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Title: The Lonely House
Author: Adolph Streckfuss
Illustrator: Charlotte Weber-Ditzler
Translator: A. L. Wister
Release Date: January 11, 2011 [EBook #34917]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONELY HOUSE ***
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The Lonely House
[Illustration: Franz and Anna]
_The_
Lonely House
From the German of
ADOLF STRECKFUSS
Author of "Too Rich," "Castle Hohenwald," etc.
_By_
MRS. A. L. WISTER
Translator of "The Old Mam'selle's Secret," "Gold Elsie," "The
Second Wife," "The Happy-Go-Lucky," etc.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY_
CHARLOTTE WEBER-DITZLER
PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1907
Copyright, 1907
BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
Published October, 1907
_Electrotyped and printed by J. B. Lippincott Company_
_The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U. S. A_.
I TAKE PLEASURE IN INSCRIBING THIS TRANSLATION--THE LAST I SHALL EVER
COMPLETE--TO THE CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN OF THOSE WHO SO KINDLY
WELCOMED THE FIRST, PUBLISHED A LIFE-TIME AGO.
ANNIS LEE WISTER
"Lindenshade,"
Walungford, Pa.
September, 1907
Contents
CHAP.
I. The Professor's Persistence
II. The Professor's First Excursion
III. The Professor's Return
IV. The Investigation
V. The Investigation Continued
VI. Two Wounded Hands
VII. The Two Requests
VIII. Quiet Weeks
IX. An Exploring Party
X. An Accident?
XI. Forced Seclusion
XII. An Arrest
XIII. An Old Chest
XIV. The End of the Professor's Holiday
Illustrations
Franz and Anna _Frontispiece_
"You Must Help Me!"
Then Began a Struggle, a Fight for Life and Death
The
Lonely House
CHAPTER I.
THE PROFESSOR'S PERSISTENCE.
Ukraine! Ukraine! For years I had longed to spend some weeks in
Southern Ukraine. The descriptions I had read of its wonderful
mountains had greatly attracted me; I was certain of adding there
many valuable specimens to my collection; that section of country had
been so rarely visited by entomologists that I might even hope to
enrich our German fauna with a new species. Some years before a
butterfly-collector from Vienna had discovered there the caterpillar of
the beautiful _Saturnia cæcigena_, found previously only in Dalmatia.
Why might I not hope for something equally interesting!
The scenery of Southern Ukraine is not thought to be very fine: the
mountains are much less imposing than in other Alpine districts, but
the Carpathian range is said to have many very interesting caves, and
strange formations of rock, while for the naturalist its fauna and
flora offer a rich field for investigation in its mountain fastnesses
and deep valleys.
If travel in that section of the country were only not attended with
such risk and inconvenience! Travellers who seemed thoroughly familiar
with its political and social condition warned me seriously not to
attempt going thither. The only tolerable accommodation for strangers,
they said, is to be found in the larger towns--Laibach, Adelsberg,
etc., and on the high road followed by tourists; as soon as the
traveller attempts to penetrate the interior he finds only wretched
inns, no comfort of any description, and a poverty-stricken peasantry,
speaking the dialect of the country, and understanding not one word of
German. All expeditions into the valleys are fraught with discomfort
and even hardships. Nevertheless, little alluring as were the accounts
given me of the country, the prospect of adding to my collections--I am
a naturalist--an entomologist--was so tempting that when I had a longer
vacation than usual I determined to fulfil a long cherished desire and
to pass a spring in Southern Ukraine.
And then the question arose as to what place I should make my
headquarters. A naturalist cannot travel hither and thither like an
ordinary tourist; he must establish himself somewhere, and make
excursions into the surrounding country, which he must investigate
thoroughly or he can hope for no results from his labours; moreover,
the paraphernalia of his profession are too bulky to be moved easily
from place to place.
Unfortunately all the guide books were too incomplete to give me the
least assistance; I had recourse to the admirable maps of the Austrian
Government, and in them I found a small town--Luttach--which seemed
well fitted for my purpose. It is situated in a deep valley in the
midst of the Carpathians, at the foot of a long spur of Mt. Nanos on
the road from Adelsberg to Görz--a road once much travelled, but fallen
into disrepair since the intrusion of the railroad. From Luttach the
topmost peak of Mt. Nanos could be reached in a few hours, and in the
valley itself there was sure to be a mingling of the southern fauna and
flora with those of the Alps proper. I might promise myself rich
additions to my collections. Moreover the many German names of the
surrounding villages, and indeed the German name of the town itself,
were very attractive for me, giving me hopes that there might be German
elements mingling with the Slavonic civilization.
Luttach it should be then. My two huge travelling trunks were duly
packed and I was provided with every requisite for collecting. The last
of April I left Berlin full of pleasant anticipations.
In Vienna, where I stopped for a day as I passed through, I called on a
friend; he gravely shook his head when he heard that I had chosen
Luttach for a stay of some weeks. "I never heard before of this
God-forsaken hole," said he; "I should not risk going there, but since
you are determined to go, provide yourself at least with a good
revolver, for without it you never ought to venture among the dreary
deserts of the Carpathians, or to wander in those primeval woods and
forests. It is dangerous for an elderly man like yourself. You know
besides that there are still bears and wildcats in the forest on Mt.
Nanos, not to mention those two venomous reptiles native to the rocky
retreats of the Karst range--the cross-adder and the sand-viper. More
to be feared than all these, moreover, is the human beast of prey whom
you will surely meet in your wanderings there. You had really best
relinquish your plan of visiting so inhospitable a region. But if you
insist upon it, pray be cautious. Go well armed, and do not venture too
far among those desert fastnesses."
I cannot say that I was agreeably impressed by my friend's warning. I
was not formed in an heroic mould and I do not willingly court danger.
At sixty, after a life spent principally in study, there is small
desire for perilous adventure. Although I am not deficient in personal
bravery, as I had opportunity to prove in my student-days, and
afterwards in political embroglios, it is not my nature to seek for
perils. Bears and wildcats, and even venomous serpents, caused me no
alarm--the beasts are rarely dangerous in summer, and I knew well how
to manage the reptiles; I had frequently encountered them in my
excursions in the Swiss Alps and even in Northern Germany. The danger
from human beasts of prey appeared to me far more serious, but even
this could not deter me from carrying out the plan I had contemplated
for so long. In Vienna I purchased an excellent revolver with the
necessary ammunition and started the next morning for Görz, where I
wished to visit an old friend and fellow-student, who, dwelling so near
the frontier, would, I hoped, give me a less alarming account of the
country I wished to explore. But my hope was vain; he was even more
emphatic than my Vienna friend had been, although he laughed at the
story of bears, wildcats, and snakes. He shook his head and said: "I
know nothing of Luttach and the surrounding country, except that on
Nanos the _Saturnia cæcigena_ was formerly to be found. You will
probably make some good additions to your collections, although I doubt
your making as many as you hope, since in the rocky parts of the
mountains insect life is sparse, and where the mountain sides are
clothed with trees, they form an impenetrable primeval forest. I doubt
also whether the richest harvest you can reap will compensate you for
the hardships, the discomforts--yes, the dangers to which you will
expose yourself. The greatest of these lies in the fact of your being a
German. The unhappy strife between nationalities in Ukraine has so
embittered the inhabitants there that all kindly feeling is extinct.
The Slav considers hatred of the German his first duty; it is his
greatest delight to annoy--even to maltreat--a German. Whether you can
defend yourself with your revolver from such maltreatment is more than
doubtful. You could not use it against any single peasant who should
meet you in the forest, and insult you, or even against three or four,
who might amuse themselves by annoying you in countless ways. There
certainly is danger of encountering robbers in those wilds; your
revolver might serve you there--to me danger from the determined
hostility towards Germans seems far greater."
This was encouraging! I almost wonder now that I was not deterred from
my undertaking. If my respected colleague had not expressly stated that
I should find _Saturnia cæcigena_ on Mt. Nanos, I should probably have
followed his advice not to go to Luttach, but my passion for collecting
outweighed every other consideration. I refused to be intimidated, and
started upon my journey the very next day, arriving at four o 'clock in
the afternoon at Adelsberg, whence I could reach Luttach in four hours
by a carriage road. So desirous was I to attain this goal of my wishes
that I resisted the temptation to visit the world-renowned Grotto at
Adelsberg, postponing this pleasure until my return. I hired a vehicle,
large enough to accommodate myself and my two huge travelling trunks,
and in half an hour I was on my way to Luttach.
The road was excellent, leading through an attractive mountain region
among low hills, although loftier eminences bounded the horizon. I
should have liked to know the names of those giant mountains, but my
driver was a genuine Slav, who could not understand a word of German,
and who was too stupid to comprehend signs, so all intercourse with
him was impossible. We drove swiftly, almost as swiftly up-hill as
down-hill, through a charmingly varied landscape, through forests, past
meadows and cornfields, with only a glimpse of the desolate Karst range
now and then in the distance, until we rapidly approached the bare gray
rocks of Mt. Nanos--which, as we descended by a winding road to the
valley of Luttach, stood out boldly against the sky.
Time passed rapidly during the long drive; there was so much to see,
and everything that I saw was distinctly in contrast with what I had
been led to expect in Southern Ukraine. The numerous villages through
which the road ran were entirely different from the ruinous Polish
hamlets with which I was familiar in Upper Silesia; they consisted
mostly of flourishing farms, with very few straw-thatched cottages. The
peasants whom we met greeted me as we passed along with friendly
courtesy--they could not recognize me as a hated German--and the inns
as we drove by them, so far from presenting pictures of dirt and decay,
were most attractive, and invitingly clean.
And when in the valley we drove among meadows bright with the luxuriant
growth of spring--past vineyards where each vine showed careful culture
and was just putting forth its tender leaves--along a road bordered on
the left by hillsides under full cultivation, where countless white
cottages in the midst of blossoming orchards betokened a numerous
population, I could hardly fancy that I was in the midst of the
ill-reputed desolate Karst range, in a corner of the world of which
scarce a hint was to be found in the guide books. The bald rocky mass
of Mt. Nanos alone, clothed at its feet only with a forest of oaks, and
the bare peaks of the high range that seemed to close in the valley in
the distant west, showed that vegetation was not as luxuriant
everywhere in the Karst range as I found it on the hills to the left
and in the valley itself.
"Luttava!" my driver called out, nodding to me and pointing with his
whip towards a little town near at hand, nestling at the very foot of
Nanos, its white houses seeming to cling to the rocks. In a few minutes
we had reached it, and after driving along a street too narrow for more
than one vehicle, turned into the gateway of a large building, before
which a tall pole supported a sign whereon a golden grape vine declared
it to be the inn recommended to me before I left Adelsberg.
The carriage stopped beneath the dim gateway before a door opening
directly into a spacious kitchen, where in the huge chimney-piece a
bright fire was blazing. Through the door I could see several men, some
standing, some seated upon low benches, about the fire, all of whom
regarded the newcomer with curiosity. A plainly clad but spotlessly
clean dame busied herself on the hearth, moved a steaming pot to one
side, and hurried out to receive me, opening the carriage door to help
me to alight.
"Can I have a room!"
"Certainly! If the gentleman will kindly go upstairs," was the reply,
delivered in excellent German, although with a strong accent. "Mizka,
show the gentleman up to Number Two."
Mizka, a pretty slender girl, tripped lightly before me up the stairs
leading up two flights directly from the kitchen to a wide entry, where
she threw open the door of Number Two, and courteously held it open for
me to precede her.
The room was large, low, and square, with two small windows, looking
out upon the street. It probably looked larger than it really was from
the absence of much furniture along its walls. Between the two windows
there was an old-fashioned sofa covered with gay chintz, and above its
high back hung an oval mirror in a black varnished frame, while before
it stood an extension table, which if pulled out to its fullest
capacity would have accommodated twenty-four persons. A tall cedar
clothes press, a washstand, six chintz-covered cushioned chairs, and a
huge bed which had to be clambered into by the help of a chair,
completed the furniture of the room. The walls, painted light green,
were adorned with four gaily colored prints, each portraying a quarter
of the earth in the guise of a very ugly and scantily clothed dame,
whose distorted limbs reclined upon a fantastically shaped couch.
This was Number Two, my room. It certainly did not look inviting for a
long stay; it was too bare, but it as certainly possessed the
unexpected attraction of perfect cleanliness. Not a speck of dust lay
upon the few articles of furniture, the bare floor was spotless, and
the creases in the white bed linen bore testimony to its freshness.
"Will the gentleman take his supper here, or below in the dining-room?"
Mizka asked me in very good German.
"I will come down as soon as I have washed," was my reply.
"I will bring fresh water immediately;" and she hurried away, returning
presently with a can of crystal-clear water, and a supply of fresh
towels, and followed closely by two gigantic porters, each of whom bore
upon his shoulders one of my heavy trunks. Assuredly thus far I could
not complain of lack of promptitude in the service of a Slav inn.
When I had freed myself from the dust of travel, and had changed my
coat, I went down to the dining-room; the way led through the kitchen,
where several men were sitting or standing around the hearth, talking
familiarly with the hostess, who was busy meanwhile with her cooking.
All greeted me politely as I passed through the room.
When Mizka showed me into the spacious dining-room, I took it all in
with a rapid glance. Its arrangement could not be called elegant, but
the cleanliness of the scoured tables atoned for its simplicity. There
were but a few persons present. At a table near a window a young man
sat alone, apparently absorbed in a newspaper. He looked up for a
moment as I entered, disclosing a singularly handsome face, which was
immediately hidden behind his paper. The face was thoroughly German.
Such deep blue eyes, such fair, close curls are to be found nowhere
save in Germany. He was certainly handsome, but his expression was too
grave, perhaps even too stern and hard to allow of his being thoroughly
attractive.
As far from this young man as the size of the room would permit, at a
large round table near the tall stove, sat six or eight men, smoking
long cigars, with glasses of wine before them. They evidently saw me
enter and look about for a seat, and one of them instantly rose and
motioned courteously with his hand, placing a chair at the table, while
the others moved aside to give it room.
I was amazed at so polite a reception in this notoriously hostile Slav
country, and I was not quite pleased. I should have liked to observe
the magnates of Luttach, who were apparently here assembled, from a
distance, at my leisure, before making their acquaintance, whereas now,
when I accepted their invitation, and introduced myself as a German, a
Prussian, and worse than all, from Berlin, whose citizens are never
popular, their amiability might decrease. "Permit me to present myself
to you, gentlemen," I said, "as Professor Dollnitz from Berlin, who
hopes to spend some weeks with you here in your beautiful country,
collecting plants and butterflies, beetles and chrysalids. I am an old
naturalist who looks forward to much gratification here in your richly
endowed Southern Ukraine."
I observed a fleeting smile pass around the circle upon hearing that I,
so old a man, was running after butterflies and beetles, but I am used
to that; all sensible men regard us old entomologists as cranks, and
sometimes jest rather rudely at our expense; but this was not the case
here; the gentlemen, as I could see, suppressed their smiles at my
butterfly mania; they rose very politely and formally introduced
themselves as the District Judge Foligno, his Assistant Herr Einern,
Burgomaster Pollenz, a retired Captain Pollenz, a landed proprietor,
Gunther by name, Herr Weber, a merchant, and Herr Dietrich, a notary.
Strange! All German names save that of the district judge.
Chance had surely brought me among Germans. I was strengthened in this
belief by finding that they all spoke excellent German, not merely with
me, but among themselves; only now and then was there heard a brief
remark in Slavonic. I soon found out my mistake, however, when in the
course of conversation I mentioned that I had been warned in Vienna and
in Görz not to visit the Ukraine on account of the hostility of the
Slavs to Germans. The Burgomaster Pollenz, a reverend old man, made
reply, speaking with emphasis, and so loudly that even the young man
sitting by the window at the other end of the room could hear every
word distinctly: "That is unfortunately a widespread error which has
brought our good Ukraine into ill-repute. We are all Slavs, and are
proud of being so. Our ancestors were Germans, but we are not. The
Ukraine is our home. Whoever is born here and lives here must feel
himself a genuine Slav. Those only do we hate among us who are disloyal
sons of their native land, who would rob us of our language, our
customs, and make Germans of us; we have no hatred for Germans born.
There are none of them dwelling among us; our entire population is
Slavonic, and you will soon find that as a native-born German you will
be kindly received everywhere. It is not so in Laibach, or where, as
there, the population is mixed, and national prejudice has free sway,
causing constant strife, but even there the Slavs are seldom the
aggressive party."
"Then you think I can chase my butterflies alone among your woods and
mountains without fear of insult? I was expressly warned in Vienna not
to leave the house here without a loaded revolver in my pocket to
protect me from robbers."
I was answered by a burst of laughter. "I assure you there is no tract
of country in the realm of Austria as perfectly safe as ours," the
Burgomaster replied. "We have had no robbery here for many years and I
will guarantee you as a German against any insult, unless, indeed," he
raised his voice again, and spoke very loud, "you should consort with
the only Slav among us who is disloyal to his country; friendship with
him would cause you to be suspected of hostility to our nation."
The young man by the window had hitherto seemed heedless of our
conversation; now he arose and approached us. His flashing eyes seemed
to defy each member of the circle, but their expression grew gentler as
he addressed the Burgomaster. "I cannot be angry with you, Herr
Burgomaster," he said gravely, but not unkindly. "Your words were
offensive, but I know that you mean well by me and by the strange
gentleman. You have called me a disloyal son of my country, which I am
not! I am a whole-souled Austrian, but one also who can never forget
that he is sprung from German and Austrian blood. You have all of you
forgotten this; I am true to the German tongue and to German customs.
You are the faithless ones, not I!"
"Do you want to pick a quarrel with us all, Franz?" asked the
Burgomaster, regarding the young man disapprovingly.
"No, but I cannot allow you to give the strange gentleman a false
idea of me. Moreover, you need not fear that I shall force my
friendship upon him. I know too well that it might cause him annoyance.
Good-night!" He turned upon his heel and left the room without
bestowing a further glance upon the company.
When the door had closed behind him, the District Judge said: "Franz
Schorn always was and always will be a most disagreeable fellow. He
deserves a thrashing for his insolence in calling us all faithless."
"Your cane is just beside you in the corner; why did you not use it!"
the Captain asked with a sneer. "In fact, Franz is not altogether
wrong. My brother irritated him unnecessarily; he would never have
forced his company upon the Herr Professor. He lives so quietly and is
so reserved that he cannot be accused of officiousness."
"'Tis natural that you should espouse the cause of your future cousin,"
remarked the District Judge with a contemptuous emphasis upon the word
"cousin."
"I should be glad to have him for my cousin; he is a thoroughly brave,
honest fellow."
"But a German."
"I am half German myself, and at all events I should prefer a German to
an Italian cousin. The Italians are always squinting over at Italy, and
Franz is, as he says, a German-Austrian at least."
"Leave off bickering," the Burgomaster admonished his brother. "What
will the Herr Professor think of us, if we quarrel so before him over
our wine?"
During this short skirmish of words I took occasion to observe the two
antagonists narrowly. I liked the Captain's frank, manly face and
bearing, but the District Judge Foligno produced a very unpleasant
impression upon me. He was a man of about forty, with a worn, sallow
countenance. His features were regular; he might have been accounted
handsome but for some ugly lines about his mouth, half hidden though
they were by a glossy black moustache, and a false, unsteady expression
in his piercing black eyes. Before his war of words with the Captain he
had taken no part in the conversation, but had sat gloomily silent,
with downcast eyes, smoking his long cigar and drinking far more than
the others. In the short time that I had been present Mizka had twice
filled his tall glass.
The Burgomaster's efforts to restore peace were unavailing; the
District Judge renewed the quarrel by a malicious remark about old army
officers who no longer knew what nation they belonged to. The Captain
retorted angrily, more bitter words ensued, the other gentlemen
presently took part in the dispute, which principally concerned the
character of young Franz Schorn. The Burgomaster alone was silent; of
the rest only the County Clerk, Herr Einern, sided with the Captain.
While the others all agreed with the District Judge's abuse of Franz
Schorn as a rough, arrogant fellow, a recreant Slav, who was detested
and despised all through the countryside, and were unanimous in
declaring that "old Pollenz" was perfectly right in forbidding Franz to
hang around the Lonely House watching for pretty Anna, that it was the
old man's patriotic duty to shield his charming daughter from Schorn's
advances, the Clerk and the Captain warmly espoused his cause. The
Clerk, in fact, did not mince matters, but frankly characterized as
exaggerated and unjust his chief's tirade against Franz. The boldness
that he showed in doing this without in the least overstepping the
bounds of civility impressed me very favourably.
I was soon tired, however, of listening to a discussion which became
more and more heated as time went on, concerning people of whom I had
no knowledge, and therefore when I had finished my supper--an excellent
one, by the way--and had emptied my glass of wine, I rose to retire,
pleading fatigue from my journey.
The gentlemen probably suspected that their quarrel had driven me away,
and they fell silent in some confusion while the Burgomaster said
kindly: "You have chanced upon an unfortunate evening, Herr Professor.
Do not suppose that such a disturbance is frequent in our little
circle, and I pray you pardon any harsh words you may have heard with
regard to Germans. I can assure you that we have no quarrel with any
Germans, save those who should be Slavs. That we have no dislike for
Germans or Germany you may see for yourself, since you hear us all
speak your language among ourselves, and pray do not let this evening's
experience prevent you from joining our circle in future. You will
always be an honoured and welcome guest."
I pressed the good man's hand cordially and followed Mizka, who stood
with lighted candle ready to show me to my room.
I thought it not indiscreet to gossip a little with pretty Mizka while
she was arranging my bed, and to learn from her something regarding the
gentlemen whose acquaintance I had made below, and with whom I should
probably have daily intercourse during some weeks to come. I could not
have sought information from a better source.
Mizka had been born in Luttach; she knew all about every inhabitant of
the town, and she felt highly honored by "the gentleman's" desire to
converse with her. In her gratitude she detailed all that I wished to
know. I learned that the Burgomaster, Herr Pollenz, was the owner of
the "Golden Grapevine," which Mizka's aunt, Frau Franzka, or rather,
her husband, rented from him; he was now a guest in his own house,
occupying with his brother, a pensioned captain, the entire second
story.
Mizka was eloquent in praise of the two brothers, whom she described as
the best and truest of men. No one could be as thoroughly kind as the
Burgomaster; he was, in fact, too kind, for he was sometimes really
pinched for money himself, because he could not refuse to give or to
lend to the poor, and there were evil-disposed people who abused his
benevolence. He was very wise, too, and learned. Whoever in all Luttach
stood in need of good counsel could be sure of finding it from the
Burgomaster. He and the Captain were much respected, not only in
Luttach, but throughout the countryside.
Mizka gave unstinted praise also to the County Clerk, Herr von Einern,
for whom every one in Luttach had a good word, regretting that he was
not District Judge and Foligno the Clerk; he was too young for a Judge
as yet, but he was sure of promotion, for he belonged to a very old
Luttach family--his father was a general--although he never prided
himself upon his position, but was kind and courteous to the very
poorest, whereas the Judge was often rude and harsh to poor people in
court.
Mizka had nothing pleasant to say of the Judge. He was out-and-out
Italian although his grandfather had settled in Luttach and he himself
could not speak Italian fluently; but an Italian was always an Italian;
he never could be a true Slav. Yet he was not temperate, like most
Italians; he drank too much, and was not content with the good Luttach
wine, but always wanted some special kind for himself. That was why he
was always needing money. Eighteen hundred gulden was a good salary;
many a Judge could live comfortably upon it with a wife and children,
whereas he, though a bachelor, was always in debt. He already owed Frau
Franzka nearly five hundred gulden, and Mizka could not understand why
her aunt would go on lending to him. He had the best two rooms in the
upper story--Number Twelve, just above the Herr Professor's Number Two,
and Number Thirteen--but he had paid nothing for them for a year, and
yet he behaved as if he was the greatest guest in the house; nothing
was good enough for him. He often drove to Görz, where he consorted
with the officers, and 'twas said that he had sometimes lost at play
more than a hundred gulden in one evening. He had long since squandered
all the property he inherited from his father; he had a house in
Luttach, but not a stone of it really belonged to him; he had mortgaged
it all to the wealthy old Pollenz, the Burgomaster's cousin, and
whoever got into the clutches of that old man never got free until he
had lost his last penny; for old Pollenz, who lived in the last house
on the mountainside--it was called "the Lonely House"--was a
hardhearted usurer.
Old Pollenz now owned forests, vineyards, meadows, and farmlands, for
which he exacted the highest rents; all his money had been made by
usury, and woe to the peasant to whom he had lent any--he was sure to
be obliged to sell all that he possessed to satisfy his creditor's
demands. The man was a hateful old miser; in spite of his wealth he
hardly dared to eat, and never entered an inn to drink a glass of good
wine. He lived with his daughter, pretty Anna, and an old servant maid,
apart from everybody, in the Lonely House; its windows barred with
iron, because he was constantly in dread of robbers, although there had
never been a robbery or burglary in all the countryside within the
memory of man. But the old fellow was so afraid of thieves that he
would let no one enter the house whom he did not know well, and he
always went armed with a couple of pistols and a big knife.
He was most afraid of Franz Schorn, and had often said of him: "If he
should meet me alone, he'd be sure to do me a mischief, but I'll be
even with him. I'll shoot him like a mad dog sooner than let him attack
me." The old man's dread in this case was not quite without cause, for
Franz was a rough fellow, who might well assault a mortal enemy, and
the two had been mortal enemies ever since two years before, when old
Pollenz drove Franz from his door with curses.
The old man was a bitter foe of the Germans, and had fallen into a
terrible rage when some one had told him that Franz was sneaking around
his house courting pretty Anna. And so, when one day Franz did not
sneak around the house, but boldly entered it and asked for pretty Anna
for his wife, the old man became almost insane with fury; he drove the
young fellow out of doors with blows and curses, although Anna wept and
entreated, saying that she would rather die than give up her Franz.
Just at that time the Judge, who certainly had need of a rich wife,
asked old Pollenz to take him for his son-in-law. The old miser said
"yes," thinking to make an end of pretty Anna's love affair with Franz.
He told his daughter that she must marry the Judge, but Anna refused.
To all her father's threats she answered, "I'd rather die! You may drag
me to the altar, but you cannot compel me to utter a 'yes'!" And so the
Judge got the mitten in spite of the father's consent. Ever since then
he had been a deadly enemy to Franz Schorn; every child knew how he had
got the mitten in the Lonely House; he had often been teased about it,
and the malicious Italian would never forgive Franz Schorn because of
it.
Such, in brief, was the sum of Mizka's information; she would gladly
have talked on, but I was afraid she might be wanted in the room below,
so I dismissed her with a "Goodnight."
I admit that she had interested me much with her gossip. I now
understood many words and phrases that had escaped the gentlemen below
in the heat of their quarrel, and I perfectly comprehended the
bitterness of the Judge's hostility to Franz Schorn. A love story in a
Slav village! But what did it all matter to me? What possible interest
could an old naturalist, sixty years of age, take in the love affairs
of a young fellow whom he did not know, and the disappointment and lack
of money of a very disagreeable District Judge? There was absolutely no
reason why I should mix myself up with such matters, or even bestow a
thought upon them. That was not why I was in Luttach, but for the
purpose of collecting plants, butterflies, and beetles, which I
resolved to begin to do the next morning, oblivious of all love
affairs, German or Slav.
I undressed, mounted a chair and made a bold leap which landed me in
the midst of the maize straw with which the bed had been stuffed. It
was not a luxurious couch, but fatigue sleeps well even upon a poor
one. I had scarcely extinguished the candle on the table beside my bed
when I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER II.
THE PROFESSOR'S FIRST EXCURSION.
The sun shining brightly into my room awoke me about five o'clock. I
got up, dressed myself quickly, and went down to the kitchen, where
Mizka had already kindled a bright fire on the hearth. She assured me
that my coffee would be ready in a quarter of an hour and that she
would bring it out to me in the garden. There I met the Captain, who,
enjoying his morning pipe, was walking to and fro between the flower
beds. Now and then he would stop before an opening rose, regarding it
with eyes really full of affection. He greeted me cordially.
"You are an early riser, Herr Professor," he said with a smile. "I
thought all those who lived in large cities never rose before eight
o'clock, but I am glad that you are an exception, for the mornings and
evenings with us are the most delightful time of the day. At noon the
sun is far too hot and glowing to enable us to enjoy the beauty that
lies about us here. Only look at these rosebuds, how beautiful they
are, each one with a diamond dewdrop in its breast! Are they not
enchantingly lovely?"
He chattered on, pointing out to me every blossom that delighted him,
and taking positive joy in all. He conducted me through the garden,
which was not very large, and at the end of it he unlatched a gate that
was not locked.
"Now I must show you the only thing perhaps that we have worth showing
in Luttach. Pray follow me," and he walked before me through the open
garden gate. After a few steps we reached the banks of a broad,
brawling brook, which seemed in all its breadth and force to come
directly from out the rocky wall before us. The rock must certainly
have been thoroughly undermined. From countless smaller and larger
openings the crystal-clear water streamed with such power that the
numerous jets instantly formed a broad deep brook.
