 with the description that Falk had received in the 
 city of Elly Hansen, who never burdened herself 
 with that kind of connection. On the other hand, 
 Miller's description of him was not to be mis- 
 taken. Only Falk had never before in his practice 
 [119] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 encountered Nielsen. But there had to be a first 
 time both for him and the printer. Maybe the 
 police knew of him! 
 
 Falk rang up headquarters. The officer on duty 
 answered, and he) gave him Nielsen's description 
 right from the slouch hat to the yellow front teeth 
 and the eye glasses. 
 
 "Look and see if you have him up there," said 
 Falk, "and ring me up at my home in a couple of 
 hours no, I won't be home until then." 
 
 The officer promised he would. Falk hung up. 
 Now he saw the light go out in Elly Hansen's win- 
 dow, and was about to leave his post when he sud- 
 denly had an idea and again took up the receiver. 
 This time he gave a new number and quickly got 
 an answer: 
 
 A sleepy voice boomed: "Hello, who is it?' 1 ' 
 
 "This is Falk," said he: "Just now I am in a 
 house in Isted Street on the odd number side. Its 
 a pay station and next to the corner of Saxo Street. 
 Hurry down here, Holm. I need you for a piece 
 of well paid night work." 
 
 "In ten minutes," promised the other, "I'll be 
 there/' 
 
 Falk stood in the doorway and waited. It was 
 still dark, in Elly Hansen's flat. Heaven only 
 knows why she had denied all knowledge of Niel- 
 [120] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 sen? He had an instinctive feeling that he was at 
 the beginning of the solution of the riddle. And 
 yet he saw clearly the utter fantasy of connecting 
 the printer, about whom he knew nothing, with 
 this murder. But still 
 
 Now and then a policeman passed the door 
 where Falk stood. Occasionally a roistering 
 company staggered through the quiet street filling 
 the frosty air with giggles and squeals. 
 
 Then Falk heard hurrying footsteps approach 
 and stop outside the door, a short undersized man 
 came in, lifting a bowler hat. It was Holm for 
 whom Falk had telephoned. 
 
 "Watch that house over there until tomorrow 
 morning. I will send you a relief then. If the 
 person I am interested in should leave the house, 
 follow him and telephone me where he has gone." 
 And Falk described Nielsen. 
 
 "Don't know him," said Holm. "But he shan't 
 get away. I know this section through and 
 through." 
 
 Falk gave him some cigars. 
 
 "They make the hours go faster. It's cold out 
 and you'll have to Walk up and down all night. 
 I'd stay over on the other side of the street, too. 
 Good night!" 
 
 The man disappeared. Shortly after Falk 
 [121] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 stepped out and hurried over to and down Saxo 
 Street. It was pitch-dark in the cobbler's cellar as 
 he passed it. The street was 1 deserted. 
 
 Falk turned down Vesterbro Street. It was bit- 
 terly cold. He stopped outside of No. 12 and 
 looked up at Saabye's windows. Pitch-dark! He 
 took out some keys and opened the street door. 
 
 He turned on the light and hurried up the stairs. 
 The door of the murdered man's apartment was 
 unlocked. Things were being made as easy as 
 possible for the "eventual" murderer, if he was 
 some one other than the arrested Einar Lange. 
 For criminals are often said to be attracted to the 
 scene of their crime. 
 
 Falk smiled. Now and then he was a little mis- 
 chievous. He looked at the unlocked door with- 
 out opening it and waited until the light below 
 snapped out. He waited still a few seconds 
 and then carefully took hold of the door knob, 
 turned it, and stepped stealthily into the dark 
 corridor. 
 
 At the same instant the light from a police flash- 
 light hit him in the face. He cried out a 
 merry "Caught!" and turned on the electric light. 
 The policeman, who faced him and whose duty it 
 was, to guard the flat, grumbled disappointedly 
 but then smiled almost instantly. 
 [122] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "So it wasn't the murderer this time! Well, I 
 guess he's up behind the bars all right." 
 
 "The murderer would never have lit the 
 hall light," Falk instructed him. "The real mur- 
 derer, that is!" 
 
 The officer closed the door and they both went 
 into Saabye's study. 
 
 "I'm going right away/' said Falk. "I just 
 wanted to see what time it is by the dead man's 
 watch." 
 
 The officer placed the watch before him. Falk 
 examined it; an old gold watch with an open face. 
 It was sixteen minutes of twelve. He turned it 
 over and took out his pocket microscope. It was 
 only the work of a few seconds. 
 
 "Now, I'm sure of my point," he said and 
 handed the man the watch. "I'll just use your 
 telephone a second." 
 
 Falk asked for the police headquarters, and 
 got the officer on duty: 
 
 "Did you have this Nielsen?" he asked. 
 
 The answer was in the negative. 
 
 "We know nothing at all about him." 
 
 Falk hung up. 
 
 "If I were you," he said to the officer. "I'd lie 
 down and take a nap. "There'll be no murderer 
 here tonight." 
 
 [123.]. 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The policeman looked at him in surprise. 
 "How do you know that?" 
 "From the watch there," smiled Falk. "But I'm 
 going home to sleep, good night." 
 
 
 
 When the officer was alone, he curiously picked 
 up the watch and examined it. It was the case 
 that Falk had been most interested in. The man 
 looked at it for a long time but finally put it ir- 
 ritably aside: 
 
 "There is a little dent in the middle of the case. 
 That's all I can see, and, Lord, but this is tire- 
 
 some." 
 
 The official hand of the law yawned so that his 
 very jaws creaked, and sat down to wait for the 
 coming of the murderer, whom he might expect 
 if Lange was not guilty. But he was firmly con- 
 vinced that Lange was. 
 
 [124] 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE cobbler came out from Nikola j sen's 
 Cafe. It was about three o'clock in the 
 afternoon. He had been in to get a 
 couple of bracers. They warmed one up. 
 
 Since the affair of the ten kroner bill the night 
 before his brain had been in constant activity. 
 And the result of his cogitations had been gain, no 
 matter which way he turned it! Whether he 
 squeezed Nielsen whom he never could stand, and 
 who must have had his finger in the Saabye mur- 
 der or whether he told Falk all, and made money 
 on this, and got Nielsen, that cheeky scoundrel, in 
 trouble and made things hot for Elly for whom he 
 had a deep-rooted hatred. Stuck-up and mean 
 Elly had always been towards him her own blood 
 brother! 
 
 Well, things were in great shape now! 
 
 The whiskey had in the meantime, turned him 
 to the tenderer feelings, or maybe it was the fear 
 of the prison, the prison that his lungs could not 
 tolerate; it was true his conscience was not abso- 
 lutely snow white. And then too the police, that 
 [125] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 bunch of fanners they were so brutal, even with 
 a pious man. 
 
 No, the best way to settle the matter was by am- 
 icable adjustment. Although the Lord knew that 
 he wished for a chance to get back at his sister 
 and her sweetheart. 
 
 "Go easy, Thorvald Hansen/' he impressed on 
 himself time after time. "That pays best, too. 
 And, who knows, maybe, there will be a chance to 
 pay back but all in good time." 
 
 Well satisfied, he turned the corner of Isted 
 Street and saw a fashionably clad gentleman dis- 
 appear into the house where Elly lived. He 
 waited a bit and stole after him. 
 
 "The devil!" He stood irresolute a moment. 
 Then he suddenly saw a whole new opportunity in 
 the stranger's visit. Just to get rid of him, her 
 brother, she would give him money. Nielsen's 
 turn would come, too, later on. And he would 
 make her open the door too. He would simply 
 use the danger signal. He would begin by ask- 
 ing for Nielsen and then start his game. 
 
 Yes, that was the way to do it. Now that he had 
 something on Nielsen, he would be high and 
 mighty if they dared treat him as they had before. 
 
 He crept up the stairs, and listened outside the 
 door for a few seconds. Nielsen was in there. He 
 [126] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 heard his voice as she opened and shut the door for 
 him. Of the stranger he heard nothing. Had 
 Elly got him out of the way? Nielsen was so ter- 
 ribly jealous. 
 
 The cobbler's heart pounded. Nielsen was a 
 hard nut to crack. But it was as easy to jump into 
 it as to creep. He rang. Then he gave the danger 
 signal. Four short rings. That worked. Some 
 one stirred. Elly opened the door clad in a Jap- 
 anese kimono, and smoking a cigarette. She drew 
 him in hurriedly. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked in an anxious voice. 
 
 "I must speak with Nielsen," said her brother. 
 
 "Nielsen isn't here,^ she answered and stood in 
 his way as he tried to get in the room. 
 
 "I have company," she explained. 
 
 He was perplexed for a moment. Why did she 
 deny that Nielsen was there. He himself had 
 heard him speak a few seconds ago. 
 
 "Tell me where I can get in touch with him 
 then," he insisted. "I've something very impor- 
 tant to tell him." 
 
 The cobbler did not seem to be aware that he 
 had forsaken his original plan. He only clung 
 to this one; to talk with Nielsen. He barely un- 
 derstood his own tactics. Perhaps he merely fol- 
 lowed them because he saw that they seemed to em- 
 [127] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 barrass Elly. And why did she not tell him to 
 be more quiet although he spoke very loudly? 
 
 Suddenly he heard Nielsen's voice from within. 
 
 "Let him come in. I'll be there in a couple of 
 minutes." And he heard the door to the bedroom 
 open and shut. 
 
 Elly showed him into the living room. 
 
 "You mustn't talk so loud," she whispered. 
 "The stranger is in there. He is one of Niel- 
 sen's acquaintances of his prosperous days," she 
 added as she saw her brother's incredulous 
 look. 
 
 The cobbler sat down. The twilight deepened 
 in the little room where the air was heavy with 
 cigarette smoke. A leaping and blazing fire 
 burned in the stove. The cobbler sighed in in- 
 voluntary contentment, but then thought of the 
 coming tilt with Nielsen and of the peculiar 
 stranger. 
 
 In the room here he had been cautioned to whis- 
 per out of consideration for Nielsen. "Acquain- 
 tance from his days of prosperity hm!" But 
 out in the corridor he had been able to shout and 
 yell as much as he liked without his sister even try- 
 ing to get him to talk in a lower tone! Who could 
 the stranger be? 
 
 There was something so secretive about all this. 
 [128] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Besides he was the cobbler sailing under a 
 false flag. Nielsen would certainly rave when he 
 heard this proposition. What could Nielsen be 
 doing? He asked his sister about it in a whis- 
 per. She stood by the door to the bedroom as if 
 to make sure that he didn't go in. 
 
 "It's the stranger," she said. "He's seeing him 
 off." 
 
 Shortly afterwards they heard some one go out 
 in the kitchen and open the door, and then they 
 heard Nielsen's voice: 
 
 "Good-bye. See you tonight then." 
 
 Then steps down the stairs, and the slamming of 
 the front door. 
 
 The cobbler stood up. His knees shook. Just 
 then Nielsen appeared in the doorway. He had 
 on his dirty suit of clothes as usual, but on his feet 
 an elegant pair of shoes. Thorvald Hansen no- 
 ticed these at once and connected them immediately 
 with the bloody ten kroner note, with Saabye, and 
 with a sudden prosperity, with a "job" from which 
 he in spite of golden promises had been ex- 
 cluded. 
 
 There came to him at this moment sufficient bit- 
 terness for the attack. 
 
 Nielsen's eyes gleamed like knives behind his 
 glasses: 
 
 [129] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "What do you want?" he asked and remained 
 standing by the bedroom door. 
 
 "It's something very important. I must talk 
 with you alone." 
 
 Nielsen looked at him a moment, and opened 
 the door to the bedroom. 
 
 "Go in there then,"' he said to Elly who obeyed 
 at once. 
 
 The cobbler saw how untidy it was in there. 
 The door of the clothes closet was wide open, and 
 a heap of clothes had been thrown into it pell 
 mell. Elly shut the closet door at once but left 
 the door to the living room ajar. Nielsen did not 
 notice it, and the cobbler said nothing. If Niel- 
 sen proved refractory Elly could hear it all, and 
 then she would be sure to advise him to give in. 
 
 "It's about this matter of the bill yesterday even- 
 ing," began Hansen. "I've been thinking it over." 
 Nielsen nodded in ironical comprehension. 
 
 "And now you have come to the holy conclusion 
 that it is your duty as a citizen and a religiously 
 moved soul to take the police in on your dis- 
 covery." 
 
 "Yes," nodded the cobbler unsuspectingly. 
 "Of course, I wouldn't say that it was you I got 
 it from. Just as if you in reward for all your 
 kindness " 
 
 [130] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 He stopped suddenly. There was something 
 about the other's look that made him shudder de- 
 spite the fact that he merely looked at him and 
 smiled. 
 
