Bela Kiss | Page 2

leaving him to the
dull, isolated life which he had lived ever since his young wife had
gone.
III
Soon he resumed his business visits to Budapest, usually leaving the
house in the afternoon and often not returning until midnight and after.
Very naturally the woman Kalman was questioned by her friends as to
the condition of the house of the poor grief-stricken man. It was also
but natural that she should describe to her neighbours what she had
seen -- how, though forbidden to enter the room where the erring wife's
clothes were displayed, she had entered it in secret while her patient
was asleep, and passing through it had peered through the keyhole of
the room beyond, where she saw five large tin drums ranged along by
the wall.
The old woman's curiosity had been aroused by sight of these, and soon
her friends, to whom she described what she had seen, suspected the
eccentric, grief-stricken man to be in league with some illicit distillers
who had their secret factory somewhere in the neighbourhood. The
gossips were naturally sorely puzzled to account for those big
receptacles for fluid. Some laughed and said that he had a big store of
wine bought at the previous year's vintage. Littman, his neighbour and

confidant, hearing about it, one day mentioned to him what the old
woman Kalman had seen, whereupon Kiss laughed heartily and replied:
"Well, that is really amusing! They think I am one of those who distil
alcohol against the law and sell it in secret to the night cafŽs in
Budapest -- eh? Well, let them think so! I would be afraid to engage in
such a dangerous trade, lucrative as it is. No. The fact is that I have my
store of petrol here. I bought it cheaply from a man who was about to
be made bankrupt."
Quickly the truth went round the village, and suspicion was at once
allayed. Indeed, a man of such exemplary conduct as Bela Kiss surely
could never be engaged in any illicit transactions.
Once Littman expressed surprise that he had not followed the runaway
pair and divorced his wife. To this, Kiss replied: "If they are happy in
Vienna, as I hear they are, why should I wreck her life? I loved her
more than anything on earth. So that is enough. I was a fool! That's
all!" And refused to discuss the matter further.
From that moment, however, suspicions regarding Kiss became
increased. His many journeys to Budapest were regarded as mysterious,
and an evil-tongued woman who distrusted him declared that he
practised black magic. He had drawn the horoscope of a woman of her
acquaintance who believed in astrology, and thus a fresh theory was set
up to account for his aloofness and eccentricity.
Whenever he motored to Budapest, as he did twice a week, it was noted
that he never returned until early hours of the morning, when the whole
village was asleep. The villagers heard his noisy, ramshackle car
speeding through the streets homeward bound. Of money this retired
tinsmith had plenty. The village policeman, who, by the way, had also
had his curiosity aroused by the malicious gossip, struck up an
acquaintance with, and soon discovered him to be real good fellow,
kind, generous and hospitable. They often spent evenings together, for
the representative of the law was, in addition to Littman, the only
person he ever invited to cross his threshold since his wife's flight. The
constable naturally reported the result of his inquiries to his chief, and

all suspicions were set to rest.
IV
One wintry morning in January 1914, the exquisitely dressed Bela Kiss
was seen walking with a pretty young woman, also handsomely attired
in furs, about half a mile from the village and this fact, which soon got
about, gave rise to the theory that the disillusioned husband had fallen
in love again. The gossips kept watch, but only on that one occasion
was the lady seen. It was, no doubt, an illicit meeting, for the
well-dressed lady had, it was known, come from Budapest and had
spent the day with her admirer.
About a month later a farmer driving from Czinkota to Rakosfalva
noticed a man and a woman walking in the afternoon along a secluded
footpath on the edge of a wood, and on approaching recognised Kiss
arm in arm with a well-dressed young girl, to whom he was earnestly
talking. The spot was nearly four miles from the village, and near by
stood Kiss's old motor-car, muddy and unwashed.
Just about that time a strange story was told to the police of the
Josefvaros quarter in Budapest by a young girl named Luisa Ruszt,
daughter of a well-known draper in the Karoly Korut, one of the
principal shopping thoroughfares.