Killing was no stranger to
Almost at once he saw a man lying on the floor and saw that the man's chest was a swathe of crimson.
"Are you certain he is dead?" Wendel put the question peaceably.
The young lady, somewhere in her twenties, looked blank at first, then answered, less than certain: "He should be… I don't know…"
"If he can still be saved, he must be taken to hospital at once." Wendel's tone was as if he were speaking to a patient's relatives — not to a murderer.
The lady, who was holding a dripping dagger, reflexively turned her body aside and made way for him.
Wendel took a few steps forward and approached the victim.
He had no need to crouch down; just a sweep of the eyes was enough for him to draw a judgement from the many signs: "He is indeed already dead."
The woman in her twenties, her flaxen-coloured long hair slightly dishevelled, showed no visible change of expression; she lowered her head and looked at the tips of her own feet: "You go and call the police."
"How may I address you?" Wendel had already heard urgent footsteps coming up the stairs.
It was clear that this would be the servant or the inn's proprietor, who, having heard the screams, was coming up to see what was the matter.
"
She fell at once into a world of her own and spoke not another word.
Just as Wendel was about to say something, the proprietor who had earlier processed his check-in burst up to the door.
"Goddess above!" the elderly proprietor exclaimed in spite of himself, having now clearly seen what was in the room.
Wendel pressed his right hand downwards, signalling that the other should keep calm, then said: "You go at once and call the police; I shall watch over things here."
There was about his bearing and his words an air that prompted trust and obedience; the proprietor uttered no needless words, and at once turned and ran downstairs.
For Wendel, coming over to see what was going on had at first been no more than a gentleman's habit; he had not in fact intended to involve himself deeply, since he was after all carrying a mission. But Miss Tracy's bewildered, detached, forcedly cold manner had stirred in him a certain pity. It was a normal response of any man.
He glanced round once and, as though conversing with the air, said: "Killing does not always lead to a heavy sentence; it depends on many circumstances."
Tracy slowly raised her head and turned her eyes upon this gentleman.
In her seemingly dead and unfocused gaze, there now flickered something that could not be quite named.
Wendel glanced at her bruised face: "Did he beat you?"
"Yes." There was apparently some sort of authority about him, so that Tracy, who had wished to remain silent, in the end gave an answer.
Wendel's gaze travelled downwards and came to rest on the dagger, which was no longer dripping blood: "Did you bring it here, or did he?"
Tracy answered with a slight lag in reaction: "He."
Wendel gave a slight nod: "Lawful self-defence is recognised by the statutes; I can attest to the police that beforehand the two of you had been violently quarrelling, and that a fight had broken out. Quite plainly, in this regard, men naturally have the advantage. I do not say this to demean women — science and experience alike tell us so."
He paused and asked: "What exactly was the relation between the two of you, and what had happened?"
Tracy's eyes moved a little, and she emerged somewhat from that state of deep withdrawal, drawn out of reality.
She spoke as though answering an interrogator at the police, her gaze touched with both hope and sorrow: "I am — heh — I am his mistress."
At that, a self-mocking smile rose on Tracy's face: "I was once an ugly woman who chased money to the point of losing her sanity. Not long after I left grammar school, I, beguiled by him, became his mistress.
"He gave me an inn and let me stay there, awaiting his arrival or his summons each week.
"I gradually lost interest in such a life; I became ever more depressed, ever more low in my own eyes; I wanted to return everything to him and break free of him completely. But he would not have it: he threatened me in every way, not letting me leave him. Our recent meetings were all spent in quarrelling.
"Just now he said the only way to leave him was death; then he beat me and brought out the dagger; after that — well, what came next, you know…"
Mistress… Wendel glanced at Tracy's face with regret and pity: "The traces here on the scene also tend to bear out how things unfolded."
He had originally taken Tracy and the deceased for husband and wife; he had not known the relation was, in fact, even more wretched than he had imagined.
Tracy nodded numbly: "Thank you."