 "You still think, then," and Nielsen cut right 
 through his masked threat, "that I had something to 
 do with that dirty affair?" 
 
 "Of course, I don't think it," said the cobbler in 
 a low voice. "If I thought that I would never go 
 to the police with that bill. But I'm a poor man, 
 I have hardly enough to put in my mouth." 
 
 "The police won't give you a red cent for your 
 crazy ideas." 
 
 "No, but Falk!" 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 The cobbler's eyes did not leave the other's face. 
 He had noticed how Nielsen started when Falk's 
 name was mentioned. Now he was figuring out 
 something or other. But the cobbler stuck to his 
 post. 
 
 "Have you the bill?" asked Nielsen suddenly. 
 
 The cobbler smiled warily. 
 
 "Yes, but hidden in a sure place with a few 
 lines attached to it explaining how I got it. In 
 case, you see, anything should happen to me." 
 
 "It is quite clear to you, I suppose," said Niel- 
 sen slowly, "that it will be very unpleasant for me 
 [131] 
 
. TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 to get mixed up in this affair so much more be- 
 cause it will harm a friend who once did me a 
 favour. Whether he has anything to do with the 
 murder, I haven't the slightest idea. But this I 
 do know, that though I'm nearly broke, I would 
 offer you a few kroner rather than risk What 
 will you sell it for?" 
 
 "Did your 'friend' present you with those shoes 
 then?" the cobbler interrupted. "They must have 
 cost a lot." 
 
 "He loaned me the money for them if you wish 
 to know," Nielsen warded off impatiently: 
 
 "How much do you want for the note then? 
 Shall we say 15 kroner?" 
 
 "They got away with 4000 up at Saabye's," 
 said the cobbler calmly. "I will sell the bill for 
 half." 
 
 Nielsen raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "I don't feel like joking. How much will you 
 sell it for?" 
 
 "It's no joke. I want 2000 for it." 
 
 Nielsen took him by the arm: 
 
 "No more play acting," he sneered: 
 
 "You can get 20 or go to hell!" 
 
 The cobbler tore himself away, and backed to- 
 wards the bedroom door: 
 
 "Twenty kroner! You'll have to beat that. You 
 [132] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 can blow a little more on a guy who did a rich 
 man in. Especially when he is one's dear friend! 
 Or near relative. For is it possible that it could 
 be your father's son: Nielsen the printer? Eh?" 
 
 "You shall have 40 kroner," promised Niel- 
 sen. He was very pale and could hardly control 
 himself. 
 
 The cobbler laughed scornfully. 
 
 "Forty kroner! I want 2000! Get me? 
 That's cheap enough to duck a life sentence. And 
 when you give me the money, I am not only your 
 friend but your accomplice." 
 
 The bedroom door opened slowly and there 
 stood Elly, very pale and trembling. She stared 
 at Nielsen. 
 
 "What is it he is saying about you? What is 
 it? Tell me, please. You are no murderer, no? 
 You are no murderer?" 
 
 Nielsen calmed her: 
 
 "No, of course! It is only your honourable 
 brother, drunk as usual." 
 
 The cobbler grunted, scornfully superior. 
 
 "But the bill he is talking about?" asked Elly 
 quickly. 
 
 "That's one he got somewhere in town, I don't 
 know where.' 19 
 
 "Lies! Lies!" mocked the cobbler. 
 [133] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Nielsen turned on him with lightning swiftness. 
 
 "If you don't shut up, I'll" 
 
 "Murder me, too, heh?" grinned the other 
 evilly. "Take care of your hands this time, and 
 wash them carefully so that there's no blood under 
 your finger nails." 
 
 Nielsen swayed, white with passion: 
 
 "He's lying! It's a lie!" 
 
 Elly stepped over to her brother. 
 
 "When was he killed, this one you're talking 
 about?" 
 
 "The night before last between half past eleven 
 and twelve," he triumphed. 
 
 Elly started but controlled herself and said: 
 
 "Nielsen was here a little before nine and all 
 night." 
 
 "You didn't remember right then yesterday 
 afternoon," grinned the cobbler. "Then you told 
 me that you hadn't seen Nielsen since the day be- 
 fore yesterday." 
 
 "No, I remembered right enough but it wasn't 
 any of your business where he was." 
 
 The printer had become somewhat calmer. 
 
 But his hand trembled as he lit a cigarette: 
 
 "Now, you think that over until tonight," he said 
 to the cobbler. "I am going out to Enghavevej to 
 a meeting. At 12 o'clock, I'll be at the corner of 
 [134] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Vesterbro Street. Then you can get 40 kroner for 
 the bill, unless, of course you prefer to tell tales 
 out of school about it. And now, get out!" 
 
 The cobbler did not move from the spot. 
 
 "Didnft you hear me?" growled Nielsen. 
 
 "Yes, but I'm waiting for you to come to your 
 
 senses." 
 
 Nielsen reflected an instant, seemingly weighing 
 it pro and con. 
 
 "You'll get 40 tonight," he said, "and 60 in 
 the course of the month." 
 
 The cobbler shook his head. 
 
 "Going up, I see 40 and 60 make 100. But 
 half of 4000 is 2000." 
 
 "Get out of here," snarled the printer. 
 
 "I'm going when I feel like it," said the cob- 
 bler with a superior air, "besides they'll get you 
 soon enough " 
 
 Nielsen turned on him like a sudden thunder- 
 storm: 
 
 "You damned hound!!" 
 
 His fingers closed viselike about the cobbler's 
 neck. The latter was about to choke when Niel- 
 sen threw him to the floor, pounding his head on it. 
 
 "You hound! You hound!" he snarled and 
 kept his hold on the other's neck. 
 
 There was a rattling in the cobbler's throat. 
 [135] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The blood swam before his eyes, and sparks 
 leaped before them. With a last despairing effort, 
 he tore himself away, and bit at the other's hand 
 but failed to reach it. 
 
 Nielsen did not notice it. He stood and wiped 
 his sweaty forehead. There was an expression 
 of deep disgust on his face. 
 
 Elly had put her arms around his neck. She ca- 
 ressed him as one would caress a wronged child. 
 Her eyes became black with disgust and rage as 
 they rested on the cobbler. 
 
 "You beast," she sneered, "and such a cur is 
 one's own brother!" 
 
 The cobbler was at the door in one leap, tore 
 it open and ran out into the hall. 
 
 "I'll get even with you for this!" he cried, quite 
 beside himself, and slammed the door and sham- 
 bled down the stairs. 
 
 The slam of the door seemed to wake Nielsen. 
 
 "I must change my things," he said and gripped 
 the knob of the bedroom door. "This calls for 
 quick action." 
 
 "You did it then?'" Elly whispered hoarsely. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "You are the murderer then?" It was as if 
 she froze as she said it. 
 
 He nodded again. 
 
 [136] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 She suddenly threw her arms around his neck 
 and kissed him hungrily. 
 
 "I love you," she moaned. "Nothing in the 
 world shall come between us murderer!" 
 
 He tore himself violently away and pressed his 
 handkerchief to his lips. She had bit him. A 
 thin stream of blood ran down his chin. 
 
 She stood devouring him with her eyes. Her 
 nostrils quivered. Her breast heaved. Her eyes 
 shone behind her tears. She had an animal-like 
 beauty in that moment. And he saw it, but still 
 he turned away with a frown and said: 
 
 "Haven't I once and for all told you to cut out 
 that kind of nonsense. It is that kind of foolish- 
 ness that " 
 
 The telephone rang. 
 
 They stood very still and stared at it as if it 
 was a door about to open for some horror; a 
 mouth that was about to utter a message of mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 The fire crackled loudly in the stove. A roar 
 came up from the street as a trolley car passed. 
 Some one came up the stairs, and let himself in 
 somewhere. A door slammed behind him. Sev- 
 eral seconds of silence went by. 
 
 The telephone rang again. More loudly. De- 
 manding an answer. 
 
 [137] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Answer it," he said to her, "but let me hear 
 who is speaking before you ring off. One can 
 never know " 
 
 She picked up the receiver. Her hand shook. 
 It could be an absolutely commonplace call but 
 both were convinced that it was the contrary. 
 
 "Hello," she said. 
 
 "Is this Miss Elly Hansen's?'" some one asked. 
 She seemed to know the voice. "I should like to 
 speak with Nielsen." 
 
 She gave him the receiver hurriedly. The 
 question was repeated. 
 
 "Say he is out travelling and won't be back un- 
 til tomorrow morning," whispered Nielsen to her 
 and gave her the receiver. 
 
 The person thanked her for the information. 
 She hung up. 
 
 "It was he who called me up last night," she 
 said nervously. 
 
 Nielsen frowned. 
 
 "What the devil could he want me for?" he 
 mumbled to himself. 
 
 "Did you know his voice?" she asked fright- 
 ened at his expression. 
 
 "Yes, it was Arne Falk." 
 
 [138] 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 FALK sat with the receiver to his ear. He 
 was talking with Holm, one of the de- 
 tectives who had watched Elly Hansen's 
 house during the night. 
 
 "And you are sure that this Nielsen has not left 
 the house?" 
 
 "Yes, absolutely sure!" 
 
 "And the man who relieved you?" 
 
 "He's with me now in the pay station right 
 across from the house. He relieved me about 9 
 o'clock this morning. He hasn't seen the printer 
 either." 
 
 "Keep on watching," ordered Falk, "and fol- 
 low the instructions I have given you." 
 
 He hung up and turned to his secretary, former 
 chief clerk Johannes Willing, who, stiff as a ram- 
 rod, and conservative as an old family servant in 
 a novel, was typing the thesis for a doctor's de- 
 gree on which Falk had been working for the past 
 year a work on criminology and medicine. 
 
 "Put that rot aside," Falk shocked the middle- 
 aged gentleman by proposing. "What does 
 [139] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Goethe say, that old aristocrat, about theory and 
 practice. When one has a red-hot case to play 
 with, a doctor's thesis is dead and of no account. 
 That is to say, comparatively. Besides, no one 
 escapes his fate in this country. If you will hand 
 the faculty a nice, thick book, you become a doc- 
 tor. It doesn't matter much what's in the book." 
 
 Willing nodded without clearly understanding. 
 He always nodded when Falk began his paradoxes. 
 It was no use to argue with crazy people. What 
 was the use? 
 
 Willing waited expectantly. Since the famous 
 Borck murder affair, he had almost lived in a 
 fools' paradise with Falk, for the latter's time had 
 wholly been taken up by research work, and the 
 like. But now it was all over. 
 
 Why couldn't people stop killing each other 
 and especially in such a cunning way that even 
 the police found it impossible to discover who the 
 murderer was? He sighed discreetly. 
 
 Falk began to sum up the case: 
 
 "A murder is committed, the motive apparently 
 as clear as day. A young man, hitherto unbe- 
 smirched, is suspected of it, and arrested. An ex- 
 convict has what is in his circle a great rarity, 
 namely a friend who as yet has not graced the 
 rogues' gallery. Last night I saw this friend 
 [140] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Nielsen the printer go up to a girl's flat. A girl 
 who stands in a certain relation to the murder al- 
 though not a criminal one. With the aid of my 
 own and my two agents' eyes, I substantiated that 
 the man was and still is today in the flat with the 
 fair accomplice do you follow me, Willing?" 
 
 The secretary nodded with hypocritical interest. 
 He knew that Falk appreciated a good listener. 
 
 "But now a remarkable thing occurred," con- 
 tinued Falk. "Nielsen the night before last had 
 gone up to the girl, Elly Hansen. Barely half 
 an hour after I ring her up, and ask her if I can 
 find Nielsen there. 
 
 "The lady becomes frightened, denies any 
 knowledge of the printer who, according to Mil- 
 ler, is her daily visitor, and hastily rings off. As 
 I see that the light in the room where the telephone 
 is, is not extinguished I ring her up again a half 
 minute later, and Central tells me the line is busy. 
 
 "Wherefrom I conclude that immediately after 
 my telephoning, she has called some other number 
 and told the person of my query and asked him or 
 her for advice. But whom has she called up who 
 has her confidence to such degree that she can 
 ask his advice in such a delicate matter as that of 
 Nielsen's who? 
 
 "Well, it's no use falling into a trance about 
 [141] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 this riddle. Let's rather move forward to the next 
 one. About a quarter of an hour ago I telephone 
 the girl again. This time she doesn't deny know- 
 ing the man, but tries to pull the wool over my 
 eyes by saying he is travelling, which is absolutely 
 impossible. The eyes of my agents are sharp 
 enough. 
 
