This knowledge was also the bait he persistently dangled in order to catch his intended victims. The plan had been remarkably successful, to which Bruckner’s worldly possessions bore mute testimony. Frequently money talks — but Bruckner’s was as silent as the graves from which it load been obtained. Under each new alias, he maintained a modest bank account for current expenses. None of them had been large enough to cause him any regret if he suddenly found it inconvenient to cash another check or present himself in person to claim his balance. The bulk of his fortune he kept in cash in several widely separated safe deposit vaults. To the banks where these sums were stored, he was known under various names, and was understood to be an eccentric man who traveled extensively.
The names he assumed for this purpose were never employed for any other form of his activities. His long absences and semi-occasional appearances caused no comment, and had never resulted in any undue curiosity. In fact, the officials of these “reserve” institutions, as he termed them, were not aware of the contents of the boxes Bruckner rented. Probably they imagined that he used them for storing papers.
One, however, did contain something vastly different. In it were the tools of his trade — poisons of varying natures which he picked up at intervals in infinitesimal quantities in various parts of the world. Being versatile, he liked to vary his method of operation and took a genuine pride in his work. Mad he undoubtedly was — but the man was an artist, and no manufacturer or financier or creator of beautiful things ever took more satisfaction in his accomplishments than did Bruckner.
The one fly in the ointment was the fact that he could never confide to anyone just how clever he really was. To atone for this, and by way of diversion, he occasionally indulged in criminalities of a totally different nature, in fields where he might share his triumphs with others. He had a smattering of medicine and knew much chemistry, both of which he studied with sinister intent. He had played at being an amateur cracksman and had been complimented upon his skill in opening safes. Likewise, he had participated in several notorious Black-hand outrages and was well and favorably known in those circles. That is, the personality he assumed for this purpose, was known to such associates. Thus Bruckner had broadened his knowledge of ways and means of producing death in secret, and had familiarized himself with other branches of the trade, upon which he might fall back in case wife murder ever became an unhealthy occupation.
Bruckner flattered himself that during the whole of his career he had never made a single mistake. Not once had he been regarded as anything but a sincere mourner at the biers of his dear departeds. Never had he run afoul of coroner or police. At times he chuckled over his remarkable capabilities and congratulated himself upon his caution and truly exceptional foresight. Perhaps his success was due to the fact that he concentrated upon crime in its more subtle branches, and had never been addicted to any vice, either petty or great.
Nor had a pretty face ever tempted him. During the whole of his marital adventures, Bruckner had never once been in love — not even the victim of a passing infatuation. Business before pleasure was his motto and he adhered to it strictly. Because he found the courtship stage of his engagements a trying ordeal, marriage usually followed his proposals swiftly. With grim humor, he often boasted to himself that he had no heart, and in view of this fact, he was reluctant to indulge needlessly in silly lovemaking.
The women of his choice were invariably rather mature and usually unromantic. The more homely they might be the better satisfied he was. A young and attractive wife might have admirers who would interfere with his plans. She would also be more likely to have relatives who might have too much to say and to whom her death would be a real bereavement. Widows with children were banned. He had an aversion to stepsons and daughters about the house. Instead, this pseudo lonely bachelor always sought a matron similarly situated — each with a tidy sum to support them, and both desiring a quiet comfortable home.
There was method in his rule. Not only was he assured of privacy in the domicile about to be established, but he could not be accused of the unpardonable crime of marrying for money. Bruckner was both sensitive and proud. He valued the good opinion of the community — because it was an asset in his curious business. To pick out a bride of great wealth would mean additional difficulty in collecting his inheritance after the obsequies. Such details would be bound to be annoying and Bruckner loved simplicity in this respect.
A few thousand dollars — always less than his own little nest egg — and perhaps a small property upon which no other heirs had any claim — were to be readily gathered in without the formality of court proceedings or the advice of counsel. After each deal, he cashed in his gains, opened a new bank account under a new name, and stored his net profits in one of his safety deposit boxes. This had been going on for years.
It was true that such gradual means of accumulating wealth necessitated many marriages. None of his wives had lived more than three years after the wedding, but in no case did he cause a death under twelve months. He remained prudent rather than avaricious or hasty. He never sought a rapid denouement at the risk of personal safety. Moreover, his wives all died seemingly natural deaths and were fittingly interred. Bruckner would not countenance anything so crude as to savor of murder. Also, Bruckner had a certain sentiment about proper burials. As a result each simple ceremony was marked with unostentatious respect, while the countryside was dotted here and there with nicely cared for graves and tastefully adequate tombstones. Everything he did was done very well.
II
When anaylzed, Bruckner’s plan was as simple as it was practical and resultful. He would go to a small town and take a comfortable room at a cheap hotel or boarding house, frequented only by men. Without undue heraldry, he would announce that he was seeking a suitable place to end his days. After he had attained the age of fifty, this sounded reasonable, so he discarded the various fantastic stories so successfully circulated during his youth. These had been ingenious, but rather more risky. In fact, he now looked back with concern upon the chances he had taken in connection with his first alliance — contracted when he was twenty. His initial venture had culminated admirably, however, and his four successive ones — covering a scant ten years — also paid him neat profits.
Now, when he was installed in a new and temporary residence, Bruckner would make it a point to scrape up a speaking acquaintance with a few substantial but humble souls in the neighborhood. He never associated with those who were prominent or overly endowed with worldly goods. He could not afford to make a permanent name for himself. He was always fading out of or into a picture. He was but a passing incident in the life of each community. To his chosen cronies, he would casually state that he was a plain man without frills. He regretted that he had not settled down and taken unto himself a life companion before he had grown too old to think of matrimony.
Frequently this observation would bring forth good-natured chuckles and sly winks. Male matchmakers would pass on the word to their romance-hatching wives, and soon several no longer young hopefuls would begin to preen themselves and press Mr. Bruckner to drop in for tea. Reluctantly, he would accept, and begin to judiciously sound out the situation. If all seemed well, he would guardedly hint of his state of mind and eventually suggest a married partnership on the basis of mutual contribution to costs and common connubial convenience. If the proposition met with a favorable reception, and the recipient of his attentions appeared pliable, the marriage would be solemnized at no distant date.