"This is the Luttach. On the north side of Nanos the raging Voyna
rushes through a savage rocky vale, suddenly vanishing without a trace;
the mountain engulfs it. They say that the Voyna in the interior of
Nanos forms a deep unfathomable lake and from this lake in the interior
of the mountain it flows on, breaking through the rocks, to come to
light again here as the Luttach brook. This may be possible, for Nanos,
like the whole Karst range, is absolutely riddled with caves. The
famous Adelsberg Grotto would not be the unparalleled wonder that it
is, if our population were not too indolent to explore the hollow
openings and grottoes in our side of the mountain. Why, in the
immediate neighbourhood of Luttach there are two caves, the depth of
which is known to none, for no one has ever taken the trouble to
explore them, except for a few yards."
"What absolutely unconscionable neglect!" I rejoined. "If you could
succeed in finding here a spring, a mineral spring as wonderful with
its grottoes as that of Adelsberg, think of how it would attract
travellers and what a goal it would be for all tourists."
The Captain shrugged his shoulders. "I really do not know whether our
Luttach population would desire this. They certainly feel no wish for
it at present. Besides, it is questionable if our grottoes are really
very large in extent, and it is probable that their exploration would
be attended with some difficulty and perhaps indeed danger. I have
never thought of making an attempt to explore one or the other of
these, but, if you desire to do so, Herr Professor, I shall be very
glad to accompany you."
I joyfully accepted the Captain's offer. Under all circumstances the
exploration of a cave, hitherto unknown, possesses for me extraordinary
interest; in the depths of these caves in the Karst range are found
rare cave beetles, the species is confined entirely to such places. It
might well be possible to discover in the Luttach grotto a species
hitherto unknown. Such a prospect made me forget the threatened
difficulty and danger.
The Captain smiled when he heard the reason for my interest. That a
human being should be ready to subject himself to inconvenience and
even to danger that he might discover a new beetle appeared to him
extremely ridiculous, but he was too polite to make this evident. He
promised to look about for some strong, courageous men, who, armed with
torches, ladders, and ropes, should accompany us into the caves.
"I hope," he said, "that you will reap a rich harvest of rare cave
beetles, but even if you do not succeed you will be abundantly repaid
by the beetles and butterflies which you will find on the slopes of
Nanos. A naturalist from Vienna, who was here about ten years ago and
spent six weeks in Luttach, was thoroughly enraptured by the richness
of his discoveries. I was then at home on leave and frequently talked
with him. His best and rarest caterpillars he found near the Chapel of
St. Nikolas, I believe, upon the leaves of beeches and oaks."
Here was an important piece of news! The caterpillars of the _Saturnia
cæcigena_, the rare Dalmatian butterfly which had lured me to Luttach,
lived upon beech and oak leaves. I immediately determined to seek the
neighbourhood of the Chapel of St. Nikolas this very day. To St.
Nikolas my first excursion should be made.
I asked the Captain the way thither. "You cannot miss it," he answered;
"there are two paths, each very easy to find. The first, which is
perhaps fifteen minutes the nearer, is steep in its beginning, and even
dangerous for unaccustomed mountain climbers. Part of it you can see
from here. It begins there at that elder bush and leads directly up the
rocks by steps partly natural and partly artificial, most of them,
however, giving space only for one foot. A false step, a slip, might be
disastrous, therefore I can hardly advise you to take this nearer path
over the rocks. It is not long; in five minutes you would reach a very
pleasant, gently ascending footpath, which in fifteen minutes more
would lead you past the Lonely House, to reach in another quarter of an
hour the Chapel of St. Nikolas in a direct line. The second path, just
as easy to find, is very charming, beginning at the last house of
Luttach and leading to the left from the road to Adelsberg, winding
through meadows and through oak forests, and ascending gently, past the
scattered houses of the village of Oberberg. After perhaps half an hour
you reach a large crucifix at a fork of the pathway. The path to the
left leads to the Lonely House, that to the right directly to the
Chapel of St. Nikolas without going near the Lonely House; you cannot
miss it. I advise you to take the longer path. The shorter is seldom
used even by the inhabitants of Luttach, because it is certainly
dangerous in descending. The District Judge alone, who is very fond of
flowers, often climbs up the steep rocks, in search of rare, beautiful
plants."
The advice was well meant, and I determined to follow it, although the
mention of the rare and beautiful plants allured me. Still, I do not
willingly expose myself to danger. We returned to the garden, where our
coffee awaited us in a pretty arbour covered with wild grapevine.
I hurried my breakfast, for I was burning with impatience to find near
St. Nikolas my entomological treasures. Scarcely a quarter of an hour
had passed before I started on my way thither, supplied with a cane and
a large umbrella, my tin box upon my back, my pockets filled with
glasses for beetles and boxes for caterpillars and butterflies.
The Captain had described the path to me so exactly that I really could
not miss it. He had called it charming, but it was more than that. It
was wondrously beautiful. It was a joy to ascend the mountain quietly,
while fresh beauties of the landscape revealed themselves at every
step. At my feet lay the pretty little town of Luttach, framed in
emerald green meadows, bounded by the steep rocky wall against which it
leaned. On the summit of this bare rock, majestically enthroned, were
the remains of a ruined old castle, whose knightly possessor had in
former times probably ruled over the rich valley of the Luttach.
Wherever the eye turned, whether downward to the houses and cottages in
the valley, surrounded with blooming orchards, or to the distant view
where the mighty mountain range bounded the horizon, its rocky peaks
glowing in the sunlight--everywhere, it filled me with rapture.
And then, the fresh, delicious morning! It was a joy indeed to wander
thus in the mountains.
The crucifix on the path was very quickly reached. I turned to the
right, and soon the little Church of St. Nikolas lay before me.
Hitherto I had sturdily strode on without being detained by my desire
to collect. But now, when the goal of my wanderings was reached, I
began to search. Once more I turned on the steps of the church to feast
upon the wonderful view above the tops of the oaks growing in the
valley below, and then I began my work. I could have scarcely found a
piece of ground more adapted for my purpose than this around St.
Nikolas. The church lay in the midst of a forest of tall oaks; around
them there was a rich undergrowth, and where their trunks were more
rare, there spread a carpet of charming wildflowers, above which
countless butterflies fluttered from one blossom to another. The wood
above the chapel consisted partly of ancient trees and shrubbery,
climbing the gentle slope of Nanos until it reached the bald rock which
showed no trace of vegetation.
My first attempts at collection were rewarded by an astonishing result.
I found upon the leaves of an oak a caterpillar entirely unknown to me.
When I examined it more closely, it recalled to me the description
which I had seen of the _Saturnia cæcigena_. My dearest wish was
fulfilled.
Only a naturalist can form an idea of my joyful emotion, my delight,
and the passion for collecting which this first specimen aroused in me.
I forgot everything: the beauty of the landscape, to which I now paid
no attention; the difficulty of finding my way in the forest without a
guide, the danger of treading upon one of the poisonous reptiles native
to the Karst range--in short, I wandered about animated only by the
desire to procure more specimens of this rare and beautiful insect, and
the more I found, the more the desire increased. I never noticed that
hours had passed, that the refreshing morning had given place to an
intensely hot noon, and that the exertion of climbing and searching had
caused the perspiration to stream from my forehead. But at last my
sixty years asserted their right. I began to be tired and to feel very
thirsty, as the sound of church bells ascended from the valley. I
looked at my watch; twelve o'clock! More than six hours had I passed in
unbroken labour, and surely a man of sixty had the right to be a little
tired and to think of home, especially since all my boxes were well
filled.
I found myself in a dense forest at a considerable height above the
little Church of St. Nikolas, but whether to the right or to the left
of it I could not say, since I had walked along searching here and
there, without a thought of the direction in which I was going. I might
have informed myself as to this if I could have obtained a view of the
valley, but the tall undergrowth made this impossible. There was
nothing for it but to walk in the direction of Luttach, keeping to the
right, down the mountain, and endeavouring to avoid any precipices,
hoping thus to find the path in a roundabout way.
If it were not so oppressively hot! The oaks, covered with the early
foliage of spring, hardly afforded any depth of shade. They could not
protect me from the burning rays of the midday sun. The thirst which
tormented me grew more intense with every minute, and almost
intolerable. I longed for one swallow of water. Surely I could not be
far from some cottage. Fortunately, in the morning the Captain had
taught me the most important word in the Slavonic tongue, _woda_,
"water." This word formed my entire Slavonic vocabulary, but it would
suffice to inform any Slav of my need.
I strode on sturdily, keeping to the right down the mountain, and by
good fortune encountered no precipice. After a little more than a
quarter of an hour, I struck a footpath which wound about gently in the
direction of Luttach. I pursued it, and I had proceeded but a few steps
when in a little turn of the way I perceived a solitary pedestrian
coming towards me. I immediately recognized the young man about whom
there had been so lively a discussion in the Golden Grapevine, Franz
Schorn. He was ascending the mountain path slowly, with eyes fixed
gloomily on the ground. He did not see me until, when I was scarcely
thirty steps from him, he suddenly raised his head as if listening.
Then he started violently upon perceiving me. For a moment he seemed
undetermined as to what he should do. He paused, regarded me darkly,
then turned away, without a greeting, and in a moment more had vanished
in the thick undergrowth of the forest.
A very strange fellow! He need not have considered himself so strictly
bound by his promise not to press his friendship upon me. He need not
have grudged me a kindly greeting and a word or two. I should have
liked to ask him about the nearest cottage where I could perhaps get a
drink of water, but there was no help for it; I could not run after him
and must find my way for myself.
I pursued the footpath further. To my joy I soon found myself in the
neighbourhood of a house, but as I approached it my joy turned to
disappointment. All the windows--not only those of the ground floor,
but those of the first story--were provided with strong iron bars, and
I made sure that I had reached the _Lonely House_, whose possessor, old
Pollenz, according to all that I had heard of him, could hardly be
expected to show any civility to a hated German. Should I ask him for a
drink of water? It would not be pleasant to be rudely refused so modest
a request. If I had not been tortured with thirst, I would rather have
continued upon my path to Luttach instead of asking any favour of the
old usurer; but he could at most only return me a surly "No," so I
determined to try it. On reaching the house, contrary to my expectation
I found the front door wide open, although Mizka had told me that old
Pollenz almost always kept it locked and would not open it until
continued knocking had removed all suspicion of thieves.
Uncertain whether or not to enter, I stood before the open door; it
looked into a spacious hall running through the entire house, ending in
another door which probably led into the courtyard. That I confronted
the Lonely House was made certain by the huge iron bolts with which the
door towards the courtyard was secured. A steep staircase leading to
the upper story led from one side of the hall. Opposite the staircase
was a door; and two other doors, one to the right, one to the left of
the entrance, led into the inner rooms of the house; they were all
closed.
I entered and knocked modestly at the door on my left. No reply; no
"Come in." I listened; there was not a sound to be heard; an uncanny
stillness reigned throughout the house. I knocked again, more loudly,
and then, after a pause, more loudly still for the third time. The
sound of my knocking was so loud that it surely must have been heard
within, but it met with no response. I waited in vain.
A strange and uncomfortable sensation overcame me. I dreaded the Lonely
House, where everything seemed dead. What folly! An old man should have
more sense. I was ashamed of this strange and disagreeable sensation
and turned towards the door on the right of the entrance. Perhaps my
knock here might have a better result. No longer as modestly as before,
I knocked loudly, and the door, which happened to be only ajar, opened
slowly of itself. I cast one look into a spacious room, and staggered
back, overcome by intense horror.
There, almost in the centre of the apartment, a motionless figure lay
upon the floor in a pool of blood, which had stained the white boards
dark red. Such horror, such intense dread, seized me that my first
thought was of flight as swift as my feet could carry me from this
terrible sight; but the next moment I was ashamed of such cowardly
fear. Perhaps the unfortunate man who lay there in his blood still
lived. Perhaps I might help him. I overcame the paralyzing terror and
entered the room.
All that I saw there only increased my horror. No mortal help could
avail the unfortunate man whose stiffened corpse lay before me. He had
either killed himself, or had been horribly murdered. His throat was
cut, and from the gaping wound dark drops of blood were still
trickling. The pale, bloodless, distorted countenance was that of a
dead man.
Had there been a murder here! Had the old man's foreboding, always
dwelling upon burglars and murderers, been fulfilled! Perhaps the
murderer was still in the house. The horrible crime could not have been
committed for long, for the blood had not yet congealed; some drops
were still trickling from the wound.
Horror seized me afresh. I looked timidly about me. It seemed to me the
murderer might be near. Hastily I drew from my breast pocket my loaded
revolver; I was safe from any attack and could look about me with less
agitation.
There was no doubt that a horrible crime had been committed here. There
upon the floor, at some distance from the dead man, lay a bloody knife,
near a large cabinet, the folding doors of which stood wide open.
Several drawers had been drawn out and papers lay scattered upon the
floor. The murderer had apparently been searching the cabinet for money
or valuables, and had scattered about these papers.
Had he been startled by my knocking and escaped! If so, he must have
passed through the door which led on the left to an adjoining room, for
the windows here were barred.
I summoned all my courage to follow him, but there was no need, for the
door leading outside was bolted and no one could have left the room by
it. He must have escaped before I entered; he might be concealed
somewhere near; but, again, he might have left the house, and, in his
hasty flight, have forgotten to close the front door.
What should I do? Ought I not to search the place? Yet if he were not
there, all search would be unavailing, and if I found him, it would be
foolhardy to wander about these unfamiliar rooms merely to expose
myself to an attack. The murderer might deal a blow from behind which
would make me and my revolver useless.
It suddenly occurred to me that old Pollenz did not live alone in the
house; that he had a daughter. Where was she! And where was the old
servant of whom Mizka had told me? They had not heard my knocking, and
yet it had been loud enough to resound through the entire building. Had
they, in their endeavour to escape from the murderer, concealed
themselves? Or--oh, horrible thought!--had they also fallen victims to
the monster! On this point I must have certainty. If the assassin were
still in the house, I could not leave the two women unprotected. My
cowardly fear must be overcome; I must pursue the wretch. Humanity made
my duty clear. With my revolver held ready and with a beating heart, I
turned back to the bolted door, which I opened easily. I entered a
spacious, dreary room. A bed against the wall, a table, a couple of
wooden chairs, and two large closed wardrobes formed its entire
furniture. Evidently it was the old man's sleeping room--a sordid
apartment. Here I found nobody, and I continued my search. A second
door in the room was unlocked. Through it I again entered the hall.
Beneath the staircase was a door which evidently led to the cellar; it
was closed by a massive bolt. Two other doors led from the hall to
rooms on the left. I went to the first of these--the one at which I had
knocked so loudly--opened it, and entered a large apartment much better
furnished than the rooms which I had hitherto explored. It gave an
impression of more comfort, and I was struck by its great cleanliness.
By the window there was a work-table, upon which lay some sewing. A
couple of flowers blooming in earthen pots stood on the window sill. A
bed with snowy curtains stood against the wall opposite the window.
Undoubtedly this was the sitting-room and bedchamber of the fair Anna,
the daughter of the murdered man. Without delay I continued my search.
A door opposite the bed was unlocked. Through it I entered the kitchen.
Here also I found no one, and I returned to the hall.
The four rooms of the ground floor had now been searched without
result. With a calmer mind I mounted the steep staircase to the second
story. Here I found rooms similar to those below. They were all
unlocked and appeared to be used partly for old rubbish. In one of them
there was a bed, probably that of the old servant.
I had found nothing. It seemed useless to ascend to the garret, so I
went down to the room in which the murdered man lay, to consider what
steps I should take next.
My fear lest the daughter and the maid had been the murderer's victims
had proved groundless. Neither of them was in the house. The monster
had probably profited by their absence to kill and rob the old man,
whom he knew to be alone. Any longer stay in this terrible abode seemed
useless. Of course I must inform the proper authorities of the murder,
and it was my plain duty to do this as soon as possible. I ought not to
linger longer in the Lonely House. Everything must be left lying as it
was to await the legal investigation. I could do no good to the dead
man by remaining. I ought to proceed to Luttach as quickly as my feet
could carry me to inform the District Judge of my terrible discovery.
On, then, to Luttach and the District Judge! Suddenly, by a strange
chain of ideas, the memory awoke in me of Franz Schorn as he was coming
from the Lonely House, with eyes gloomily downcast, in the forest path;
of how he started when he saw me before he fled away through the
undergrowth. Franz Schorn came from the house of his mortal enemy. I
shuddered. Had I met the murderer fresh from the cruel deed? Had not
the old man who lay there in his blood always feared him? Had not Mizka
yesterday evening told me that Franz was a rough, morose fellow, who
might be readily suspected of taking the life of his mortal enemy?
This was a dreadful suspicion, but not without foundation; and, at all
events, it seemed to be my duty to inform the Judge as quickly as
possible of my meeting with Franz Schorn. I hastily left the scene of
the crime, not casting another glance behind me. I breathed more freely
when I emerged from the gloomy hall into the brilliant sunshine. No
longer under the spell of the ghastly spectacle, I could consider more
calmly what was to be done. My first determination, however, remained
unaltered. It was my plain duty to hasten to Luttach by the nearest way
and there report to the District Judge. The nearest way, as the Captain
had told me in the morning, was by the rocks. I could not miss it; I
saw it clearly before me. A broad, well-worn path went directly from
the Lonely House probably to the outlying cottages of the village of
Oberberg. Another, narrow and overgrown, led in the direction of
Luttach, and, at first, in a gentle incline down the mountain. This
must be the footpath, then, which further on became the narrow way,
over the rocks leading directly to the inn, which the Captain had
described to me as perilous. Ought I to expose myself to the danger of
a fall! The descent was more difficult than the ascent. The rocky way
was at least the nearer by fifteen minutes. I had certainly climbed up
and down more dangerous places among rocks in order to procure a rare
caterpillar. I was now upon a far more important errand, and ought to
reach Luttach quickly. It is foolish to expose oneself to unnecessary
danger, but the man who shuns it when something important is at stake
is a miserable coward. I delayed no longer. One glance over my shoulder
I cast. The door of the Lonely House was wide open. Any passer-by might
enter. Surely it was wrong to leave it open for more than an hour
without any guard. Could I lock it! The key might still be in the lock.
I approached it once more, I confess with great reluctance. The silence
as of the grave which reigned within filled me with horror, but I
overcame this weakness. My expectation was confirmed; the large house
key was still there. I locked the door, and taking the key could now
pursue my way, sure that for the next hour no passer-by could enter. I
hurried down the narrow way leading to the rocky abyss; it was a
charming path. The view of the valley was enchanting; I had no eyes for
it; I saw nothing of the wealth of rare mountain plants blooming on
either side, nothing of the gorgeous peonies which now and then
projected their red blossoms almost from the very rock. My thoughts
still clung to the Lonely House and the gloomy room where lay the dead
man. I encountered not a single human being as I hurried along. At
length the little town lay directly below me. I must descend over the
dangerous rocks. I looked about me searchingly; it was not easy to find
the narrow, untrodden footway, but it soon became plain to my practised
eye. Without hesitation I strode down from stone to stone, partly
leaping, knowing that a false step would cost me my life; but my
training among the mountains made my footing sure, and after a few
minutes I stood at the garden gate of the inn.
CHAPTER III.
THE PROFESSOR'S RETURN.
"Dinner has been waiting for you ever so long, Herr Professor," called
Frau Franzka to me as I entered the kitchen, but hardly had I
approached her before she clasped her hands above her head with "Holy
Virgin, how you look! How pale! How distressed, and how dripping with
perspiration! Why, large drops are falling from your hair; no one can
climb about the mountains in the hottest part of the day. The District
Judge----"
"Is the District Judge at home!" I broke in.
"Yes; he came home about a quarter of an hour ago. I did not see him,
but I heard him going upstairs. He is in his room and is probably
dressing. The Herr Professor ought also to go to his room and dress.
You will take cold in your damp clothes."
I scarcely heard the last words. I hurried up the three flights of
stairs and in the passage looked about me for the door marked No.
12--the District Judge's sitting room. I knocked at the door; no
answer. I knocked more loudly; there came from within, as from an
adjoining room, "Who's there?"
"Professor Dollnitz. I must see you with regard to a matter of great
importance, Herr Foligno."
"I pray you just wait for a few minutes. I am dressing, but I'll be
ready immediately."
I had to wait. Whilst I stood motionless before the door I suddenly
became conscious of the intolerable thirst which, more than half an
hour before, had driven me to the Lonely House. During my great
excitement I had not been conscious of any physical need, but now in
the first moments of quiet it attacked me with double violence. I was
perfectly exhausted--almost fainting. Fortunately on the table in the
passage there stood a carafe half filled with water. It must have been
there for hours; the water was lukewarm, but I drank it eagerly and it
gave me the refreshment of which I stood in need. I was as one new
born.
I had to wait at least five minutes. The time seemed very long to me.
At last the door opened and the District Judge appeared in a new and
very elegant summer suit. His thin, sallow face had not attracted me on
the previous evening, and now as he received me with a forced friendly
smile I liked it still less.
"Forgive me for keeping you so long, Herr Professor," he said, "but I
could not open the door before; I was, to speak frankly, entirely
undressed when you knocked. I was obliged to change my clothes because,
in your interest, I have had quite a fatiguing walk on the mountain. I
am a little of a botanist--only a layman--but I am interested in
botany, and I was desirous to surprise the learned Herr Professor with
some rare plants whose habitat I knew. It cost me an effort to obtain
them, and even a little danger; I had a fall which gave me a slight
wound in my hand, but it is very insignificant, scarcely worth
mentioning, since I have procured what I desired. Here they are." With
his left hand (his right was wrapped in a white handkerchief) he took
some orchids from the table before the sofa and handed them to me. They
were of a beautiful and rare species, and at any other time would have
given me the keenest delight, but at this moment I scarcely looked at
them.
"I must reserve my thanks for a time," I said gravely, "the terrible
intelligence which I bring to you, Herr Foligno, as the foremost
official in the town, will admit of no delay. I come directly from the
Lonely House--the scene of a horrible murder and robbery."
The District Judge recoiled as from a sudden blow. Pallor as of death
overspread his sallow face. His mouth twitched; his eyes became glazed
and fixed on me with a look wherein gleamed downright fear and absolute
dismay.
"You came from the Lonely House--a murder and robbery! Incredible!" he
stammered. Terror so mastered him that he could scarcely utter these
few words.
"What I tell you is only too true," I replied, and then in the fewest
words I related what I had seen and how I had closed the open door and
hurried to Luttach in order to make him, as the chief authority of the
place, acquainted with the fearful crime.
During my short narrative he was struggling to regain his composure and
succeeded. He listened with his gaze fixed gloomily upon the floor.
When I finished, he cast upon me a searching, piercing glance, and his
voice trembled as he said, "Did you find no trace of the murderer! Did
you see no one in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House!"
On my way down the mountain it had been clear to me that it was my duty
to report my meeting with Franz Schorn, but when the District Judge put
this question to me, I suddenly felt a decided reluctance to inform him
of it. This man was Schorn's mortal enemy. Ought I to make him a sharer
of my suspicion, which had been aroused by nothing but a chance
encounter?
Still more searching and still more penetrating was the glance the
District Judge bestowed upon me as I hesitated to reply.
"Did you see no one in the neighbourhood of the house, or upon the path
towards it!" he asked once more.
As Judge he had a right to put the question and I ought to tell him the
truth. As I reflected thus, I overcame my reluctance and replied.
"I did encounter a man not far from the Lonely House in the forest, but
I cannot think myself justified in suspecting him of evil." I then
described accurately my meeting with Franz Schorn.
He listened in silence, his eyes still fixed on the floor. When I
finished, he said with emotion, extending his left hand to me: "I thank
you, Herr Professor; your report may be of the first importance for the
discovery of the murderer, but it may also subject an innocent man to a
horrible suspicion. As long as there is no evidence against a man
except that he was seen in the neighbourhood of the scene of a murder,
nothing would justify his being suspected of what, even as a mere
suspicion, might darken his whole future life. Therefore, let me
request you to allow me to consider your account of your meeting with
Herr Franz Schorn as a matter personal to myself and confidential, not
official. I shall then not be forced to include it in a short account
which I must write out of your information."
"You surprise me, Herr Foligno."
"I suppose so, and I owe you an explanation of my request. Herr Franz
Schorn is my bitter enemy and I have never concealed my dislike of him.
You were a witness yesterday evening of my quarrel with Captain Pollenz
and my clerk. Precisely on this account I do not wish to include in my
official paper a suspicion which I myself hold to be entirely
groundless. I promise you that I will neglect nothing that will lead to
the discovery of the murderer, that I will investigate every step which
Herr Schorn has taken to-day, and will have him watched by a thoroughly
competent detective. If he is guilty, I shall discover his guilt; but I
do not believe he is so, and because I am his foe I will not attach any
suspicion to him which, while the true murderer remains undiscovered,
might ruin his life, merely because at the time of the murder he had
been seen near the scene of the crime. Promise me, Herr Professor, that
you will tell no one at present of your meeting with Franz Schorn.
Should there be other and more important grounds for suspecting him, I
shall request you to give me your account officially."
I pressed the Judge's hand cordially, and joyfully gave him the promise
for which he asked. How unjustly I had judged this man! How I had
misunderstood him! I was ashamed of the reluctance I had felt to tell
him of my meeting with Franz Schorn.
"I must now make out a short official account of your information," the
District Judge continued. "You can hardly believe how difficult this is
for me. Your account has agitated me so profoundly that I can scarcely
control myself. I was very familiar with old Pollenz. He had indeed
many disagreeable qualities. Toward others he was often hard and
unyielding, but I never had anything to complain of in his behaviour to
me. He has often shown me favours. He was indeed almost a friend, and
now I must prepare a paper which shall show him to be the victim of a
horrible crime, which I must take the first steps to investigate. It
must be done. It is my duty. In spite of the pain which my right hand
gives me in writing, I will do it immediately."
He took a sheet of paper; pens and ink were at hand, and seated himself
on the sofa behind the large table to write. His hand could not have
been very painful, for it did not prevent his writing swiftly and
clearly. Now and then, without interrupting his writing, he addressed
some brief, leading question to me, and in scarcely ten minutes the
paper was finished. He read it aloud to me. It was wonderfully concise
and clear, without saying one word too much or too little, and I signed
it without an alteration. After he had added his own signature, he
said, "I must now beg you, Herr Professor, to accompany me to the
Lonely House. I shall immediately summon my assistant, as well as the
District Physician and the captain of gendarmes, to inspect the
premises. You, too, Herr Professor, must be present. You must testify
that nothing in the house has been altered in your absence. This is
important for further investigation. Can I count upon you!"
"Most certainly."
"Then pray hold yourself in readiness. In half an hour, at the latest,
I shall have notified the other gentlemen. The time of waiting, if I
may advise you, should be employed by you in strengthening yourself
with food and drink. Yon may not feel the need of refreshment at
present, but we have some sad hours before us."
How kind and thoughtful! I certainly had cause to ask pardon in my
heart of the District Judge for the prejudice he had created.
CHAPTER IV.
THE INVESTIGATION.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Herr Foligno called for me in
the dining-room, where I was sitting with the Captain. It had taken him
almost an hour to assemble those who were to inspect the scene of the
murder in the Lonely House. I had informed the Captain, a near relative
of the murdered man, of my terrible discovery, and he had been deeply
moved. He said:
"I was never intimate with old Pollenz, although he was my first
cousin. He was a hard usurer and a miser. He loved no one in the world
save his daughter, but that his end has been so horrible is certainly
very sad. Poor child, my dear little Anna! How will she bear this
fearful shock! I saw her about twelve o'clock here in Luttach with her
old maid, Johanna. She had been paying a visit to an aged aunt, and she
is probably still there. I must see if it be so. I do not willingly
visit the malicious old gossip, but if Anna is still with her, I must
go to prepare the poor child for the sad news that awaits her."
He sent Mizka to old Frau Lancic's, and in a few minutes she returned
to say that Fräulein Anna had been with the widow, but that she had
left about a quarter of an hour before to make some purchases in the
village and then to return home.
Upon hearing this, the Captain determined to accompany the officials to
the Lonely House, for which he received permission from the District
Judge.
Soon after four o'clock we began our walk; not by the steep rocky path,
which was rather too difficult for the old District Physician, and
might prove dangerous, but in accordance with the Judge's directions,
by the longer way past the village of Oberberg.
We could make but slow progress, for the heat was still oppressive. The
old physician gasped and panted as we ascended the mountain. The Judge
with kindly consideration, begged him to walk slowly, although he
himself was trembling with impatience to reach our goal.
We met various people on the way. They greeted us politely and looked
after us with surprise. Intelligence of the murder had not yet reached
the village of Oberberg, and people could not imagine what so many
persons, accompanied by the captain of gendarmes, could have to do in
the little village. I walked first with the Captain. The Judge and his
clerk followed, and, naturally, very little was said as we pursued our
way; all were oppressed by a sense of what lay before them.
We had turned into the path by the crucifix leading on the left to the
Lonely House, and were but a short distance from the spot to which we
were tending, when the Captain suddenly stood still and said in a
faltering voice, "There comes my poor little Anna."