 "She has probably been instructed to say that," 
 ventured Willing. 
 
 "Yes, by Nielsen himself," nodded Falk. 
 "You see, he must remain inside the house. I, 
 too, have my special reasons for wanting him to 
 remain there for the present." 
 
 The front door bell rang. 
 
 "It is Preben Miller," said Falk. 
 
 And it really was the author. Falk heard his 
 taxi drive away below. 
 
 "We are discussing your unholy flame, Miss 
 Elly Hansen. Yes, and her printer does she 
 love him, do you think?" 
 
 "Yes, in her way," shrugged Miller, "more's 
 the pity." 
 
 "But still she is deceiving him about you?" 
 
 "Yes, luckily." 
 
 Willing moved in an embarrassed way. 
 
 "Perhaps I <" 
 
 "Oh, go ahead," smiled Falk. 
 [142] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Was he scandalized?" asked Miller as the sec- 
 retary disappeared. 
 
 "Can you, a psychologist, ask such a question?" 
 laughed Falk. "Well, she loves the two of you 
 then?" 
 
 "Yes, and I support both her and my rival. 
 It's expensive but interesting." 
 
 "Did you see her today?" 
 
 "Yes, I took a little run up there. But Nielsen 
 was there too, so I preferred to withdraw." 
 
 "Perhaps you have just come from there then?" 
 
 "Yes, just about. A taxi went by as I came out 
 on Vesterbro Street, and I hailed it and drove up 
 here." 
 
 "About what time was it when you left there?" 
 
 "I can tell you almost to the minute," said 
 Miller and looked at his watch. "It is eight min- 
 utes to four now. It was precisely three fifteen 
 for the court house clock struck the quarter hour 
 when I left the house." 
 
 "Did you notice anything peculiar about your 
 rival today?" 
 
 "No, only he was like an irritated terrier, as he 
 always is when he has the honour of seeing me. 
 And it did not put him in any better humour when 
 I told him sweetly to keep his dirty fingers away 
 from my cigarettes. Of course, he swore by half 
 [143] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 a dozen various places that he had never touched 
 my 'stinking hay.' I don't know what he 
 means by calling my Sunka cigarettes 'stinking 
 hay.' " 
 
 "Well, unfortunately I also have the same ple- 
 beian opinion," smiled Falk. "You didn't come 
 to blows?" 
 
 "No, he crawled in his shell again and even 
 opened the door for me when I went out. Tout 
 comme il faut!" 
 
 "Did he say he was going away? Or tell Miss 
 Elly anything about it?" 
 
 "No. But that means nothing. Even if he 
 were going to the very ends of the earth, he would 
 try to keep it from me as long as he could. The 
 dear fellow is so jealous! But I can telephone 
 her and ask. That will be the best way ." 
 
 "Apropos telephoning," said Falk stopping him 
 on his way to the telephone. "Didn't somebody 
 call he'r up while you were there?" 
 
 Miller shook his head in denial. 
 
 "No, that's so too," remembered Falk. "It was 
 later I called up." 
 
 Miller stood with his hand on the receiver and 
 was about to pick it up when the front door bell 
 tinkled. He drew his hand away. 
 
 "Some one is ringing." 
 [144] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Shh!" whispered Falk. 
 
 They both listened. 
 
 "What a pull he has," said Falk shortly after, 
 "and humble! As nauseating as a milk toddy." 
 
 The house-keeper knocked on the door and 
 opened: 
 
 "There's a man who wants to speak with you." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "He said just to say 'the cobbler': that you 
 would know who it was." 
 
 "Show him in." 
 
 The house-keeper went out. 
 
 "It's your brother-in-law," said Falk jocosely. 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Yes, Elly Hansen's brother. A fearful ban- 
 dit. I don't know whether you care to be pre- 
 sented to him." 
 
 "No, God save me! I'll go in the living room 
 in the meantime." Miller hurried in and quietly 
 closed the door behind him. 
 
 The cobbler was ushered in by Mrs. Jorgensen 
 who was not visibly impressed by him. At any 
 rate the closing of the door amounted to a slam. 
 
 The cobbler literally oozed hypocrisy. He 
 bowed humbly. 
 
 "What do you want?" asked Falk ungraciously. 
 
 "I only want to ask you something." 
 [145] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 "How a poor fellow, who has a trifle on his con- 
 science and a few years on his record, would stand 
 if he can put the police on the track of a real 
 criminal. One of that crowd who murder people, 
 and steal thousands of kroner besides." 
 
 "You'll have to ask the police about that," said 
 fFalk shortly. 
 
 "I thought," sighed the cobbler with feigned 
 despondency as he looked around the room and 
 [lowered his eyes, "that your word, Mr. Falk, had 
 some weight with them, and that you were not 
 afraid to help a poor devil. That is to say if it's 
 a case that interests you." 
 
 "There is only one case that I am interested in 
 just now," said Falk, "and I hardly think you 
 know anything about that." 
 
 Falk did not doubt for an instant that he did. 
 But he had his own methods in a case like 
 this. A certain scepticism and indifference always 
 egged the other on to open disclosures. Nor were 
 these withheld here. 
 
 "Now, maybe I may have heard something or 
 other about that case," ventured the cobbler. 
 "That is, the Saabye murder, now don't you think 
 I mean, it's hard when one wants to be an hon- 
 est man, to have this for a start!" 
 [146] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "If you can tell me some facts about the case, 
 I'll see what I can do for you," promised Falk. 
 
 "You misunderstand me a little," said the cob- 
 bler humbly. "It's not me, but a friend whom this 
 concerns. And I don't think he'll agree to those 
 conditions. There is too much to lose and too 
 Ilittle to win." 
 
 "In other words, he demands protection?" 
 
 "Yes, and some money. Otherwise the poor 
 fellow will die of hunger." 
 
 "And what will he give in return?" 
 
 "He'll tell who murdered the old man, and stole 
 all the money." 
 
 Arne Falk started violently. 
 
 "But the money was burned," he ventured. 
 
 "The devil they that is, I guess, I guess so," 
 added the cobbler hastily. 
 
 "I can offer your 'friend' 50 kroner," said Falk 
 and took out his wallet, "and protection." 
 
 The shoemaker writhed humbly. 
 
 "It's impossible for less than 100 kroner. He 
 owes a frightful lot of money." 
 
 "All right, I'll give you 100," said Falk after 
 some delay and handed him the money. "Who is 
 the murderer then?" 
 
 The cobbler took out the crumpled, blood-stained 
 note of the night before and showed it to Falk. 
 [147] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "It is the man who gave me this," he whis- 
 pered, and looked up warily. He had heard 
 some one stir in the next room. 
 
 "He gave me this last night. And today he 
 promised me 40 kroner, and turned white as chalk 
 when I talked about the murder." 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Falk. 
 
 "His name is Nielsen, and he is a printer out of 
 work. 
 
 "He's the one you saw at my place last night. 
 He's my sister's sweetheart, and she admitted to 
 me herself that he was not with her at the time 
 the murder was committed. But today, she de- 
 nied having said it." 
 
 "Why did he give you money?" asked Falk. 
 
 "Why, that's some he owed me," lied the cob- 
 bler brazenly. He hated unnecessary unveiling. 
 
 "But this note is really no proof," protested 
 Falk. 
 
 "Yes, it is, together with something else, if 
 you'll allow me," answered the other and de- 
 scribed the events which had taken place in his 
 sister's flat. 
 
 "Then, it's best to get hold of him at once," 
 resolved Falk. "He is at your sister's all the 
 time, isn't he?" 
 
 The cobbler was about to say yes when he sud- 
 [148] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 denly remembered Nielsen's offer about the rest of 
 the money he was to get that evening. What if he 
 could kill two birds with one stone, and keep the 
 police away from Nielsen until he had the 100 
 kroner. 
 
 "No, he's not there just now," and he shook his 
 head, "and won't be there today either." 
 
 "He is travelling, perhaps?" 
 
 "Yes, he's travelling. I don't know where, but 
 he'll be back tomorrow morning." 
 
 "When were you up there, and saw him last?" 
 
 "About ten minutes after three. I noticed the 
 time on the clock across the street." 
 
 This fitted exactly with Miller's statement of 
 having been at the street door at a quarter after 
 three. At least the cobbler had the time at his 
 finger tips! 
 
 "Did you meet any one up there?" asked Falk. 
 
 "No one but the printer and Elly. But there 
 was a stranger there whom Nielsen showed out 
 while I sat and waited." 
 
 "Oh, you saw him then?" 
 
 "No, because he went down the kitchen stairs." 
 
 "Why in the world did he leave that way?" 
 
 The cobbler shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "When did Nielsen go away then?" 
 [149] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I saw him leave the house a few minutes after 
 I had gone. It must have been about half past 
 three then." 
 
 Falk took some notes now and then. He was ut- 
 terly at sea regarding this trip of Nielsen's. Niel- 
 sen could not have slipped out without his agent 
 knowing of it. There must have been a mistake 
 somewhere. 
 
 "Are you absolutely certain that it was Niel- 
 sen?" 
 
 "Yes, of course! I know him as well as I know 
 myself." 
 
 As a cautious move, Falk had had the telephone 
 moved to his bedroom. 
 
 "Pardon me a moment," he said to the cobbler 
 who regarded him with barely concealed sus- 
 picion. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't be afraid I'll follow in your 
 footsteps." 
 
 Falk disappeared into the bedroom. The cob- 
 bler sat perfectly quiet, with his ears strained like 
 a tightly stretched drum. His glance darted 
 around the room seeking to discover a possible 
 danger that might be concealed somewhere. 
 
 A few minutes after, Falk came back into the 
 study. He read his notes to the cobbler, and let 
 [150] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 him verify them. An unnecessary measure, it 
 would seem, for a man of his perceptive abilities. 
 
 "You'll have to be on your toes early tomorrow, 
 too," said Falk to him, "and ring me up as soon 
 as he comes home. Don't oversleep now and if 
 you cheat me " 
 
 The cobbler swore a frightful oath as to his 
 honest intentions. Falk showed him out himself 
 out of consideration for Mrs. Jorgensen. 
 
 When he came back into his room, Miller sat in 
 the chair by the writing desk, smoking his indis- 
 pensable "Sunka." 
 
 "Well, what did my 'brother-in-law' have to 
 say?" he asked smilingly. 
 
 "He told me something about our mutual friend 
 the printer By the way, does Lange know him?" 
 
 "I don't believe so. I think Nielsen made 
 his debut into Elly's life after the break with 
 Lange. Didn't you leave the room here a few 
 minutes? I thought I heard the door open and 
 close." 
 
 "Yes, I was in the bedroom to telephone to 
 Holm to shadow the cobbler. Afterwards, I de- 
 tained the fellow a bit so as to give Holm time to 
 get up here." 
 
 Miller whistled comprehensively. 
 [151] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "What did he have to say about my friend the 
 printer anyway?" 
 
 Falk told him: 
 
 "And he also insisted that Nielsen was away 
 on a trip today." 
 
 "Well, we can ring Elly up and find out for 
 sure if it will interest you. Poor girl, this must 
 be an uncomfortable afternoon for her." 
 
 "I would like to get her out of the place," ad- 
 mitted Falk, "in order to have the flat searched." 
 
 "I'll try it," granted Miller, and asked for her 
 number. "Although it's a kind of treason to her 
 and hello," he cut short his moral scruples: "Is 
 this Elly? This is Preben speaking. Is Nielsen 
 there? Oh, he's gone, has he? Well, that's fine 
 Shall we go out together this evening? Well, 
 then just as you say I'll be home in the course 
 of a half hour then I'll expect you au revoir." 
 
 He rang off. 
 
 "Poor girl!" he said, shaking his head. "I 
 could hear that she was quite beside herself. But 
 I must be getting along. Good-bye." 
 
 Falk retained his hand in his: 
 
 "Does this woman really mean anything to 
 you?" 
 
 Miller gave a shrug. 
 
 [152] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "There are some people," he dogmatized, "who 
 live by virtue of their shortcomings. I think that 
 I am one of them." 
 
 "Because it is not yet altogether clear that she 
 is not implicated in Nielsen's affairs." 
 
 "She knows nothing whatsoever about them," he 
 assured the other. "And as for me don't worry. 
 If the worst should happen, and she should get 
 into trouble, and she really means something to 
 me, I have a revolver home in my writing desk! 
 A life of sorrow is not worth the living. Even 
 happiness is not perfect." 
 
