“And you are not afraid of Cardillac?” interrupted Muller.

“Not in the least.  He is as good-natured as a child and as confiding.  I can let him walk around here as much as he likes.  If it were not for the absurd nonsense that he talks when he has one of his attacks, and which frightens those who do not understand him, I could let him go free altogether.”

“Then you never let him leave the asylum grounds?

“Oh, yes.  I take him out with me very frequently.  He is a man of considerable education and a very clever talker.  It is quite a pleasure to be with him.  That was the opinion of my poor friend also, my poor murdered friend.”

“The pastor?”

“The pastor.  He often invited Cardillac to come to the rectory with me.”

“Indeed.  Then Cardillac knew the inside of the rectory?”

“Yes.  The pastor used to lend him books and let him choose them himself from the library shelves.  The people in the village are very kind to my poor patients here.  I have long since had the habit of taking some of the quieter ones with me down into the village and letting the people become acquainted with them.  It is good for both parties.  It gives the patients some little diversion, and it takes away the worst of the senseless fear these peasants had at first of the asylum and its inmates.  Cardillac in particular is always welcome when he comes, for he brings the children all sorts of toys that he makes in his cell.”

The detective had listened attentively and once his eyes flashed and his lips shut tight as if to keep in the betraying whistle.  Then he asked calmly:  “But the patients are only allowed to go out when you accompany them, I suppose?”

“Oh, no; the attendants take them out sometimes.  I prefer, however, to let them go only with Gyuri, for I can depend upon him more than upon any of the others.”

“Then he and Cardillac have been out together occasionally?”

“Oh, yes, quite frequently.  But—­pardon me—­this is almost like a cross-examination.”

“I beg your pardon, doctor, it’s a bad habit of mine.  One gets so accustomed to it in my profession.”

“What is it you want?” asked Doctor Orszay, turning to a fine-looking young man of superb build, who entered just then and stood by the door.

“I just wanted to announce, sir, that No. 302 is quiet again!

“302 is Cardillac himself, Mr. Muller, or to give him his right name, Lajos Varna,” explained the doctor turning to his guest.  “He is the 302nd patient who has been received here in these twenty years.  Then Cardillac is quiet again?” he asked, looking up at the young giant.  “I am glad of that.  You can announce our visit to him.  This gentleman wants to inspect the asylum.”