Muller sprang up from his chair and again a sharp shrill whistle came from his lips.  “A madman!—­” he repeated, beating his own forehead.  “It could only have been a madman who committed this murder!  And the pastor was not the first, there were two other murders here within a comparatively short time.  I think I will take advantage of Dr. Orszay’s invitation.”

Half an hour later Muller and the doctor sat together in a summer-house, from the windows of which one could see the park surrounding the asylum to almost its entire extent.  The park was arranged with due regard to its purpose.  The eye could sweep through it unhindered.  There were no bushes except immediately along the high wall.  Otherwise there were beautiful lawns, flower beds and groups of fine old trees with tall trunks.

As would be natural in visiting such a place Muller had induced the doctor to talk about his patients.  Dr. Orszay was an excellent talker and possessed the power of painting a personality for his listeners.  He was pleased and flattered by the evident interest with which the detective listened to his remarks.

“Then your patients are all quite harmless?” asked Muller thoughtfully, when the doctor came to a pause.

“Yes, all quite harmless.  Of course, there is the man who strangely enough considers himself the reincarnation of the famous French murderer, the goldsmith Cardillac, who, as you remember, kept all Paris in a fervour of excitement by his crimes during the reign of Louis XIV.  But in spite of his weird mania this man is the most good-natured of any.  He has been shut up in his room for several days now.  He was a mechanician by trade, living in Budapest, and an unsuccessful invention turned his mind.”

“Is he a large, powerful man?” asked Muller.

Dr. Orszay looked a bit surprised.  “Why do you ask that?  He does happen to be a large man of considerable strength, but in spite of it I have no fear of him.  I have an attendant who is invaluable to me, a man of such strength that even the fiercest of them cannot overcome him, and yet with a mind and a personal magnetism which they cannot resist.  He can always master our patients mentally and physically—­most of them are afraid of him and they know that they must do as he says.  There is something in his very glance which has the power to paralyse even healthy nerves, for it shows the strength of will possessed by this man.”

“And what is the name of this invaluable attendant?” asked Muller with a strange smile which the doctor took to be slightly ironical.

“Gyuri Kovacz.  You are amused at my enthusiasm?  But consider my position here.  I am an old man and have never been a strong man.  At my age I would not have strength enough to force that little woman there—­she thinks herself possessed and is quite cranky at times—­to go to her own room when she doesn’t want to.  And do you see that man over there in the blue blouse?  He is an excellent gardener but he believes himself to be Napoleon, and when he has his acute attacks I would be helpless to control him were it not for Gyuri.”