 Just then the telephone rang. 
 
 "I'll go out by myself," said Miller. "You an- 
 swer it." 
 
 Falk nodded shortly, and picked up the receiver. 
 
 It was his agent, Holm, calling: 
 
 "Elly Hansen has just left the house," he re- 
 ported. 
 
 "But Nielsen hasn't shown up yet?" 
 
 Falk heard Miller slam the outside door. 
 
 "Is there a Yale lock on the door to the flat?" 
 
 "No, an ordinary lock." 
 
 "Well, you just let yourself into the place, and 
 find out if the printer is there. They say, how- 
 ever, that he left half an hour ago." 
 [153] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "That is simply impossible. We have watched 
 so carefully that he couldn't possibly have slipped 
 out unnoticed." 
 
 "Do you think that the lady has had any visitors 
 today?" 
 
 "Yes, your friend, Mr. Preben Miller went up 
 there about three o'clock, but only stayed there 
 about half an hour." 
 
 "A quarter of an hour," corrected Falk. 
 
 "No, it was precisely half past four when he 
 came out of the door for I noticed the time by the 
 clock at the coffee dealer's here. And the court 
 house clock struck the half hour also." 
 
 '1A11 right, first see to it that the place is 
 searched. If you find the printer there, you don't 
 have to worry about his calling for the police. 
 But be careful anyway. Ring the bell first four 
 short rings." 
 
 "All right, we will do that." 
 
 "By the way, was Elly Hansen carrying any- 
 thing?" 
 
 "Yes, she had a small satchel with her." 
 
 "Hm, all right." 
 
 Falk rang off, and lit a cigar. He heard Will- 
 ing moving around in his room upstairs Mrs. 
 Jorgensen throwing coal in the stove in the living 
 room the storm howling outside. 
 [154] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Falk tried to go over the whole case detail by 
 detail but improbabilities cropped up one after 
 another. 
 
 How had Nielsen gotten into Saabye's house 
 that night? Where did he learn about the com- 
 bination to the safe? And, lastly, how had he, 
 who, to all appearances, was an amateur in the 
 criminal game, managed to operate so tracklessly, 
 so soundlessly, and create this net of evidence 
 which was closing in on Einar Lange. 
 
 Unless he had and everything led away from 
 that been an accomplice of the young artist, who 
 in any case had not killed Saabye. Or of any 
 person who had a close knowledge of the dead 
 man's habits and rooms. The last was, when all 
 was said and done, the most plausible. But the 
 same person must also have known of the rela- 
 tions existing between Saabye and his foster-son. 
 Had known that the latter was to stay there that 
 night, that the money for the rent had not been 
 brought to the bank, that Lange slept very heavily, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 The only one who knew all this, and whose pres- 
 ence in the house at the time of the murder had 
 been proved was the arrested Einar Lange and 
 the house-keeper! 
 
 Falk did not continue his deductions. The idea 
 [155] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 of the house-keeper as the murderer or the mur- 
 derer's accomplice was and remained ridiculous! 
 And she was theoretically the only one, upon 
 whom any suspicion could fall. She and Lange! 
 
 Perhaps the printer, Nielsen, was the murderer? 
 Falk had no other proof of it than the bloody 10 
 kroner note, which could have become bloody in 
 many other quite different ways Thorvald Han- 
 sen was no marked disciple of the truth. 
 
 And it was queer about that hour that both Mil- 
 ler and the cobbler put at a quarter past three but 
 which Holm and his aides had declared to be half 
 past three. For Miller must have known when he 
 left Elly Hansen, particularly, as he had looked 
 at the clock across the way. 
 
 On the other hand oh, well, life was full of 
 mysteries! Falk smiled. The Lord knew what 
 the result of Holm's "burglary" would be. 
 
 The thought had hardly crossed his mind when 
 the telephone rang. It was Holm. He was up in 
 Elly's flat and had searched it from end to end 
 without finding anything of interest. The kitchen 
 had been locked on the inside with the key in the 
 lock when he came up there: 
 
 "Nielsen was not there!" 
 
 Holm's colleague had at the same time and 
 also without result examined the kitchen stairs 
 [156] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 and the >court. It was quite incomprehensible, 
 this about the printer. Particularly as he had to 
 go out by the street door, and because he was 
 neither well known nor looked up to by the neigh- 
 bours, in which case he could have taken refuge in 
 one of the near-by houses. 
 
 "Stick it out another 24 hours," said Falk en- 
 couragingly to the somewhat crestfallen detective. 
 "Let your partner watch the house, and meanwhile 
 find out what you can about Elly Hansen. Try 
 especially to find out where she was the evening be- 
 fore last between 9 and 12, and whether any one 
 has seen Nielsen in that space of time, and where. 
 If you can get me some information about the 
 lady's life and habits, do that also. But don't 
 give up." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Jorgensen knocked on the door, 
 and opened it. 
 
 "Dinner is ready," she said. 
 
 Falk rang off, and hurried into the dining room. 
 He was ravenously hungry. Willing was already 
 there, waiting for him. They sat down in silence. 
 Falk did not reply to Willing's conventional re- 
 marks and questions. He only ate and pon- 
 dered. 
 
 At last it was too much for the secretary. He 
 had spoken to Falk without any answer: 
 [157] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "You are extremely pensive, Mr. Falk," he 
 finally said a bit stiffly, "would it be impertinent to 
 inquire why you are so preoccupied?" 
 
 "Not at all," smiled Falk, as if suddenly coming 
 to. "I'm grappling with a surface wound, a nicked 
 knife, a dent in a watch, and a quarter of an hour, 
 and they won't come right." 
 
 Willing asked no more questions. 
 
 [158] 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE court house clock struck midnight, and 
 sang its deep, metallic psalm over the 
 freezing, snow-white city. The houses 
 cast shadows deep and dark as the graves of 
 oblivion. The streets seemed to be only strips of 
 frozen snow narrow and wide. The lamps 
 burned high and clear. 
 
 A broad-shouldered patrolman sauntered back 
 and forth before a Rathskeller obliquely across 
 from the corner of Enghavevej and Vesterbro 
 Street. His hands were clasped behind his 
 back. He was deep in thought, and now and 
 then warmed his frozen hands in a resounding 
 clap, and glanced about him as if incidentally. 
 The street car going towards Valby was already 
 down near the "Black Horse." Few people were 
 to be seen on Vesterbro Street. It was 13 below 
 zero, and people stayed indoors. 
 
 The officer took another glance about him. A 
 
 man came walking down Enghavevej, towards 
 
 Vesterbro Street, huddled up in an old ulster, and 
 
 with a slouch hat pulled down over his eyes. He 
 
 [159] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 seemed to be shivering. The officer was also very 
 cold. He did not hesitate very long, but dashed 
 up to the door by the side of the cafe, and down 
 into the cellar where the kitchen was. The door 
 opened hurriedly to his knock. 
 
 The tall man in the ulster had stopped on the 
 corner of Enghavevej. He was evidently waiting 
 for some one. He started violently when he heard 
 the tinkling noise of a bell at the cafe door only 
 a few paces from him, but otherwise did not stir. 
 
 The cobbler came shivering out on the street to- 
 wards him but stopped with an oath when the tall 
 man drew his attention to him with a low whistle. 
 
 The cobbler stood like a pointer scenting game, 
 suddenly stretched out his arms, and drew near 
 the man, saying with an assumed, hearty somewhat 
 sniffling manner: 
 
 "Oh, it's you, Nielsen? I didn't know you, old 
 pal." 
 
 "I've got some other duds on," smiled Nielsen. 
 "I froze to dea'th in the old ones. Let's go this 
 way." He pointed down Enghavevej. 
 
 The cobbler glanced at him furtively. He 
 could see only part of Nielsen's face. The rest 
 was hidden by the ulster collar, by his glasses, 
 and the brim of his hat. 
 
 "Well, you got my letter then," said Nielsen. 
 [160] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Yes, sure I did. Anyway, we agreed to meet 
 here at 12 o'clock." 
 
 "I only meant " 
 
 "Oh, that little tussle we had," smiled the cob- 
 bler evilly. "No, a thing like that you forget, and 
 besides a fellow's got a heart after all and 
 wouldn't destroy a pal for the sake of a few cents." 
 
 "Have you the bill on you?" 
 
 "Yes, I have," said the cobbler and barely hid 
 a cunning smile. He did not notice the sinister 
 gleam in the other's eyes. 
 
 "All right," nodded Nielsen. Now and then 
 he turned as if listening for something. 
 
 "Anybody coming?" asked the cobbler who no- 
 ticed it. 
 
 "No, no, no one." 
 
 They turned down Mathaeus Street. 
 
 "We had better go down to your place and set- 
 tle the matter," said the printer. "I've a few 
 drops of the stuff that cheers on me. For it is a 
 bit cool." 
 
 The cobbler's eyes gleamed. 
 
 "You're a fine fellow, Nielsen." 
 
 "I am to my friends as they are to me," said 
 Nielsen, and added : "The old man ain't in there, 
 is he?" 
 
 "No, he's up in his room." 
 [161] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The cobbler opened the door to the cellar, and 
 looked up at Nielsen who stood upon the street 
 lighting a cigarette. He started violently. 
 
 "I'll be damned," he swore and felt a sudden 
 fear. 
 
 "What's the matter?" Nielsen hurried down to 
 him. 
 
 The cobbler still stood staring and muttered: 
 
 "That was the second time tonight " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " that I didn't know you." 
 
 "Nonsense," grunted Nielsen, "get that door 
 locked and let's get inside and have something to 
 warm us up. It's colder than the north pole 
 here!" 
 
 The cobbler locked it while Nielsen lit the lamp 
 in the back room and seated himself on the bed. 
 
 "By the way, the bottle's in my overcoat 
 pocket. In the outer one." 
 
 The cobbler found it and took it out. Suddenly 
 he turned fawningly to the printer. 
 
 "Why so silent, old man?" he said but became 
 afraid again. 
 
 Nielsen sat over there in the shadow, and smiled 
 in such a sinister way. 
 
 "What are you smiling like that for?" he stam- 
 mered, "and why are you wearing gloves?" 
 [162] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I'm smiling," said the other, "because I'm with 
 a friend, a real friend. For you are that, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "Of course," answered the cobbler, taking out a 
 couple of battered cups and pouring cognac into 
 them: 
 
 "But the gloves?" 
 
 "I'm wearing them because I'm cold." 
 
 The cobbler nodded reassured, and handed 
 Nielsen one of the cups: "Your health, comrade!" 
 
 Nielsen returned the toast, and shivered sud- 
 denly: 
 
 "It's damn cold in here," he said standing up 
 and tucking the rug in front of the court window 
 in more closely. 
 
 "There's a draft from the kitchen, too," he 
 grumbled, and went out there. But there was 
 nothing to do there. 
 
 "That rug helped a little," he said and smiled 
 his sinister smile. "You've got a good start al- 
 ready, Hansen. Most people can't afford that 
 much hootch." 
 
 "Some of the fellows stood treat," explained 
 the cobbler. 
 
 "And you smell like a night bird," sniifed the 
 printer, "but maybe 'the fellows' are from a per- 
 fume factory It's Swedish Theresa's perfume, 
 [163] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 too, I think you told me. But she isn't made of 
 money. And money " 
 
 The cobbler protested in a confused manner. 
 Nielsen smiled steadily. 
 
 "Well, let's get down to business," he said 
 finally, "and don't forget the booze." 
 
 "The lamp is smoking," said the cobbler and 
 turned it down. 
 
 "Here y'are," said Nielsen, and took out the 
 40 kroner and laid them on the table. 
 
 The cobbler gave him a blood stained 10 krone 
 note. Nielsen put it indifferently in his pocket 
 without looking at it. 
 
 "But we're forgetting the bottle," he laughed 
 and filled the cup. The cobbler had already been 
 somewhat tipsy when he came out of the cafe, and 
 now he drank quickly. Nielsen tossed the empty 
 bottle over on the bed: 
 
 "There's another bottle in my pocket," he said. 
 He had only sipped at his cup now and then while 
 the cobbler was becoming more and more drunk. 
 
 "You're a fellow after my own heart," babbled 
 the cobbler, "a regular guy." 
 
 "Yes, wasn't it lucky," smiled Nielsen "that you 
 didn't snitch on me?" 
 
 "Snitch snitch!" The cobbler faltered a lit- 
 tle but then continued virtuously indignant: 
 [164] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I don't snitch on my friends, by God!" 
 
 "But if you were not my friend?" 
 
 "Then I'd get in trouble, too, myself," grunted 
 the cobbler craftily. 
 