She came towards us hurriedly from the Lonely House. She was called
pretty Anna in the country round, and indeed she deserved the name. I
have scarcely ever in my long life seen so beautiful a girl. Even her
expression of intense anxiety could not distort her charming face. When
she recognized the Captain she flew towards him.
"Oh, uncle, my dear kind uncle, thank God you are here!" she cried. "I
am dying with anxiety; my father will not open the door. For a quarter
of an hour Johanna and I have been knocking in vain. Something must
have happened to him, or he would hear us and open the door for us."
The Captain put his arm round the lovely child and pressed a kiss upon
her white forehead. "My poor little girl!" he murmured. His voice
failed him; he could say no more; his eyes filled with tears; he tried
to control himself, but the compassion which he felt for the girl in
his arms was too intense; it mastered him; he could hardly utter a
word.
"Good heavens! What has happened?" cried Anna, extricating herself from
the Captain's embrace and gazing at him, her large black eyes dilated
with horror. "You call me your poor girl? There are tears in your eyes.
For God's sake tell me what it means! Has anything happened to my
father? Oh, answer me, uncle! I would rather hear the worst than suffer
such suspense."
The Judge answered instead of the Captain, who could not control his
voice. "Compose yourself, Fräulein Anna," he said with grave
kindliness, "you need all your courage, all your self-control to endure
the misfortune which God has sent to you. Unfortunately your anxiety is
justified. Something has indeed happened to your father, my lifelong
friend."
"He is dead!" the girl cried, with what was almost a shriek; overcome
with grief, she tottered and would have fallen to the ground if the
Captain had not thrown his arms about her. The Judge took her hand with
deep sympathy, but she snatched it away and pushed him from her with a
gesture expressive of the most profound aversion.
"Do not touch me; I hate, I despise you!" she cried, as she cast
herself again into the Captain's arms. "Uncle, my dear kind uncle, you
tell me what has happened. I can hear the worst from you, but not from
that man."
The Judge, thus rudely repulsed, was deeply offended, but was too
magnanimous--his pity for the unfortunate girl was too profound to
admit of his expressing his resentment by a harsh word.
"You do me bitter wrong, Fräulein Anna," he said gently. "I sympathize
sincerely with your pain, but I will not thrust my pity upon you. I
pray you, Captain, to inform her as mercifully as possible of what has
happened."
It was a hard task for the Captain, but it was his duty to fulfil it.
He motioned to the Judge and to myself to withdraw for a few steps, and
then took Anna's arm in his and, walking on before us, spoke to her in
the most sympathetic and loving way. He told me afterwards that in all
his life he had never had so hard a duty to perform. He searched in
vain for kindly words to soften the horror; he feared that the delicate
girl could hardly endure the frightful truth which he was forced to
tell her; but to his great surprise Anna showed a remarkable degree of
composure. She had not succumbed, he said, to pain and grief; she had
become ghastly pale and her dark eyes had gleamed with a strange
flickering fire, as, almost in a whisper, not to him, but to herself,
she had murmured, "Foully murdered and robbed; murdered for the sake of
his wretched money. He sacrificed his soul and now has given his
life for money." She shed no tear; her grief was too great, too
heart-breaking; but she trembled violently; her little hand shook as it
rested on her uncle's arm, and as he put his arm round her and tenderly
drew her to him, he could feel the violent beating of her heart. He
told her everything that he had heard from me. When he had finished,
she looked at him with flaming eyes.
"The vile murderer will be discovered," she said in a hoarse voice; "I
trust in God's justice."
Her composure was really remarkable, and gave great cause for anxiety.
I had lingered behind with the Judge and his clerk. We slowly followed
the Captain and Anna about twenty steps in the rear.
"I certainly am most unfortunately situated," said the Judge, turning
to me confidentially. "You heard the harsh words which the poor girl,
half crazed with pain and horror, spoke to me. I know what those words
mean. I am well aware that Fräulein Anna is prejudiced against me. She
thinks that the hostility which her father showed to Herr Franz Schorn
was partly my fault. That she does so is well known in Luttach, and I
commit no indiscretion in telling you that there is an attachment
between Fräulein Anna and Herr Schorn, of which old Pollenz
disapproved. Fräulein Anna knows that Herr Schorn is my bitter enemy.
She has sided with him against me, but that her prejudice is as intense
as the words she has just spoken testify, I confess surprises me. Never
before have I seen in her the least sign of dislike. Imagine my
position. My official duty compels me to play the part of a
disinterested investigator. I cannot spare her pain, but I shall have
to subject her, with her old maid, to an examination. I must inquire
how it happened that the Lonely House was left unlocked, perhaps by
herself; every child in Luttach knows that old Pollenz always locked
the front door securely. I would give much, very much, to spare the
young lady this examination."
"If you would depute me to make it, Judge, such an act on your part
would be entirely justified by the peculiar relations in which you
stand to Fräulein Anna Pollenz." The Clerk uttered these words very
quietly and in a businesslike tone, but the District Judge was not
pleased. He cast a sinister glance at the Clerk and asked, "What do you
mean by peculiar relations, sir?"
"Nothing but what you yourself indicated, and what, to use your own
words, every child in Luttach is familiar with," was the quiet reply.
"You allude to the foolish gossip which makes me the young girl's
rejected suitor? There is not one word of truth in it."
"Then old Pollenz lied, for he stated this, not as a secret, but quite
openly, in Luttach. At all events, such a report does exist, and it
will be confirmed unless you make use of your right to depute to me the
examination of the young lady."
"No, that I will not do. My standard of official duty is too exalted to
permit my neglecting it out of regard for my own feelings. I might
perhaps take your advice if I were forced to play the part of examiner
during the entire legal process, which must ensue upon this murder,
but, fortunately, that is not so; only the preliminaries are our duty.
Capital crimes," the Judge said turning to me, "do not come within the
domain of the District Judge. They are the business of the tribunal of
the country. Subsequent investigations will take place in Laibach. The
preliminary examination alone is my task, which, whatever it may cost
me, I will fulfil."
The Clerk made no reply; he simply bowed in sign that he had no further
remarks to offer. We now reached the goal of our wanderings. The Lonely
House stood before us. The Captain and Anna were standing near the
locked door, and upon a wooden bench beside it sat an old woman, old
Johanna, "The only servant of the house," the Judge whispered to me.
The Captain had just told her of the murder of her master. Paralyzed
with horror, incapable of speech, she was gazing up at him. When she
tried to rise, she sank back helplessly. The Judge opened the front
door with the key which I had given him.
Scarcely had he done so when Anna released herself from the Captain's
arm and would have been the first to rush into the house, had not the
Judge barred her way.
"Let me go," cried Anna. "I must go to my poor father. You dare not
hold me back."
She would have pressed past him, but he prevented her from doing so,
and with quiet resolve, in a perfectly judicial manner, said, "You must
not see your father yet, Fräulein Anna. My official duty compels me to
exclude you from the room in which the crime has been committed until
it has been thoroughly searched. The traces which the murderer has
perhaps left behind must not be interfered with. You must either stay
here outside, or, if you wish, wait in your own room until it is
permitted you to see your father. Captain Pollenz, I pray you to remain
with your relative and to prevent Fräulein Anna from making an attempt
to disturb the investigation by going into the murdered man's room. I
cannot permit it."
Anna retired. As the Judge forbade our entrance into the house, her
eyes seemed to flash with anger, but she controlled herself, only
bestowing upon Herr Foligno a glance of dislike and antipathy.
"I obey," she said, recovering her composure wonderfully. "I will wait
in my room with Johanna and my uncle. You shall have nothing to
reproach me with. I pray _you_, sir," she said, turning to the Clerk;
"I entreat _you_ to search, investigate. The blood of my poor father
cries to heaven. I must doubt its justice should you not succeed in
discovering the ruthless murderer."
"Rest assured, Fräulein Anna, that I shall leave nothing undone----"
"I did not address you," Anna interrupted the Judge; "I entreat _you_,
the assistant, to fulfil your duty; search for the murderer, whoever he
may be, deliver him to the vengeance of the law. I trust you. You will
not be influenced by fear or considerations of any kind. Do not answer
me; I trust you; I know you will do everything to discover the
criminal, even though you do not promise me. Come uncle, come Johanna,
we will wait in my room."
While Anna was speaking, Herr Foligno's expression was, strangely
enough, that of timidity and embarrassment; his lips moved; he seemed
to wish to reply but could not. He retreated silently, as Anna, without
looking in his direction, passed him. She entered the room at the left
of the hall, her own apartment, and the Captain and the old maid, still
half paralyzed with terror, followed her silently.
The Clerk also made no reply to Anna's strange words; he had been much
astonished by them, as were all who heard them. With a keen searching
look he regarded the Judge. Not until the door had closed behind Anna
and the Captain did he say, whispering so softly that only I and the
Judge could hear, "If you do not feel sufficiently well, Herr Foligno,
to undertake the examination and will delegate me to conduct it, I am
quite ready to do so."
"No, no," the Judge replied in as low a tone. Aloud he said, "Follow
me, gentlemen. We must begin our melancholy task."
CHAPTER V.
THE INVESTIGATION CONTINUED.
Among all the tragic and even terrible recollections which live in my
memory, and of which my life has perhaps had more than its share, the
most terrible is that of the first few days of my stay in Luttach. Even
now they sometimes disturb my sleep at night. In dreams, I am once more
in the spacious, dreary room of the Lonely House, with the stiffened
corpse of the murdered man before me on the floor. The sunlight through
the window falls upon his pale face with its distorted features. I see
the terrible wound, and the hard, rasping voice of the District
Physician strikes upon my ear as with professional calmness he examines
the wound and with all the indifference with which he would discuss the
commonest affair of business, explains that any suspicion of suicide is
out of the question, coldly pointing out to us bystanders, grouped
about the body, our faces pale and awed, the numerous wounds of which
any one would have been mortal, and endeavouring with perfect calmness
to prove that the murderer had first attacked his victim from behind,
and had finally cut the throat to make sure that the deed was complete.
I still hear in dreams the clear, incisive words showing that the
murderer must certainly have been intimately acquainted with the
murdered man's ways, and that in order to avoid any possibility of the
old man's divulging his name with his dying breath, he had inflicted
the last gaping wound.
Fearful as had been the impression made upon me in the morning by my
discovery, it had not so curdled my blood with horror as did this
examination of the body. The necessity for action, the danger which
possibly threatened me from the murderer concealed in the house, had
strengthened and quickened me in the morning; but now, when I was
forced to stand by, an inactive spectator of this terrible scene, the
whole horror of the affair for the first time presented itself to my
consciousness.
The absence of all emotion, the inflexible indifference of the District
Physician, who, as I learned from the Clerk, had been the friend and
physician of old Pollenz, deepened the impression which rendered me
almost incapable of connected thought.
I was a prey during the entire investigation to intense nervous
agitation. I saw and heard everything that went on around me so clearly
that the smallest detail remains stamped upon my memory, but I was
incapable of connected thought, of drawing conclusions from what I
heard and saw. This I was able to do only later when removed from the
spell thus thrown around me. The investigation produced a most
agitating effect upon the Clerk also, and in especial upon the Judge,
but they could not leave, and were obliged to fulfil their official
duty. The Clerk was very pale, but quiet and composed throughout; but
the Judge was obliged to exert all his self-control to conquer his
excitement, while the physician, still handling the body, demonstrated
with great clearness, almost as if he had been a witness of it, the
manner in which the murder had been committed.
But however intense his emotion, the Judge proved himself equal to the
task his office imposed upon him. When the time came to search the room
he displayed the greatest care and circumspection. The bloody knife
lying upon the floor at some distance from the body was, of course, the
first object of his notice.
"There lies the weapon with which the deed was committed," he cried.
"Fortunately, the murderer has left it behind. It may afford a clue in
his detection."
But this hope proved to be unfounded. The Clerk testified that the
knife was the same which old Pollenz had always carried as a weapon of
defense. Whereupon the Judge confirmed what he said; he had seen the
knife in his friend's possession, and recognized it, but doubtless it
was the weapon with which the crime was committed. "Most certainly,"
the Judge added, with keen observation, "the murderer must have
snatched it from the old man as he tried to defend himself, and in so
doing caused a struggle; the knife must have wounded the murderer in
the hand, since its handle is stained with blood. We shall undoubtedly
find further traces of his bleeding hand there in the cabinet which he
broke open, and from which he scattered the papers lying about."
The Judged supposition proved correct. Inside the cabinet, as well as
upon the open drawers, there were distinct traces of bloody fingers,
and they were also found upon some of the papers strewn on the floor,
which the murderer had taken from the cabinet but tossed aside as
useless.
It was in this cabinet, as the Judge and the physician both testified,
that old Pollenz had kept his money and papers of value. The murderer
must have been familiar with this place of deposit, for he had opened
only those drawers used for the purpose. The others, which contained
receipted bills and worthless papers, had not been opened. The closest
search failed to discover either money or papers of value, such as
promissory notes or similar documents. All such had been abstracted. On
the other hand, an old gold watch, a heavy gold snuffbox, both articles
of value, remained untouched.
"The murderer is no common thief or burglar," the Judge said calmly.
"Such an one would not have despised valuable articles like these."
"Certainly not," the physician added; "my firm belief is that he was an
intimate acquaintance of old Pollenz. None other would have opened
those drawers unless they knew they would reward a search."
"Unfortunately, this is the only hint we have to put us upon the trace
of the criminal," the Judge said in a tone of disappointment. "Our
melancholy investigation has had no result of value."
This was indeed so. The murderer had left the Lonely House without
leaving any traces except those of his bleeding hand. In spite of the
most careful search, nothing further was discovered. The Judge set down
in his deposition all that had been done. It was as clear and well
composed as that which he had written previously in his room. I
confirmed his report that I had found the Lonely House and in especial
the room in which the crime had been committed in the same condition in
which I had left it. It now remained for the Judge to fulfil the
hardest part of his task. He was obliged to examine the daughter and
the old servant of the murdered man. He evidently feared to meet with
difficulties caused by the aversion to him which the fair Anna had so
openly expressed, but it was necessary to make this examination in
order to find some explanation of the surprising fact that the Lonely
House, usually so carefully locked, should have been left wide open at
midday.
The Judge's fear, however, proved to be groundless. He found Anna in
her room, wonderfully quiet and composed. She immediately declared
herself ready to be examined, and only asked that the Captain, the
Clerk and myself should be the sole witnesses present. The Judge
willingly granted this request, and every difficulty was removed. She
testified that she had that day had her breakfast as usual with her
father at eleven o'clock, and, close upon twelve, had left the Lonely
House with Johanna to make some purchases in Luttach, and at the same
time to visit her old aunt. Her father, as usual, accompanied her to
the front door and locked and bolted it behind her. It was his custom
when left alone in the house to bolt himself into his sitting-room.
Whenever any one knocked at the front door, he always first made sure
of his visitor by looking out of the window, and, when he was alone,
never allowed a stranger to cross his threshold. Even acquaintances in
whom perchance he did not repose entire confidence were always
dismissed by him from the window. He did not even open the door for
them. As to her father's property in papers of value and money, Anna
knew nothing. Her father had never talked with her about his pecuniary
circumstances. She could not possibly tell of how much he had been
robbed.
With perfect composure Anna gave her testimony, but, when in conclusion
the Judge asked her if she had met any one upon her way to Luttach, the
colour suddenly mounted to her cheek and as quickly left it, and her
"no" was by no means so clear and decided as had been her earlier
report. She blushed still more deeply when the Judge asked if her
father had any special mistrust of any of his acquaintances, and
assured her that what she should say would be entirely confidential,
even if there should be nothing in her reply to arouse suspicion.
"I will not answer this question," Anna replied, after she had stood
for a moment with downcast eyes. "No one in the world has a right to
ask such a question, and you least of all."
To this declaration she adhered, and the Judge was obliged to finish
his deposition without learning anything further from her. The
examination of old Johanna also produced no further result.
Thus the examination ended, and the Judge could no longer refuse to
allow the daughter to see her father's body. Conducted by Captain
Pollenz, Anna entered the old man's sleeping-room, where the captain of
gendarmes and the physician had laid the murdered man upon the bed. The
Captain afterwards told me that the composure shown by the young girl
at the terrible sight had filled him with genuine admiration. She
kneeled beside the bed on which the corpse had been laid. She took the
cold, stiff hand in hers and kissed it, while tears rolled over her
cheeks. The Captain would have said a few words to comfort her, but she
interrupted him.
"Let my grief have way, uncle," she said sadly; "you do not know what I
have lost in him. He was harsh to every one else, but he loved me with
all his heart, me only in the world, and I am perhaps the cause of his
death. This it is that fills me almost with despair. The thought that I
may be guilty of his death is almost unendurable."
"How can you think such a thing, my child?" the Captain asked, much
startled.
"I cannot explain it to you, uncle," Anna continued, kissing the dead
man's hand again and again. "It is perhaps only a foolish thought, but
it arose in my mind when I heard how cruelly my father had been
murdered, and I cannot banish it. I dare not share it with any one, not
even with you, my dear, kind uncle. I commit an injustice perhaps in
not being able to banish it. I know nothing, nothing which gives me the
right to entertain it. It is only a vague, fearful foreboding,
oppressing my heart all the more because I must bear it all alone and
can share it with no one in the world."
The girl refused all explanation of her mysterious words. For a long
while she silently knelt by the bed, holding the dead man's hand in
hers, but at last she rose and followed the Captain to her room,
in which we--that is, the Clerk, the Judge, the physician, and
myself--were awaiting her. During Anna's absence with the Captain we
had been discussing the future of the young girl. It was impossible
that she should remain with the old servant and the murdered man alone
in the Lonely House. We had therefore determined to take her back with
us to Luttach. The physician had kindly offered to give her an asylum
as a guest in his house. His wife, he told us, was very fond of the
fair Anna; she would rejoice most heartily to show any loving service
to the unfortunate child. Anna could not possibly live with her old,
peevish Aunt Laucic, who was even a greater miser than old Pollenz. She
would find none of the sympathy and love of which she stood in such
need with that old dragon.
The kindness and friendliness for the unfortunate young girl which
prompted the words of the physician reconciled me to him. His
businesslike indifference during the investigation had made me almost
hate him, but now I acknowledged to myself that I had been unjust and
that he was no cold and heartless man, but, on the contrary, a very
kindly, benevolent old doctor.
We had arranged everything as we thought for the best, but when Anna
returned to us we found that our wise arrangements were entirely
useless. She declared, with a decision remarkable in so young a girl,
that she would not leave her father, but would stay beside him.
In vain did we all entreat her, the Judge alone prudently refraining
from doing so. We used our most eloquent powers of persuasion.
In vain did the Captain add his voice, and in vain did the physician
explain to her what an insufficient protection old Johanna would be in
the Lonely House during the next night.
"If Johanna is afraid, she can go with you to Luttach," she said. "I am
not afraid to remain alone with my beloved dead."
As she was immovable, we were obliged to comply. We could not force her
to go with us to Luttach, but we did not leave her alone in the Lonely
House, for the Captain declared he would not leave her; if she stayed,
he would stay also; they could make up a bed quite comfortable enough
for an old soldier.
Anna was reluctant to accept this offer, but the Captain refused to
withdraw it. He said he could be quite as obstinate as Anna herself,
and thus he remained in the Lonely House, while we returned to Luttach.
CHAPTER VI.
TWO WOUNDED HANDS.
Both kitchen and dining-room in the "Golden Vine" were crowded with
guests--a very unusual thing of a week-day. The report of the murder in
the Lonely House had spread quickly, not only in the little town, but
also in the surrounding villages, and, naturally, all were eager to
hear further particulars, and could find no better place for gratifying
this desire than in the inn, the home of the Judge, who was sure to be
there in the evening.
In the spacious kitchen, which was the gathering place of guests of the
lower classes, peasants and small tradesmen, there was quite a crowd.
Some were even obliged to drink their wine standing; all the benches
and chairs were occupied. Here not a German word was to be heard; the
talk was entirely in Slavonic; even around the hearth where Frau
Franzka received her intimate friends, all spoke in that tongue.
Nearly twenty men, principally petty tradesmen from Luttach, were
sitting and standing around the huge hearth listening respectfully to
Frau Franzka's words, who, as she cooked and broiled, was obliged
to give all the details of the terrible deed which the "German
fly-catcher"--such was the name that had already been bestowed upon me
in Luttach--had discovered. When I passed through the kitchen to go to
the dining-room, I was most politely and kindly greeted by all present,
while they looked at me with undisguised curiosity.
In the dining-room there was a far larger assembly than usual. All the
tables were occupied, but principally the great round one at which the
Burgomaster presided. All the gentlemen to whom I had been presented on
the previous evening were present, with the exception of the Captain.
The District Physician, two gentlemen (strangers to me), and, oddly
enough, Franz Schorn, were also there; the last sat next the Judge's
assistant.
I had evidently been expected. A chair beside the District Judge had
been reserved for me, and when I appeared--quite too late to suit the
impatience of those present--I was cordially received. Even Franz
Schorn rose from his seat, and when the other gentlemen offered me
their hands, he held out his--not the right hand, but the left, like
the Judge, who had protected his wounded hand with a black glove. I
remarked that Franz Schorn did not use his right hand, but kept it
concealed in the breast of his coat, which was closely buttoned.
The conversation was hardly interrupted by my arrival. Naturally it had
been concerning the murder in the Lonely House, and it so continued
after I had taken my place at the table. It was to me that all
inquisitive inquiries were now addressed--to me instead of to the Judge
or his assistant or to the physician. I was obliged to relate all that
I had seen. I was questioned about the smallest details; the most
insignificant interested every one.
The Judge, the assistant and Franz Schorn alone were silent. I could
inform the two first of nothing new; there was no need for them to
question me, and Franz Schorn probably did not wish to thrust himself
forward with inquiries.
It was evident, however, that he listened with intense interest to
everything that I related. As I spoke I narrowly observed the behaviour
of the Judge and of Franz Schorn, the two rivals. Herr Foligno appeared
scarcely to hear what I was saying. His eyes were fixed gloomily on his
wineglass, and he seemed to take no part in what was going on, but from
time to time as he looked up I could see that he heard every word that
I said. Franz Schorn kept his eyes riveted upon me as I spoke. The
description of my first discovery of the murdered man evidently
horrified him; he was more agitated by it than any of my other hearers.
After I had ended my narrative, and it had been completed by the
physician, the question of course was discussed as to who the murderer
could be, whence he had come, how he had entered the locked house,
whither he had fled, and what had been the amount of his robbery. In
this discussion, however, the Judge and his assistant and Franz Schorn
took no part, although they listened with close attention.
The physician defended with much acuteness his own theory that only an
intimate acquaintance of old Pollenz could have committed the crime; on
the other hand, many present maintained that the murderer must be some
Italian from Trieste, for neither in Luttach nor in the surrounding
country was there a man capable of such a deed.
During this discussion, to which Franz Schorn listened very
attentively, the physician accidentally pushed aside the left arm of
his neighbour--Franz Schorn--who dropped the cigar which he was holding
in his hand and stooped to pick it up. As he did so, he instinctively
drew from his bosom his right hand, which had hitherto been concealed
by his coat. It was bound about with a white bandage, upon which were
several spots of blood. He thrust it quickly into his breast again, but
not before the physician had noticed the spots on the white linen.
"Ah, Franz! What is the matter with your hand?" he asked kindly.
"Nothing," Franz replied curtly; "a slight cut."
"Slight! That can hardly be; if you have a bandaged hand and don't use
it, it must be a tolerably deep cut. Of course, you have done nothing,
as usual, but wrap a rag about it. You young people are incorrigible.
You never reflect that the neglect of such cuts, which you consider
insignificant, may cost you the hand itself. Take off the bandage; I
want to see what it is."
"It is nothing; a trifle, not worth mentioning."
"All the more readily should you show it to me. You owe obedience to an
old friend of your father's, you obstinate fellow; so off with your
bandage; I wish to see the wound."
"Certainly, if you insist," Franz replied, holding out his hand and
unwinding the bandage. It did not come off easily, but adhered to the
wound and a few drops of blood followed its removal.
"A couple of good cuts," said the physician, examining the hand; "not
dangerous; they will heal without any particular care if you spare your
hand a little for a couple of days; but how did you get such strange
cuts! Four fingers implicated, and another gash in the palm. It looks
as if you had done it with a knife."
"And so I did," Franz replied. "I was using a large knife in the
vineyard to-day and laid it down upon a high wall; it fell and would
have pierced my foot, if instead of shifting it, I had not foolishly
grasped at the falling knife and seized the sharp blade instead of the
handle. That is the whole story. Such slight cuts are not worth
mentioning." He wrapped the bandage around his hand again and concealed
it as before in the breast of his coat.
"Such slight cuts are not worth mentioning," the young man had said,
and it was true; they were insignificant. Nevertheless they aroused in
me a chain of thought which filled me with dread. Involuntarily I
thought of the bloody, dagger-like knife which I had seen in the Lonely
House. If the murderer in his contest with the old man had endeavoured
to take the knife from him and had accidentally seized it by the blade,
his hand would have been wounded precisely as was that of Franz Schorn.
Schorn had hitherto kept his right hand concealed. Why so? Did he wish
to conceal the wound? An involuntary motion, an accident, had compelled
him to show the bandaged hand, and it was with great reluctance that he
had acceded to the physician's request.
I looked at the District Judge. The same suspicion which had made me
shudder had been aroused also in him. I could read it in the lowering,
searching glance which he gave to the hand as Franz was wrapping it in
the bandage again. When he looked up afterwards and his gaze met mine,
his eyes were more eloquent than his tongue could have been. He slowly
raised his hand in its black glove as if in token of our understanding
each other. Strangely enough, his motion and his look had the effect of
instantly banishing the dark suspicion that had been awakened within
me. I had no right to entertain it. Had not the Judge himself also
accidentally wounded his right hand this very day? Might I not have
seen him also near the Lonely House, since he had been climbing among
the rocks in search of flowers? No, it would be rank folly to found a
suspicion with regard to Franz Schorn upon such accidental
circumstances. That the young man seemed even more gloomy and
preoccupied than on the previous evening, and that he scarcely uttered
a word, furnished no grounds for any suspicion with regard to him. Must
he not be deeply agitated by the terrible death of an old man with whom
he stood in such close, although hostile, relations? I blamed myself
for being so carried away by my indignation as to be ready to find in
insignificant trifles an undue importance. Besides, with the exception
of the Judge, whose duty it was to investigate all grounds of
suspicion, no other member of the company had thought of connecting
Franz Schorn's wounded hand with the murder. They all continued to
converse freely; even the physician, so acute in piecing out evidence,
who might have entertained some vague suspicion, had none at all; he
had thought no possible evil of Franz, and continued to address him now
from time to time as kindly and unreservedly as before. Still, this
evening I was very uncomfortable among them all. Their continued talk,
always of the same details, always of the horrible crime, increased my
nervous agitation to an intolerable degree. It was impossible to change
the subject of the conversation; it always reverted to the murder in
the Lonely House.
This perpetual return to the same horrible subject stretched me upon
the rack; I could no longer endure it. As soon as I had finished my
trout and my wine, I rose to withdraw to my room. The Judge followed my
example, and rose also. After emptying his tall glass at a draught, he
said he was tired and unhinged and needed to go to bed early after so
terrible a day. His clerk and the physician, with several other
gentlemen, courteously entreated me to stay at least for half an hour
longer, it was so early. Without positive discourtesy I could not
refuse their request, and ordered myself another glass of wine. The
Judge followed my example, although no one had requested him to remain.
In the short time that I stayed, barely half an hour, he drank two full
glasses of wine, the last at a draught just as I arose and declined to
remain longer.
Together we ascended the stairs. Mizka preceded us with a candle. When
we reached the landing in the first story, the Judge offered me his
left hand in farewell.
"Good-night, Herr Professor," he said aloud, adding in a whisper, "I
fear I shall be obliged to ask you to-morrow to give me officially an
account of your meeting with Herr Franz Schorn in the neighbourhood of
the Lonely House." He looked around at Mizka, who was opening the door
of my room, and as she entered it he continued, "A ground of suspicion
such as the wound in his right hand compels me to abandon all personal
considerations."
Greatly startled, I replied, "Mere chance, Herr Foligno; you, too, have
wounded your right hand to-day."
My innocent words made him start as if I had struck him a blow in the
face. I could not see his features, it was too dark on the landing; a
weak ray of light coming from the open door of my room was the only
illumination; but the quiver in his voice as he answered me after a
pause of a second, betrayed the disastrous effect of my words.
"You are perfectly right, Herr Professor; it may be 'mere chance.' I
shall not proceed against Herr Schorn. I will even try to combat my
suspicion of evil in him, my enemy, but it is my duty to search for
further grounds of suspicion against him. That must be done in spite of
my hostile feeling towards him. Good-night, Herr Professor."
He pressed my hand once more, and we parted.
