It was Gyuri Kovacz,
who had murdered by the hands of another, and who was now on his
way to meet the death that was his due.
And at one of the barred windows in the big yellow house stood a
sallow-faced man, looking out at the rising moon with sad, tired
eyes. His lips were parted in a smile like that of a dreaming
child, and he hummed a gentle lullaby.
In his compartment of the express from Budapest to Vienna, Joseph
Muller sat thinking over the strange events that had called him to
the obscure little Hungarian village. He had met with many strange
cases in his long career, but this particular case had some features
which were unique. Muller's lips set hard and his hands tightened
to fists as he murmured: "I've met with criminals who used strange
tools, but never before have I met with one who had the cunning and
the incredible cruelty to utilise the mania of an unhinged human
mind. It is a thousand times worse than those criminals who, now
and then throughout the ages, have trained brute beasts to murder
for them. Truly, this Hungarian peasant, Gyuri Kovacz, deserves a
high place in the infamous roll-call of the great criminals of
history.
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