 "Yes, if you went to the police! But if this 
 Falk " 
 
 The cobbler strove to look unbelievably stupid: 
 
 "If he what?" he babbled. 
 
 "If he had offered money, and had promised 
 you protection in other ways?" 
 
 "Yes, if?" hiccoughed the cobbler. "If I had 
 done anything like that you wouldn't be sitting 
 here, would you?" 
 
 "Oh, you could have told some fish story about 
 not being able to get a hold of me before to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 "And what good would that do me?" asked the 
 other and held the cup to his mouth without drink- 
 ing. 
 
 Nielsen only smiled. 
 
 "What good would it do?" mumbled the cob- 
 bler both angry and frightened. "Answer me, in 
 the devil's name!" 
 
 Nielsen winked at him waggishly: 
 
 "In that way, you could get money both from 
 him and from me." 
 
 The cobbler laughed scornfully. 
 [165] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "You don't think this Falk is so thick as that, 
 to let me keep the bill, the bloody bill which is 
 part of the evidence." 
 
 "No, but say you had done it anyway." 
 
 "But hell, you got it from me only a few min- 
 utes ago." 
 
 "Yes, I got a wrinkled ten kroner note, with a 
 blood stain on it. But Lord save us, such a note 
 is easy to stain. Let me see your hands!" 
 
 He suddenly seized the cobbler's hands so the 
 cup fell on the bed, and pulled him over into the 
 light. The cobbler's whole body shook. His 
 face was livid. 
 
 There was an insignificant puncture on the left 
 hand! 
 
 Nielsen laughed and let go his hand: 
 
 "You must be cold, Hansen. Help yourself to 
 the goods." 
 
 He handed the cobbler the flask. The latter 
 put it to his mouth, and took a deep draught. 
 
 "I pricked myself on one of the awls this after- 
 noon," he explained. 
 
 "You did, eh? Well, it's none of my business," 
 smiled the other. "Of course, I believe you. If 
 I didn't, all I would have to do would be to look 
 at the number on the bill. For I remember it 
 well." 
 
 [166] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 The cobbler took another drink from the flask. 
 Nielsen had again seated himself on the bed. 
 
 "No, I'm not afraid that any one will snitch on 
 me," he said with a low laugh. "It would only be 
 a living hell for whoever did it, even if I didn't 
 kill him at once." 
 
 The cobbler sat and looked at him sluggishly. 
 
 "But you're not drinking," protested Nielsen 
 smilingly, and handed him the flask. 
 
 The cobbler dropped it. He was swimmingly 
 drunk, but fear gnawed at his vitals. 
 
 He couldn't endure the other's smile. Sud- 
 denly he blazed up in a sudden fit of rage: 
 
 "What the hell are you grinning about?" 
 
 Nielsen stopped smiling, and listened: 
 
 "Shh!" 
 
 The cobbler paused, but heard nothing. 
 
 "What are you listening for?" he asked soon 
 after, and seemed about to collapse from drunken- 
 
 ness. 
 tc 
 
 For the beating of Life's pulse," whispered 
 Nielsen evilly. "It's so easy for one to die, and 
 to be put down in the darkness among the worms." 
 The cobbler shuddered despite his fuddled 
 state. 
 
 But then Nielsen repeated his "shh" and the 
 cobbler also heard a soft scraping up on the street, 
 [167] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Nielsen stole over to the rug in front of the win- 
 dow and put his ear to it. His face was dark but 
 determined as he turned away. 
 
 The cobbler had fallen over on the bed where 
 he lay and snored. Nielsen put out the light and 
 again tiptoed over to the window. Somebody was 
 moving softly about the court. He heard the per- 
 son stop and listen, with his hand on the window 
 pane. 
 
 Nielsen stood still as death. 
 
 Ten minutes passed. All was still except for 
 the snoring of the cobbler. He heard the stranger 
 up in the court tiptoe away, through the gateway, 
 out to the street. He heard his footsteps ring on 
 the cobblestones. Further and further away. 
 
 He breathed more easily. Still he waited sev- 
 eral minutes. All was quiet in the moonlit court. 
 He lifted the curtain cautiously, and peeped out. 
 The court was empty. He let the rug fall back. 
 
 He stood and reflected an instant, then lit a 
 match and looked around the room. A small gas 
 stove stood in the corner toward the court. He 
 noted its position, and stole over to the cobbler, 
 and bent over him. He had seen him put the 40 
 kroner in his breast pocket. He lit another match, 
 and took the notes out cautiously without disturb- 
 [168] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 ing the cobbler. In the pocket above that he 
 found three 10 kroner notes. 
 
 "It has been an expensive business," muttered 
 Nielsen, and took the money. "Go to hell then," 
 and he nodded to the cobbler with an evil smile. 
 
 The match went out. 
 
 He opened the door to the shop in the darkness, 
 and examined the window closely. No, there 
 were no cracks to speak of. 
 
 He stopped a moment at the gas stove, then hur- 
 ried out in the kitchen, and locked the door behind 
 him. 
 
 "He won't be cold now the darling thing!" 
 and he laughed silently. 
 
 The court was still white and deserted as far 
 as he could see through the frosty and dirty win- 
 dows. A cat sneaked over to the gateway, and 
 turned into it but stopped suddenly and went back. 
 
 Nielsen swore softly, and pulled his hat over 
 his eyes. Then he opened the kitchen door, 
 locked it behind him, and went up into the court. 
 However, he did not go out on the street but into the 
 next court, which one could see from the gateway, 
 and which together with various other courts, 
 reached right down to Dannebrog Street. 
 
 He went along apparently unsuspecting, though 
 [169] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 cautiously. But in reality, he was listening, and 
 he heard footsteps behind him. When he reached 
 a connecting archway he went hurriedly through 
 it, but ducked back at once and hid in its deepest 
 shadow. 
 
 Several seconds passed. Then a man suddenly 
 showed himself out in the moonlit courtyard. He 
 seemed to hesitate but soon after he crept into the 
 archway. 
 
 Nielsen stood ready to spring. The other had 
 no idea that he was there. He slipped by, nearly 
 touching the printer, but almost at the same time 
 uttered a low groan. He went down with an iron 
 blow from Nielsen's fist. He lay senseless. 
 
 "When he wakes up in a quarter of an hour or 
 so," muttered Nielsen, as he changed part of his 
 clothing in the darkness, "the cobbler will be dead, 
 and from now on Nielsen the printer exists no 
 more. We'll see then whether Mister Falk can 
 arrest Saabye's murderer." 
 
 [170] 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 * 4 F"T^HE detective bureau called up," said 
 Willing the next day to Falk. The lat- 
 JL ter had appeared in the study at the un- 
 usually early hour of half past nine in the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Falk lit a cigar. 
 
 "And what good news did they have?" 
 
 "Unfortunately, none! The man assigned to 
 follow the cobbler shadowed him all day. And 
 the cobbler spent money right and left and drunk 
 heavily and visited a woman of ill repute. At 
 twelve o'clock on the corner of Enghavevej and 
 Vesterbro Street he had met a man who went home 
 with him. 
 
 "This man left the cobbler about one o'clock and 
 sneaked away through some courts that lead up 
 to Dannebrog Street. The detective still followed 
 him but the stranger must have taken alarm. 
 Anyway in one of the darkest and deepest arch- 
 ways, he," and Willing shuddered at the thought, 
 [171] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "took the detective by surprise and felled him to 
 the ground." 
 
 Falk swore. 
 
 "And of course was gone when the man came 
 to his senses again," ended Willing. 
 
 "Who was this fellow? Was it the printer?" 
 
 "No, the detective thought not. At any rate, 
 he didn't look like the man you described. He 
 was tall and thin it's true, but very much bent 
 over and dressed quite differently from the printer. 
 He had on a long worn ulster and wore a 
 soft hat pulled down over his eyes. The man 
 from the bureau had to go home. He hasn't re- 
 covered from the attack yet." 
 
 "Hm," growled Falk, "that was a nice bit of 
 news. Have you any more Job's messages?" 
 
 "I don't know," and the offended Willing 
 shrugged his shoulders, "what you will call Jen- 
 sen-Skandrup's message. He rang up about a half 
 hour ago. The young artist had been confronted 
 by the body of his foster-father." 
 
 "But it led to nothing," continued Falk and nod- 
 ded. "Am I wrong?" 
 
 "No, decidedly not. He only wept and kissed 
 the old man's brow. Jensen-Skandrup called the 
 affair 'a blurred film'" 
 [172] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "The cobbler, Thorvald Hansen, didn't ring 
 up?" asked Falk. 
 
 Willing shook his head: "No." 
 
 "I should have put Holm on his trail," said 
 Falk irritably and picked up one of the news- 
 papers. 
 
 As he did so some one rang loudly out in the 
 entry. An instant later he heard Preben Miller 
 demand to see him at once. Falk opened the door 
 to the corridor himself: 
 
 "What in the world is the matter with you?" he 
 asked astonished. Miller was always so self- 
 possessed. Falk gave his friend his hand. He 
 was astounded at the other's appearance. Preben 
 Miller looked like a sick man. His face was 
 ashen, he had dark circles under his eyes and his 
 clothes were untidy as if he had thrown them on 
 without thinking, he, who always used an hour to 
 dress in. 
 
 "What in the world is the matter with you?" re- 
 peated Falk. 
 
 "I must talk with you at once, now," moaned 
 Miller. 
 
 Willing, who had greeted him with a stiff bow, 
 withdrew discreetly to the living-room. 
 
 "What is it, then?" asked Falk. 
 [173] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Miller gave him a letter. His hand shook, and 
 his voice trembled. "Read this!" he said, and 
 sank down with his face hidden in his hands. 
 Falk read: 
 
 "Dear, dear Preben, 
 
 "I was distressed and discouraged yesterday, and I 
 would not tell you why. But now I must confess to 
 you. We cannot see each other again. You cannot 
 love a woman who has been a murderer's. Yes, a mur- 
 derer's. Nielsen admitted to me this afternoon that 
 he had killed a man, an old man Mr. Saabye. He 
 admitted it because my brother dropped various hints 
 on the subject, and finally accused him of being the 
 murderer, and because I demanded an explanation. 
 Nielsen has always been my evil spirit. He has had a 
 peculiar and fearful hold on me. The only consolation 
 is that now I am free, though only to live in distress 
 and misfortune. I, myself, advised him to go away, 
 and he left the house here in disguise. I think he 
 has gone to Sweden. I am in deep despair, and I ask 
 you not to try to see me. Though you are the only 
 one I have ever loved. 
 
 "Your brokenhearted 
 
 "LLY." 
 
 "I didn't know she meant so much to you," said 
 Falk sympathetically, and gave him the letter. 
 
 "I've tried in vain to get her to talk to me up 
 to this morning," he groaned, "but when she heard 
 it was I, she rang off. Her voice sounded so sor- 
 [174] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 rowful. I am so afraid that she, in her despair, 
 will do something insane. And still, under these 
 circumstances, I must do my work." 
 
 He looked up with a grimacing smile. 
 
 "I must go to a first night at the Dagmar 
 Theatre tonight," he said, "and the play is a com- 
 edy!" 
 
 "Can't you get some one else to cover the per- 
 formance?" proposed Falk. 
 
 Miller shook his head despondently: 
 
 "That won't do," he said. "I've been behind 
 so much lately in my work in the paper. But un- 
 der these circumstances, it's hellish torture." 
 
 Falk inclined his head sympathetically: 
 
 "You must excuse me a moment," he said. "I 
 must report the matter to the police. I'll borrow 
 this letter for a few days, too." 
 
 Miller nodded again. Falk went out and gave 
 Willing his instructions. A moment later he was 
 back beside his friend: 
 
 "Willing's gone to ring up headquarters. I 
 have hopes that we'll get our hands on the printer. 
 It won't be the first time the Swedish police 
 have helped us by the way, do you know where 
 Nielsen and Elly met each other?" 
 
 "Yes, she told me herself," said Miller in a low 
 voice. "It was at a labour meeting this spring. 
 [175] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 She had gone to it because she had never been to 
 one before." 
 
 The ringing of the telephone interrupted them. 
 It was Holm. 
 
 "I didn't find out much about the lady," he re- 
 ported. "She's well liked, and for the last year 
 has had no other companions than Mr. Preben 
 Miller, and Nielsen. The green-grocer's little girl 
 does the cleaning, and runs errands for her. The 
 evening in question she came home alone about 
 nine o'clock. Shortly after that, all was dark in 
 her flat. None of the tenants saw the printer there 
 that night." 
 