Mizka was already busy in my room putting everything in order for the
night. She was obliged to do this as quickly as possible, for the
number of guests below in the dining-room and in the kitchen depended
upon her services; but she could not forego a little gossip. She told
me that before I had entered the dining-room this evening there had
been quite a quarrel between the Judge and his assistant. They had been
seated at the round table when Franz Schorn entered the room and looked
around for a place. All the tables were full, and the Clerk had invited
Schorn to sit beside him at the round table. This made the Judge
violently angry, but the Clerk declared that the Judge had no more
authority than any other guest in the dining-room of the inn. Franz
Schorn would have retired, but the Clerk detained him, and the
physician, who had been an old friend of Franz's dead father, had
declared that he himself would stay only on condition of Franz's
remaining, and would never again take his place at the round table if
Herr Foligno denied a seat there to Franz. The Burgomaster, too, and
the other gentlemen, who were not always friendly to Franz, now took
his part, so that the Judge was obliged to yield, and Franz, induced by
their persuasions, took his seat; but neither the Judge nor Franz after
the quarrel had exchanged a word.
What strange occurrences were these in this little country town! Even
here, the few cultivated people, so circumscribed in their social
relations, were divided by hatred and prejudice. I undressed myself
and, with a memory of the gymnastic feats of my boyhood, clambered into
my lofty bed. I was sadly in need of repose. The agitations of the day
had been too much for my old body. They had exhausted my strength, and
yet excitement of mind conquered bodily weariness. I could not sleep. I
tried in vain to banish the memory of the dreadful scenes through which
I had passed. I tried to think of it all with indifference; but what I
had seen in the Lonely House scared away sleep, of which I had such
sore need. Hours and hours passed. The time seemed eternal before at
last I closed my weary eyes.
And the Judge had the same experience; he could not sleep that night.
As long as I lay awake in bed I heard the sound of his footsteps above
me, as he paced his room to and fro restlessly. Surely the same
memories were agitating him which denied me the blessing of slumber.
The investigation at the Lonely House had not been the mere fulfilment
of a duty for him, any more than it had been for the physician. The
horror of it all had impressed him as profoundly as it had myself. It
did not lessen my opinion of him that he should thus have preserved in
the midst of his official duties a warm, sensitive heart.
CHAPTER VII.
THE TWO REQUESTS.
Again I awoke early in the morning. I did not need much sleep for
physical refreshment, and although it had lasted but a few hours, I
felt quite fresh and well. The beautiful morning should serve me for
another expedition, and I wished to start as early as possible; in
Southern Ukraine only the early morning hours are suitable for mountain
walks and climbing. As long as the dew still glitters on the grass,
wandering in the Ukraine mountains is indescribably delightful, but
when the glowing sun has absorbed the last dewdrops, when its direct
rays are reflected from gray rocks, when no breath of air fans the
climber's cheek, mountain-climbing becomes altogether too hard a task
for an old man. I finished my breakfast before six o'clock and was all
ready for a start. Whither should I turn my steps! The forest above the
Chapel of St. Nikolas allured me. I had found such entomological
treasures there on the previous day that I surely could do nothing
better than go thither again. I could not collect too many specimens of
the grub of the _Saturnia cæcigena_, for, unfortunately, I could not be
sure that each larva would produce a butterfly. To St. Nikolas, then, I
took my way and by the narrow path. I had succeeded in descending it
without accident the day before, and it was surely not too dangerous
for me to ascend it. I set out. The path certainly was better than its
reputation. It had no danger for a climber not subject to dizziness,
and was quite firm beneath the foot. I had often ascended far more
steep and dangerous pathways in my search for some rare plant.
The easy footpath leading to the Lonely House was soon reached, and I
strode forward sturdily. On the previous day I had hurried along it,
only desirous to reach Luttach as quickly as possible. To-day I feasted
my eyes with the view of the charming country upon which I looked down,
while at the same time I scrutinized with the keenness of a collector
the gentle ascent on my left where I might perhaps discover some
treasure growing among the rocks. Not far from the Lonely House I
perceived to my great joy in a spot which could be reached without
difficulty many beautiful specimens of the very orchid _Ophrys
Bertolini_ which the Judge had brought to me yesterday. This was an
unexpected delight. In yesterday's excitement I had neglected to put
the charming flowers in water, and when I returned from the
investigation they were so withered that they were not worth preserving
for my herbarium. Now I could gather many glorious specimens without
any trouble.
I left the path and easily climbed the rocks soon reaching the spot
where the orchids grew. But no sooner had I arrived there than to my
astonishment several trampled flowers showed me that another had been
before me, who was also a collector, and had plucked many blossoms of
the rare _Ophrys_.
One spot showed me that whoever he was, he had been no true botanist; a
true botanist would have taken the plants, roots and all, not the
blossoms only. He who collected the flowers here must have been in a
hurry; he had dropped several blossoms which lay wilted on the ground
and had evidently been plucked yesterday.
Was this the spot where the Judge had collected the beautiful _Ophrys_
for me! The specimens which he had brought me were without roots. I now
recalled this circumstance, which had escaped my notice on the previous
day; but he had said that it had cost him some trouble and even danger
to reach the rare plants with the habitat of which he was acquainted.
He had fallen in doing so and had lacerated his hand. It was impossible
that he could have done so here; for here was no possible danger; no
flowers on the mountains could be plucked with more facility than
these.
And yet here the Judge had been. He had certainly gathered the _Ophrys_
for me here. I found one unmistakable proof of his presence. On the
ground lay a red and yellow silk pocket handkerchief, just exactly such
a handkerchief as the Judge had carried the day before yesterday. I
remembered it perfectly. Of course he had lost it here while plucking
the flowers.
Involuntarily I smiled at the good man's boast; in order to give his
gift a higher value, he had talked of danger in procuring it. I would
tease him a little for his bragging. When I returned his handkerchief I
would expatiate on the terrible danger of the place where the _Ophrys
Bertolini_ was to be found.
Still the plucking of the flowers had not been entirely without danger
for him. I could not comprehend how he could have fallen on this smooth
spot and wounded his hand, but that he had done so the handkerchief
testified. On the yellow silk there were several brown stains, which I
recognized as blood. The hackneyed old saying, "No fall so slight but
may kill you quite," occurred to me. With a smile I put the
handkerchief in my pocket to return it to its owner when I got back to
the inn. I dug up a number of the beautiful _Ophrys Bertolini_ growing
here by hundreds, and then, walking on quickly, in scarcely five
minutes I reached the Lonely House. I was going to pass it, but from a
window of the upper story the Captain called, begging me to wait a
moment and he would join me.
He came and greeted me with great cordiality. He had passed a
melancholy night. Old Johanna had been half crazy with fear and was
absolutely useless. He had tried to persuade her to occupy one of the
two rooms on the right of the hall, but she had fled to her bed in the
upper story and locked herself in. Therefore the Captain had earnestly
entreated Anna to leave the Lonely House, but all his words had been in
vain. Anna displayed wonderful composure in her profound grief, but at
the same time a firmness of purpose bordering on obstinacy. She had
declared that she would not leave the Lonely House as long as it
sheltered her father's body. She could not leave it all alone there.
She would stay with him until he was buried, and she watched beside the
corpse for half the night. Morning had dawned before she betook herself
to rest.
"Anna is a strange child," said the Captain. "There are odd
contradictions in her character. She is gentle and yielding and at the
same time absolutely firm, open to no persuasion; sometimes frank and
confiding; at others reserved and almost suspicious even of me,
although she has repeatedly assured me that she trusts no human being
as she does me and my brother, the Burgomaster. With entire frankness
she has given me a detailed account of all the misery and wretchedness
which has existed here in the house ever since the day when Franz
Schorn asked her in marriage of her father. Towards herself the old man
was kind and caressing, although she declared to him that she never
would forsake Franz Schorn, that she never would marry the Judge; but
to every other human being, and particularly to Franz, he displayed
positive hatred, regarding all with profound suspicion, even old
Johanna. He was completely dominated by the fear that some day he
should be attacked and murdered. Wherefore he always bolted himself
into his room, and if he admitted any one was armed with a dagger-like
knife. He kept this terrible knife in his hand even whilst old Johanna
arranged his room; even from her he feared some secret attack. No
entreaty of Anna's could induce him to moderate his savage hatred of
Franz. She, on her part, declared that she never would forsake Franz as
long as she lived. This had led to continual strife between herself and
her father, for she had told him frankly that he must shut her up in a
close prison if he wished to prevent her from seeing Franz, and she had
seen him almost daily; when her father locked himself up in his room
after the midday meal to sleep for an hour, she always left the house
to see Franz, who awaited her beneath the large oak not far away. Her
father knew this, but had done nothing to prevent it, after she had
declared to him that she should continue to do it, and if he locked her
in the house, she would try to break the locks. The strange girl told
me all this with reckless frankness, while at the same time she refused
me any explanation, although I begged her to give it, of what she meant
yesterday when she declared that she perhaps was guilty of her father's
death. My little Anna is a riddle to me," the Captain thus closed his
long account, "but I love her none the less and I shall stay here to
protect her. I will not leave her all by herself in the Lonely House.
Now you can do me a favour, Herr Professor. When you return at midday
from your excursion to St. Nikolas, stop here before the Lonely House
once more, and I will give you some directions to take to Luttach for
my brother, the Burgomaster. He must provide a suitable home for Anna
in Luttach if she refuses to accept the doctor's invitation after her
father's funeral, for which he must also give directions. I will put
all this down in a letter, which you will have the kindness to give to
my brother yourself."
I at once promised what he asked, and we parted the best of friends.
The Captain returned to the Lonely House to write his letter, which, as
he said, was quite a task for an old soldier unaccustomed for many
years to hold a pen.
I continued my walk and soon reached the little Church of St. Nikolas.
Again I fed my eyes on the charming prospect and then proceeded to
collect. I scrambled about in the forest, hither and thither, for some
hours; then up on the bald rocky side of Nanos, and not until my
bottles and boxes were so full that I could accommodate no more
treasures, and the heat had become oppressive, did I take my way back
towards noon by the same path which I had followed yesterday. In a
little while I reached the footpath leading to the Lonely House, and on
the very same spot where I had yesterday encountered Franz Schorn I
found him again to-day, but he did not avoid me; he awaited me. He was
not alone; beside him, with his arm around her waist, stood pretty
Anna. They were a charming pair. I delighted in the sight of the two
beautiful young people. Franz was certainly a handsome fellow. Now, as
he looked down on his lovely companion, with eyes full of the tenderest
affection, the beauty of his features, which a gloomy expression had
hitherto concealed, was plainly visible.
When the young man observed me, a shadow crossed his brow. Without
releasing his companion, with his left hand he took off his straw hat
in greeting. Then Anna, too, saw me, and with a blush beckoned to me
kindly. She made no attempt to release herself from the embracing arm
of the young man.
"We were awaiting you here, Herr Professor," said Franz, as I reached
them. "Captain Pollenz informed my betrothed that you, in coming from
St. Nikolas, had promised to stop, towards noon, at the Lonely House;
therefore we came to meet you to make a request of you."
"Which I shall certainly comply with if possible," I replied, regarding
the young girl with genuine delight. She blushed, but looked up with
kindling eyes at Franz as he uttered the word "betrothed."
"It is a request that may seem strange to you, Herr Professor," Franz
continued, "but, nevertheless, I will make it; I am convinced that you
would not wish to cause annoyance either to myself or to my dear
betrothed."
"Most certainly not. Pray tell me quite frankly what you wish."
"It is not much. I would only ask you not to mention to any one our
meeting yesterday here in this place."
The request in itself seemed trivial enough, but the look which
accompanied it was far from meaningless. It betokened intense anxiety
as to whether or not I would accede to what he asked.
In truth, the young man's request was a strange one. Involuntarily my
eyes turned to his wounded right hand. All diverse thoughts ran riot in
my brain. I remembered the large double-edged knife with its bloody
handle lying on the floor of the room in the Lonely House, and then
came the memory of the cut on a brown hand and the doctor's voice
saying, "That looks as if you had grasped a knife by the blade." Again
I saw Franz turn from me to hurry through the undergrowth, and again I
saw him with eyes gloomily cast down as he listened to the physician's
words. I recalled his bitter hostility to old Pollenz, and the old
man's words, "That fellow will kill me one of these days." Hitherto I
had entertained no downright suspicion of the young fellow, but it
suddenly stirred within me.
"Why do you wish me not to mention our meeting?" I asked in reply.
"Because I begged Franz to ask you this," Anna replied for the young
man, whose features as I spoke resumed their wonted gloomy expression.
"Franz told me that yesterday he turned away from you because he wished
to avoid any meeting with you. He feared it might cause you annoyance,
if you had happened to be seen by any chance passer-by walking with
him. He had been waiting for me a long time in vain beneath the old oak
where we are used to meet every day at noon. I could not come because
my father had sent me down to Luttach. Franz was in a very bad humour
when he met you, and so, to avoid greeting you, he turned away into the
forest."
Anna's words had a peculiar effect upon me. They strengthened my
suspicions. If he were not guilty, would Franz have thought it
necessary to have the young girl explain to me why he was in the
neighbourhood of the Lonely House at noon, and why he had turned away
from me with such sullen looks?
"You have not yet told me why I should not mention my meeting with Herr
Schorn," I replied.
"I will explain that to you myself," Franz said hurriedly, "my
betrothed thinks that if Foligno should learn that I was seen yesterday
here in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House, the malice and hatred
with which he regards me would find expression in vile suspicion of
me."
"It would certainly be so. I entreat you, dear Herr Professor, do not
tell a human being that you met Franz yesterday."
As she spoke the young girl looked up at me with such entreaty in her
beautiful eyes that my heart was softened. I was in an awkward
position. Ought I to tell her that I could not comply with her request,
because I had already informed the Judge of my meeting Franz? This I
could not do. I could not warn Franz without perhaps injuring the
investigation; but, on the other hand, I certainly could not make a
promise which it was already impossible to keep.
"I can promise nothing," I replied guardedly; "in an official
examination one is bound to conceal nothing."
"Oh, Herr Professor, I beg, I entreat you----"
Franz interrupted her, and, casting at me a look which was almost
menacing, exclaimed, "Do not say another word, Anna; the Herr Professor
is right; it was folly, yes, wrong, for me to yield to your desire and
make this request of the Herr Professor, who ought not to comply with
it. If that scoundrel, Foligno, suspects me, I know how to meet his
suspicion. Come, Anna, we ought not to detain the gentleman any
longer."
He lifted his hat by way of farewell, and walked towards the forest
with the young girl. My mind was filled with contradictory thoughts.
Can that proud, self-assertive young man be a miserable criminal! I
would so gladly have banished all suspicion of him, but--how terrible
it was that so lovely and charming a girl had perhaps bestowed the
wealth of her affection upon her father's murderer!
I walked slowly towards the Lonely House, where the Captain, sitting
before the door, was awaiting me. He handed me the letter for his
brother, gave me various verbal commissions, and I left with a promise
to visit him shortly in the Lonely House.
"Shall I bring the Herr Professor's lunch into the garden?" Mizka asked
me as I entered the kitchen of the Golden Vine on my return from my
excursion. "The Judge has been lunching in the garden, and is sitting
with his coffee beneath the great linden."
The _Ophrys Bertolini_ occurred to me. I smiled at the remembrance of
the Judge's boast and was pleased at the idea of teasing him. Of course
I ordered my lunch in the garden and betook myself thither.
The Judge was sipping his coffee and smoking his long cigar at the
round table beneath the spreading linden. He seemed sunk in a profound
reverie, leaning his head upon his hand and with downcast eyes. I was
struck with his pallor and with the sallowness and the drawn look of
his features. At my first words he started violently, and for a moment
gazed at me with terror, almost as if awaking from an oppressive dream,
but in an instant he recovered his self-control, and greeted me with a
smile.
"I think I was dozing," he said; "the terrible heat makes me sleepy."
Why should he have told such an untruth? He had not been dozing; just
before he started he had raised his hand to his cigar and had taken a
long whiff.
"I admire you, Herr Professor," he said, "for being able to climb about
in such heat. I suffer from it even here in the shade of the linden. I
trust you were richly rewarded for your trouble."
"I was indeed," I replied smiling. "I have had great luck. I have been
so fortunate as even to discover the place where, yesterday, you
plucked for me the charming _Ophrys Bertolini_."
My jesting words produced a strange effect. Herr Foligno stared
at me blankly; his sallow face grew ashy pale; his mouth twitched
convulsively as he said brokenly, "No, impossible! How--how--could
you--how could you get there?"
"In the easiest way in the world," I replied, tickled that the
discovery of his boast had so startled the worthy gentleman. "The spot,
so difficult and even dangerous to attain, in reaching which you fell
on the rocks and wounded your hand, I found right on the road to the
Lonely House and most easy of attainment. From the path I saw the
_Ophrys_ blooming, and mounted without any difficulty to where it
grew."
"Then you have had the good fortune to discover a new home for it
which I had not known," Herr Foligno replied, having regained his
self-control with surprising celerity. "I found the orchid on an
overhanging rock in quite a distant part of the country."
"Indeed, that is very remarkable. Did you, by chance, lose your pocket
handkerchief there? I found it in my spot--or is it not yours? Look,
the yellow silk shows some spots of blood, probably from a wounded
hand."
With a laugh I drew out the handkerchief and handed it to him; the
black gloved hand with which he took it trembled. He examined it quite
attentively for some time, and then said quietly, "This certainly is a
remarkable coincidence. The handkerchief actually belongs to me, and I
probably lost it yesterday in climbing about the rocks, but certainly
not where you found it, for I was not even in the neighbourhood of the
Lonely House. Probably one of the young goatherds here who scramble
about everywhere in the mountains found it, and lost it again where you
discovered it."
With the greatest calmness he put the handkerchief in his pocket. I
could not refuse him my admiration, for his barefaced explanation
struck me as quite brilliant. Whether I believed him or not, I must
pretend to do so. Laughing heartily, I replied: "I congratulate you,
Herr Foligno, on the happy chance which led the little goatherd and the
old Professor to the same place, one losing, the other finding your
handkerchief to restore it to you."
The Judge probably felt the irony in my words, but he took no notice of
it. He offered me his hand cordially.
"It certainly is a very strange coincidence," he said. "If my
acquaintances here should hear of it, it might give them material for
teasing me quite unpleasantly. You will oblige me, Herr Professor, if
you will not mention this little occurrence. May I rely upon you?"
"Certainly; I will be silent as the grave," I replied, still laughing,
but the suspicious and evil glance which he cast at me quickly silenced
my laughter. He said nothing further about the handkerchief or the
_Ophrys_; he only made a few remarks about the unusual heat of the
weather so late in the season, and then arose, saying that he was
obliged to return to his office, and, therefore, to his regret, must
leave me.
CHAPTER VIII.
QUIET WEEKS.
The first eventful days which I passed in Luttach were followed by
weeks that were more serene. Favoured by the beautiful weather, I made
daily excursions in every direction, reaping a rich harvest everywhere.
I grew more and more familiar with the peculiar features of the
country, and every day I grew more in sympathy with the smiling,
charming valley shut in by mountains crowned with bald summits. The
contrast between the barren gray rocks and the luxuriant valley at
their feet particularly charmed me, and I especially delighted in the
view when the sun sank behind the mountains, which were quickly
enveloped in a soft twilight mist, the noble outlines of their peaks
showing clear against the sky in the light of the setting sun.
The character of the inhabitants of Southern Ukraine soon grew familiar
to me. Intercourse with the country folk whom I met on my excursions
was, of course, very limited; we could not understand each other's
language. Here and there a man who had served in the army could speak
German, but only brokenly. The women for the most part spoke scarcely a
German word, and they found it very difficult to understand the few
Slavonic words which I had learned from Mizka and which I certainly
pronounced very badly. There could be no attempt at conversation, but
nevertheless the Slavonic country folk tried to testify kindness and
cordiality for the stranger.
The peasants evidently held it their duty to offer the hospitality of
their fields to the "flycatcher," as they dubbed me, although sometimes
they found the grass trodden down where he had been. Unlike the Swiss
peasantry, who load with abuse any stranger venturing to trespass in
their fields, these Slavonic country folk seemed glad to have me pluck
flowers and pursue butterflies wherever I would; nay, they would at
times even point out places among the rocks most easy of access and
would assist in my search, never asking for money, accepting at most,
with many Slavonic words of thanks, a cheap cigar. Scarcely ever in all
my travels have I met a peasantry so amiable and kindly as these much
slandered Slavonic country folk. I never heard a harsh word or found a
trace of that hatred of Germans against which I had been cautioned.
And yet it was none the less there at the bottom of all their hearts;
but it was not for the German proper, as the Burgomaster had told me on
that first evening, but for those Ukrainers who in a Slavonic country
aimed at remaining faithful to Germany. Of this I had daily proof in
the expressions which I heard with regard to Franz Schorn.
The young man interested me greatly and I took every opportunity to
inform myself as to his circumstances, his earlier life, and everything
regarding him. What I learned was not of a nature either to weaken or
strengthen my suspicion, and, besides, I could not but acknowledge to
myself that all the sources from which I could gain information were
unfit to give me a true, distinct picture of a young fellow living in
brooding seclusion, as it were, in a community rife with party hatred.
The Clerk, the Captain, and the Burgomaster were the only men who could
sufficiently rid themselves of prejudice to speak really well of the
young man.
All acknowledged that Franz Schorn was an industrious, capable farmer,
who took admirable care of the estate inherited from his father; that
he was well educated, to a degree above his station; but no praise was
accorded to his character; he was said to be an obstinate, sullen
fellow, ready for deeds of violence, filled with party hatred,
maltreating his Slavonic labourers, covetous and hard-hearted. He had
no pity for the poor; his only desire was to gain money and increase
his patrimony, which was the reason why he had cast his eye on the rich
and pretty Anna Pollenz, not because he loved her, but from greed of
gain. This was the verdict of his enemies concerning him. The Captain
and the Clerk alone maintained that he was a man of honour, incapable
of mean or avaricious conduct; that he was reserved and defiant,
willing to defend himself with some violence against all party hatred,
and in other respects the victim of slander and low suspicion. How
could I find the truth in these conflicting descriptions? I pondered
the question in vain. It was certainly remarkable that a handsome,
well-to-do, educated young man should be so generally detested, and it
was hard to believe that such widespread hatred was entirely without
foundation.
I now had many opportunities of observing him. He came almost regularly
every evening to the Golden Vine and took the place at the round table
which the Clerk always reserved for him. It seemed to me that this was
done in order to establish a more kindly social feeling between Franz
and the rest of the company who nightly assembled in the inn. The Clerk
evidently endeavoured in the kindest way to draw him into the
conversation, which he knew how to conduct so that Schorn would have an
opportunity to be heard to the very best advantage in displaying his
clear judgment and admirable intelligence.
The Captain, the Burgomaster, and the doctor aided the Clerk in his
endeavour to establish peace between Franz and the rest of the company,
who, out of regard for these gentlemen, became less antagonistic, to be
sure, but still remained decidedly indifferent. They were content to do
what was required of them socially, greeting the young man when he
entered, but in conversation they avoided all direct talk with him, and
since he addressed all that he said to the three above-named members of
the party, he rarely exchanged a word with the others. The antipathy
existing between Franz and the Judge was especially observable. Between
these two there was an insurmountable barrier of profound dislike. They
never exchanged either a greeting or a word. Franz never even looked at
the Judge, although Herr Foligno watched him narrowly.
As soon as Franz appeared among the company in the evening, the Judge
fell silent. Even though he might before have talked continually, and
at times had even attempted to monopolize the conversation, from the
time when Franz appeared he confined himself to monosyllables or a word
thrown in here and there. He listened to all that was going on and with
special interest when the talk turned upon the failure to discover the
perpetrator of the crime committed in the Lonely House. At such times
his gaze would be riveted with a strange intensity upon Franz Schorn.
No word that the young man spoke, no expression of his countenance,
escaped him then. It was the gaze of the serpent upon the bird which he
is about to devour. This is perhaps an unsuitable simile, but it
occurred to me involuntarily as I saw the Judge watching Franz. I knew
his suspicions of the young man, and knew that he was secretly trying
to accumulate fresh grounds for it. I knew also that his desire was
great to gather from Franz some word that could be used against him,
and I fervently thanked my Creator that after going through two terms
as a student of law, I had given up all legal aspirations and devoted
myself to natural science. There is something positively detestable to
me in the thought of a man like the Judge sacrificing all humanity in
an eagerness to discover the traces of a crime. My discomfort increased
from day to day as I observed the stealthy manner in which he watched
Franz's every word and motion.
Sometimes I actually hated the Judge, but I reflected that I had no
right to do so. He was simply fulfilling the duty of his office, and
probably such fulfilment was most obnoxious to him; he certainly had
before him a most unpleasant and arduous task.
As yet there had been no light thrown upon the mysterious crime in the
Lonely House. The necessary papers had been sent to the court at
Laibach, and there the matter rested for the present. The investigating
Judge and the Attorney General had come to Luttach in person to
convince themselves that there was no trace of the criminal. The stolen
bonds and banknotes had not been found, and, in fact, identification of
these would have been impossible, as there had been no registration of
them.
Nor could the minutest search among the papers of the murdered man give
any evidence as to the amount of his property. The Judge and the
tradesman Weber, each of whom had formerly had dealings with old
Pollenz and occasion to speak with him about his money affairs,
maintained that the old man had kept a list of all bonds in his
possession, and of his outstanding investments, in order that he might
always be fully conscious of the amount of his wealth, but such a list
was not among the papers left behind by the thief. The miserly old man
had speculated with a kind of passion. He was in correspondence with
several bankers in Vienna; no one could tell with how many. These
bankers he commissioned partly by letter and partly through a Luttach
firm of tradesmen, Weber & Meyer, as to the purchase and sale of
various stocks. He excluded every one from all knowledge of his
speculations, and never sold his stock through the same banking house
that had purchased it for him. As no one knew how many banking houses
he employed, it seemed quite hopeless to discover what stock and
government bonds he had possessed, and this, of course, diminished the
chances of the discovery of the murderer should he attempt to sell the
papers.
It must have been a really humiliating reflection for Herr Foligno that
within his district a crime should have been committed without any
possibility of the discovery of the criminal. He might well fear that
those above him would accuse him of a want of acuteness, or of activity
in the performance of his duties. His clear, excellently composed
deposition had evidently not brought him the credit that it should have
done in higher places. When the two officials from Laibach had made
their visit to Luttach, they had put all their questions to the Clerk
and not to himself.
"Perhaps I have been wrong," he said to me after the visit of the two
men from Laibach, "I ought to have required you to give me a sworn
report of your encounter with Herr Franz Schorn in the forest near the
Lonely House. I thought of doing so, but the same feeling which forbade
me to do it upon the first discovery of the murder actuated me to-day
and with renewed strength. Your meeting with him, and the wound in his
hand, now entirely healed, are the only grounds of suspicion against
him, and you yourself proved to me how insignificant they are by your
simple remark that I, too, might be subjected to suspicion from the
same causes. I assure you, Herr Professor, that I cannot be
sufficiently grateful to you for preventing me from taking a step which
I might have repented forever. I do not deny that my suspicion of the
man is even more deeply rooted now than it was then, but it behooves me
to be all the more strict with myself, for hitherto I have discovered
nothing which could justify me in accusing the man whom, nevertheless,
I detest profoundly. Should I do so, all the world would believe that I
was endeavouring to be rid of a hated rival."
I could not but admit that he was right. Circumstances were really most
unfortunate for him. The Lonely House deserved its name now still more
than formerly. It was utterly lonely. After the body of its owner had
been interred in the graveyard of the village of Oberberg, the Captain
had closed it. Anna and her old maid had come to Luttach; she had at
last yielded to the persuasions of the Captain, the Burgomaster, and
the doctor, and had accepted an asylum in the doctor's house. A couple
of unused rooms were quickly furnished for herself and old Johanna.
They did not live there as guests of the owner, but as lodgers. It was
only with the stipulation that there should be no restriction of her
freedom that she had yielded to the wishes of her relatives, and the
first use which she made of this freedom was to declare that Franz
Schorn was her future husband, who should lead her to the altar at the
expiration of her year of mourning. In vain did the Burgomaster, the
Captain, and the doctor entreat the young girl to reserve for a time
such a declaration. Anna was not to be persuaded.
"It is just because all are against him; just because all seem to hate
him in spite of his noble, lofty nature, that I will be true to him. I
have been betrothed to him for two years. As long as my father lived I
could not declare this boldly against his will, but now I can do so."
Anna's declaration produced a disagreeable impression in Luttach. The
little social circle there was greatly scandalized, but even the
loudest scandalmonger had to be silent, since Anna with delicate tact
avoided all occasion for calumny. Her lover never visited her; her only
times for seeing him were when he was invited to the house by its
owner, the doctor, who had at first been really provoked at the girl's
obstinacy, but who now found it impossible to say enough of her truly
enchanting disposition. He had always loved her, ever since she had
been a little child, but had never dreamed of her becoming so charming,
so tender and caressing. His wife, too, was perfectly delighted to have
the lovely girl beneath her roof. He now comprehended perfectly how
that stony-hearted miser, old Pollenz, had yielded to the charm of this
girl, and, being quite unable to resist her, had not ventured to oppose
her meeting Franz beneath the oak daily at noon, for fear of her
forsaking him entirely. But, docile and amiable as Anna showed herself
among her relatives and friends, the Burgomaster, the Captain, the
doctor and his wife, she was correspondingly hard and repellent towards
the Judge. From the Captain, with whom I had a daily gossip in the
early morning in the garden, I learned that Herr Foligno still
entertained a foolish hope of conquering the dislike which Anna felt
for him. Several times since she had taken up her dwelling at the
doctor's he had made an attempt to approach her, but had always been
repulsed with signs of the greatest aversion. The Captain and the
doctor had represented to her that she should at least treat him with
conventional courtesy, but she had declared that for him she had no
courteous, kindly word; she detested and despised him, not only because
her father had once wished to force her to marry him, but because she
had a firm conviction that he was at heart a wicked man. She would give
no grounds for this belief, but she was quite sure it was justified.
