Hasse had hanged himself with a thick, pink silk cord girdle.
It belonged to a morning dress of his wife's, and he had fastened it very skilfully to a hook over the window.
It had had soap rubbed into it.
He must have stood on the window ledge and then apparently let himself slip from there.
His hands were clenched and his face looked terrible.
It was odd at such a moment, but it struck me that he was wearing a different suit from this morning.
It was his best, a blue worsted suit that I knew of old. He was shaved too, and had clean linen on.
On the table in a pedantic order lay his pass, his bankbook, four ten-mark notes and some silver. Alongside these, two letters—one to his wife and another to the police.
Next the letter to his wife lay a silver cigarette case and his wedding ring.
He must have considered it a long while and put every-'thing in order; for the room was perfectly tidy, and when we examined more closely we found on the washstand some more money and a slip of paper on which was written:
"Balance of rent for this month."
He had added the extra, as if he wanted to make it clear that it had nothing to do with his death.
The bell rang and two police in civilian clothes came in.
The doctor who had cut down the body in the meantime, stood up.
"Dead," said he; "suicide without doubt."
The officers did not reply.
After shutting the door they searched the whole room. They took a few letters from a drawer in the cupboard and compared the writing with the letters on the table.
The younger of the two nodded.
"Anyone know the reason?"
I told what I knew.
He nodded again and wrote down my address.
"Can we have him taken away?" asked the doctor.
"I've ordered an ambulance from the infirmary," replied the younger officer. "It should be here any minute."
We waited.
It was quiet in the room.
The doctor was kneeling on the floor beside Hasse.
He had opened all his clothes and was alternately rubbing his chest with.a towel and making attempts at resuscitation.
Only the whistle and gurgle of the air streaming in and out of the dead lungs was to be heard.
"The twelfth this week," said the younger officer.
"For the same reason?" I asked.
"No.
Nearly all on account of unemployment.
Two families, one with three children.
Gas, of course.
Families almost always take gas."
The bearers came with their stretcher.
Frida slipped in with them. With a sort of lust she stared at Hasse's pitiful body.
She had red flecks in her cheeks and was perspiring.
"What do you want here?" asked the elder officer gruffly.
She started back.
"I have to make my statement," she stuttered.
"Out," snorted the officer.
The bearers laid a blanket over Hasse and took him out.
Then the two officers left also.
They took the papers with them.
"He has left money for the burial," said the younger. "We will pass it to the proper quarter.
If the wife comes, please tell her she should report to the district police station.
He has left her his money.
Can the rest of the things stay here for the time being?"
Frau Zalewski nodded.