 Falk hung up. 
 
 He felt sorry for Miller, who stood by the win- 
 dow with downcast head. But there was no time 
 for lamentation. 
 
 "I must go out at once," he said. "Out to 
 my friend, Thorvald Hansen! The cobbler," he 
 added as explanation, for the other had looked at 
 him so uncomprehendingly. 
 
 "Let me go along," proposed the author. 
 
 "Surely! But won't it be a little painful?" 
 
 "Ah, well, evil must drive out evil." 
 
 Falk called a taxi, and gave the house-keeper in- 
 structions in case Thorvald Hansen should show 
 up while he was away. 
 
 [176] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Let him wait in here! I'll ring up every quar- 
 ter of an hour." 
 
 It had begun to snow when they came out on 
 the street to the waiting taxi. They jumped into 
 it quickly. 
 
 "Saxo Street way down near Isted Street," cried 
 Falk to the chauffeur. 
 
 They sat in silence for a long time. Then Mil- 
 ler burst out: 
 
 "This is terrible, this affair about Nielsen." 
 
 "We'll get hold of him," nodded Falk confi- 
 dently. "In a day his description will be all over 
 Sweden and Germany." 
 
 Miller shivered. 
 
 "Are you cold?" asked Falk. 
 
 "No, I shudder to think that he has been her 
 lover, and that I have touched the hand which 
 guided the razor across the old man's throat. 
 Murder is dreadful." 
 
 Falk gave a shrug. 
 
 "We press so many highly respected hands that 
 have committed murder, but are out of reach of 
 the law. Or what do you say of the wealthy be- 
 trayer who kills the happiness in a good but poor 
 woman's life. He exists not only in novels and 
 the movies. He is right among us. Or the em- 
 ployer who starves his workers. Or the parents 
 [177] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 who neglect and illtreat their children. I could 
 give you hundreds of examples. The world is 
 full of murderers." 
 
 "But to cut off a person's life," protested Mil- 
 ler, "to stop a heart from beating; to cause an or- 
 ganism to stiffen so that it cannot function any 
 more; that seems to me worse than anything else." 
 
 Falk grunted, and looked out of the window. 
 
 They turned swiftly down Saxo Street. The 
 snow fell faster and faster. The dirty white 
 poorhouse stood there and froze. Here and there, 
 in an archway, people with an out-of-work look 
 could be seen; always there like the morning dew. 
 They pressed themselves into the corner of the 
 archway, with their hands dug down in their 
 pockets, and sixpenny hats pulled over their eyes, 
 bent over by the cold and dully stamping in the 
 snow that blew on their legs, trying to keep the 
 blood in circulation in their alcohol-soaked bodies. 
 
 The taxi stopped with a violent jerk outside the 
 cobbler's cellar. Old Hansen stood down there 
 profanely tugging away at the door knob. His 
 teeth chattered with cold. 
 
 "Is no one home?" asked Falk and told the 
 driver to wait. 
 
 "Yes, he must be there," growled the old man. 
 [178] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "But the door is always open at this time of day. 
 I suppose the beast is sleeping." 
 
 "Did you try the kitchen door?" Falk asked. 
 
 "Yeh, that's locked too." 
 "Maybe your son has gone out?" 
 
 "He never goes out as early as this," and the 
 old man shook his head. 
 
 "Well, we can take a look," proposed Falk and 
 pulled a bunch of skeleton keys out of his pocket, 
 and began to smile at the old man's surprised ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "You never saw anything like that before?" 
 
 The old man tried to look more stupid than 
 usual. 
 
 Falk opened the door at once, and went into the 
 store, but stopped and sniffed the air: 
 
 "There must be a leaky gas-pipe around here 
 somewhere," he said. 
 
 The old man could smell nothing, and Falk 
 could see that the gas jets over the door and in 
 the window were both closed; they had not been 
 used for a long time. The old man was tugging 
 at the door to the back room. 
 
 "That's locked, too," he growled harshly, "and 
 from the inside; he must have had a fine load to 
 carry last night." 
 
 [179] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Your son doesn't usually lock up so carefully, 
 eh?" asked Falk. 
 
 "No, he never locked this door before." 
 
 Falk's face had become grave. He hastily 
 pushed the key inside to the floor and opened the 
 door. 
 
 All three jumped back several paces. Even 
 the old man was almost half strangled by the gas- 
 eous stench that penetrated into the shop. Falk 
 quickly opened the shop door and transom. 
 
 "Where are the gas cocks in the room?" he 
 asked the old man who with difficulty stammered 
 out an explanation. 
 
 Miller had fled up to the street. His face was 
 livid, and he still felt as if he were strangling, 
 although the air there was icy cold. 
 
 Falk pressed his handkerchief to his mouth and 
 nose and ran into the room, and over to the gas 
 stove. Yes, both cocks were wide open! He shut 
 them with trembling fingers and staggered back to 
 the shop. 
 
 "We must wait several minutes until the gas is 
 driven out," he panted to Miller who again had 
 come into the shop. "You'd better stay out 
 here!" 
 
 But Miller wanted to come in. The air was 
 much clearer now, too. The old man joined them. 
 [180] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 It was half dark in the room but when Falk tore 
 the rug from the window the grey winter light stole 
 in over the bare, dirty board-floor, the naked table 
 and the battered chairs. Over two empty cognac 
 bottles and some broken cups. And across the 
 bed! 
 
 The three stopped before it, gripped by the mo- 
 ment's horror. For upon a heap of dirty rags in 
 it lay the cobbler's corpse. From his position it 
 seemed as if he had been seized by a sudden 
 cramp. His neck hung down horribly from the 
 head of the bed. His mouth was wide open with 
 the tongue bulging out of it. 
 
 They were silent for a moment. 
 
 "He always was a dirty bum," grunted the old 
 man angrily. That was his epitaph for his son. 
 
 "Call the police," Falk bade Miller. "There's 
 a telephone over at Nikola j sen's." 
 
 Miller hurried over. In the meantime Falk 
 searched the dead man's pockets. There was only 
 a little change in his pocket. The cobbler had 
 been unable to use all of the 100 kroner in the 
 course of the day before. The door to the kitchen 
 was also locked from the outside. To be sure, the 
 key was in the lock, but Falk discovered that it was 
 also used to lock the other door. The criminal 
 had, no doubt, tossed it away up in the courtyard. 
 [181] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 It was found there later. 
 
 But who was the murderer? 
 
 For the agent from the detective bureau insisted 
 that the man whom the cobbler had met and 
 who without doubt was his murderer, was not Niel- 
 sen, and he was the man who would have had the 
 greatest interest in getting the cobbler out of the 
 way. 
 
 Falk began to examine the room. Perhaps the 
 murderer had left some clue! Old Hansen had 
 sat down on one of the chairs and swayed back 
 and forth, muttering unintelligible things. 
 
 Shortly after, Miller came back. The police 
 would be there at once. 
 
 Falk had stopped before a cupboard in the shop. 
 It was locked. He picked the lock. At first he 
 saw only a heap of dirty rags and pieces of old 
 leather. But then he suddenly noticed a Japan- 
 ese paper weight, cut in the shape of a dog! And 
 several other trinkets, together with a bunch of 
 lock picks, and other burglars' tools. 
 
 "I have made an interesting discovery," and he 
 turned quickly to Miller with an air of triumph. 
 "Do you remember those mysterious burglaries 
 that were committed this spring and summer?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly I do." 
 
 [182] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "A rare marble paper-weight was stolen from 
 one of the places. The papers described it, and 
 so hindered the thieves from selling or otherwise 
 disposing of it. Here it is. The only thing I 
 can't see, is how the cobbler had the brains to 
 make these raids. For they were really remark- 
 able of their kind." 
 
 Miller nodded. 
 
 "Still waters " he cited, but was interrupted 
 by the hooting of a klaxon up in the street. 
 
 "It's the police," he said, after looking out. 
 "Our old friend, Jensen-Skandrup." 
 
 "Your Majesty!" they suddenly heard old Han- 
 sen babble. He had gotten up from the chair in 
 the back room and now stood on the threshold of 
 the shop. His wasted features shone: 
 
 "Your Majesty!" he repeated and stretched out 
 his hand to the Inspector, "does me too much 
 honour!" 
 
 Then he fell to the floor and began to weep and 
 moan and suddenly became uncontrollable and 
 thrashed his arms wildly: 
 
 >4 Your Majesty, Majesty!" he bellowed. "Where 
 is your hand your hand, your hand!" 
 
 "We must get him to a hospital at once," said 
 Jensen-Skandrup, turning to one of the policemen. 
 [183] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "That's clear enough he's got the D. T.'s all 
 right." 
 
 And then Falk and Miller continued their ex- 
 planation. 
 
 [184] 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 PREBEN MILLER, like Falk, liked to lie 
 abed late. He was lying there, stretch- 
 ing himself, comfortably smoking his 
 "Sunka" cigarette, and apparently in the best of 
 humour, when the door bell rang. 
 
 Who could that be? 
 
 His creditors had given up hope long ago. 
 Their visits were always useless. He had a way 
 of treating them that made them feel like intrusive 
 beggars. And the letter-carrier by agreement 
 with Miller never rang but threw the letters in 
 through a letter slot. Money drafts never came 
 for there is something called advance royalty and 
 Miller was always in advance both at his publish- 
 ers and at his paper. 
 
 It couldn't be Elly because she had keys to the 
 apartment. Nor the King's bailiff. He wasn't 
 due until next week sometime when he would as 
 usual go away with a long face. For Miller only 
 rented furnished rooms. But who could it be ! 
 Miller thrust a pyjama-clad leg out of the bed. 
 Could the cleaning woman have gone crazy and 
 [185] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 come at this time about four hours ahead of time! 
 He could hardly believe that. 
 
 The ringing continued with disrespectful vigour. 
 Miller's expression was one of deep surprise. 
 Well, he would open the door just enough so that 
 he could if it was a creditor slam it in his 
 face with a passing remark about bothering people 
 at that time of the night. 
 
 Then he heard a calling card being put through 
 the letter slot, and the person went away and 
 tramped noisily down the stairs. He waited until 
 the foot-steps had died away and then stole out in 
 the hall and picked up the card ! 
 
 It was a white blank card! 
 
 He went back to the bedroom swearing softly 
 and was just about to get into bed when the door 
 bell rang again. If some one was trying to make 
 a fool of him he would soon show them 
 
 In an instant he was out in the next room and 
 at the door to the corridor. He opened it almost 
 noiselessly. He had in his haste upset the con- 
 tents of the light waste-paper basket that stood un- 
 der his writing table, but without noticing it. He 
 stood ready to jump and opened the door little by 
 little. Then suddenly as the letter slot was pushed 
 up, he heard a cheery voice say triumphantly: 
 [186] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Come on, open up! For you are home. The 
 card is gone!" 
 
 It was Arne Falk. 
 
 Miller opened the door in unfeigned astonish- 
 ment: 
 
 "But what is ? I never thought you were up 
 so early." 
 
 "Well, I am a little proud of it," smiled Falk 
 modestly: "But I have some important news for 
 you." 
 
 "Will you come in?" They went in. "You 
 must excuse me a moment. I'll go in here and get 
 some clothes on. But go ahead anyway. I'm 
 all ears." 
 
 He let the bedroom door stand ajar. Falk 
 threw himself into a chair by the writing table. 
 
 "I've just come from headquarters. Lange has 
 been released." 
 
 "Does Ada Stock know it?" 
 
 "Yes, I rang her up myself last night. She 
 came over to meet him." 
 
 "It was quite touching, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, I admit that I was quite envious," sighed 
 Falk. 
 
 "That's nothing to sigh about," said Miller con- 
 solingly. "Remember what Wilde says, 'One can 
 [187] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 be happy with any woman if one doesn't love 
 her' But how goes it with your printer?" 
 
 "We haven't got him yet." 
 
 "Was was Elly cross-examined?" asked Mil- 
 ler, stammering slightly. 
 
 "Yes, for a long time last night." 
 
 Miller sighed. 
 
 "And came through all right too," continued 
 Falk. "District Attorney Jorgensen, with whom 
 I talked later, is of the opinion that she had noth- 
 ing to do with either the murder or the burglaries. 
 And she hasn't seen much of her brother either." 
 
 "Well, thank the Lord that she came through 
 all right! How did she take it anyway? For 
 you saw her I suppose?" 
 
 "She took it sensibly enough," and Falk lit a 
 cigar. "You have recovered too. You were quite 
 down in the mouth yesterday." 
 