The Captain and the doctor must have mentioned to others Anna's
behaviour in this respect; it was known throughout Luttach. There was
much laughing gossip in the little town about the Judge's unfortunate
love. Every evening Mizka detailed to me some town tattle, which was
sure to have for its subject pretty Anna and her two adorers. Perhaps
it was not quite right that I should lend an ear to such downright
gossip, but I do not deny that it interested me, and I could not make
up my mind to interrupt the garrulous maid as she told me of all that
was discussed in the town.
Though I had but very little sympathy for the Judge, I felt rather
sorry for him; he apparently suffered from the unfortunate
circumstances in which he was placed. He had proved, too, that at
bottom he was not a bad man by the consideration which he had shown for
his inveterate enemy, against whom he endeavoured to harbour no
suspicion. It was most unfortunate that he should bestow his affection
upon a young girl who detested him. I could not excuse him for
continuing to sue for her favour after she had shown him her dislike,
and he exposed himself to the ridicule of the townfolk and fell in my
esteem when every evening he sought to drown his woes by drinking
immoderately.
Nevertheless I pitied him. To me he was all amiability and courtesy. He
usually postponed his midday meal until I returned from my excursions
and could partake of it with him. He took much interest in my
collections, particularly in my botanical treasures, and really showed,
for a layman, no little knowledge of the subject. If I had lit upon
some rare plant, he would learn from me its locality, and in the
afternoon would scramble about among the rocks and boast to me in the
evening as he displayed the plucked flowers of the result of his
labours, and that he had discovered another spot rich in such
treasures. If on the following morning I endeavoured to find according
to his directions the place he had described, I became aware that it
could be attained only by what was almost dangerous climbing. The
ascent to a place where he told me I should find quantities of the
_Ophrys Bertolini_ was so hazardous that I might easily have come to
grief had I not been a practised mountaineer. On returning, although I
strictly followed his directions, I could not have rightly understood
them, for I entered a perfect labyrinth of dangerous ravines. It was
almost by a miracle that at last I found my way out of it and succeeded
in descending by an unused breakneck path.
Exhausted beyond measure by such unexpected exertion, I returned to
Luttach at noon and rehearsed to the Judge the danger through which I
had passed.
He replied with a smile, "You must have missed the path in descending
which I described to you. It is not without danger, but still not very
bad. I am glad, however, that you are now convinced of the difficulty
which I had two weeks ago in plucking the _Ophrys Bertolini_. That is
the spot where I found the flowers that I brought you. I still do not
understand how you found the charming plants in a place easy of
access."
So he had sent me upon this dangerous excursion just to rid himself of
the imputation of bragging. This was very clear. I really did not thank
him for it. I said nothing, but determined in future not to explore any
of his wonderful localities. I am not such a passionate enthusiast for
botany as to expose myself, for the sake of a beautiful flower, to the
risk of breaking my neck.
CHAPTER IX.
AN EXPLORING PARTY.
One evening there was so full an assembly round the table in the inn
that all the gentlemen with whom I had become acquainted in Luttach
were present, with the exception of Franz Schorn. He, as the
Burgomaster told us, had driven in the early morning to Görz to bring
thence some expensive agricultural machines which he wished to employ
on his farm. He had promised the Burgomaster to come to the inn late in
the evening to give an account of his purchases, and he was expected to
appear any minute.
Since the young man had of late been a constant attendant at the round
table, the conversation which had formerly been quite lively with
regard to him had ceased. It was all the more lively on this evening,
and the subject of it was the purchases he had gone to Görz to make.
Several of the men present were the owners of large estates. They at
least knew something of agriculture, and yet they were the very ones
who expressed themselves as disapproving of the novelties which Franz
was trying to introduce.
"He is always endeavouring to use something new-fangled and peculiar,"
Herr Gunther, one of the richest of the land-owners in the county,
declared. "These machines are probably useful enough in Germany, in
countries where labour is perhaps very expensive, but they do not suit
us here, where they are a ruinous innovation. We have so many poor
people about us who want work, that it is a positive crime to deprive
them of it by the use of machinery."
"That is just why Schorn buys the machines," another interposed, a man
by the name of Mosic. "He hates our poor Slavonic labourers and would
like to be independent of them. He has probably heard that many of our
best labourers have combined against him and will not work for the
German. Where does he get the money he is spending upon such expensive
machines?"
"The harvests for several years have not been so plentiful as to enable
a farmer to accumulate much cash," said another.
"Perhaps he buys on credit," said the notary, Dietrich.
"Not at all," rejoined the merchant, Meyer. "I have often offered him
credit, but he has never accepted it. 'What I cannot buy with ready
money I will go without; I will not burden myself with debt,' has
always been his reply to me."
"He does not need to do so; he is always economical, and has money
enough," remarked the shopkeeper, Weber. "As he was paying me yesterday
for his clover seed, I saw that his pocket-book contained a roll of
hundred-gulden notes."
"He has certainly spent a deal of money lately; he has purchased two
splendid horses, and they were really not necessary, for the two which
he gave in part payment to Schmelzigsohn were good enough. He is
squandering money at present. People whisper queer things of him. In
fact, they are beginning to whisper no longer, but to talk loudly, and
before long what they say will be proclaimed in the market place."
"It certainly is strange that Schorn has so much money at his command.
Before old Pollenz was murdered he seemed to have very little."
For an instant profound silence followed the last remark of Mosic's. A
strange expression spread over the countenances of those present. The
innuendo in the words just spoken made a most painful impression upon
all. The Clerk was the first to recover himself. With an angry look at
Mosic, he said in a tone of harsh reproof:
"How dare you, Herr Mosic, utter such an accusation against an absent
member of our circle? I shall inform Herr Schorn of what you have said
that he may call you to account for it."
Herr Mosic changed color.
"Oh, pardon me, sir," he said, and his voice trembled; "you entirely
misunderstood me. I have no idea of uttering an accusation against Herr
Schorn. I only repeated the stupid talk of the townsfolk. Of course I
attach no importance to it; it is not my fault if people will talk."
"You ought not to repeat such nonsensical gossip," the Clerk said
angrily.
Hitherto the Judge had taken no part in the conversation. He had sat
silent drinking glass after glass of wine, but now he turned to the
Clerk, and in a very odd tone said, with a glance toward me:
"You judge rather hastily, sir; you should remember that the voice of
the people is the voice of God."
"Pardon me, Judge," cried the doctor; "in this case the despicable
gossip is the voice of the devil; no honest man should repeat or defend
it."
"So say I. 'Tis a cowardly, unworthy accusation!" exclaimed the
Captain, and the Burgomaster nodded assent. "Franz is a rough, morose
fellow, but a man of honour through and through, incapable of
committing a crime."
"Besides," added the doctor, "very little understanding is necessary to
perceive that he never could have committed the murder. Even if he had
been a hard-hearted wretch quite capable of it, no suspicion of _this_
crime could attach to him."
"Indeed!" said the Judge, contemptuously; "I really am curious to learn
why no possible suspicion in this case could attach to Schorn."
"Upon my word, it is sad to think that I, an old doctor, understanding
nothing of criminal law, should have to instruct a learned Judge as to
what his simple, sound, good sense should teach him, but since it is
so, since such ridiculous gossip has found no one in this circle to
expose it as such, it must be. The murderer was certainly a man with
whom old Pollenz was very intimate; Franz he hated like sin and held
him to be his mortal enemy.
"When little Anna went to Luttach with old Johanna, her father locked
the front door behind them, and, as always when resting at noon,
withdrew to his own room and bolted himself in. Whoever wished to enter
the house or to see its owner would be obliged either to break down the
door or be admitted by old Pollenz himself. Now, no sensible human
being could believe that the old man would have opened his door for
Schorn, to allow himself to be murdered--for Franz Schorn, of whom he
was afraid, of whom he always said, 'Schorn will kill me one of these
days.' He would have drawn a double bolt on every door if Franz had
asked for admittance, but on this occasion he drew back the bolt and
opened the door. There is no trace of any violence used in opening it,
and a bolted door cannot be opened unless from within, or with
violence; therefore I maintain that the murderer must have been an
intimate friend of old Pollenz, and in no case can the slightest
suspicion attach to Franz Schorn. I think I have now proved this
clearly."
"Clear as sunlight; the legal profession loses a shining light in you,
doctor," the Judge rejoined, his thin lips curled in a contemptuous
smile. "After your lucid defense," he continued, "it seems to me
incumbent upon us all to say not one word to Franz Schorn of our
previous conversation; he would surely be deeply offended and insulted
if he could believe that any one of us entertained the smallest doubt
of his innocence. We must take it upon ourselves to discountenance the
town gossip wherever we hear it, always taking care that the young man
learns nothing of the rumours concerning him. The object of such
rumours can never combat them himself. Should he try to do so, it would
but strengthen belief in them; but we can have many opportunities to
silence slander. I hope you all agree with me, gentlemen."
All agreed. The doctor offered the Judge his hand in token of
acknowledgment, and said with a kindly nod:
"You are a good fellow, after all, Judge, and I beg your pardon. It is
fine of you to stand up so bravely for Franz, although you cannot
endure him. I will not forget it of you."
That the Judge's words had produced their effect upon all present, even
upon those most opposed to Schorn, was evident when the young man soon
afterward entered the room; he was received with more cordiality and
kindness than ever before; it really seemed as if Herr Gunther and Herr
Mosic were trying by their courtesy to atone for the words spoken in
his absence.
Franz was so pleasantly surprised by this friendly reception that he
became far more amiable and genial than ever before. At the
Burgomaster's request, he explained the new machines which he had
bought in Görz and the use to which he intended to put them, not only
for his own advantage, but hoping to improve the agriculture of the
entire Luttach valley by introducing them generally.
This excited a little war of words between him and the two land-owners,
who declared themselves opposed to the introduction of new methods, but
their opposition was expressed with so much moderation that Franz could
not take offense.
And the Captain, who, as a good Conservative, was strongly opposed to
the introduction of machinery in agricultural operations, sided with
the land-owners.
"You mean well, Franz," he said; "you would like to increase the
prosperity of our valley; but with your cursed innovations you put the
cart before the horse. You will never improve the labourer's condition
by depriving him of his means of subsistence."
"These machines will not deprive the labourer of his work. On the
contrary, they will give him an opportunity of working more effectually
than has been possible for him hitherto. A more thorough cultivation of
our fields and vineyards will create a fresh demand of labour, which
will be better paid than ever."
"Dreams, dreams, in which I have no faith," replied the Captain. "The
manufacturers of these machines and the people who sell them have
started these tales. When a machine undertakes the labour hitherto
performed by man, the man sinks to the machine's level. In all great
manufacturing towns the labouring class, with very few exceptions, is
poverty-stricken and starving. Don't tell me of such innovations. We
should count ourselves happy that here in the country we have hitherto
been free from machinery."
"Nevertheless, perhaps because of this, our labourers here suffer the
bitterest poverty."
"That is because the last few years have been poor ones. If the
peasant's harvest fails and the vineyards do not flourish, the labourer
can earn nothing. Your machines cannot improve his condition; they can
only make it worse. The Herr Professor has given me an idea of what
would improve the condition of our people here more than ought else."
I gazed at the Captain in surprise. I did not remember that I had ever
said a word to him about the poverty of the labouring class in the
Luttach valley, or had ever mentioned any means whatever of improving
their condition. He nodded to me with a gentle smile, and then
continued:
"Yes, yes, Herr Professor, you do not recall how on the very first
morning after your arrival among us we had a conversation which I
remember well. Our valley should be opened to tourists; we are situated
just between two important railways, not more than a league distant
from each; we could be visited with the greatest facility, and where
tourists are gathered together money is sure to circulate; all will be
the gainers; the inns, the tradesfolk, those owning horses, who will
hire out carriages; the laundresses, and even the labourers, who will
be employed either as drivers or as guides for excursions among the
mountains."
"What talk is this, old friend?" the Burgomaster interrupted him with a
laugh. "What have we here to attract tourists? They can make the ascent
of Nanos very easily from Prayvalt, and our valley has really nothing
more to show. It is quite wonderful that a naturalist, our Herr
Professor, should have visited us. Certainly none of those who travel
for pleasure would ever contemplate coming hither."
"Therefore we must try to find something that will attract them. The
Herr Professor called my attention to the fact that we live on from day
to day without regard to our ignorance as to whether we do not possess
a greater attraction for travellers than the Adelsberg Grotto. Does any
one of us here present know how extensive are the caves which we
possess, and whether they may not perhaps be finer than the grotto at
Adelsberg? The only one among us who has interested himself about them
is, if I do not mistake, Franz Schorn, and he has done very little in
the way of exploration. How is it, Franz; am I not right?"
"It is true that I have done very little in the way of exploration. I
penetrated furthest into the cave in the grove of the Rusina. It is a
laborious piece of work. I lost all desire to penetrate further; it
seemed useless."
"The Herr Professor thinks differently. Do you still desire to attempt
to explore one of these caves, Herr Professor? I was anxious to offer
you my assistance in so doing some time ago, but this horrible murder
has occupied our minds to the exclusion of every other thought."
The Captain's proposal was very welcome to me. In my excursion on the
forenoon of this very day I had gazed with much interest in the grove
of the Rusina, at the dark opening among gigantic blocks of granite. I
had an intense desire to explore it, but prudence called a halt.
Overheated as I was in climbing about the mountains, I would not expose
myself to the danger to which the cold, damp interior of the cave would
expose me, and, besides, it would have been very foolish to attempt any
exploration without companions, for the slightest slip might prove
fatal. No one would ever have looked for me in the cave; if not killed,
I might have starved before I was discovered.
Such considerations at the time forbade gratifying my desire to explore
the cave, but it awoke again within me at the Captain's offer; it
pleased me that it should be so entirely voluntary. I thanked him and
declared that I would gladly take part in an exploration of the cave
whenever he should arrange it.
"Bravo! Then let us set to work early tomorrow morning and begin with
the cave in the grove of the Rusina. You will join us, Franz!"
"Gladly. I only fear that we shall not get far. There is a deep abyss
not many yards from the entrance."
"How deep is it!"
"I do not know. I threw a lighted match into it, but it was quickly
extinguished; and a stone which I cast down soon struck some rock and I
could not see where it lay. I took no pains to explore further."
"Then we will try to do so to-morrow. Let us take with us a couple of
sturdy fellows, who can carry torches, some lanterns and a sufficient
length of strong rope, with perhaps a ladder or two. I will take with
me some magnesium wire, which will give us a brilliant light in the
depths."
Franz agreed. We discussed the interesting expedition further, and
decided that we would start at seven o'clock the next morning.
"May I make one of your party?" the Judge asked, when we had completed
our arrangements. Franz Schorn started and regarded the speaker with a
searching glance. Evidently he was about to refuse decidedly, but
thought better of it, bit his lip, and, with a slight gesture of his
hand, referred the matter to me. I cannot say that the proposal was
agreeable to me. I was surprised that the Judge should be willing to
take part in an expedition to which Franz Schorn was, to a certain
degree, the guide. I feared some unpleasant encounter between the two
men and I should have liked to refuse. This, however, courtesy forbade.
The Judge had always been so amiable and obliging in his behaviour to
me that it was impossible for me to decline his company.
He noticed that I hesitated a moment, and, probably guessing whence
such hesitation proceeded, continued with a smiling look at Franz
Schorn:
"I am very much interested in our Ukraine caves, and I have already
visited a number of them. The cave in the grove of the Rusina is not
unfamiliar to me. I have not explored it to the extent of which Herr
Schorn tells us, but I am familiar with the entrance and would like to
penetrate its depths. Of course, I voluntarily acquiesce in the
intelligent guidance of Herr Schorn, who will take command of our
expedition. You would oblige me very much, Herr Professor, by your
permission to accompany you."
I could not but accord it. It was impossible to do otherwise. The Judge
thanked me, as he did Schorn and the Captain, so courteously that I was
half inclined to suspect his sincerity. The prospect of this expedition
seemed to delight him. He suddenly became talkative and showed an
uncommon amiability to Schorn, although the young man met his advances
with monosyllabic replies. His attempt to make himself acceptable to
him was not happy; his cheerfulness seemed forced; his friendliness
assumed; his gaiety feverish. In his usual attitude at the table,
looking gloomily into his wineglass, he impressed me very unfavourably,
but to-day, when he was talkative and gay, I was still more
unfavourably impressed.
I had a very strange feeling with regard to the Judge. I could not but
acknowledge that he was a good, honourable man. He had shown this
abundantly; but I felt a vague, instinctive aversion to him, which,
however I struggled against it, increased the more I knew him.
I was uncomfortable in his society that evening; therefore I rose from
my place earlier than usual and called Mizka to light me to my room. To
my surprise, the Judge followed my example, although he had just
ordered another measure of wine.
"I will go with you, Herr Professor," he said, and he accompanied me
without drinking his wine. "To-morrow, then, at seven o'clock, Herr
Schorn."
As he spoke he offered his hand to Schorn, but the young man ignored
it.
"It is to the Herr Professor or to the Captain that you owe permission
to accompany us," Schorn said, with cool contempt. "I have not agreed
to it. You and I have nothing in common."
"Perhaps you are wrong, Herr Schorn. I may convince you of this
to-morrow. I willingly submit myself to your guidance. Good-night."
His features wore a detestable sneer as he uttered these words, and,
bowing to the rest of the company, he followed me.
Upstairs on the landing I would have bidden him good-night, but he
said:
"I followed you, Herr Professor, because I want to speak a few words
with you alone. Allow me to go into your room with you. I'll not detain
you long."
Of course I invited him to enter and to take a place on the old
straight-backed sofa, curious to learn what he could have to say to me.
When Mizka, after having lighted the candles, left the room, he sprang
up, went to the door and opened it to convince himself that she was not
listening, and then opened the door leading to the adjoining room to
make sure that no one was there. Then he returned to me, and in a voice
trembling with agitation said:
"I pray you, Herr Professor, to give me at once, now, your report of
meeting Franz Schorn in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House."
I was startled. I had not expected this demand. Surprise made me
speechless for a moment. I could only ejaculate "Herr Foligno!"
"I understand your surprise, your dismay," he continued. "Believe me,
it has cost me a struggle to resolve to make this request, but it must
be. I may have neglected my duty in postponing it so long. Now, when my
suspicions have become almost a certainty, I can wait no longer. I am
compelled to collect all the grounds for it that I possess, and among
them belongs your meeting with him near the Lonely House. The paper
must be sent to the Attorney General at Laibach. It must be, Herr
Professor; you cannot refuse me. Every man of honour is bound to
support the authorities in the investigation of crime. You could not
wish to shield a criminal from the rigour of the law."
"Most certainly not; but I am more than firmly convinced that Franz
Schorn is no murderer. You yourself, scarcely an hour ago, admitted the
proofs of his innocence adduced by the doctor."
"Did you not perceive that my words were ironical? I was obliged to
change the subject of the conversation. Franz Schorn must not be warned
by his friends. He must believe himself safe from discovery, or he will
betake himself to flight, for which the money gained by his crime gives
him abundant opportunity. Trieste is not far off, and a guide thither
is quickly found. I was obliged to conceal from him the knowledge that
I have discovered his crime. I put force upon myself to control my
abhorrence of him. This very night I must complete the full report
showing forth all the evidence against him, and in this I must include
your meeting with him near the Lonely House. An official will take the
paper to Laibach and deliver it in person; then the Attorney General
must decide whether the evidence it contains be sufficient to warrant
Schorn's arrest. I am myself perfectly convinced of his guilt. I ought
perhaps to arrest him on my own responsibility, but I will not expose
myself to the reproach of acting from personal hostility. I shall watch
him narrowly to prevent his flight, and therefore I begged to be
allowed to join your cave exploration. His arrest I will leave to the
Attorney General in Laibach. Thus I have explained to you frankly the
grounds for my action, and I pray you to give me the report for the
protocol, which you promised me a week ago. This report should consist,
in order to save yourself and myself unpleasant after inquiries, of the
declaration that to your meeting with Schorn you attached no importance
in the beginning, but since you have learned that the voice of the
people pronounce him the murderer you hold it to be your duty to
mention seeing him in the forest. You might add that you hold this
meeting to be of no importance and that you are most unwilling to
arouse a suspicion of the young man, but that, nevertheless, you feel
it your duty to tell of your encounter with him. I think such a report
cannot outrage your sense of justice."
"It does not accord with my sense of justice to admit a suspicion which
I think false. If I make my report now, it will look as though I shared
this suspicion. The Attorney General would so interpret it, even though
I declared the contrary. I ought to have made the report immediately
after the discovery of the murder. You prevented my doing so then, and
now I will not make it until I see at least the possibility of other
grounds for it."
"It is the duty of the Attorney General, not yourself, to judge of the
importance of your evidence," Herr Foligno replied sternly. "It is the
duty of the private individual to impart to the proper authorities
every circumstance that may be connected with a crime. Of course you
know that."
"It is not his duty," I said angrily, "if his inmost conviction is that
the circumstance he relates has no connection whatever with the crime,
although it may serve to arouse suspicion. If what you maintain be
correct, I ought also to advise the Attorney General that you yourself
were in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House on that morning and that
I found your pocket handkerchief where you had been plucking _Ophrys
Bertolini_."
Herr Foligno shot such a look of rage at me from beneath his black
brows that I started in terror. I had no idea of affecting him so
deeply by my words. In a voice trembling with anger, which he vainly
strove to control, he said:
"Then you would tell the Attorney General a falsehood. I have told you
that I did not pluck the flowers in the neighbourhood of the Lonely
House, but at a great distance from it, and in a spot difficult to
find, and that my handkerchief was by accident where you picked it up.
Is it possible that you do not believe me, although I have told you all
this distinctly?"
He probably read in my face that I was not convinced of the truth of
this statement, for he continued in a sharp, angry tone:
"You doubt, in spite of my words. Perhaps you entertain the possibility
of my having some connection with the crime----"
"What folly, Herr Foligno!" I cried, interrupting him. "I mentioned you
and your pocket handkerchief only to contradict your assertion that it
was my duty to tell of an insignificant experience. If I ought to
report having seen Franz Schorn near the Lonely House, I also ought to
report the finding of your handkerchief under the same circumstances."
"If you really consider this your duty, I shall not gainsay you," he
replied darkly, not lifting his eyes from the ground. "It is no affair
of mine. My task is to send this very night my deposition, containing
an account of your meeting with Franz Schorn, to the proper authorities
either with or against your consent. I may find myself in a very
unpleasant position and even imperil my office when I relate that I
myself advised you to withhold your report concerning Schorn, but
personal considerations must yield to my sense of duty. I had thought,
Herr Professor," he continued, in a more friendly tone, finding me
still silent, "that you would not willingly thus embarrass me. Believe
me, I would not so insist upon your evidence were I not thoroughly and
firmly convinced of the young man's guilt. To show you how highly I
esteem you, what implicit confidence I place in your honour and
silence, I will tell you, although scarcely warranted in so doing, of
the results of my laborious investigations during the last few weeks.
You yourself will then be convinced of your duty. It is a hard task for
me to make these revelations to you, for not only do they militate
against Franz Schorn, but against one who has been very dear to my
heart, and for whom to-day, in spite of my better judgment, I feel warm
affection; but it must be; you shall hear all."
"Proceed; you may rely upon my discretion."
I waited for what he had to say with intense eagerness. For a few
moments he sat silent, with downcast looks; then he began, not once
looking at me as he spoke:
"It is difficult to indicate the precise moment at which suspicions of
Schorn were aroused within me. You yourself know of his bitter enmity
towards old Pollenz, whose death he could not but desire, since it
alone would bring him the fulfilment of his dearest wish. You know of
his being near the Lonely House immediately after the murder. You know
also of the wound in his hand, to account for which he told of having
grasped a double-edged knife as it fell from where he had left it. His
reluctance to show the wound to the doctor, and, more than all else,
his sudden accession of wealth after the crime, accuses him loudly. He
has made purchases which would have been impossible with his own
unassisted means. All these grounds of suspicion the doctor thought to
annihilate by his acute reasoning, showing that old Pollenz himself
could not possibly have admitted Schorn and that the murderer had
evidently entered the house without any violent breaking in of the
door. How is this to be accounted for? Unfortunately, the explanation
is only too clear. Fräulein Anna Pollenz, when officially examined, as
well as in her words to the Captain and to the doctor, portrayed a life
in her father's house absolutely opposed to reality. She maintained
that her father loved her most tenderly; that he was always kind and
gentle to her, and that even her connection with the hated Schorn and
her refusal to give me her hand had produced no change in his demeanour
toward her. Anna's words were universally believed. Who could doubt who
looked into her eyes and acknowledged their spell? To see her is to
love her. She wins all hearts at once. Every one believes her; every
one trusts her; and nevertheless every word that she spoke is false.
For years the Lonely House has witnessed terrible scenes between father
and daughter. The old man abused the lovely child outrageously because
she would not obey him. Unfortunately I myself was often the cause of
this abuse, although I declared continually to old Pollenz that I never
would claim Anna's hand unless she bestowed it upon me voluntarily;
unless I succeeded in winning the young girl's love. The old fellow was
a rough, heartless, violent man; a coward to those stronger than
himself, brutal to those who were weaker. He locked his daughter up; he
half starved her; he beat her so that she escaped from him bleeding.
For years he never spoke a kind word to her. He had unbounded
confidence in me; he even angrily complained to me of her disobedience.
I myself have witnessed frightful scenes, and on several occasions
prevented him with all my physical strength from maltreating the
beautiful, unfortunate child in my presence."
"Frightful!" I exclaimed. The dreadful picture which the narrator
unfolded before me filled me with horror.
"Beside myself, there is one other human being who is aware of the
family life in the Lonely House. Old Johanna was a witness of the
maltreatment which the unhappy girl suffered daily in our presence; in
the presence of others the old man assumed a kind, mild demeanour
toward his child; old Johanna suffered almost as much as Anna from the
brutality of her master. She would long ago have left him if she had
not been detained by tender affection for her mistress. After what you
have just heard you may judge with what amazement I was filled upon
learning after the death of old Pollenz that Anna had described her
relations with her father as happy, peaceful, and loving, and that old
Johanna in the final examination, had confirmed all that Anna said. I
pondered long to discover what grounds Anna could have for such a false
representation of the actual circumstances and why she should suddenly
develop such inconceivable hatred for me, who had so often protected
her from ill treatment. When at last I suspected the true cause I found
it difficult of belief. I alone can expose the tissue of lies which she
has woven around herself. I alone cannot be won over to testify to her
truth, as she has won over old Johanna, who would perjure herself
willingly for her darling, and Anna needs such falsehoods. It is almost
impossible to believe that the daughter, driven to madness and despair
by daily ill treatment, herself opened the locked doors for her lover.
Spare me further words, Herr Professor. My reason becomes confused when
I reflect on a deed so horrible. Ever since this solution became clear
to me, sleep is banished. I toss restlessly throughout the night. My
thoughts dwell perpetually in the Lonely House. At times I have feared
that I should become insane. The struggle raging within me during these
last few days is indescribable. I loved Anna with all my heart. I love
her still, and, although it is madness, I shall love her to my last
breath. Neither her crime nor the hatred which she displays towards me
can kill this insane love within me, and fate has ordained that I
should be the inexorable judge, the dread accuser of her lover, in
ruining whom I ruin her also; but I must do my duty, let my heart bleed
as it may."
He had finished. The narrative had agitated him fearfully; he trembled
in every limb; his eyes glowed as with fever. I was scarcely less moved
than he. His words had torn the veil from my eyes; I could now see the
fearful scenes in the Lonely House clearly, and how they had led to the
final deed. I was ineffably sad. Great as was my detestation of the
horrible crime, I could not but pity deeply the unfortunate child whom
despair had maddened. Detestation, horror and pity by turns filled my
heart. I could put myself in the place of the unhappy man who had just
revealed to me his innermost soul.
How long we confronted each other in silence I cannot say. We were both
too deeply moved to give expression in words to our feelings. Herr
Foligno recovered himself first. His voice no longer trembled as he
asked, after a long pause:
"Will you now sign the report which I will write out for you?"
"Yes."
I brought him paper, pen and ink. He quickly took down the evidence I
had to give, as he had before required that I should give it, and then
read aloud what he had written. I had no objection to offer, and signed
it.
He arose and held out his hand in farewell.
"I have another terrible night before me," he said. "To-morrow a
messenger must take this early to Laibach, and a hard day will follow a
weary night for both of us. It will not be easy for you, Herr
Professor, to make one to-morrow of Franz Schorn's party to the cave
without allowing him to perceive your detestation of him."
