The Year is Almost Over

The Mystery of the Missing Woodcutter

"Now the village is living in fear, he can walk the roads at night, carrying his gruesome possession, without being seen."

Having lived most of my life in a small town, perhaps it was inevitable that travelling around Europe in my later years would seem to be a constant succession of mysteries and strange affairs. Most of them were trivial and easily forgotten, but sometimes I was faced with confusion and danger, that I survived only by good fortune. Looking back, I sometimes wonder if some mischievous imp followed me as I went. But in May of 1933, not long after I had spent two weeks in Budapest, I made the acquaintance of a man who seemed to defeat the riddles of life with an uncommon mastery. In time, he came to be one of my closest friends.

At Budapest Keleti Station I chose a Bavarian train, not paying much attention to where it might go. The compartment I chose had one other passenger - a well dressed man in middle age. His eyes were sharp, almost intimidating, but he had a disarming smile. I greeted him in an indifferent manner, and he said,

"Do you need some help with your bags, my friend?"

"No, I'm fine," I replied. "But thank you. Where are you travelling to today?"

"The Bamberg district. I have some consulting work to do in a small village there."

"Oh? What sort of consultation?"

"Well, I'm an investigator for a large Dutch underwriting firm, but I'm occasionally asked to give advice on matters of a more outré nature. In this case I've been hired by the local police to investigate the disappearance of a woodcutter."

"Are the local police not up to their job, then?"

"Sometimes a greater perspicacity is required," he said. "I've acquired some small reputation for seeing the truth where others have not been able to."

"Is that so? How interesting! How do you do that?"

"Well, for instance, take yourself. I perceive that you're an English tourist. You're widowed, yes? And have decided to see the world and its wonders for the first time, but without any plan, I think. You're frightened, but exhilarated by your adventures."

"I say, you seem to guess very accurately."

"Well, no, not really. You have an English accent, and wear an English fashion of dress. That much is obvious. You still wear your wedding ring, but your wife isn't with you. You could be travelling to meet her, but I think it is unlikely - you don't appear to be looking for her, you are looking about with wonder, absorbing every new sight and savouring it. Your baggage is new, but it has the labels of many countries on it. And here we are, on a train to nowhere important - you're floating through the continent. And a man who travels alone, in his later years, surely he will feel as I describe."

"Yes, you're quite correct. Splendid! You've read the stories of Conan Doyle, then?"

"Oh yes. But our friend Sherlock Holmes often seemed to think that only one conclusion could be deduced from the evidence. He would probably not fare quite so well in the real world. I prefer to gain some insight as to where the probabilities lie - any observation can support a number of deductions, it's only when we see a majority of deductions pointing in a similar direction that we can become sure of a theory."

"Yes, of course. Fair enough! Well, Butler is my name, Albert Butler!"

"Pieter Lindenbaum. It's very nice to meet you!"

So we shook hands, and fostered our acquaintance as the train rolled along. He had an extensive knowledge of literature, so we had no shortage of conversational topics. I told him of some of my adventures while travelling, and he often made some comment that would explain things that had puzzled me. He in turn told me of some of his experiences as a fraud investigator. After a while he asked if I would like to join him during his current case, as an independent witness, and a source of impartial advice. Once again my journeys were taking me in fascinating directions! We had plenty of time before we reached the stop, and he gave me the basics of the story.