 "Yes, you must reason your way in a situation 
 like this. I was afraid at first that she would 
 commit suicide. But then she would have done 
 
 it at once." 
 
 "Yes, of course! How was the premiere last 
 night?" asked Falk smilingly. He sat with Mil- 
 ler's review before him. 
 
 "To tell the truth, I don't know. I certainly 
 had other things to think about." 
 [188] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "You weren't especially kind either to the 
 actors or to the author." 
 
 "Kind!" grunted Miller scornfully. "Who in 
 hell can demand kindness when the critic is in 
 trouble clear up to his eyes?" 
 
 " Or one's house-keeper burns the steak for 
 dinner," continued Falk mischievously; "or his 
 girl has gone back on him; or the King's Bailiff 
 raids one's house! No, of course, critics are in- 
 fluenced by those things But now you are in 
 good enough humour to praise 'Fairy Play' which 
 lies on your table here?" 
 
 Falk stretched out his hand for the book, and 
 began to turn its pages. 
 
 "Apparently," admitted Miller, and began to 
 strop his razor on a leather strop. 
 
 In the middle of the book, Falk came upon a 
 long, golden hair a woman's: "I didn't know 
 that it was in the bookstores yet," he remarked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I got it last night through the mail. 
 With a dedication from the author. For I am 
 of some importance after all," laughed Miller. 
 
 "Did you have any visitor last night after the 
 theatre?" asked Falk. 
 
 "No, I went home alone." 
 
 "I thought that you had some women friends 
 here?" 
 
 [189] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 "No, I didn't feel like it. All this with Elly- 
 you understand. And even if I am thoughtless, 
 I" 
 
 "Yes, but it could have been Elly herself " 
 "Elly? Are you crazy? I haven't seen her 
 since the night before last." 
 
 "Well, well. There was no offence meant." 
 
 For Miller's tone had sounded somewhat irritated. 
 
 "No, but can't you see " The rest of Miller's 
 
 reply was lost in the noise of a passing street car. 
 
 he had opened his bedroom windows. 
 
 Falk knocked the ashes from his cigar, and then 
 noticed the overturned waste basket. He righted 
 it, and laboriously began to put the waste paper 
 back in it. 
 
 "Either you are a very industrious man," he 
 said, "or else you have a very neglectful clean- 
 ing woman." 
 
 "Why, may I ask?" 
 
 "Your waste-paper basket is bulging with stuff." 
 "Well, it was emptied yesterday noon." 
 "But, what in the deuce P' Falk stared in 
 surprise at something that he saw under a crum- 
 pled piece of cardboard, and the last of the bas- 
 ket's contents he had not yet put back: 
 
 A broken india-rubber plate with four front 
 teeth! 
 
 [190] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Remarkable long, yellow teeth, that he knew so 
 well. Nielsen's peculiar front teeth had looked 
 like that! 
 
 For a moment he was overcome. Then he hur- 
 riedly put the demolished gum in his pocket, and 
 happened in the same instant to glance at the book 
 in which he had found the long, yellow hair. 
 
 That hair was of just the same color and tex- 
 ture as Elly Hansen's. He knew that she had 
 keys to the apartment and that Miller had been 
 at the Dagmar Theatre, where the performance 
 lasted until eleven o'clock. Elly Hansen had been 
 cross-examined from 7 to a quarter past 8 o'clock. 
 
 Perhaps, she without Miller's knowledge had 
 arranged up in Miller's apartments a rendez- 
 vous with Nielsen, who did not dare to visit her 
 at her home. The journey to Sweden could have 
 been postponed. Nielsen and she could have had 
 any number of things to talk about. 
 
 In order to disguise himself, before he ven- 
 tured out in a city whose police lay in wait for 
 him, Nielsen could have destroyed the false teeth. 
 It was certain that no one, unless perhaps Elly 
 Hansen, could have had the slightest idea that 
 those teeth, his most conspicuous characteristic, 
 were false. His toothless mouth would, therefore, 
 be an excellent disguise. 
 
 [191] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 And had he at the same time thrown away his 
 glasses and had had a chance to change his clothes, 
 he would have been well-nigh unrecognizable. 
 
 It was, of course, unpardonable carelessness to 
 have thrown the false teeth in the waste basket. 
 But even the best of crooks make mistakes and 
 often concerning vital matters. The full basket, 
 which Elly no doubt had told him was emptied 
 every day, had probably tempted him. The plate 
 he could not have burnt, as Miller would have been 
 able to smell it on his arrival. 
 
 Perhaps Nielsen had taken some of Miller's 
 clothes. For Elly could easily have disposed of 
 his old ones. 
 
 Falk opened the bedroom door. Miller was 
 washing his face after shaving. The door of the 
 clothes closet stood wide open. Only three suits 
 of clothes hung there. 
 
 "Is that all of your wardrobe?" smiled Falk. 
 
 "Yes, these three suits are all my earthly pos- 
 sessions. The rest are all at 'Uncle's'!" 
 
 "But you've some old clothes?" 
 
 "Not a single piece. There's a second hand 
 clothes dealer over in Victoria Street, and he buys 
 all my old stuff. There isn't as much as an old 
 vest around now." 
 
 Falk looked at his watch: 
 [192] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I must go now," he said. 
 
 "Oh, but wait and let us eat breakfast together," 
 protested Miller. "That's an invitation!" 
 
 " which I cannot afford to accept," smiled 
 Falk a bit sarcastically. 
 
 "To think that you can be sarcastic so early in 
 the day." 
 
 Miller showed him smilingly to the door: 
 
 "You are a queer fellow," he said. "I'll re- 
 member that little trick with the calling card. 
 You can't fool me twice." 
 
 "No, that's so, you're not a detective," and Falk 
 disappeared with a cheery farewell. 
 
 Elly Hansen was at her dressing table when the 
 door bell rang. 
 
 "I'm not at home," she said to the green-grocer's 
 little girl who was mopping the floor. The girl 
 hurried out and opened the door. 
 
 "Miss Hansen ain't home," she heard her pipe. 
 
 "Oh, is that so!" 
 
 It was a man's voice. She heard him push the 
 little girl aside and step into the hall. That was 
 too much. 
 
 With one little spring, Elly was in the 
 door to the hall. There was a man standing 
 there: 
 
 [193] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "Didn't you understand what the girl said. I'm 
 not at home to any one." 
 
 "You are at home to me," said the man 
 smilingly. "No one escapes his fate." 
 
 Unabashed he opened the door of the living 
 room, and stepped in. It was Arne Falk! She 
 recognized him at once, and was afraid. 
 
 "What do you want of me?" she asked shortly. 
 
 "I want to give you some advice," said Falk. 
 
 "About what, may I ask?" She tried in vain 
 to appear calm. Her eyes were anxious and ir- 
 resolute. Now and then she wet her dry lips. 
 
 "This, of telling you where Saabye's murderer 
 is to be found. We are aware that you know his 
 hiding place, and that he is now here in the city." 
 
 "Then you know more than I do," she said de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 "We know furthermore," continued Falk un- 
 disturbed, "that you met him last night in a house 
 on old Kingsway. I don't think I need to de- 
 scribe it more closely for you." 
 
 She resembled a spectre as she stood there. She 
 did not speak; only shook her head in a sort of 
 automatic defiance. 
 
 "The reason I am asking you to help us," Falk 
 went on, "is that your so-called printer, Nielsen " 
 [194] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "So called," she started violently but otherwise 
 restrained herself. 
 
 "Yes, so called," repeated Falk. "For he is 
 no more a printer than you or I." 
 
 "Why don't you arrest him then if you know 
 him?" she demanded. It was as if a light had 
 suddenly dawned for her. 
 
 "Because we need a link in the chain of evi- 
 dence. A link which I ask you to give us. You 
 will not regret your helpfulness." 
 
 "Do you want it in writing?" She tried to make 
 her tone seem bantering, but her glance in an un- 
 guarded moment roamed to the writing desk and 
 rested on some paper and envelopes that lay there. 
 Falk felt sure that something lay under there. 
 But he also saw that the coincidence was giving 
 him a helping hand: 
 
 "Yes, it's best to have it in writing, of course." 
 
 "I'll think it over," she said. "Let me have 
 the pen and ink, please. I'll go in the bedroom 
 with it. I wish to be alone for a moment." 
 
 Falk nodded in assent and handed her the 
 writing materials. "I suppose I may use your 
 telephone?" 
 
 "Yes, it's at your service." 
 
 He heard the maid scrubbing the floor in the 
 [195] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 bedroom as Elly Hansen opened the door only to 
 shut it at once behind her. 
 
 He asked for his own number. Willing an- 
 swered the phone. 
 
 "This is Falk," he said, and heard the window 
 in the bedroom being carefully closed, and some 
 one tip-toe over to the door to the living room. 
 The scrubbing had also ceased. 
 
 "We are on his trail," Falk went on. 
 
 "Whose trail?" asked Willing. 
 
 "All we've got to do is to smoke the fox out of 
 his hole. We'll know in a few minutes, just where 
 he is." 
 
 "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking 
 about." Willing faltered in bewilderment. 
 
 "That's quite all right," said Falk and contin- 
 ued, "what did you say?" 
 
 Willing repeated his remark about not under- 
 standing. As Falk still did not answer he rang off 
 after a few confused hellos. 
 
 Falk remained sitting at the telephone. Now 
 and then he raised his voice as if he was answering 
 a question. In reality he was listening to the slight 
 noise from the bedroom where he heard Elly whis- 
 pering to the cleaning girl, and then heard the lat- 
 ter go out by the kitchen door. An instant later, 
 the scrubbing within was resumed. He knew that 
 [196] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 it was Elly Hansen who sought to make him be- 
 lieve that the little girl was still in there. 
 
 Falk hung up the receiver, and looked for the 
 wire. It went in a sweeping curve behind the 
 writing table down to the carpeted floor. He bent 
 down and snipped it in two. He heard the mop 
 being laid aside, inside. An instant later Elly 
 Hansen opened the door: 
 
 "Here is my confession," she said triumphantly, 
 and handed him a sheet of paper. 
 
 The sheet was blank! 
 
 Falk shrugged his shoulders: 
 
 "He laughs best " he said. 
 
 Just then the front door bell rang. 
 
 "Pardon me," he said and went out and opened 
 the door. It was Holm. 
 
 "I caught the brat down in the hall. She cer- 
 tainly did howl. But I finally got the letter." 
 
 He gave it to Falk. Falk opened it and read: 
 
 "My dearest one! 
 
 They are on your track. You must flee. Telephone 
 me your future address. Your faithful loving, 
 
 "ELLY." 
 
 Falk put it triumphantly back in the envelope 
 again, and looked at the superscription. 
 
 "Good God!" he burst out. "I hadn't expected 
 that!" 
 
 [197] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "You are not sick?" asked Holm sympathet- 
 ically. Falk was quite pale. 
 
 "No, no. You'd better go, Holm. Come up 
 to my place for your money tonight." 
 
 "Then the case is solved." 
 
 "Yes," Falk nodded and shut the door. He 
 still held the letter in his hand. 
 
 "This is terrible," he muttered and turned 
 quickly away. Elly Hansen stood behind him. 
 She was like a lioness ready to fight to the death 
 for her young. Her eyes gleamed; her nostrils 
 quivered: 
 
 "Give me the letter," she hissed and grasped 
 for it, but Falk quickly put it in his pocket. 
 
 In an instant she was back in the living room, 
 and had closed the door behind her. He heard 
 the key turn in the lock. Falk smiled moodily. 
 He heard her pick up the receiver and demand a 
 number. She repeated it and repeated it. And 
 always without getting an answer. 
 
 Suddenly he heard her utter a cry of rage and 
 despair, and collapse sobbing bitterly. 
 
 She had discovered that the telephone wire had 
 been cut. She could not warn the man she loved. 
 
 All was over, all, all 
 
 Falk had a great deal to do that day, and it was 
 past three o'clock when he carne home. There 
 [198] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 was a telephone message from Preben Miller. 
 Some one had been in his apartment the night be- 
 fore. He thought it was Elly Hansen because 
 he had found a long, golden hair strikingly like 
 hers in the middle of a new book. But he did 
 not understand what she was doing in his apart- 
 ment without his knowledge. He wanted very 
 much to talk with Falk about it. 
 
 "I'll go over to him at once," Falk decided. 
 "Then he'll get the news first hand." 
 
 "What news?" asked Willing. 
 
 "That we will have our hands on Nielsen in the 
 course of an hour." 
 
 [199] 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 MILLER was working when Falk rang. 
 The writer opened the door himself. 
 He was clad in a silk-wadded bath-robe, 
 lamb's-wool slippers, and brightly coloured socks. 
 He was, as usual, smoking his "Sunka." 
 