"I cannot; I shall excuse myself on the plea of illness."
"No, Herr Professor, you must not do this. Schorn will surely learn
through Mizka that I came with you to your room; he might suspect
something. A criminal of his calibre is on the watch for the merest
trifle which can arouse suspicion of his discovery. You, too, Herr
Professor, have a hard duty to perform, but it must be done. You must
be one of the party, as I shall be. Neither the Captain nor Schorn must
dream of what the near future will bring forth. I trust to your honour,
and I know that I do not trust in vain."
"You may rely upon me; I will control myself."
With another pressure of the hand we separated.
CHAPTER X.
AN ACCIDENT?
As I tossed restlessly in bed I heard above me, as on the first night
after the murder, the pacing to and fro of the Judge. A magnetic
connection seemed to exist between us, causing me to think what he
thought, and to feel what he felt. The same terrible images which
banished sleep from his eyes were present before mine. I heard the
church clock strike hour after hour, and only with the first glimmer of
dawn did I enjoy a short slumber.
At five o'clock I awakened. My first thoughts dwelt upon what the Judge
had told me the evening before. It now appeared to me in quite a
different light. I was more composed. The nervous agitation which had
then possessed me had vanished. I could reflect upon what I had heard.
As the Judge had spoken in his excitement, what he said had such an
effect upon me that it all seemed to me absolute verity without need of
proof, but now doubts sprang up, and a clearer understanding demanded
its rights.
Had Herr Foligno really divulged to me unvarnished facts, which
convinced me of the guilt of Schorn and of his betrothed, as his
accomplice? No! He had accumulated evidence as the doctor had done. The
only fact was that Anna had not adhered to the truth in describing her
relations with her father, and was it not natural that the daughter
should try to clear her father's memory of all evil! It was very
natural that her filial affection should awaken after her father's
terrible death; that she should forget everything that had distressed
her in their relations--his harshness, even his maltreatment--and
remember only his love. And for this was she to be accused as an
accomplice in an accursed crime!
I was ashamed of my credulity. Might not Herr Foligno be governed by
prejudice even to misunderstanding the relations between father and
daughter! A harsh word spoken by the father to Anna in his presence
might appear to him an intolerable offence, while Anna might scarcely
notice it.
I really could not comprehend my credulity of the previous evening, or
how I could have been led by the Judge's excitement to regard as facts
the arguments he had adduced.
And if Anna were not guilty, where were there grounds for suspicion of
Franz Schorn? I repented having signed the deposition and having
promised to be silent with regard to it; but I had given my promise,
and it must be kept. Perhaps, after all, it was as well, for my report
would elicit a judicial investigation of all grounds for suspicion of
Franz Schorn, who could be acquitted of all imputations only by a
thorough examination which could clear him from every suspicion
entertained of him by his fellow-townsmen.
All these considerations soothed me. I could contemplate the expedition
which I had arranged with Franz Schorn for to-day without aversion. It
was rather disagreeable to know that the report signed by me was
already on its way to Laibach, while I was one of a party of pleasure,
all friends of the young man; but I would not ponder on this; it was
irrevocable.
Soon after six o'clock I went down to the garden to take my morning cup
of coffee, and there I found the Captain and Franz awaiting me to
discuss the details for our excursion. Franz was full of life and
animation. I had never seen him so gay, so happy. There was no trace of
the sullen expression which sometimes clouded his handsome face. His
morning greeting was so cordial that I felt ashamed indeed as I shook
his proffered hand. This pleasant, happy young man guilty of a murder?
It was folly, nay, it was wicked to hold any such idea for a minute.
He had early completed every necessary preparation for the excursion we
were about to make. The Captain and I had really nothing to provide;
even the magnesium wire had been bought at the druggist's. Two stout
labourers, who could speak German, were ready to accompany us, each of
them provided with a thick, pointed staff and a long rope, not too
thick, but very strong. Half a dozen pitch torches Schorn had procured
from the fire department, and a lantern for every member of the party.
In addition, the men carried after us two short, strong ladders.
On the stroke of seven Herr Foligno entered the garden. He greeted
Schorn politely; the Captain and myself cordially. He looked ill and
worn. I had never seen his sallow features so expressionless, but his
dark eyes shone with feverish excitement.
We began our walk. The people who met us looked after us in surprise as
we strode through the streets of Luttach. Apparently they could not
understand how two men, known to be such bitter enemies as Herr Foligno
and Franz Schorn, should be walking so peaceably side by side.
At the furthest end of the town we descended to the bed of the Rusina.
In early spring, when the snow melts quickly upon Nanos and when heavy
rainfalls create hundreds of little brooks from the mountains, the
Rusina dashes along in wild fury; but after a drought it is almost
dried up, and is only a shallow rill of water trickling between the
stones of its rocky bed. We could walk along it without wetting our
feet. It was not very agreeable walking, but it was the nearest way to
the grove, which we reached after scarcely ten minutes.
Here, in the centre of this grove, consisting of scarcely a hundred
huge oaks, there is a pile of mighty rocks; large blocks, covered with
luxuriant green moss, are heaped together in a confused mass, in which
is an opening, black and forbidding, about the height of a man, which
forms the entrance to the cave we were to explore. Here we halted and
consulted. It was decided that we should enter in single file, Franz
Schorn first as our guide. I was to follow him. Herr Foligno came after
me, and the Captain was last. Our two porters closed the little
procession. The lanterns were lighted and each of us took one.
We entered the cave, which was at first tolerably spacious; into it
daylight penetrated, making a dim twilight. About four or five yards
above us arched a roof of black, moist stone. The ground beneath,
descending rather precipitously, was covered with small fragments of
rock which had apparently fallen from the roof, loosened by the
dampness. There was no trace of the beautiful stalactites for which the
Adelsberg Grotto is so famous. The light of our lanterns was quite
sufficient to reveal clearly the part of the cave where we stood and
the path leading down to the depths. A few yards from the entrance the
cave narrowed. There was room between the walls of rock for only two
men to walk abreast; and indeed the walking was extremely difficult,
because of the slippery scales of rock with which the floor was strewn.
Forward! We walked, or, rather, we scuffled, downwards, in danger at
every step of falling on the slippery stones. After a few minutes our
path grew easier; it no longer descended; although still strewn with
fragments of rock, the danger of slipping was less. We had more room.
The walls retreated and vanished beyond the circle of light cast by our
lanterns, which could no longer illumine the roof of the cave arching
above us.
"'Here it resembles a cathedral,' the Adelsberger guides would say, if
they were here," said Franz Schorn with a laugh, stopping and raising
his lantern. "How high this dome is I have never before with my
insufficient light been able to discover, and just because I had
insufficient light I ventured but little further into the cave."
"You reached an abyss which prevented your further progress; at least
you told us so yesterday," said the Judge.
"True. It is only a few minutes' walk from here. If we go through the
cathedral and turn a little to the left, we shall reach the only outlet
which leads further among the rocks. It is a very narrow, rocky way,
suddenly ending in a sheer abyss. It is for us to discover to-day
whether it is possible to be lowered by a rope into its depths and to
find sufficient foothold below to enable us to continue our
exploration. When, four or five years ago, I last entered the cave,
quite alone, I could go no further, and so I returned from this spot."
"Must we turn to the left!" asked the Judge. "You are mistaken; we must
turn to the right; to the left the cave is completely blocked by a heap
of rocky fragments."
Franz Schorn regarded the speaker with surprise, bethought himself a
moment, and then exclaimed:
"True, you are right. I remember now that I found a heap of rocks on my
left, and then turned to the right to find an outlet. But how did you
know this, Herr Foligno?"
One of the two porters laughed aloud, and answered in the Judge's stead
with some words in Slavonic, which seemed to surprise the Captain as
well as Schorn.
"What, Herr Foligno, you were here in the cave a week ago, with Rassak,
and ventured as far as the abyss, and never told us anything about it
yesterday?" exclaimed the Captain.
"I told you that I had entered the cave, but had not gone far. I do not
talk much of such trifles," he replied irritably, adding:
"Shall we not light a couple of torches to see how high the roof is?"
The torches were lighted, but did not suffice to reveal the height of
the cave. Only when the magnesium light flamed up and cast its dazzling
radiance upwards did we perceive for a few moments the rocky roof some
twenty yards above us.
"This is gruesome," said the Captain, with a long breath, as the
brilliant light was extinguished and the darkness around us seemed
deeper and blacker than before. "We can now understand how the floor
beneath our feet is so covered with fragments of rock. Evidently large
pieces fall from the roof and are broken into a hundred bits below.
Look, Herr Foligno; the stones just here show traces of having been but
lately broken. At any minute another fragment might fall and be the
death of us."
"Yes, such an exploration is not without danger," the Judge replied
with a sneer. "But let us proceed, gentlemen. The shorter the time
spent here beneath this roof the less danger is there that we shall be
injured by a falling rock. Let us go on, in the same order as hitherto.
You go first, Herr Schorn."
"Since you visited the cave only a week ago, you had better act as
guide, Herr Foligno."
"No, I refuse. I expressly stated yesterday that I should be entirely
guided by you, and I repeat it. Therefore, pray, Herr Schorn, go before
us; I will follow with the Herr Professor."
Schorn made no further objection. We pursued our way, keeping to the
right, and entered the narrow opening between the rocks, which seemed
the only means by which to penetrate further into the cave. It was
narrower than any path hitherto. It would have been impossible for two
men to walk in it abreast, but there was more than enough room, when in
single file. Our lanterns and the torches of the porters cast
sufficient light to show us a gentle ascent in front and to enable us
to proceed free from all risk of danger.
"We have reached the abyss," Schorn said, halting after a few moments.
"Here we can go no further, and if we cannot find, after being lowered
by a rope, another opening, our exploration party has reached its
limits. The abyss appears to be not only sheer, but the rock upon which
we stand overhangs it somewhat. I will lie flat on the ground and look
down. Perhaps I shall succeed in finding an outlet, but I must have a
brighter light than that of the lanterns. Give me one of the torches,
Herr Professor."
A torch was passed from hand to hand; I gave it to Schorn, who laid
himself flat on the ground, and, leaning over the abyss as far as
possible, endeavoured to cast into it the light of the torch. As he lay
there I had a view of the depths, but it gave me little hope for the
continuance of our exploration. The red light of the torch was
sufficient to show me a black wall rising twelve or fifteen feet on the
opposite side of the abyss. It seemed to bar all progress, giving no
hint of any outlet. A few feet above our heads the smoke of the torches
hung in a cloud, which found no egress from the cave.
"Beneath us, scarcely twenty feet below, there is firm footing," cried
Schorn, "and, if I do not mistake, the cave then leads to the right
among the rocks; but I must have a brighter light."
He handed the torch back to me and took a piece of magnesium wire from
his pocket. The next moment the cave as far as we could overlook it was
illumined as by an electric light.
"A happy discovery; we can go on," cried Schorn, delighted, as the
light was extinguished. "I can assure you, gentlemen," he said, rising,
"that the first difficulty is almost without danger, and easy to
overcome."
We crowded about him; even the two porters were determined not to lose
a word of his description.
Beneath the overhanging rock, at a depth of scarcely fifteen or twenty
feet, there was a firm footing, a platform of stone quite broad enough
to give standing room for at least five or six men, and from this
platform a way was distinguishable on the right through a narrow
opening in the rocks.
"Now you see, Herr Foligno, I was right a week ago. You would not
believe me, but so it is," exclaimed Rassak, one of the porters,
exultantly, speaking German.
"Who asked your opinion!" the Judge said harshly.
"Did Rassak, then, discover the continuance of the cave?" said the
Captain.
"Well, yes," the Judge replied irritably. "It seems at present that he
was probably right. He lay down on the ground and let down a lantern by
a rope, and then declared that the cave had a further outlet. I lay
down after him and looked down, but I could see no opening. I did not
believe him, and it was partly to convince myself whether or not he was
correct that I offered to accompany you to-day. I could not explore it
myself then; I had no rope strong enough to lower me to the platform
below, which might have been done without danger."
"Not quite without danger, at least for the first to attempt it,"
Schorn remarked calmly, "but it is not great. It needs a little swing
on the rope to reach the platform, but when one man obtains firm
footing there, the rest is easy. I will be let down first, and can draw
the rest toward me. The porters must stay here, that they may pull us
up when we return."
"But it seems to me a very perilous undertaking," said the Captain
anxiously. "We cannot expose our Herr Professor to such danger. If the
rope breaks before he reaches the platform, or if he should be seized
with giddiness, he would fall into a bottomless abyss."
"I will guarantee the strength of the rope," said Franz Schorn.
"And I that I shall suffer no dizziness; I do not know the sensation."
I was so keen for the continuance of our exploration that I was almost
irritated by the Captain's anxiety on my behalf. The danger would have
to be far greater than it was to deter me from further progress.
Hitherto I had found no trace of a cave beetle; there had been nothing
living among the bald black rocks. Only at a greater depth could I hope
to satisfy my passion for collecting.
"If the Captain thinks the danger too great, he can remain with the
porters. I shall be glad to follow the Herr Professor," said the Judge;
whereupon the Captain turned upon him angrily, declaring that he was
not thinking of danger for himself, but for the old gentleman who was
their guest in Luttach; since, however, the Herr Professor wished to
go, he himself should surely not remain behind.
Thus we determined to proceed. Franz Schorn gave us the necessary
directions. He wished us to put the rope around us and to hold it
firmly when we were lowered. These directions were not necessary in my
case; I have made use of rope so often with my guides among the
glaciers, and have so frequently been let down from the rocks to obtain
some rare plant, that I was quite familiar with its use. There seemed
to be no possible peril here, even for Franz Schorn, for four of us
would hold the rope and we could lower him very gradually for the short
distance to the platform below, making any great swing of the rope
impossible. The two porters could easily lower the Captain, who was to
be the last of us to follow.
Schorn arranged the rope so that he could place himself in the loop; he
fastened a lantern to it, and then advanced to the edge of the rocks,
seated himself, and, still holding to the irregular surface he slowly
lowered himself, while we, holding the rope, paid it out inch by inch.
I followed him to the edge, but I did not look down, because I
concentrated all my attention upon the paying out of the rope.
After scarcely a minute we heard him call from below:
"Halt! I am all right. Draw the rope up again."
I laid myself flat on the ground and looked over the edge of the
platform, which was now illuminated by the lantern which Schorn held.
It was light enough for me to see the young man distinctly as he stood
quite comfortably not far below me. I could also discern the black
opening to the right, the continuation of the cave.
"Follow me, Herr Professor," Schorn called up. "Do just as I did; there
is no danger; seat yourself in the loop and as soon as you are lowered,
I will drag you to me. A dozen men beside us could find room on this
platform."
I did as he directed and seated myself in the loop, but as I was about
to swing clear of the outer edge of the rock to follow Schorn's
example, my heart suddenly gave a leap. For a moment horror overcame me
as I looked into the depths below; I hesitated to cast myself loose.
"Are you afraid, Herr Professor!" The Judge stood immediately behind
me, regarding me with a sneer. His eyes gleamed strangely as he leaned
over me.
There is no greater folly than to expose oneself to a danger out of
fear of being called a coward. I have often declared this, but at that
moment, old man as I am, I committed this folly.
"Hold the rope firmly; I will let myself down," I replied.
"Have no fear, we will hold it fast."
I hovered above the abyss and was slowly lowered. I had almost reached
the platform when I heard above me a strange creaking; at the next
moment I knew I was falling, but a strong arm was thrown around me and
Franz Schorn and I staggered and fell on the platform. Just then I
heard a scream from above.
"Great God!" exclaimed the voice of the Judge. "The rope has broken;
the Professor has fallen into the abyss!"
This was all the work of a moment. I tried to stand up, but I could
not; my right ankle was terribly painful. Franz Schorn, who had fallen
with me, was quickly on his feet.
"I never will believe that the rope broke," he whispered. He seized it
and examined it by the light of his lantern on the ground; mine had
been broken and extinguished in my fall.
"It was half cut through before it broke," he said in a dull tone.
"That scoundrel, Foligno, has tried to plunge you into the abyss."
Hastily taking a knife from his breast pocket he cut off the end of the
rope and handed it to me.
"Keep this," he whispered. "You may perhaps need it for proof that the
rascal tried to murder you."
I heard his words, but I did not understand him. My thoughts were in
wild confusion; I was still half stunned by my fall. Mechanically I
followed his directions and put the piece of rope in my pocket. Only
gradually did I clearly understand in what danger I had been, and that
Franz Schorn had ventured his own life to rescue mine. It was almost a
certainty that I should drag him down to the abyss, but he had seized
me as I fell, and at the risk of his life had pulled me back to the
platform.
"You have saved my life----"
He interrupted me. "Don't speak of it. We all help one another as well
as we can. What we have to think of now is how to reach the rock above
us without injury."
He suddenly paused, as from above came the voice of the Judge:
"Thank God! The accident is not so bad as I feared. I can see the Herr
Professor and Herr Schorn on the platform below. Are you hurt, Herr
Professor?"
"I believe my right ankle is broken," I called back.
"Good heavens! What shall we do?"
"Why, of course," Schorn replied, "you must lower the second rope to
pull us up. I beg, however, that Rassak may be the first man, Bela the
second, the Captain the third, and that you, Herr Foligno, do not touch
the rope. It might break in your hands a second time. I will not trust
you with the Herr Professor's life or my own."
The Judge made no reply. For a moment all was silent, and then the
Captain called down to us:
"What nonsense you are talking, Franz! You have mortally offended the
Judge. He had nothing to do with the accident. He is in despair that
the Herr Professor should be injured."
"His anger is of no consequence," Franz answered. "He promised me to
submit to my orders, and I insist upon his not touching the rope
again."
A long discussion began. The Captain was seriously angry at the offence
Franz had given to the Judge, whom he attempted to soothe, but Franz
declared positively that he would wait with me on the platform for
hours until Rassak could procure two other men rather than trust
himself and me to a rope passing through the hands of the Judge. He
said nothing of his suspicion that the rope had been partly cut
through, and, therefore, the Captain thought his demand unjustifiable
and prompted solely by hatred of his foe. He was indignant, but he was
obliged to comply with the young man's demand, in order that I might be
relieved from my most unpleasant situation as soon as possible. He
promised that Rassak should be stationed close to the edge and that the
Judge should take no part in the pulling up of the rope. While the
Captain and Franz were discussing the matter I had examined my ankle,
and, to my great joy, found that it was not broken, but had been
severely sprained by my fall. It was excessively painful, but I could
move it; I could even stand with Franz's assistance. Some moments
passed, and then Schorn's name was called from above.
"Is that you, Rassak?"
"Yes."
"Where is the Judge?"
"Herr Foligno has gone back to the dome alone. He is to wait there
until we come."
"Lower the second rope to me; I wish to examine it."
After a minute the rope hovered above us; Franz seized it, unfastened
it from the other rope to which it was tied and examined it narrowly by
the light of the lantern.
"It is sound and uninjured. I feared the rascal might have cut this
through secretly; but he has not dared to do so. Now we can allow
ourselves to be pulled up without delay."
Rassak was ordered to pull the rope up again and then to throw down to
us the broken one. This was done. Franz cut a piece from the broken end
with his knife and gave it to me, saying:
"Keep it with the one you have, Herr Professor."
After which he busied himself with preparations for my rescue. These he
made with great care, trying the strength of the rope which he tied
about me and of the loop in which I seated myself. Although I protested
and declared that I could now care for myself perfectly, he used the
piece of old rope to keep me steady as I ascended, holding it firmly
below to prevent any swaying of the other. Thus I reached the top of
the rock in safety, although my short ascent had caused almost
intolerable pain in my sprained ankle, and when Rassak received me in
his powerful arms above, I could not move the injured foot. I tried to
stand up and to walk, but it was quite impossible. Rassak was forced to
take me on his broad shoulders and carry me back to the dome. The
Captain and Bela carried their lanterns in advance; without their light
he could scarcely have made his way along the narrow path through the
rocks. Franz was obliged to wait on the platform for some minutes
before being drawn up.
We found the Judge seated on a block of stone at the entrance of the
rocky way beneath the dome. He sprang up as we approached.
"Thank God, Herr Professor!" he cried, throwing his arm kindly about me
for my support, as Rassak placed me on the ground. He pushed aside
several large stones to make a comfortable bed for me. He even took off
his coat and put it upon the rock that I might have a softer resting
place. He was full of kind attention, far exceeding the Captain, who
congratulated me in a few simple words and expressed his joy upon my
escape; nevertheless I had a strange sensation, akin to fear, when he,
with Rassak and Bela, returned through the narrow way to rescue Franz
and I was left alone in the vault with the Judge. Involuntarily I put
my hand in my breast pocket where was the trusty companion of all my
excursions, my revolver. I could not but recall Franz Schorn's words on
the platform, and the impression which they had made upon me was
deepened when my hand met the small pieces of rope. I dreaded to see
the fading light of the last lantern disappear in the narrow pathway. I
was miserably uncomfortable in the spacious dark vault, where the light
of a single lantern cast a ray of light so weak as only to enhance the
black darkness of the place.
The Judge seated himself close beside me, and when the Captain vanished
in the narrow path he seized my hand.
"Herr Professor," he said, modulating his voice to the lowest whisper,
"I have been assailed by a horrible suspicion as I sat here. I feared I
never should see you again. Was the accident which befell you
occasioned by chance? If the rope was strong enough to sustain the
heavy weight of Schorn, how could it break with the much lesser strain
of your weight? Tell me, Herr Professor, does Franz Schorn know that
you have told me of his meeting you in the forest on the day of the
murder?"
"No."
"Then what I feared is but too certain. You saw him in the
neighbourhood of the Lonely House on that day. The only witness against
him must die. While he stood beneath us on the rocky platform he
loosened the rope and cut it so that it parted as we were lowering you.
We will examine the rope; there must be traces of a cut in it."
Schorn had brought against this man the very accusation which was now
brought against himself. He could have had no cause for his
supposition, whilst the reason adduced by the Judge was not without
probability.
"Perhaps you will object," the Judge continued, "that he has saved your
life; that without his aid you must have fallen into the chasm. He need
not have stretched out his hand if he had wished to murder you. This
thought also occurred to me, but, upon reflection, I find that my
suspicion is only strengthened by your rescue. Perhaps his movement was
involuntary--an impulse of the moment to seize a falling man--but,
again, perhaps your rescue is only part of a cunning scheme. He makes
sure that you never could decide to speak a word against the saviour of
your life; he does not know that this word is already spoken. He
thought, therefore, that he could save your life and yet attain his
purpose without burdening his soul with a second murder. Indeed, should
suspicion arise that the rope did not break accidentally, he might
easily cast it upon another. Why else did he demand that I should take
no part in drawing you up? He wished to arouse suspicion of me in your
mind and in the Captain's. None could attach to him, were it discovered
later that the rope had actually been cut, if he saved your life, and
he will not fail to remind you that it was at the risk of his own. He
is a thorough villain and incredibly cunning. I fear I shall have many
difficulties to overcome before establishing the proof of his guilt and
revealing him as the murderer of old Pollenz."
The Judge's words produced a deep impression on me. Had not everything
that he set forth actually happened? One thing was certain--the rope
had been cut. Whose was the blame? The Judge's--who could have no
interest in plunging me into the abyss? Why should he attempt to take
my life? Franz Schorn's--who had saved my life at the risk of his own?
However the Judge might endeavour to disparage the danger to which he
had exposed himself, I knew better. I had felt him stagger as he leaned
over beyond the rock and dragged me toward him. The success of this
hazardous action was due to his physical strength and good luck; it was
little short of a miracle that he had not been dragged down to the
depths with me. Where lay the truth? In vain I pondered; I could not
fathom it.
Voices were heard coming through the narrow pathway, and the Captain,
Rassak, Bela, and last of all, Schorn, appeared. Franz gave me a kindly
nod; of the Judge he took not the smallest notice, but resumed his
command and the guidance of the expedition. He directed the porters to
strap together the ladders, of which we had hitherto made no use, and
upon them placed the jackets of the men of the party, forming a litter
for me. Rassak and Bela then bore me from beneath the vault to the
entrance of the cave. I suffered intolerably; only when we had again
entered the forest and my kind companions were able to make my litter
softer with boughs and branches of trees did I find any relief from the
torture I was enduring.
In this melancholy wise we returned to Luttach, and thus ended my
investigation of an unexplored Ukraine cave.
CHAPTER XI.
FORCED SECLUSION.
I was confined to my lofty bed in my chamber in the inn for three days.
The doctor insisted I must stay there with cold compresses upon my foot
until the inflammation had entirely disappeared, and then a week at
least must be spent in my room with the injured leg stretched out
before me, nor could I dream of undertaking any further excursions
until two weeks at least had elapsed.
This was a melancholy prospect. Two weeks of imprisonment in the bare,
low-ceiled guest-chamber No. 2; while out of doors the sun was shining
and calling me to wanderings in the forest and on the mountains. But
what cannot be cured must be endured.
I could not complain of ennui. Of society I had more than enough; I
sometimes longed to be alone for an hour to reflect upon my remarkable
adventures, but I had visitors in unbroken succession, and until late
in the evening I was not left for a moment to myself.
All the gentlemen whom I had met about the round table in the
dining-room came to testify in the friendliest manner their sympathy,
and to beg me to relate my adventures, while Mizka and Frau Franzka by
turns saw to my comfort, attending most carefully to the compresses
upon my ankle. I could not have been more kindly and attentively cared
for than in the Slavonic inn in Ukraine. But it was almost too much of
a good thing. Their perpetual attention became burdensome, and the
constant stream of visitors wearied me. To tell the same thing over
and over again was not very amusing, especially as a number of my
auditors--Weber, Gunther, Meyer, Mosic, and the notary, Deitrich--did
not seem to give full credence to my story; that is, with regard to my
rescue by Franz Schorn. They put all sorts of questions to me with
regard to what had passed on the platform of rock, questions which I
could not or would not answer, for, of course, I said not a word of the
rope's bearing traces of having been cut, although this seemed to be
just the very point to which they wished to lead me.
Through the Clerk, Herr Von Einern, I at last learned the reason for
their persistent questions. He expressed his indignation at the account
which Herr Foligno had given on the evening of our adventure. It was
eminently devised to arouse in his hearers a suspicion that in some
manner Franz Schorn was to blame for my accident. He did not speak
explicitly, but as unwilling to blame Schorn; he would leave that to
me, who had sustained the injury; but in speaking thus he had contrived
to increase the desire of those present to hear more.
The Captain confirmed his statement, but was indignant not only with
Franz Schorn, but with the conduct of the Judge himself. He would not
forgive Schorn for accusing Herr Foligno to me, apparently without any
reason, while he found the revenge taken by the Judge unworthy and
mean. In his opinion there had simply been an unfortunate accident; the
rope had been cut by some sharp projection in the rocks; Franz had
certainly risked his life to save mine, but this did not justify him in
what he had said of the Judge, which made Herr Foligno the direct cause
of the fall.
In the end I positively could not tell what to think of the affair. My
harassing doubt was corroborated by a visit in the evening from the
Judge. He had seen me during the day, but only for a few minutes at a
time, to express his sympathy and to ask after my welfare, saying
nothing during these short visits concerning my adventure; but in the
evening he paid me a longer call, begging permission to bestow his
society upon me for a while and to drink his wine in my room instead of
in the dining-room below. He settled himself comfortably beside me,
informing Mizka and Frau Franzka that he would assume the care of me
during the evening and change my compresses. I tried to prevent this,
but he would take no refusal, and rendered his services with assiduous
precision. It was quite touching to see how careful he was to avoid
giving me the least pain, and how he anticipated my every wish.
I could not but be grateful, but I was not comfortable in his society,
for as soon as Mizka and Frau Franzka had left the room he took the
opportunity to express himself most clearly with regard to our
adventure and Franz Schorn. He informed me that he had received a
telegram from Laibach announcing that the investigating Judge and the
Attorney General would visit Luttach on the morrow to conduct
personally further inquiries, desirous of hearing from my own lips the
manner of my meeting with Franz Schorn on the day of the murder. He
coupled this information with the desire that I should not withhold
from the gentlemen what I thought with regard to Franz Schorn's
connection with my accident.
When I refused point blank to do this and declared that I suspected
Franz of nothing, that I was convinced that accident only had caused
the breaking of the rope, he became very indignant at such ill-judged
forbearance.
"I cannot understand you, Herr Professor," he said angrily. "Suspicion
is almost become certainty. Schorn has betrayed himself by superfluous
caution. It is a common experience among lawyers that the criminal
often furnishes the clue to his discovery by excess of caution, and
this has been Schorn's case. To destroy all traces of a cut in the rope
he has cut off both ends of the break and thrown them away in the cave.
Perhaps they can still be found; but should this not be the case, the
fact of his so disposing of them tells against him. What other aim
could he have in thus destroying all traces of the cut?"
"But he did not throw them away. He cut them off in my presence and
gave them to me. Here they are," I replied, taking the ends of rope
from my breast pocket.
I spoke and acted without thought, as I felt the moment the words were
out of my mouth and I perceived their effect upon my hearer. He started
from his chair as if from an electric shock and took instant possession
of the ends of rope.
