The next evening the news came, that Albert Sprengel and a couple of comrades had been arrested – because of the shootout at Island Bridge and the bank. There was nothing special about that. There weren’t any of them that hadn’t spent some nights down at the police station. They even had their own connections there. Through a friendly guard Horst Wessel learned, that the hearing was to take place the next morning. He hurried to Alexander place, and climbed up the stairs – oh yes, he knew the police station quite well, knew his way around and didn’t need to ask directions. He paced up and down the dark floor, waiting to go upstairs. He carried a large sack in his hands filled with slices of bread-and-butter: prisoners were always hungry, their eyes always begged the guards for something to eat.
His comrades were finally brought in; and they took the Storm leader in first. The student went up to the others, and offered them food from out if his bag of plenty. In between he exchanged a couple of quickly whispered words. He soon learned that they had once more been falsely arrested. All of the S. A. men had gone home immediately after the meeting, and none of them possessed any weapons.
Then Sprengel came out of the room and a guard immediately placed himself at his side. At the same time three others were led in. Horst saw that they must be communists. He went up to the Storm leader, held the bag out to him, and offered some to the guard – who thanked him, then half turned around, and let Sprengel eat quietly, as if he didn’t notice.
The student bowed his head down, and asked softly: “Do you know them?”
Albert looked up, chewed, and whispered in between: “Them? Those are boys; they were certainly not there the other day! It was some other group!”
“Who are they then?” asked Horst Wessel Wessel.
The guard made a half motion, and the student immediately moved on to the communists, and held out the bag of bread to them. They looked at him, knew what was going on. One leaned away, but the other helped himself: bread was bread; you might exchange bullets in the streets, but you could still share bread in the jailhouse. It was much easier.
“You are the Wessel from Jew’s street?” asked one.
The student nodded, and then went back to Sprengel.
“Well?”
“One is named Scherlinski,” the storm leader whispered; “the one you spoke with is Camillo Ross. I don’t know who the third one is – that one, the one that took the bread. – I don’t know, they call him Bruiser!”
“Bruiser?” Cried the student. Why do they call him that?”
“You are not permitted to speak with the prisoners,” warned the guard.
Horst moved on to the others and was back again in a few minutes. The Storm leader took a new slice of bread, and chewed to his heart’s content, murmuring: “Don’t know. Perhaps they know very well that we would go to the authorities if we knew his real name! – They are strapping fellows, all three of them – unfortunate, that they are with the red fronts! We need them on our side!”
The guard stepped over to the window, pulled out a knife, and cleaned his fingernails. Sprengel saw the opportunity, whispered: “Come closer, listen!”
Both stuck their heads together, looking down into the open bag, as if a golden treasure lay in its depths. The words of the Storm leader came quickly, forcefully. The other nodded hastily.
“Do you understand?” hissed Sprengel.
The student pushed the bag into his hands, ran out into the hallway and leaped down the stairs.
The communists were interrogated, then the S. A. people. As every single one of them came out you could see that the police had nothing on them. They had been lucky and were in good spirits – in an hour they would all be outside. Finally Albert was brought in again.
The Commissioner addressed him: “Now Sprengel, you understand that it is pointless to lie. It is unquestionably certain that you were there.”
The Storm leader laughed: “That is certainly news to me, Herr Commissioner. I was never anywhere near, and you know that as well!”
The authority lit a cigarette, and laid the pack of cigarettes conspicuously right on the table.
“Now listen Sprengel, we are both old acquaintances, and we can’t fool each other. There is no escape for you this time – we have the proof. Please, sit down – would you like a smoke?”
He held the pack of cigarettes out to him, and lit one with a match.
Albert sat down on the chair, and puffed a cloud into the air.
“Then, Herr Mühlfriedel – because you are so especially good natured, I will do you a favor. I really was there!”
“you see,” nodded the authority, like an understanding uncle. “if things had not become so dangerous – the court has always shown leniency for an honest confession. So, you were there – during the shootout at Island Bridge as well as later at the mill dam sluice. Who was with you?”
The Storm leader thought deeply.
“At the subway – yes, there were a couple dozen there as well; they all ran through the gate. But who was who, I can’t really say – the shooting from all sides – it had me so excited –“
Herr Mühlfriedel attempted a smile.
“You – excited, at a little shooting! But later, at the bank – there was another man there with you: who was that?”
