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Chapter
Twelve

The
Madman's Tale

The Berlin police
chief's response to my friend's cable must have been encouraging, and
Holmes must have waited at the cable office for it. At dawn I was
rousted from my comfortable bed, and we were soon on the Hamburg
Express, which passed through Berlin en route to its eventual
destination. Our journey is vague in my mind. I dozed fitfully a
great part of the time, which was just as well since Holmes was
indisposed to talk and there were lines of worry and concern around
his eyes and noble forehead.

As was our custom
whenever in the German capital, we checked into the Bristol
Kempinski, where I was grateful to wash away the dust of our journey.
The following morning we made our way to the Alexanderplatz and
the nerve center of the machinelike Criminal Investigation
Department of the Berlin Police Force.

Holmes had for years
enjoyed an
entente cordiale
with von Shalloway, famous Berlin
police chief, and Arsene Pupin, the pride of the Suret
é
.
It was a fortuitous "you scratch my back" arrangement for
all three, augmented by actual admiration and friendship. In the
matter of "The Four Detectives" they had actually worked
together on a case, but that is another story indeed.

Wolfgang von Shalloway
was his small and dapper self, and after greetings got to business
more rapidly than is customary on the continent. To have his fellow
investigator contact him was to summon his best efforts, for it was a
matter of pride that the German Eagle display a sharp beak in the
presence of the British Lion.

"He is dragging you
all over Europe,
nicht war,
Doctor?"

I summoned a weary smile
of agreement.

"I did not think
you were in Venice for your health, and now, Germany. It must be
something big to entice Holmes from his beloved London."

"It could be,"
replied Holmes.

"Well, if you can
throw some light on the matter of the Mannheim tablets, I will be in
your debt."

"You have the
thief, do you not?" I asked.

"We have Heinrich
Hublein in a facility for the criminally insane. That is all we
have. The tablets? Poof!"

Von Shalloway's hands
gestured expressively. There was a look of distaste around his firm
mouth.

"Not satisfied?"

"Far from it,
Holmes. This happened four years ago. Hublein was not my only
problem." The chief indicated a file on his desk, then tapped it
with his index finger.

"Four cases,
gentlemen, all unresolved. You Britishers would call it a blot on my
escutcheon, and it is. They are. Never mind. One thing I will say for
Hublein. He was good luck. After he confessed, no more unresolved
cases."

"The thief
confessed?" I asked.

"Is crazy
nicht
war
? And the doctors say he is crazy. 'Catatonic' they call him.
Withdrawn into a secret world within himself. Possibly this is so."

Von Shalloway rose from
behind his desk as though to remove himself from the file he had
referred to. There was a soft knock on his office door and an
assistant entered, registered on a gesture from the chief, and
disappeared without saying a word. I recalled Holmes once saying that
when von Shalloway said "Jump!" his aides asked, "How
high?"

Holmes surprised me.
"Tell us about the unresolved cases."

He surprised von
Shalloway also. "I thought you were interested—" His
jaw abruptly clamped shut. "Never mind. Perhaps you can came up
with something. I should not look a gift . . . a gift . . ."

"Horse in the
mouth?" I suggested.

"Ja. Watson is up
on the, how you say, 'lingo.'"

"He reads
sensational American literature," commented Holmes dryly. "About
those other cases."

Von Shalloway was back
at his desk with the file open, but that was purely a gesture of
habit. Obviously, he knew the contents backwards.

"Better than six
years ago, we have a robbery in Morenstrasse. The thief jimmied
the door to a built-in stairs that served as the fire escape. It was
a well-to-do apartment house and out of all the residents, he picks a
suite occupied by a supposed financier who we know is a big-time
fence. His door is jimmied, too, and a lot of money is stolen."

"Ah ha!" I
exclaimed. "A receiver of stolen goods would keep a lot of ready
cash on hand."

Von
Shalloway pointed towards Holmes. "That he learned from you and
not from sensational literature. Anyway, we went over the locks.
Hammer was on the case."

"Good man!"
said Holmes.

"I trained him,"
replied von Shalloway. "Something about the scratches on the
locks rang a bell, and he went to the Meldwesen."

Fortunately, this was
not gibberish to me. A mind like Sherlock Holmes's had to be
fascinated by the machinelike logic of the Germans and their genius
for organization. I had heard from him all about the Meldwesen, the
huge catalogue of cards that constituted the most exhaustive body of
information on criminal matters assembled. Holmes referred to it as a
crime machine, and since it took one hundred and sixty rooms to
house, I judged it to be a big one.

"It was the jimmy
that was the clue. It was a special design used by only one man
according to our records. We picked him up soon enough. It had to be
him, only the night of the robbery he was in jail on suspicion of
involvement in a casino robbery in Bad Homburg."

"The case fell
apart?"

"Completely."
Von Shalloway was on his feet again. "All four cases the same.
In Bremen, a jewel robbery. The victim, we think maybe he is a
smuggler. His wife's jewels are taken. Possibly, also some diamonds
that he spirited through customs. But, no mind. The thief gets in
with a glass cutter. Everything about the job spells one man whose
modus operandi we have catalogued. So what happens? The suspect,
the night of the robbery, is acting as a snitch in a
weinstube
we
are raiding in Berlin. My own men give him an alibi."