"He gave them to you," he cried, "and why? Ah! now I understand it all.
Conscious of his guilt, he feared discovery, and bethought himself, in
his over-caution, to inform you of what had been done. Suspicion must
be thrown upon another, and I was that other. Tell me frankly, Herr
Professor--I have a right to ask it--tell me, did he not hint to you
that I had cut the rope?"
I had acted like a fool and was now painfully embarrassed. I was
obliged to confess to him that his suspicion was correct. He instantly
grew excessively angry.
"What doubly detestable villainy," he cried, "refinement of
rascality--to throw suspicion on me and to adduce as proof the cut
which his own knife had made, and which, of course, he knew well enough
where to find! Of course I know that his words did not make the
smallest impression on you. Nevertheless they anger me beyond
expression. I did not credit even the villain that he is with such
rascality, but it shall react upon himself. These two fragments shall
bear witness against him. I shall give them to the Attorney General
to-morrow."
"Indeed you will not," I replied firmly. "I owe my life to Franz
Schorn. Without his aid I should now be lying dead in the depths of the
cave. I do not know whether a knife or a sharp stone worked the
mischief, but I do know that Schorn risked his own life for mine. This
is solely my affair. My life was imperilled and I surely have the right
to demand that no evil shall be said of him who preserved it."
"Will you deny me the right to clear myself from all suspicion? This
can be done only by proving that Schorn himself cut the rope."
"No one has suspected you except Franz Schorn, and to me alone has he
expressed his suspicion. I am sure that the breaking of the rope was an
accident. I shall not allow suspicion to attach to any one, either to
you or to Schorn. I require of you to return to me the pieces of rope
and to be silent to the Attorney General concerning the whole matter;
the affair concerns myself alone."
Herr Foligno made many objections to my demand. I found it difficult to
soothe him; he was so indignant with Schorn for showing me the ends as
proof against him. He burned with the desire for revenge for such an
insult, and I succeeded only with great trouble and much entreaty in
persuading him to be silent and to return to me the ends of rope.
He remained until far into the night--a civility I could easily have
dispensed with. I was not comfortable in his society. I tried in vain
to talk on indifferent subjects; he persisted in returning to the
adventure in the cave and always with an attempt to cast further
suspicion upon Schorn. His hatred for Franz and his indignation at what
Franz had said to me was so great that he could think of nothing else.
He would have tormented me, I believe, until daybreak with his
accusations and his discussions of the matter; but at last I frankly
told him that I had need of repose, and then he bade me good-night.
CHAPTER XII.
AN ARREST.
I had to undergo a long examination. The investigating Judge and the
Attorney General came from Laibach. Immediately after receiving Herr
Foligno's deposition, they determined to take the very uncomfortable
journey to Luttach to hear for themselves from witnesses on the spot
all that was known regarding Franz Schorn's actions and whereabouts
during the last few weeks. The investigating Judge told me of this with
all the courtesy of an Austrian official. With entire lack of reserve,
he informed me that although Herr Foligno's carefully prepared paper
was quite sufficient to attach suspicion to Schorn, it did not at all
suffice to convince him of the young man's guilt. He requested me to
tell everything that I knew of Schorn and to hold back nothing out of
regard for the man who, as he had already heard in Adelsberg, had saved
my life. It was my duty to tell not only the truth, but the whole
truth.
The Judge was a handsome, kindly man, so courteous that he would not
have me summoned for my examination to the court house, but took down
my deposition in my room. Yet with all his amiability and in spite of
the sympathy which he apparently felt for Franz Schorn, his inquiries
were frightfully searching; he forced me to tell him more than I wished
to.
I had intended at this hearing to confine myself to what I had dictated
in the Judge's deposition, but I could not keep my resolution. When the
Judge asked me if Franz Schorn, of whom I had seen much in the last few
weeks, had never told me his reason for avoiding me in the forest, I
could not reply in the negative, and I was forced to assent, and to
relate the conversation I had had with Franz and his betrothed. I could
not conceal that each had requested me to say nothing of the meeting in
the forest. Such an interview as this of mine with the Judge is very
curious. The witness knows that every word he utters is upon his oath,
and also that it may decide the fate of a fellow mortal. Every
consideration vanishes before such a responsibility, and I could have
none for the Judge. I had to acknowledge to my examiner that Anna and
Franz had given as a reason of the request for my silence that the
Judge's hatred of the young man was so intense that he would surely use
my meeting with Franz as evidence against him.
The Judge shook his head thoughtfully on hearing this; he evidently did
not credit their explanation. Had I cherished no suspicion? Had it
never occurred to me as odd that Franz Schorn should have wounded his
hand? I could not deny that such a suspicion had occurred to me, but I
could declare with a good conscience that it had vanished entirely
after I had come to know Schorn better.
What was the reason that after this first awakening of suspicion I had
not informed the authorities of my meeting with the young man in the
neighborhood? Why had I withheld this information until the day before
yesterday? This keen questioning forced me to an exact reply. I told of
how I had desired to give information immediately of my meeting with
Schorn, and I gave Herr Foligno's reason for begging me not to insert
it in an official deposition, and as a natural consequence I related
the reasoning by which he had induced me to render to him my official
statement.
"Strange; very strange," said the Judge, more to himself than to me.
"Herr Foligno has allowed personal considerations, personal feelings to
influence his official action. Very unjustifiable!"
He was silent for a while and then questioned me further with continued
and frightful thoroughness. I did not wish to speak of the adventure in
the cave, but when the interview was over, I had told everything that I
knew about my fall, my rescue, and the accusations made by Schorn and
the Judge with regard to the cut ends of rope. After the official paper
had been read to me and I had signed it, the Judge offered me his hand.
"Your testimony has been of the greatest importance, Herr Professor,"
he said gravely. "You have so far confirmed suspicion against Schorn
that the young man's arrest is an unavoidable necessity, but at the
same time you have proved to me that an influence has been at work in
this unfortunate affair which I must investigate further. Whatever may
be the true history of the strange adventure in the cave, Schorn
undoubtedly saved your life and you owe him gratitude for it. If you
wish to testify this, you can do so by preserving profound silence with
regard to your testimony of to-day as well towards the friends as to
the foes of Herr Schorn, and, of course, to Judge Foligno. He has
nothing to do further with the official investigation; he must in his
turn appear as a witness, and it is especially desirable for the
establishment of the truth that your testimony with regard to him
should remain unknown. May I hope that you will promise me inviolable
secrecy towards Herr Foligno, Herr Professor?"
"Certainly, most willingly; but what am I to reply when Herr Foligno
questions me? He wanted to send you an account of the adventure in the
cave, and only desisted at my express desire."
"Do not let this consideration influence you. It is of the greatest
importance in the investigation that the Judge should know nothing of
your testimony with regard to the adventure in the cave. If he asks
you, tell him the simple truth; it is unlawful for witnesses to discuss
together their testimony, and he is henceforth a witness like yourself.
Tell him that I told you this, and that I enjoined it upon you to
refuse even the slightest information with regard to your testimony."
With this counsel, which I determined to follow implicitly, the Judge
took his leave. He left me in an indescribable agitation, which
increased when the District Judge paid me a visit immediately after. He
came, as he told me frankly, to learn how the investigating Judge had
received my testimony. When I told him of the promise which I had
given, he was greatly surprised.
"I! A witness like all the rest?" he cried indignantly. "These
government officials are so puffed up with pride and self-conceit that
they don't know what they are about. They owe to me, to my activity, to
my research, every ray of light cast upon the darkness of the crime,
and now they push me aside, rob me of the reward of my discovery, and
regard me as a simple witness; but they shall not succeed; I will not
submit; and you, too, Herr Professor, you need not feel yourself bound
by a promise which no one had a right to exact from you; you may
without fear tell me anything that you desire."
"I do not know whether I should be justified in doing so or not," I
replied, shrugging my shoulders. "I do not know the Austrian laws, but
I am well aware that if I have undertaken no legal responsibility, a
moral one rests upon me not to speak of my testimony after the promise
which I have given. You must pardon me, Herr Foligno, if I preserve
absolute silence."
He looked at me angrily and evilly. "As you please; I shall make no
further request of you," he said after a little pause. "One thing I
have a right to demand of you in a matter which concerns me personally.
Have you----"
"I regret that I can make no reply to any question, whatever it may be.
My promise to be silent was given unconditionally."
He cast at me a glance full of rage and left the room without saying
farewell. I had deeply offended him by my persistent refusal. I sat
alone with a heavy heart, discontented with myself. I had offended the
man who had been so kind and courteous to me during my stay in Luttach,
and I had also placed him in a perilous position by my testimony to his
superior. This was a very disagreeable thought. He was not aware of it,
but when he learned it, would he not have a right to be angry with me
and to accuse me of a breach of confidence? I had strengthened
suspicion against Franz Schorn, the saviour of my life. It was my fault
that the young man was now threatened with the loss of his liberty. I
was provoked with myself for my imprudent and frank expressions, and
yet again, when I reflected on the late examination and the questioning
I had undergone, I could not have answered differently in accordance
with the truth. I had surely only fulfilled my duty as a witness. In
the deepest anxiety and with torturing impatience I awaited further
developments. It was desperately hard to lie there and have cold
bandages on my sprained ankle. I would have given anything to be able
to do something, or that the visitors whom I had found so tiresome
yesterday would return to-day, but I was, and remained, alone, confined
to my bed.
Two hours passed. At last quick footsteps approached my door. Mizka
entered breathless, her cheeks crimson, her eyes glowing, to tell me of
what was the talk at present of all Luttach. Franz Schorn was the
murderer of old Pollenz. The gentlemen from Laibach had been searching
Schorn's house at his farm outside the town, and had found quantities
of money, banknotes, and stock, and government bonds and other papers
of value, all the wealth of the murdered man. Nevertheless Franz had
denied everything, declaring that he was innocent, but his brazen
falsehood had done him no good; he had been arrested, his hands
fettered, and thus manacled had been brought between two gendarmes to
Luttach. As he passed the house of the doctor, his betrothed was
sitting at the window. She had seen him and had rushed down into the
street. She had embraced him before everybody--he, the murderer of her
father! The gendarmes were obliged to unclasp her arms. She had not
wept a tear; she had looked up at him with sparkling eyes when the
gendarmes bore him away.
"Do not despair, Franz," she had called after him. "God will not suffer
the innocent to be condemned."
Then she had quietly gone with the doctor, who led her back into the
house. Franz, however, had walked on between the gendarmes, his eyes
cast gloomily on the ground. He had replied not a word to the abuse
which was showered on him from all sides.
"Murderer!" "Dog of a German!" and other insulting epithets had been
hurled after him by an increasing crowd of common people. He did not
seem even to hear them. The people were so excited against him, so
infuriated that the gendarmes had the greatest trouble in shielding him
from their attack, and could hardly have succeeded in doing so if the
Judge himself had not protected him from a couple of savage fellows,
two labourers who had been dismissed from Schorn's farm and would
gladly have revenged themselves upon their former master for their
dismissal. By earnest admonition and threats of punishment the Judge
had succeeded in quieting the mob, assuring the people that the
murderer would not escape justice. He accompanied the prisoner to the
court house, receiving no thanks from him for his protection. Not a
word did Franz address to him.
Upon an order from Herr Foligno, Herr Gunther provided a vehicle and
horses, and, accompanied by the two gendarmes, bore off the manacled
prisoner. The Judge said he would be taken to prison in Laibach and
kept there until the court assembled, when he would be certainly tried
as a murderer and hanged.
All this Mizka detailed to me in the greatest agitation. Evidently she
felt much satisfaction in the discovery of the murderer, and that it
should be precisely Franz Schorn, whom every one hated, who was now
delivered over to the law. Not a word of sympathy did the girl, usually
so good-humoured, have for the unfortunate man; not a doubt of his
guilt stirred within her; with a triumphant smile she left me after she
had told her news.
"The voice of the people is the voice of God," the Judge had once said.
The doctor had replied, "The people's gossip is the voice of the
devil." Was the Judge now proved to be right? The proof of Schorn's
guilt seemed to grow clearer, and yet, strangely enough, my doubt of it
grew stronger with every hour. My reason told me that there could be no
room for doubt, now that upon searching his house the booty had been
discovered, but my heart rebelled against even this proof. I felt for
the first time that I had taken more than a fleeting interest in the
young man, that there had been between us a heartfelt sympathy which
forbade me in the face of all proof yet adduced, to believe in the
possibility of his guilt.
I was not long left to my melancholy reflections. A visitor interrupted
them. The Burgomaster came, not only to inquire after my welfare, but
to tell me of the discoveries made with regard to Schorn and of all
that had been going on in the town while I lay bedridden. He had not
yet left me before another visitor appeared, and he was followed by a
third and a fourth. All the evening cronies of the round table made up
for their absence in the morning, and through the entire afternoon I
was not again alone. All my visitors brought melancholy confirmation of
what Mizka had told me. Even the Captain and the Burgomaster were now
convinced of Schorn's guilt, and acknowledged their conviction openly.
The search in his house had brought much to light; so much money had
been found that it was impossible to believe Franz had come by it
honestly. His very conduct told against him--his bare-faced denial, as
well as his unbroken silence when no credit was given to his words.
There was but one opinion as to his guilt, and also as to the behaviour
of the Judge. Even the Judge's opponents declared that Franz owed his
escape from the indignant mob to his magnanimous protection. There was
also but one voice with regard to the conduct of the Laibach court. It
had been admirable, particularly that of the investigating Judge, who
in a single day had discovered every particular concerning Schorn's
life during the last few weeks. Almost all the gentlemen and a number
of other people besides, as well as Bela and Rassak, had been examined
by him. The officials had said nothing of the result of their evidence,
and had enjoined the strictest silence upon the witnesses, who,
however, were at liberty to declare that they considered Franz Schorn
guilty, and they did so. The Clerk alone, Herr von Einern, prudently
withheld his opinion in the matter.
Did the doctor also believe in Franz Schorn's guilt? He and the Judge
were the only ones who paid me no visit on this day. The Judge probably
could not forget my refusal to answer his questions, and was still
offended. I was at heart very glad that he did not come. His visit
could have given rise only to unpleasant discussions; but the doctor I
should like to have seen, partly to obtain medical advice for the
night, and partly to learn his opinion of the discoveries concerning
Schorn. My wish was fulfilled late in the evening, when it was nearly
nine o'clock. The doctor came, but he was not alone. To my great
surprise he was accompanied by Anna Pollenz. My astonishment when I saw
the lovely Anna enter the room on the arm of her old friend must have
been mirrored in my face, for Anna blushed, and the doctor, with his
characteristic short laugh, which I was always glad to hear, said:
"You wonder at this strange visit so late in the evening, Herr
Professor. Well, you are right. This little girl might as well have
come to you to-morrow morning, at a more fitting time; but she gave me
no rest until I complied with her wish and brought her to you. If I had
not consented she might perhaps have come all alone, and have given
occasion for all sorts of gossip in Luttach. The entire population of
the town has run mad; even the most sensible are infected with the
nonsense which is heard on all sides. I could not have believed it, but
since Franz's arrest and removal to Laibach, even the Captain and the
Burgomaster have lost faith in him and consider him guilty, and yet
everything adduced against him is thorough, unmitigated bosh. Not a
word of it is true. The gentlemen from Laibach are principally to
blame, with their arrest. They would hardly have proceeded to such
extremities if the Judge had not taken care that they should hear from
all sides the falsehoods invented by himself. This poor little girl has
had a frightful day. Not only has her Franz been arrested--that is not
the worst, for he will very soon be free again--but all the world, with
the exception of the Clerk and myself, believe in Franz's guilt, and
people are not ashamed to declare this openly. This makes my little
Anna desperate. 'The Herr Professor, who loves Franz so much, cannot
think him guilty,' she said, and insisted upon coming to you. I could
not but do as she asked, and here we are. Well, perhaps it is all
right; the poor child will not speak here to deaf ears, and will be
soothed to see that every one does not consider Franz a murderer and
thief. Sit down, my child, here in this chair, and pour out your heart
to the Herr Professor. He will listen to you kindly."
I had been observing Anna during this long introduction. Her colour
changed from red to pale and then to red again as the old doctor
continued. Her eyes sparkled as she turned to me, and she gazed at me
with an imploring expression in them. She was wonderfully lovely. My
heart gave a throb. Was I altogether free from blame?
Anna seated herself at her old friend's bidding beside my bed and gazed
at me with a long, searching look in her dark eyes, as if to read in my
face the possibility of my thinking her Franz guilty.
"You cannot mistrust him, Herr Professor," she said, "he has such a
regard for you, and he saved your life."
There was not much logic in these words, but they made me ashamed of
myself nevertheless. Franz could not be guilty unless she were his
accomplice, and I had almost believed in his guilt. I could not endure
the look of those pure, clear eyes; my own dropped before them. I was
ashamed.
"If all the rest think him guilty," she continued in a tone of firm
conviction, "you cannot. You believe in him, and you must feel it your
duty to do everything you can to prove his innocence, for he saved
your life. Therefore I come to you; I wished to speak to you before
to-morrow. I shall sleep quietly, for I know that you will stand by me.
Franz told me yesterday evening that the Judge had tried to take your
life; that he is your worst enemy. You will counsel me truly when I
have confided to you a secret which I have kept until now, a suspicion
which I have not ventured to utter even to my dearest friend and
relative."
"Speak, dear child," I replied, taking her hand and pressing it
cordially. "I assure you that I have no dearer wish than to establish
the innocence of the saviour of my life."
"I know it and will trust you," she replied frankly. "You and my kind
friend, the doctor, both of you shall counsel me," she continued,
clasping my hand in one of hers and extending the other to the doctor.
"What do you mean, you strange child?" the doctor cried. "If you have a
secret upon your soul, you ought to have told me of it long ago. If you
needed counsel, you could always have had it from me."
"I did not dare to. Franz forbade me. Franz himself did not believe me
until yesterday evening. He is innocent. He always said that my fear of
Herr Foligno and my detestation of him misled me."
"Of whom are you speaking, child!" asked the doctor.
Instead of answering, Anna turned to me.
"When you reached the Lonely House on that terrible day, Herr
Professor, did you not see in its neighbourhood another man beside
Franz?" she asked.
"No. No one."
"I did not mean near the house itself, but on the upper path, the one
leading along the rocks to Luttach?"
"I saw no one there either."
"You did not see him? I am sorry. Franz was sure yesterday that you
did."
"But who in all the world should the Professor have seen!" asked the
doctor curiously.
"The Judge," Anna replied. "I was sure I saw him, but I would not say
so decidedly, and Franz, until yesterday, thought I might be mistaken
and would not allow me to found an unjust suspicion upon an uncertain
fact."
The doctor was as astonished and startled as was I by Anna's words. He
desired to know more from her, and when I begged the young girl to give
us her full confidence and to tell us all that she knew and believed,
she yielded to our request and related what had lain so long upon her
heart.
When on that dreadful day Anna had left home and was going down the
path with her old Johanna to Luttach, she looked up by chance where the
oaks grew thin and saw on the upper pathway a man approaching the
Lonely House. She thought she recognized the Judge, but she could not
be certain, for she had seen the figure only for a moment and had taken
no trouble to recognize it, since she attached no importance to what
she saw. The Judge had often gone to her father and had usually taken
the upper pathway, wherefore she did not think of it again. Only upon
hearing the terrible news of the murder of her father was the strange
suspicion suddenly aroused within her that the Judge was the murderer,
and this suspicion had been gradually confirmed. To hardly one other
human being except to his friend the Judge, would her father have
opened the locked front door. While he was alone he would have admitted
no other. The Judge had known that her father had large sums of money
in the house and was quite familiar with the place where they would be
found.
"But had I a right upon such slight grounds to found a suspicion of a
respectable man? I asked myself," Anna proceeded. "I answered no, but
in spite of this 'no' I could not combat my thoughts, and it was most
terrible for me that I myself was partly to blame for my father's death
if my suspicion were correct. The day before the Judge had come to
visit my father, and had not found him at home. My father had left
word, however, that he would soon return, and I thought I ought to tell
this to the visitor because it might have provoked my father to know
that I had turned away his friend. The Judge then begged my permission
to wait, and when I gave it reluctantly, he sat down by me in my room
and began a conversation. During this conversation I told him that my
father had gone to Luttach to get papers of value from the post. He
would not send old Johanna because the sum in question was too large to
be entrusted to so old a woman. The Judge knew also from me that my
father had much money in the house, and that I was going on the
following day to visit my Aunt Laucic in Luttach, when Johanna would
accompany me, so that after eleven o'clock he might see my father
alone. All this I told him, and it all recurred to my mind. I had
myself told the murderer when his victim would be alone and when he
could commit the deed."
In her distress Anna went on to say that she did not venture to mention
her suspicion to the Captain--he was a friend of the Judge's--and only
to her betrothed, from whom she kept no secrets, did she tell what was
in her mind. He begged her, however, not to confide in any other human
being. Franz declared that the Judge was not capable of such villainy.
He tried to prove to her that her suspicions were groundless. "Does not
he often climb about the rocks?" he asked. "Even had he been in the
neighbourhood of the Lonely House, that ought to be no ground of
suspicion against him, for I myself was met by the Herr Professor in
the forest, as I was prowling about in hopes of meeting you." When her
lover said this, Anna was seized with a dreadful anxiety lest he might
really be suspected, and Franz, too, could understand that he was in
peril. He knew how he was disliked, and how any opportunity would be
seized to do him harm.
Franz had insisted, however, that the Judge was incapable of the
murder, and he had forbidden Anna to say one word further upon the
subject. "Because he is my enemy," he told her; "because he is always
circulating damaging reports of me behind my back, we must take care
not to be unjust towards him." He had spoken thus until yesterday, but
when he returned from the expedition to the cave and told Anna of his
adventure there, he had suddenly changed his opinion with regard to
what she had always thought. "It is beyond doubt," he said, "that the
Judge cut the rope. What reason could he have for such an act! He
wished to plunge the Professor into the abyss. I am now convinced that
the Professor saw him also in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House.
You were not deceived when you recognized him on the upper pathway. He
fears that the Professor may betray him, and wishes to put so dangerous
a witness out of the way. There could be no other reason for his
infamous attempt upon the life of the kind old man, whose friend he
pretends to be. He planned a murder, and now I can believe also that he
is the murderer of your father. Let him take care; I shall speak to the
Professor. I will tell him of your suspicion; he will tell me whether
he saw the Judge that day." But Franz soon after was arrested and Anna
felt it her duty to do what he had wished to do.
"That is why I am come to you, Herr Professor," she concluded; "you
must counsel me. You must help me to discover the real criminal and to
set an innocent man at liberty."
While Anna had been speaking, the doctor, who had also seated himself
beside my bed, had been continually getting up and sitting down again,
possessed by a feverish restlessness, although listening in silence to
every word spoken by the young girl. Now that Anna had finished, he
exclaimed:
"Do you want to drive two old men crazy with your deuce of a story?
Child, have you had such thoughts in your head and heart for weeks and
never said a word of them? Think of what might have been done in those
weeks! Think of how suspicion might have been turned in other
directions! You are sure, Herr Professor, that you did not see the
Judge on the rocky pathway?"
"I am sure of it."
"But may he not have been there without your seeing him, or are you
sure that he was not there?"
"I believe that he was there."
[Illustration: "You must help me!"]
"And what reason have you for your belief? Out with it, Herr Professor!
The scales are falling from my eyes. I begin to see clearly. This deuce
of a girl has enlightened my stupidity, but what is the use of my
seeing? Franz and the child have both shown confidence in you, and you
must justify it. Out with what you know without any reserve!"
He was right; I could not be silent. The half promise which I had once
given to the Judge to protect him from any chaffing to which he might
be subjected with regard to the pocket handkerchief found where it had
been could not bind me. I told of my finding the bloody handkerchief
and of the Judge's explanation.
"It is he! It is he and no other!" exclaimed the doctor, quite beside
himself. "Did I not always say that the murderer must have been an
intimate friend of the old man? Oh, blind fool that I have been! Why
did I not think of him, when for two weeks he wore a black glove on his
right hand? He had good reason to wish to see you vanish in the abyss.
You, who could bring such evidence against him. And you fell into his
trap, and have been silent all this while, without harbouring any
suspicion of him! For shame, Herr Professor! No, you need not be
ashamed of yourself, you kind, old, unsuspicious man; but I could tear
my hair for being such a fool and letting him lead me by the nose as he
has done."
"Are you sure now that you are not deceiving yourself?" I asked very
gravely. My heart was beating violently. There is something fearful in
such a suspicion. Suddenly as it had arisen, it had now entire
possession of me; but had I not entertained the same, and perhaps with
more reason, of Franz Schorn? Could I trust myself since I had once
deceived myself?
No such reflections troubled the doctor:
"I am so convinced," he said, clapping his hands as if in triumph,
"that I would myself condemn the fellow to be hanged, if it lay in my
province to do so. Hanged he shall be, I promise you, little girl, and
we will take your Franz in triumph from the prison in Laibach and carry
him home. How it is to be done, I do not see at present; but, rely upon
it, I will do it. I will follow the murderer's tracks like a
bloodhound. He has no idea that he is suspected, and that I have
discovered his plots. He shall find it out, but only when we are taking
Franz from prison in Laibach. Until then not a word to anybody, Herr
Professor."
"Is it not our duty to inform the court in Laibach of what we suspect
and of our grounds for doing so?"
"Not a word in that quarter. With all due reverence for the gentlemen
in Laibach, the Judges and the Attorney General; before they can make
up their minds to believe that a colleague, a District Judge, is a
common murderer and thief, the proofs must be as clear as daylight.
Only when we deliver him over to them, and they must do their part, can
we be sure of them. I would sooner confide in our Clerk; he would throw
all forbearance to the winds; but should we admit him to our confidence
now, we should be placing him in a very embarrassing position, for the
District Judge is, after all, his chief. Therefore, not a word, Herr
Professor, until we have further proofs against the scoundrel. Now that
we are on the scent, it will, I hope, not be long."
I was obliged to admit that the doctor's plan was the right one, and my
admission flattered him.
"Do you not remember how day before yesterday evening the Judge said
with a sneer, 'A great criminal lawyer is lost in you, doctor'? I will
prove to him that he was right. Only trust me, Herr Professor; you
shall not repent it. But be sure to follow a piece of advice which I
must give you. Remember that it is to the Judge's interest to be rid of
you; therefore, beware of him. It will do no harm to have your revolver
where you can reach it in a moment, day or night."
I promised to follow his advice. We talked on for half an hour very
pleasantly. The doctor was in the best humour in the world, and the
charming little Anna was now so full of hope for a speedy reunion with
her Franz that she almost forgot her grief at his imprisonment. She was
indeed a lovely child, and as she talked on so heart-free and
confidentially with us two old men, I was really in love with her
myself. Upon their departure the doctor promised me that he would allow
me to leave my bed on the following day, and Anna promised to pay me
repeated visits so long as I was confined to my room. Thus we parted in
the most friendly manner. The doctor turned as he was about to close
the door behind him and said:
"Do you know, Herr Professor, what comforts me in this cursed affair?"
"What?"
"That Foligno is no Slav, but an Italian. Believe me, a Slav would be
incapable of such villainy. Good-night, Herr Professor."
CHAPTER XIII.
AN OLD CHEST.
Three very wearisome days ensued. To be sure, I was allowed to leave my
bed and was no longer forced to apply cold bandages to my sprained
ankle, but I was a prisoner on a very uncomfortable sofa, whereon my
leg was stretched out, and therefore condemned to intolerable,
tedious idleness. I could not even move sufficiently to prepare my
treasures--the butterflies and beetles--for my collection. My beautiful
_Cæcigena_ caterpillars had to be fed by Mizka, and I was obliged to
congratulate myself that she undertook what must have been a very
humdrum task with amiable readiness.
For three days the doctor had decreed that I must keep a recumbent
position; thereafter I might sit up on the sofa and move about the room
a little. I looked forward to the expiration of this time with
unfeigned longing, for such enforced idleness is intolerable for a
healthy man. Visitors were not lacking during those endless three days.
The gentlemen of Luttach took pains to entertain me, but their visits
were more of a pain than a pleasure, for the subject of their
conversation was forever the same--the assured guilt of Franz Schorn.
No one had the least doubt that he was the criminal. The Judge had
shown them so many proofs of it that they were almost provoked with me
because I would not join in the universal condemnation of the man, but
declared that it was our duty to believe in the possibility of his
innocence as long as he was not officially condemned. More than this I
could not say, after my promise to the doctor, therefore I was
compelled to listen silently when the alleged proofs of Schorn's guilt
were discussed, which were downright fabrications. I looked forward
with some dread to a visit from the Judge. It would have been almost
impossible for me to appear unembarrassed in his presence. But the duty
of playing the hypocrite and feigning friendship was fortunately not
enforced upon me. He not only did not call upon me, but sent an excuse
by Mizka. He was forced to go to Görz for a few days, and had so much
to do before his departure that he had not a quarter of an hour to call
his own. Upon his return he hoped to find me entirely recovered.