 The reading lamp was lit in the room, and a 
 cozy fire crackled in the stove. Miller's table 
 was littered with books and manuscripts. 
 
 "Excuse me for a moment," he asked. "I must 
 finish this review." 
 
 Falk sat down. The street cars went rattling 
 by down on the street. The telephone wires sang. 
 Miller's pen scratched feverishly. Now and then, 
 a piece of coal exploded in the stove. Some min- 
 utes passed. Then Miller laid his pen aside, and 
 turned to Falk with a cordial nod. 
 
 "Now I am at your service. I suppose Will- 
 ing has told you I called up." 
 
 "Yes, he told me." Falk looked at him in a 
 queer way. 
 
 "Why do you look at me like that?" asked Mil- 
 ler. 
 
 [200] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 Falk lowered his eyes but did not answer. 
 
 "You're not feeling top-notch today," asked 
 his friend with a smile. 
 
 "No," admitted Falk without looking up. 
 
 "How is the murder case getting along?" 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "Have you found the printer?" 
 
 "Yes," Falk straightened up. His eyes did not 
 leave Miller's face. The other was very pale. 
 
 "It's warm as the deuce here," Miller panted, 
 and wiped his forehead. "Where did you get 
 hold of him?" 
 
 "Why do you ask me that?" 
 
 "Because I am interested." 
 
 "Why do you ask me that?" repeated Falk with 
 special emphasis on the pronoun. 
 
 Miller, slightly confused, shook his head. 
 
 "I don't understand you," he said. 
 
 "You will not understand me," Falk corrected. 
 
 Miller still appeared to be surprised. 
 
 Falk leaned towards him: 
 
 "Or perhaps you will deny that you, Preben 
 Miller, and the man Nielsen are one and the same 
 person?" 
 
 Miller stiffened and stared. He looked old at 
 that moment. 
 
 "What do you know?" he asked hoarsely. 
 [201] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 "I know all." 
 
 "All?" 
 
 "Or so much at any rate that our Nielsen, the 
 printer, will serve a life's term in prison." 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 "For the murders of old Saabye, and Thorvald 
 Hansen." 
 
 "And you have proof of your statement?" 
 
 Miller had regained something of his old con- 
 fident manner again. 
 
 "Certain proof! Perhaps you'll be interested 
 to hear it?" 
 
 "Very much," nodded the author and lit a cig- 
 arette. 
 
 "It all began with a note," said Falk, "on the 
 back of which you wrote Capt. Stock's name. A 
 mere bagatelle of 3600 kroner that was extended 
 again and again, as long as Mortensen, the money 
 lender, believed in your coming marriage with 
 Miss Stock which you had hoodwinked him into 
 believing a reality. 
 
 "About a month ago you proposed to Ada Stock 
 and was rejected. I questioned her myself today, 
 and she confessed although reluctantly. At the 
 time you proposed, she confided to you under 
 promise of secrecy that she loved Lange. 
 
 "And you knew what that meant to you. Some 
 [202] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 fine day, Mortensen would demand payment on 
 the overdue note. And he would simply refuse to 
 extend it. He did it the very day Lange became 
 engaged. You were forced to get the money. 
 
 "First you tried myself, and your other friend. 
 We couldn't help you. Then you got the idea 
 through Elly Hansen of blackmailing Lange, on 
 the basis of his former relations with her, and his 
 engagement to Ada Stock. 
 
 "And when that didn't work, you killed old 
 Saabye. The note fell due the day after, and you 
 paid it with the money you had stolen from the 
 murdered man." 
 
 "I am really somewhat sceptical about the pos- 
 sibility that I could have gotten into his room," 
 said Miller. "Everything was locked when he 
 went to bed, and there were no strangers in the 
 apartment. And the keys were in their place." 
 
 "Not when you left Saabye in the evening. The 
 house-keeper's keys were not there. You had 
 'borrowed' them to get in with later on. But you 
 put them carefully in their place again, following 
 a well-laid plan. You also borrowed Lange's 
 pocket-knife, and placed it in a compromising 
 place in the corridor, after first filing some nicks 
 in it, which should indicate that it had been used 
 to cut the electric wire in two; which was an im- 
 [203] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 possibility due to the thickness of the wire. You, 
 no doubt, cut the wire with a pair of nippers." 
 
 "But Lange's bloody jacket and the handker- 
 chief and gloves?" 
 
 "You borrowed them also. Just as you put 
 the bloody notes in his pockets, and strewed some 
 of them in front of the mantel-piece." 
 
 "Perhaps I also was the cause of his insane 
 flight from the apartment?" 
 
 "Yes, because it was you and no one else who 
 'phoned him about Ada Stock's illness. 9 '' 
 
 "When, then? We were together all of the 
 
 time." 
 
 "When you went up to put your overcoat on." 
 "Really, this is all very interesting," sneered 
 Miller. "There's only one little insignificant de- 
 tail you left out, and that was that the old man was 
 murdered while you and I were walking in peace 
 and quiet down near the Independence Statue. But 
 perhaps you think me capable of killing by hypno- 
 tism?" 
 
 "How does any one know when Saabye died?" 
 ''By the watch which was found to be stopped 
 just at that time." 
 
 "Quite right. But I found by means of my 
 glass that there was a dent in the case, and that 
 dent told me that some one had stopped the watch 
 [204] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 by hitting it against his knee. Against your knee, 
 for example." 
 
 "Yes, why not?" smiled Miller although not so 
 confidently as before. 
 
 "Besides I quickly became convinced that Lange 
 was not the murderer. The matter of the nicked 
 pocket-knife caused me my first doubt. My next 
 one was even more positive. For I happened to 
 notice while I was up in the court house that Lange 
 was left-handed." 
 
 Preben Miller started violently. 
 
 "What an idiot I was," he swore, "to have for- 
 gotten that." 
 
 "Yes, you should have started the cut from the 
 other side," said Falk cynically. "Although that 
 wouldn't have helped you. The cobbler betrayed 
 you anyway. Why didn't you bribe him to keep 
 silent?" 
 
 "Because he wasn't satisfied with the 40 kroner 
 I offered him, and that was all I had at the time." 
 
 "What I don't understand," grunted Falk, "is 
 why you masqueraded as the printer, Nielsen, un- 
 less you 'worked' together with the cobbler and 
 wished to be unknown to him." 
 
 "Do you remember the mysterious robberies 
 this spring and summer. I planned them, and the 
 cobbler did the work." 
 
 [205] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 Falk regarded him with something like wonder. 
 "But why what that you have imagination 
 and organizing ability I know. But from that 
 
 to" 
 
 "Well, the honour is mostly yours," admitted 
 Miller. 
 
 "Mine!" Falk looked at him in astonishment. 
 
 "Yes, you were a sort of consultant for me," 
 explained Miller. "Many's the evening I've sat 
 and picked plans for my famous robberies out of 
 you. And it was you who gave me the idea of the 
 false teeth." 
 
 Falk smiled bitterly. 
 
 "Hm! Perhaps I've also given you the idea of 
 your alias, as Nielsen, the printer?" 
 
 "No, I got that myself. One evening Elly told 
 me of her worthy family. We were both in finan- 
 cial difficulties then and neither of us had moral 
 scruples. She 'imported' me into the cobbler's 
 cellar; I had the teeth made at a specialist's in 
 Gother Street, and that and the glasses, together 
 with a rather frowsy wig and a change of clothing, 
 made me as you know quite unrecognizable." 
 
 "And you committed the murders and robberies 
 just to amuse yourself? and to give Elly Hansen 
 fine clothes?" 
 
 "I can not deny that my calendar of sins is de- 
 [206] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 void of redeeming moments. And yet, I tell 
 you," he continued gravely, "that I love Elly. 
 Not alone because she is a woman. But also be- 
 cause she is the bravest and most self-sacrificing 
 friend a man ever had. And I ask of you, Falk, 
 do all you can to keep her out of this Well, I 
 guess that's all. I suppose you've posted men 
 both at the front and kitchen door?" 
 
 Falk shook his head: 
 
 "No, I came up here alone." 
 
 "Does Willing or the police know anything 
 about it?" 
 
 "No, I'm the only one besides Elly Hansen 
 that knows your secret." 
 
 Miller slowly pulled out a drawer in the writ- 
 ing-table and took from it a revolver. Falk looked 
 at him calmly. 
 
 "It's loaded," said Miller harshly, "and makes 
 very little noise. I could shoot you down like a 
 dog! No one would hear. I could send Will- 
 ing a false telegram that you had gone away for 
 a few days. And in the meantime, I could flee to 
 a foreign country and hide somewhere or other." 
 
 He veered suddenly and said in a tired way: 
 
 "But how would that help me? My description 
 would be wired over the whole world. I would be 
 only a worthless animal hunted by day and night. 
 [207] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 And I have no sympathy at all for man-hunting 
 when I am the quarry. Besides I like you I 
 have played and lost. Life is a game. I really 
 ought " He looked at the revolver but sighed 
 "No," and handed it to Falk. Then he seized the 
 telephone and asked for police headquarters. 
 
 "This is Preben Miller, the writer, at Old 
 Kingsway!" he said. "I have murdered a man 
 or two, and I wish you would come and get me at 
 once. No, of course it isn't a joke! Only make 
 sure the wagon is as comfortable as possible. I 
 hate jolty cars yes, Preben Miller Old Kings- 
 way." 
 
 He hung up. 
 
 Falk thoughtfully weighed the pistol in his hand. 
 
 "Do you feel no twinge of conscience?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Miller shook his head. 
 
 "None, whatsoever. The cobbler was a scoun- 
 drel. And Saabye treated me shabbily when I 
 asked him to loan me money that evening. He 
 could have said no. But he made fun of me into 
 the bargain." 
 
 Falk suddenly gave him the revolver: 
 
 "We have had so many cheery hours together," 
 he said. "I will go into the room there in the 
 
 meantime." 
 
 [208] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 But Preben Miller smilingly refused to do it. 
 
 "No, one never knows what comes after. And 
 a shattered cranium is so unappetizing!" 
 
 They sat in silence for some moments. The 
 noise from the street rushed by them in a queer 
 fashion. Suddenly Miller turned to the writing- 
 table and put a manuscript into an envelope, ad- 
 dressed and stamped it. 
 
 "Promise me to put this in the mail," he said to 
 Falk, and handed him the letter. "It is a review 
 of Nissen's latest book. It is an excellent story. 
 But the fellow detests me heartily. He will weep 
 tears of blood over this review, I hope." 
 
 Falk saw that the letter was addressed to the 
 editor of the paper for which Miller wrote criti- 
 cisms. He put it in his pocket and promised to 
 take care of it. 
 
 Miller's mischievous smile had changed to a 
 grimace of barely concealed melancholy: 
 
 "If you in any way can," and he repeated his 
 earlier plea, "then keep her out of it. For you 
 don't belong to the police, and you don't have to 
 tell them about the robberies. As for me, well, 
 I am not a yarn spinner for nothing." 
 
 "I will do what I can," said Falk consol- 
 ingly. 
 
 "And I would so much like to see her," he said 
 [209] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 and lowered his eyes, "before I Do you think it 
 could be arranged alone I mean?" 
 
 "I will speak to the District Attorney about it," 
 promised Falk. 
 
 Miller nodded gratefully. An automobile 
 stopped before the house: 
 
 "That damn note!" he muttered. 
 
 They both sat and listened to the steps coming 
 up the stairs. They came nearer and nearer. 
 Both Falk and Miller went out to open the door, 
 but first Miller smoothed his hair which was rather 
 untidy. 
 
 Two detectives were there. One of them knew 
 Falk. 
 
 "I hope this isn't a joke, Mr. Falk." 
 
 "No, it isn't a joke," and Miller opened the 
 door to the living-room. 
 
 The detectives went in behind Falk and Miller. 
 
 "Is this Preben Miller, the writer?" the taller 
 of them asked. 
 
 Miller lit a cigarette, the last for many years. 
 
 "Yes, I am he," he nodded. "I murdered Mr. 
 Saabye and the cobbler, Thorvald Hansen." 
 
 The detectives stared at him in stupefaction. 
 His serenity was impressive. But Miller stretched 
 his hands toward them: 
 
 "Here are my hands. Would you be good 
 [210] 
 
TWO DEAD MEN 
 
 enough to put hand-cuffs on them? I adore 
 the dramatic. And I look forward to the solitude 
 of the prison. There I will write my life's 
 masterpiece!" 
 
 [211] 
 
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