Von Shalloway accepted a
Capstan cigarette I offered him and lit it nervously. "Danke,
Doctor. Hmmm! Tightly packed, no? The American cigarettes, they are
better."

"I prefer them,"
said Holmes.

"Anyway, we have
constructed a machine. Our Meldwesen and Kriminal Archiv cannot
fail. But still I have those four cases."

"What about
Hublein?"

"Make that five
cases, Holmes. The two gold tablets were stolen from Mannheim's home
in Spandau. As you know, Herr Mannheim has one of the largest
collections of art objects in the world. The thief gained access
through a fourth-story window. There is only one man who could have
done it. Schadie, also called 'The Shadow.'"

"He had an alibi?"
I asked enthralled.

"We have never
found him. We know all about him, of course. He uses suction cups on
his hands and attached to his knees. He can go up a wall as smooth as
glass. The Mannheim case, uhh, we heard a lot about that from high
places. Herr Mannheim's steel mills are important to Germany. There
were traces. Our technicians found indications of rubber on the outer
wall of the building. It had to be Schadie. But, into headquarters
comes this Hublein. No record. He is pretty wild-eyed, but he insists
that he stole the tablets."

Von Shalloway thumped
his desk with exasperation.

"It had to be
Shadow Schadie, but try to convince a jury when they are facing a man
who has confessed. Hublein was convicted. He made no defense. The few
words the lawyers could get out of him were incriminating. Then the
doctors got hold of him. I agree with them. Hublein has bats in his,
how you say . . . ?"

"Belfry?"

"Ja! Und now he is
in the booby . . . booby . . ."

"Hatch."

"That is so,
Doctor."

"You say he had no
record?" asked Holmes.

Von Shalloway regarded
us both with an embarrassed expression. "Tanks Gott the journals
did not make much of the case. A confessed criminal is not news.
Gentlemen, Heinrich Hublein was a female impersonator."

I half rose from my
chair. "Come now, von Shalloway, you're pulling our legs."

"I wish it was so.
But,
nein,
Hublein was entertainer. He had what they call 'a
good act.' He is small, dark of hair with thin bones and classical
features. Always, he makes himself up as a blond and he sings in high
voice and pretty good, too. Then at the conclusion of his turn, when
the applause comes, he sweeps off his wig and audience realizes
that he is not woman at all."

"A female
impersonator and a crime of the century," mused Holmes
thoughtfully. "I rather feel your newspapers missed a bet. Can I
see this most unusual prisoner?"

"Of course. But you
will look over the four cases I mentioned, no?" Von
Shalloway was leafing through his records and extracted some
typewritten sheets, which he handed to Holmes.

"Study them,
please. Every day I come in here and I see that file, and then I
think of Hublein and it is not such a good day suddenly."

The sleuth nodded.
"Might I first have a go at the Meldwesen? You know how it
delights me."

Von Shalloway turned to
me with twinkling eyes.

"Ach, he is looking
for something." His bright eyes shifted back to Holmes. "I
shall have Hammer escort you, and while you are going through files,
Doctor Watson and I will have luncheon. I know a beerstube which has
the best bratwurst you have ever tasted, Doctor."

I winced. The German
chief of police was as trim as a dancer despite an astonishing
capacity for dark beer and rich food, whereas I. . . . But Holmes
urged me to accept, and so it was that I spent the better part
of two hours with von Shalloway and returned to his office feeling
much the better for it. Holmes was waiting in the anteroom.

"I had a delightful
time in your files, von Shalloway. The good Hammer offered to take me
to see Hublein, but I felt that Watson's presence would be
beneficial. Medical opinion, you know."

"Of course," I
said, belching slightly. "By all means, let us be off to the
crazy house."

The facility for the
criminally insane was adjacent to the city jail. Holmes suggested
that I have a discussion with the doctor in charge while he inquired
amongst the personnel as to Hublein and his attitude during his
incarceration. Sergeant Hammer was taking us to the man's cell when I
reported my findings.

"A model prisoner,
Holmes. Makes no fuss and actually says nothing at all, symptomatic
of his mental disorder. He has become a mute."

"Save on certain
rare occasions, usually at night, when peals of laughter come from
his cell," said Holmes. "One attendant I spoke to described
the sound as devoid of mirth and of a mechanical nature, interrupted
only by pauses for air."

I shuddered
instinctively. "The man is not dangerous, in any case."

"But silent. The
worst kind for our purposes."

We were at the cell door
now, which Hammer unlocked for us.

Heinrich Hublein was as
von Shalloway had described him. He was sitting erect on the cot in
his room, staring at the wall in front of him with small,
button-black eyes. I noted that his mouth twitched, but he made no
notice of our entrance. Hammer closed the cell door and stood by it,
alert. Hublein was classified as non-dangerous, but we were in a
mental institution, and a complete reversal of temperament was
possible.

Holmes remained
motionless, studying the figure on the cot and possibly waiting for
him to register on our presence. In appearance Hublein seemed
fragile, with a flat chest and delicate, pipestem bones. I felt that
his nervous system and sensory tissue had relatively poor protection,
a contributing cause to what I diagnosed as a breakdown followed
by a deliberately enforced withdrawal from a world that was
unbearable. He seemed the type that would react dramatically to a
shock or a situation from which he demanded escape at all costs.
Like many who have fled from reason, he was youthful-looking.

"Hublein?" It
was Holmes using a soft tone in an inquisitive manner.