The Storm leader laughed. “I have completely forgotten, Herr Commissioner – I have such a bad memory. By the way, if I’m to be completely honest – you should know, that I’m not a squealer.”
“And this man”, cried the Commissioner, “whose name you have forgotten, was naturally the one who did the shooting, right? The same as at Island Bridge where all the others were shooting – but not you! Don’t make excuses Sprengel – where is the weapon?”
Albert looked at him with large eyes.
“Weapon? I have never had such a thing – I don’t even know what one looks like! Your people have already turned my entire house upside down, when you nabbed me – they would have certainly found something, if – ”
The Commissioner interrupted him.
“Those were beat cops – as you well know! I have sent a couple of detectives, soon you will experience what a real house search is.”
The Storm leader shrank together, laid his cigarette down – you could see that he looked as if he was frightened. “Detectives – detectives” he stuttered, “They won’t find anything either.”
Herr Mühlfriedel watched him sharply, and laughed in satisfaction, then rang the buzzer.
“Well – that we will soon see.”
Sprengel was taken away; but just as he was at the door, a quick playful smile flitted across his face. He had succeeded: he had the Commissioner exactly where he wanted him. Now if only his friend Wessel –
The detectives came; they took him in the middle, one was short, slender and the other a heavy, overweight man. He went out of the Alexander building, well guarded, and across the street –
The climb up Fischer’s hill was steep and not very easy. The Storm leader was very used to it and sprang up the stairs like a young goat. The detectives knew their duty, and could not permit him to outrun them – coughing and wheezing they climbed after him. The heavy set one was completely out of breath by the time they got to the top of the stairs. Albert tore the door open; thank God, the old woman was sitting over her sewing machine.
“Visitors, mother!” He cried. “The detectives seem to think, that I have a pistol!”
“A pistol – you?” Said his mother. “Oh yes that would be nice!” She closed one eye, and looked at him with the other: then let out a large laugh and a smirk. Her son knew the look, knew immediately, that Horst Wessel had been there, and had prepared everything – the weapon was gone: the detectives would not find any more than the beat cops had found before! He set himself comfortably in a chair, and good-naturedly demanded: “All right, gentlemen, search the house!”
The detectives were silent – if there was a weapon here, they would certainly find it. The short one went into the kitchen, the large one remained, and first turned to examine the sewing machine. He worked slowly and very methodically, the foot pedal, the walls, every piece of furniture was searched –
The other came back.
“There is nothing!” He said. “Are you done in here?”
The big one nodded. “Apparently so. Except for the bed and the old woman.”
Frau Sprengel hissed. “Should I perhaps get undressed?”
The detective shook his head. “Not necessary – you only need to stand up.”
The two padded her down, made it very professional and respectful, and were finished, before she really knew it.
“Now the bed”, cried the Storm leader. “That’s where you will find an entire arsenal!”
It tickled him, to see the place where his pistol had laid scarcely an hour before – on top of the mattress; it was a miracle, that the beat cops had overlooked it.
The detectives took the pillowcases off, pulled the covers away – there at the foot of the bed, completely in the open, was a pistol!
Albert jumped up; the short detective immediately had him by the arm. The large one grabbed the weapon, lifted it up, looked at it – and then threw it down on the table in disgust. A starting pistol! He shouted in anger.
The Storm leader bent forward – then he met his mother’s gaze, again he saw her smiling smirk. He understood in an instant: Horst had laid it there, exchanged it with the other. They looked similar; that student!
The detective demanded: “Why didn’t you tell us about this immediately?”
Albert laughed: “Well, you certainly need to work for your money – why should you get paid with our taxes to do nothing? I told you that the arsenal was in the bed – you could have taken it immediately!”
The short one took up the pistol, and examined it.
“Three blank cartridges have been fired,” he stated.
Sprengel looked down – Right, Horst had even thought of that! He nodded eagerly.
“Naturally! I shot twice at Island Bridge, and once at the bank. I was trying to use this old toy to frighten them and chase them away, because they were already shooting!”
They got ready to leave; the Storm leader kissed his mother.
“I will be back in an hour – don’t worry about me!”
He knew how things worked at the police station. New very well that they would not keep him, now that every bit of evidence was destroyed. Herr Mühlfreidel would not believe a single word and would still need to let him go, innocent or guilty. Then he would console himself: perhaps next time!
*****
Hanns Heinz Ewers 
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