"Just take a chair, Mr. Berg,"said the coroner, seating himself at the desk and affixing his eyeglasses.
The German lowered his form into the chair indicated and folded his fat hands across his monstrous paunch.
"Your name in full—is what?"asked Stillman with formality.
"Franz Berg. I sell me delicatessen at 478 Christie Place. I haf been there for fifteen years."
"You were acquainted with the murdered man?"
The delicatessen dealer unfolded his hands and waved them significantly.
"I was aguainted with him—yes. But I was not friendly with him—no. He is dead, ain't it? Und it's not right to say someding about the dead. But he was no friend of mine."
"I understand. But tell me, Mr. Berg, how late do you keep your place open?"
"In the summertime—seven o'clock. But after dose theaters open, I stays me on the chob till twelve, or later somedimes. There is one—two—three what you call burlesque places, right by me; and no sooner do they close up, than right away those actor peoples come to buy. I do a goot business, so I keep open."
"Then you were there until midnight last night?"
"More later than that yet."
"Was there any movement of any sort about Hume's place? Did you see or hear anything?"
The great red face of Berg took on a solemn look.
"It is maybe not ride that I should say somedings,"complained he. "But if the law will not excuse me, I will say it, if it makes some more trouble or not."
"It is vitally necessary,"stated the young coroner, firmly, "that you tell me everything you know about this matter."
"Well,"said the delicatessen dealer, reluctantly, "last night as I stood by my window looking oudside on the street, I see me that Italian feller go by und turn in at the side door; a second lader I hear him go up the steps to Hume's place."
"What Italian fellow do you refer to?"
"He lifs close by me, a few doors away. His name is Spatola, und he plays the violin the gurb-stones beside."
"What time was it that you saw him?"
"Maybe elefen o'clock. I am not sure. But it was just a little while before I got me the rush of customers from the theaters."
"Did you notice his manner? Was there anything unusual in his looks?"
"I had me only a glimbs of him. He looked about the same as effer. He was in a hurry, for it rained a liddle; und under his coat yet he carried his fiddle."
"If it was under his coat, how do you know it was his fiddle?"
The German scratched his head in a reflective way.
"I don't know it,"said he at last. "But he somedimes takes his instrument inside there, und I just get the notion that it was so. Yes?"
"When did he come out?"
The man shook his head.
"I don'd know,"he said.
"Do you mean that you saw no one come out?"
"No; I did see someone come out. But first I see me someone else go in."
"Ah! And who was that?"
"I don't know his name; but I had seen him often before. He is a kind of svell feller. He had a cane und plendy of style."
"And later you saw someone come out. Now, your use of the word 'someone' leads me to think that you do not know whether it was Spatola or the stranger."
"I don'd,"said Berg. "I was busy then. I just heard me someone rush down the stairs, making plendy noise, und I heard that drunken Hume lift up a window, stick out his head and call some names after him. My customers laugh und think it's a joke; but I am ashamed such a disgracefulness to have around my business yet."
"If Hume called after the person who left,"said Stillman, acutely, to Ashton-Kirk, "that eliminates one of the callers. It proves that Hume was still alive after the man had gone."
"That is undoubtedly a fact,"replied the investigator.
Stillman turned upon Berg with dignity.
"Surely you must have noticed the man if all that uproar attended his exit. You must have detected enough to mark a difference between an exceptionally well-dressed man and an Italian street musician."
Berg shook his big head.
"It was aboud twelve o'clock in the night-dime, und my customers besides I had to pay some attention to,"stated he.
The coroner was baffled by the man's positiveness.
"Well,"said he, resignedly. "What else did you see?"
Berg shook his head once more.
"Nothing else. Putty soon I closed up and went home."Then a flash of recollection came into his dull face. "As I went down the street I saw some lights in Hume's windows. One of them windows was open—maybe the one he sticked his head out of to call the man names—und I could hear him laughing like he used to do when he was trying to make a jackass of some peoples."
The coroner pondered. At length he said:
"This object that Spatola carried under his coat, now. Could it have been a bayonet?"
"No, no,"said Berg with conviction. "It vos too big. It vos bigger as a half dozen bayonets already."
This seemed the limit of Berg's knowledge of the night's happenings; a few more questions and then Stillman dismissed him. The door had hardly closed when the telephone rang. After a few words, the coroner hung up the receiver and turned to his visitors.
"I think,"said he, with a smile of satisfaction, "that I've made the police department sit up a little. They talked to all three of these people before I had them, and didn't seem to get enough to make a beginning. But just now,"and the smile grew wider, "I've heard that Osborne is on his way to arrest Antonio Spatola."
CHAPTER VI
ASHTON-KIRK LOOKS ABOUT
Berg was standing in the corridor waiting for the elevator when Ashton-Kirk and Pendleton came out. The big German mopped his face with a handkerchief, and said apologetically:
"A man can only tell what he knows, ain't it?"
Ashton-Kirk looked at him questioningly, but said nothing.
"To begin dot guess-work business when you are talking to the law already, it is dangerous,"stated Berg in an explanatory tone.
"Well,"said Ashton-Kirk, "sometimes a good, pointed guess is of great service, Mr. Berg. And,"with a laugh, "as I am not the law and not the least dangerous, suppose you make the one that I can see you turning over in your mind."
"Oh,"said Berg, "you are not the coroner's office in?"
"No; merely interested in this case, that's all."
The delicatessen dealer looked relieved.
"I don't want to get people in trouble,"said he, guardedly. "But this is what I guess. Late every night, about the time I shut up my place, there is a cab comes und by the curbstone stands across the street. I will not say what is der place it stands in front of; that is not my business."
"McCausland's gambling house, perhaps,"suggested Ashton-Kirk.
The big German looked more relieved than ever.
"Ach, so you know about dot place, eh? All ride. Now I can speak out and not be afraid to do some harm to nobody."He lowered his voice still further. "Dot cab came last night as I was locking my door up, und stands