The doctor was irritated by this journey. It deranged his schemes. He
wished to have an opportunity to watch the man narrowly, which it would
be impossible for him to do in Görz, the doctor was not, therefore, in
a very good humour, and his visits would have contributed but little to
my enlivenment had not the charming little Anna always accompanied him.
The lovely young girl crept further and further into my heart with
every visit. While we two old men were feverish with impatience to act,
she bore this state of anxiety with angelic patience and admirable
serenity. She was firm in her pious faith in Divine justice; she was
sure that we should succeed in rescuing the innocent and in bringing
the guilty to punishment. This conviction made it possible for her to
wait patiently.
At last the tiresome three days were over. On the fourth day the doctor
gave me permission to sit up on the sofa, and as long as my foot did
not pain me, to take several steps about my room. I breathed more
freely. Now I could occupy myself. Before my accident I had collected a
wealth of material which had all to be arranged. My _Lepidoptera_ were
to be mounted, my _Coleoptera_ prepared, some doubtful species named,
etc. Thus I had an abundance of work for several days and need fear no
ennui.
Of course, I wished to begin work immediately, when an obstacle
presented itself which I had never thought of. I had no place to spread
out my entomological treasures, or where I could put my boards for
mounting the butterflies, which were now packed together in my trunk,
but would take considerable room when spread out to receive the
precious insects. Hitherto I had found the lack of furniture in my
simple room not inconvenient, but now it became so. If I could only
have a bureau with two or three drawers in which I could lay the boards
for the accommodation of my spoils, all would be well and I should be
quite content.
Perhaps Frau Franzka could help me. There must be some such bureau in
Luttach. Frau Franzka was summoned. The word "bureau" she did not
understand, but when I described to her the piece of furniture that I
wished, she exclaimed joyfully:
"Ah, the Herr Professor means a chest! That is easily procured.
Upstairs in the Judge's sleeping-room there is a large old chest with
four drawers. It is not beautiful, but very roomy. If the Herr
Professor would like it, I will gladly have it brought down."
Its lack of beauty was of no consequence to me, in consideration of the
space it afforded, but I did not like to take the chest from the
chamber of the Judge. I preferred not to ask of him the smallest
favour. I said so to Frau Franzka, but she made light of my scruples,
saying:
"The Herr Foligno never uses the old chest. He used to put his linen in
it, but now he keeps it in a very fine new chest which I bought for
him, and which stands in his parlour. The old chest is empty; the Judge
will be glad to have it taken out of his room."
"But Herr Foligno is still away. You cannot ask his permission."
"It is not necessary. The chest belongs to me. Herr Foligno, besides,
owes me a great deal of money, and he cannot object to my bringing down
for the Herr Professor an old chest which he does not use."
I tried to make objection, but Frau Franzka was a resolute lady, and
persisted in what she had once decided upon. She called her husband and
a servant, and sent them up into the Judge's sleeping-room to bring
down the chest, and in a few minutes, against the long bare wall of my
room there stood a large, old-fashioned bureau, not elegant, indeed,
but painted black, and with four drawers which gave abundant room for
my requirements.
"There is the old chest," Frau Franzka said with satisfaction. "The
Herr Professor need not fear; I will take it upon myself to settle
matters with the Judge; but I must see if he has left anything in the
drawers. I don't think so, but if it should be the case, I can easily
transfer them to his new chest."
She tried to draw out the topmost drawer by its metal handles, but it
would not open.
"That is strange," she said. "The wood must have swelled so that the
drawer sticks."
"Perhaps it is locked," I remarked.
"Oh, no, certainly not. The Judge never locks his chests; he always
leaves them open, and, besides, I do not know whether he had any
key, but we can soon see. There is just such another chest in our
sleeping-room; my husband has the key and we can see if it will open
it."
She said several words in Slavonic to her husband, and he took a queer
little key out of his pocket and handed it to her.
The key fitted in the lock and turned. Frau Franzka then opened the
topmost drawer without difficulty. She glanced inside it and recoiled
with a slight scream.
"Oh, Holy Virgin!" she cried, clasping her hands. "What is all this? A
shirt, a summer suit, a silk pocket handkerchief, all spotted with
blood, and oh, blessed Maria, who would have thought that Herr Foligno
had so much money hid away in this old chest!"
Instantly I was possessed by a strange foreboding. There lay the money
which the murderer had stolen from his victim. I sprang up from the
sofa without thinking of my sprained ankle and walked hastily across
the room, never heeding the pain.
Yes, there lay the stolen money. Several packages of banknotes of a
hundred gulden each, and beside them a bundle of papers of value, the
topmost of these showing the same dark spots, traces of the blood from
the wounded hand of the murderer, who had taken no care to avoid
staining them. Here, hidden away in the old chest, were the proofs of
the murderer's guilt; the bloodstained clothing which he had worn when
he committed the deed; and the handkerchief which I had given to him
was there also. If there had been any doubt until now as to the
identity of the criminal, it vanished on the instant. Link by link in
an indestructible chain the proofs were clearly here for the conviction
of the District Judge. In fancy I saw him contemplating his murderous
scheme, walking up the rocky path towards the Lonely House. He knew
that he should find the old man alone there; he had been told this on
the day before. Anna had thoughtlessly informed him that her father
would be alone in the afternoon. Her account of the considerable amount
of money which the old man had received by the morning's post had
begotten the murderous scheme. He reaches the house, no one having seen
him on the rocky pathway. He looks about him. No human being is near
who could observe him. He does not dream that Anna has seen him. He
knocks. The old man opens the door and conducts him to his room, where
a struggle ensues, a struggle in which the murderer wounds his hand,
but from which he comes forth victorious. The crime is committed. The
murderer with his bleeding hand has taken the banknotes and papers from
the desk which he knew so well; in his excitement he has hardly noticed
that he was wounded. He is suddenly conscious of pain in his hand, and
the thought occurs to him that his wound might betray him. With terror
he perceives that his dress, his shirt, his waistcoat and trousers, all
wear bloody traces of the struggle. He tries to remove them with his
handkerchief, but in vain. How can he explain these stains when he
returns to Luttach? He devises one means--to declare that he fell among
the rocks and wounded his hand. Every one knows that he frequently
climbs about among the rocks and how easily such an accident might
occur. If he can bring back to the old naturalist a rare plant which
usually grows upon almost inaccessible rocks, his story of a fall will
be all the more credible. The _Ophrys Bertolini_ grows in the
neighbourhood; except himself no one knows the locality. It is easily
reached; he hastily plucks the beautiful flowers, losing his
handkerchief as he does so, but without noticing it he hurries away
from the neighbourhood of the Lonely House.
Fortune favours him. No one meets him; no one sees him when he reaches
the inn and hastens to his chamber. There he locks himself in; he must
change his clothes; but what shall he do with his bloodstained apparel?
Suddenly the old bureau occurs to him; it stands unused in his
sleeping-room. He could not have a better, a more secure hiding place.
He conceals the clothes and his plunder in the top drawer, locks it,
and puts the key in his pocket. Now he is safe; no suspicion can
possibly fall upon him, the Judge, the most prominent official in the
town. There can be no searching of his room. He himself would
superintend whatever search there might be. The bloodstained clothing,
the banknotes and the papers could be nowhere more safe from discovery
than in the locked drawer of the old bureau. He breathes more freely.
There is a knock at the door. The old Professor asks for admission. He
is obliged to receive him. This will give him an opportunity of
relating the story of his fall among the rocks. He is dismayed at
learning that the murder has been discovered sooner than he
anticipated, but he composes himself, and when he hears that Franz
Schorn has been seen in the vicinity of the Lonely House, he devises a
plan for throwing suspicion upon him, his mortal enemy, and with
vindictive cunning proceeds to carry it out, using every circumstance
that could lead step by step to the consummation of the crime without
exposing himself at any point. Thus he feels perfectly safe, when
suddenly he makes the terrible discovery that there exists a witness
against him. The old Professor has found his bloody handkerchief near
the Lonely House. He finds it easy to deceive the unsuspicious old man.
He succeeds in convincing him that Franz Schorn is the murderer, but as
long as the Professor lives, the danger of detection hangs over his
head. He induces the foolish old man to undertake expeditions among the
most dangerous rocks, in the hope of his falling a victim to some
accident, but when this scheme fails, he determines to efface all trace
of the first murder by a second. The exploration of the cave, in which
he asks to join, furnishes a means to do so. The Professor must die,
but before his death he must send the official deposition which is so
essential for Schorn's conviction.
Here also his murderous design fails, but he manages to cast suspicion
upon Franz Schorn in the matter of cutting the rope, and the young man
is arrested. The murderer triumphs.
Then by a marvellous chance the old chest is opened during his absence
from home, and the clear proofs of his guilt are discovered by the very
man whom he wished, as the only witness against him, to remove from his
path.
I stood paralyzed before the open drawer. All the past, which it has
taken minutes to relate, flashed upon my mind with the speed of
lightning. The proofs of the murderer's guilt which the doctor had been
so anxious to obtain were now before me. Chance had placed them in my
hands. What was I to make of this chance was the next question.
"We must not touch these things," I said to Frau Franzka, who with her
old husband stood speechless with astonishment, gazing at the money in
the drawer. They had never in their lives seen so much at a time. "The
Judge might suspect us of having taken some of his heap of money. Lock
the drawer again, Frau Franzka; we will give the key to the Clerk, and
the doctor shall be witness that we do so. We three, you, your husband
and I, will stay here until Mizka fetches the doctor and the Clerk, and
we can each testify that none of the money has been taken."
"So much money! And he owes me over five hundred gulden, with all that
pile in his drawer!" exclaimed Frau Franzka, who was reluctant to lose
sight of the banknotes, but on my reiterated request, she locked it up,
and then called Mizka, telling her to go immediately for the Herr
Einern and the doctor, begging them to come as quick as possible to the
Herr Professor in the "Golden Vine."
We had not long to wait. The doctor came first. Mizka met him in the
street near the house. I drew him aside and told him in a whisper of
the contents of the upper drawer of the bureau. He was beside himself
with joy.
"We have him! We have him!" he exclaimed aloud, with what was almost a
leap in the air. Only when he saw the stare with which Frau Franzka and
her husband regarded him--they might well have supposed he had lost his
wits--he grew calmer, and I told him that I had sent also for the
Clerk.
"Quite right," he said. "We must tell him everything. Now that we have
such positive proof of the Judge's guilt, he can act, and he must act.
He is a brave and honourable man. He will fulfil the promise he once
made to our little Anna. Here he comes. I hear his step on the stair."
The Clerk entered the room. He seemed surprised on finding the doctor
and my host and hostess. Frau Franzka hurried towards him. She had been
silent so long that she was eager to pour out her heart. In a burst of
Slavonic, of which I did not understand one syllable, she talked away
to the Clerk, who listened with the deepest attention. I would not
interrupt her, for I could easily perceive from her gestures what she
was relating. The Clerk's face grew darker and darker as Frau Franzka
continued. At last she paused and delivered to him the key of the
bureau. He then turned to me and said very gravely:
"Frau Franzka has told me of the remarkable discovery which she has
made in that bureau. Before I examine its contents I wish to hear what
you have to say, Herr Professor. I assume that you have summoned me
hither, not as your friend of the evenings about the round table, but
as the Clerk, the only representative of the law in the Judge's
absence. I shall therefore receive what you have to say, not as the
testimony of a friend, but officially. Frau Franzka, you will retire to
another room with your husband, while I hear what the Herr Professor
has to tell. I warn you to say not one word to any one--I repeat, to
_any one_--of what you have discovered in the drawer there. You will
expose yourself to grave penalties if you should refuse to follow my
direction. Wait quietly until I send for you. Very shortly I will
summon you and your husband to swear to whatever you have to say. Now
go. Do you desire, Herr Professor, that the doctor should withdraw
also?"
"No. On the contrary, I desire his presence during my deposition, which
I must make to you. He can complete what I have to say."
I waited until the host and hostess had obediently withdrawn, and then
I addressed the Clerk.
"On the day on which the miserable old Pollenz was murdered, it was to
you that his daughter turned, enjoining upon you the duty of
discovering the murderer and delivering him to justice. I heard the
young girl's moving appeal and was a witness of your silent promise to
her. I now desire from you the fulfilment of that promise."
"I will fulfil my duty. The guilty man, whosoever he may be, shall not
escape punishment if proof sufficient can be adduced of his guilt."
"This proof I am prepared to give, and so clearly that no doubt can
remain in your mind. Listen."
I had imposed a hard task upon myself--that of succinctly informing the
Clerk of all the facts which sufficed to weld a chain of proof against
the murderer; the part he had played towards me, arousing in me
suspicions not only of Franz Schorn, but of the lovely Anna, in order
to procure my signature to the deposition which he made out and sent to
Laibach. I recalled as well as I could the words which the murderer had
dictated to me; every one of those words seemed to form a link in the
chain of proof; and, in conclusion, I described to him the contents of
the old bureau, saying:
"This is the accumulated evidence which I hand over to you, and I
demand that in virtue of your office the true criminal shall be
delivered to the authorities in Laibach, so that an innocent man may
not wear disgraceful fetters an hour longer than is absolutely
necessary."
"You impose a fearful responsibility upon me, but I shall not refuse to
accept it," the Clerk replied with a profound sigh. "What you have just
told me confirms a horrible suspicion which I have had ever since the
day of the murder. I never believed in Schorn's guilt. I always had a
secret doubt of the Judge, but I dared not give expression to it; it
was impossible to gather the smallest evidence against him. I take upon
myself great responsibility in proceeding against my chief, in
arresting him, and transferring him to Laibach, but it must be
done as soon as he returns from Görz. I will employ this day in
examining all the testimony you have here given me, as well as the
witnesses--yourself, Fräulein Anna Pollenz, Frau Franzka and her
husband--and then I will send to Laibach all the material I have
collected, with the bloodstained clothing and the banknotes. The
Attorney General there will do his duty. I transcend my powers perhaps
in thus forestalling my chief. I will----" he paused, listening.
A vehicle rolled through the narrow street and stopped before the
house. The doctor hurried to the window.
"The Judge," he cried, "has just descended from the carriage and has
entered the house."
The Clerk started and grew pale.
"He comes too early," he said. "I have no officially confirmed evidence
against him. I have no right to arrest him."
"Will you give him time to escape?" cried the doctor. "If he goes to
his chamber and misses the old bureau, he will know that he is found
out."
"You are right. I will dare all. Let me have paper, pen and ink, Herr
Professor, as quickly as possible, for at this moment I am the
representative of the law in Luttach. The Judge has not yet exhausted
his leave of absence; he has not yet resumed the duties of his office."
He wrote a few lines hurriedly. "This order must go immediately to the
captain of the gendarmes. Will you undertake to carry it, Herr Doctor?"
"With all the pleasure in life. In five minutes I will be here again
with the gendarmes. The bird shall not escape," cried the doctor, as he
snatched the order from the Clerk's hand and rushed away without a
moment's delay. He could hardly have reached the front door, when from
above came the voice of the Judge, calling:
"Mizka! Mizka!"
Mizka replied from below in a few Slavonic words, and a loud, brief
conversation ensued in that language.
"He has missed the bureau and Mizka is telling him that it has been
taken down to your room because you needed it, Herr Professor," the
Clerk whispered to me.
The Judge overhead uttered a wild Slavonic curse. We heard his
resounding tread as he rushed down the stairs and then, without
knocking, threw open the door of my room and entered. When he found
that I was not alone, but that the Clerk was with me, he started back,
and remained for a moment on the threshold gazing at the Clerk and
myself with a keen, searching look, which afterwards flashed round the
room as if in quest of something. When it rested on the blackened, old
bureau, he fell into a rage, and, coming up to me, demanded in a
furious tone:
"How dared you have my furniture removed from my room in my absence and
placed here for your own use?"
As he spoke these words he was ghastly to look upon; his pale lips
quivered, his dark eyes glittered in his sallow face, and were again
riveted with an indescribable expression upon the old bureau.
His insolence aroused my indignation, but I forced myself to reply to
him calmly.
"I must beg you to speak more courteously," I answered, suppressing my
detestation. "If you conceive that there has been an infringement of
your rights, it is not to me that you must appeal, but to Frau Franzka.
She told me that this old bureau was never used by you, and that you
would be glad to have so superfluous a piece of furniture removed from
your room. Only upon her assurance that this was the case did I consent
to have it brought hither."
My reply seemed to quiet him somewhat. He lowered his voice as he
continued:
"You see that I do use it. The upper drawer is locked."
He went up to the bureau and pulled the metal handles of the upper
drawer. Upon finding that it would not open, he breathed more freely
and turned to me again, with a wholly different expression of
countenance.
"Excuse my rude manner," he suddenly said, in a very friendly way; "I
was angry. It irritated me that the furniture of my room should be
meddled with. The old bureau serves me as a receptacle for old clothes.
I must therefore beg that it be returned to me."
"It was delivered to me by its owner, Frau Franzka. I have no authority
over its removal."
"You refuse?" he said, flaming up again; but he mastered himself, only
giving me a sinister look, as he opened the door and called loudly into
the hall:
"Frau Franzka! Frau Franzka!"
The host and hostess had been waiting in another room for the summons
of the Clerk. They now appeared, Frau Franzka with a very embarrassed
countenance, where the consciousness of guilt was openly to be seen.
Now that the Judge was present, any command of the Clerk would avail
nothing with her. She must reply to whatever the Judge should ask.
"How dare you have that chest taken from my room! It must be carried up
again immediately."
Shyly and trembling with fear Frau Franzka gazed at the angry man.
"Do not be so angry, Herr Foligno," she said. "I thought the chest was
quite empty. I should not have brought it down here if I had known that
you had so much money in it. But we did not touch it. Herr von Einern
has the key."
The effect of these words upon the man was terrible. He staggered back
as if struck by a sudden blow, staring from Frau Franzka to the Clerk.
He bit his lips without feeling that he drew blood and that a drop
trickled down his chin. Frau Franzka's simple words had revealed all;
his secret was betrayed; his guilt discovered.
Only for a second did terror paralyze him. He quickly collected
himself, seeing that the only possibility of escape lay in maintaining
absolute calmness, and with wonderful self-control he said in a
menacing tone:
"You presumed to open the chest with a master key, and you, Herr von
Einern, have this master key in your possession. I demand that it be
instantly delivered to me."
Hitherto the Clerk had stood with folded arms, a motionless spectator
of the scene before him. A contemptuous smile played about his lips. He
made no reply to the Judge's demand.
"You do not answer me. You refuse to obey my orders?" the Judge
continued. "I shall hold you accountable for this. Do not forget, sir,
that this forcible breaking open of my property with a master key is a
crime for which I hold you responsible. I leave you now to take instant
steps for the enforcement of my right."
He turned towards the door, but before he had advanced a step the Clerk
laid his hand upon his shoulder and said with grave decision:
"You can leave this room only as a prisoner, Herr Foligno. You are
arrested."
[Illustration: Then Began a Struggle, a Fight for Life and Death]
The Judge's eyes flashed fire. His right hand sought his breast pocket
and he drew from it a knife, but before he could use it the Clerk had
seized him by the wrist, and then began a struggle, a fight for life
and death between these two powerful men.
Frau Franzka screamed with terror; her husband stood trembling beside
her, not venturing to come to the help of the wrestling pair; but I
summoned all the physical force that I possessed--my foot pained me
terribly as I sprang up, but I did not heed the pain--and I was just in
the nick of time; the Judge had torn his hand loose and had raised it
for a deadly lunge with the knife. I seized his wrist from behind; the
Clerk clutched him by the throat, and our united strength succeeded in
overpowering him, throwing him on the ground, and holding tight his
right hand, which still held the knife. It was a terrible moment; my
strength was all but gone, for the desperate wretch made frantic
efforts to tear himself loose, but help was at hand. The doctor rushed
into the room with three gendarmes following him. Without a thought the
active little man threw himself upon the Judge, kneeled upon his chest
and helped me to hold down the hand that held the knife.
"Seize and bind the monster!" he cried to the gendarmes, "or he will do
more mischief with his knife."
The Judge could not but see that all further resistance was vain. He
dropped the knife, which I seized and hurled to the end of the room.
"Let me go," he said sullenly. "You see that I can no longer defend
myself."
We arose; first the Clerk, then I; I limped back in positive agony to
my sofa; my help was no longer required. The Judge, too, arose, and,
panting, stood between the Clerk and the doctor. He had given up all
hope of escape, for the three gendarmes blocked all egress from the
room, but his feverishly active mind devised new food for hope.
"Captain," he cried to the captain of the gendarmes, "captain, I call
you to bear witness to the maltreatment I have received from these
madmen, who have attacked me. I command you to stand by me--me, the
District Judge. I order you to arrest these people, the Clerk, the
doctor and the German Professor. I take all the responsibility upon
myself."
The captain's martial countenance betrayed embarrassment. He looked
dubiously, first at the Judge, then at the Clerk.
"I do not know what I ought to do," he said, turning to the Clerk. "You
command me to arrest Herr Foligno; he commands me to arrest you. After
all, he is the District Judge."
The Clerk hastily approached the old, dingy bureau, took a key from his
pocket and opened the upper drawer.
"I command you to arrest a murderer," he said. "He, and not Franz
Schorn, committed the murder in the Lonely House. Here are the
proofs--his bloodstained clothing and the banknotes which he stole. The
responsibility is yours if the murderer escapes and you disobey my
commands."
One look into the drawer, and the captain hesitated no longer. An hour
afterwards, between two gendarmes, the murderer was driven to Laibach.
Half the entire population of Luttach crowded about the court house to
see him driven away. The report had circulated throughout the little
town with incredible swiftness that not Franz Schorn, but the District
Judge was the criminal. When the prisoner was led from the court house
to the carriage a fierce shout of rage greeted him. The gendarmes were
obliged with their weapons to keep off the indignant populace in order
to shield the prisoner from their violence. He, on his part, was now
pale and trembling with cowardly fear; curses and execrations followed
him as the carriage drove through the crowd.
But at that moment the lovely little Anna was seated on my sofa,
thanking me over and over again, her eyes shining with joy--and what,
after all, had I done to deserve her thanks?
CHAPTER XIV.
THE END OF THE PROFESSOR'S HOLIDAY.
The doctor, the Burgomaster and the Captain had driven to Laibach to
require personally the instant liberation of Franz Schorn, whose
innocence no one longer doubted. The doctor had promised to inform me
by letter of the result of his efforts, and he kept his word. On the
second day I received a long letter from him. There had been a
tremendous commotion in Laibach when the District Judge of Luttach,
manacled like a common criminal, had been received at the prison. The
ultra Slavonic newspapers had hitherto triumphed in the announcement
that the only German agitator in Luttach was nothing more or less than
a miserable, ordinary criminal, and now they suffered a terrible blow
in that the German agitator was no murderer; the criminal was a man
who, although of Italian descent, had always laboured in the Slavonic
cause. The Slav party, on the other hand, were half-inclined to swear
to the innocence of the Judge and to stake all on the guilt of the
hated German. But the doctor took good care that every scrap of
evidence against the true murderer should be well known; he was himself
a zealous Slav, but so conscientious and honest a man, and so well
known as prizing justice far above national prejudice, that he forced
the newspapers of his party, by his truthful declarations, to advocate
the cause of Franz Schorn, which they reluctantly did, although not
very enthusiastically. They, as well as the doctor, found consolation,
however, in the fact that District Judge Foligno was no true Slav, but
in fact an Italian. Of course all national prejudices were powerless to
influence the court at Laibach. The doctor wrote with real enthusiasm
in regard to his reception by the investigating Judge, who had frankly
informed him that suspicion of the District Judge had arisen in his
mind while he was investigating the matter in Luttach, suspicion which
was now substantiated by the admirable report of the Clerk, and that
the evidence had created conviction. A most disagreeable task lay
before him in having to investigate the actions of his superior in
office, but he would unflinchingly follow his duty. The Attorney
General, who had hitherto been firmly convinced of Schorn's guilt,
could not but admit the evidence of his innocence and the proof of the
Judge's criminality, and the honourable liberation of Schorn from
imprisonment must take place immediately. It depended only upon certain
formalities. If the Judge could be brought to confess, Schorn's freedom
would be on the instant.
This hope, however, of bringing the criminal to an open confession was
not destined to be fulfilled. He maintained his innocence with brazen
effrontery until his hearing before the court, asserting that he was
the victim of shameful intrigue. All the evidence which I, the German
Professor, had brought against him was founded, he declared, partly on
lies, partly on prejudice. It was not true that I had found his
bloodstained handkerchief in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House, for
the handkerchief found in the drawer he had never lost. The blood on
his handkerchief, his waistcoat, and his trousers came from the wound
in his hand due to a fall among the rocks on the morning of the day of
the murder, and of which he had innocently informed the Professor. He
declared that I had found him changing his dress when I came to inform
him of the discovery of the murdered man in the Lonely House. He had
locked up the bloody clothing in the upper drawer of the chest in his
sleeping apartment in my presence, and, of course, I knew where it was.
How the money and banknotes came in the drawer he did not know, but he
suspected that during his absence I had placed them there myself, or
had bribed Frau Franzka to put them into the chest in order that the
farce might be played of the removal of the chest to my room and the
discovery of the bloody articles, which would clear Franz Schorn of the
guilt of the murder and throw it upon himself, the District Judge. He
would not venture to assert that I was Schorn's accomplice in the
crime, although it was possible, but I was certainly his accomplice in
the theft of the money. Either to be rid of this accomplice, or to
ensure his silence by saving his life, Schorn had cut the rope in the
cave.
When the investigating Judge pointed out to him the improbability, nay
the evident falsehood of this clumsy invention, the prisoner stoutly
maintained its truth, and even asserted that I had come to Luttach, on
the pretense of pursuing natural history researches in Ukraine, in the
interest of the German clique there, and to this end I had entered into
close relations with Schorn, having as their result this scheme to ruin
him. The Judge displayed an eloquence and keenness of intellect in
proving the truth of his statements which the investigating Judge could
not but admire; but, upon perceiving that he failed entirely in making
any impression upon the impartial official, who was himself a Slav, he
lost courage, and, declaring that he was too exhausted to endure
further questioning, begged to be again conducted to prison.
An hour later the investigating Judge was informed that the prisoner
had committed suicide in his cell. How he had contrived to procure the
knife with which he stabbed himself to the heart could not be
discovered. The bitter opponents of the government and of the court in
Laibach maintained that it had been conveyed to him for the purpose of
suicide, in order that the court might be relieved from the necessity
of presenting before a jury a Slavonic patriot and fellow-countryman as
a murderer.
"Since the Judge's suicide may be regarded as a confession," the
doctor wrote, "we are momentarily awaiting the liberation of our Franz.
We--the good Burgomaster, the Captain and myself--are burning with
eagerness to conduct the liberated man in triumph to Luttach. I will
tell you by telegram when we may be expected."
The lovely little Anna was paying me a visit when I received the
doctor's letter. We read it together. Tears of joy filled her eyes as
we came to the end.
"I would rather," she said, "have Franz come back quietly, without any
public demonstration; but the good doctor is right; there ought to be
some atonement for the unjust disgrace of his arrest, and this must be
made by an honourable reception."
All the men of the round table in the "Golden Vine" were of the same
opinion.
In the evening, more carried than supported by Mizka and Frau Franzka,
I ventured to leave my room and to take my place once more at the round
table. I was received with extravagant delight. When I read aloud to
the company there assembled the letter from the doctor, they declared
unanimously that all Luttach must combine in making brilliant amends to
Franz. It was remarkable how one single day had changed the mood of
every one. Mosic, Weber, Meyer, Gunther, and Dietrich, hitherto the
most violent opponents of "the German," were now the most zealous to
obliterate all remembrance of their opposition. They could not praise
Franz sufficiently, and gravely maintained that they never had believed
in his guilt.
The telegram arrived on the morning of the next day, announcing that
our friends would arrive in Luttach towards noon. I sent it to the
Vice-Burgomaster, who had begged me to give him the earliest
intelligence, that he might spread it through the town.
The time for festal preparation was short, but it was used diligently
in bringing loads of oaken boughs from the grove on the Rusina, in
making wreaths and garlands wherewith Schorn's house and the "Golden
Vine" were decorated, for Franz was to be conducted first to the
"Golden Vine," where in the garden a cask of the best wine was to be
broached, and the Vice-Burgomaster was to welcome him in the name of
his Luttach fellow-citizens and to express the joy that all felt in his
return, as they drank to his health and welfare. And thus it verily
happened. All Luttach was astir by ten o'clock. There were crowds on
the road to Adelsberg and on the square before the court house and
in the street before the "Golden Vine." When the carriages--two of
them--at last came in sight, Franz was sitting in the first with the
Burgomaster, while in the second the doctor drove with the Captain.
They were greeted with deafening applause and the crowd rushed towards
them, all striving to be the first to extend a welcome to Franz Schorn.
It was impossible for the carriage to proceed through the crowded
streets, when suddenly a stentorian voice exclaimed:
"Make way!"
It was the voice of the gigantic Rassak. He dextrously unharnessed the
horses, and, seizing the pole himself, assisted by two savage-looking
fellows--the very ones who, a couple of days before, would have been
willing to kill the "murderer" and the "German dog"--on they went to
the "Golden Vine." A dozen men helped to pull and push the vehicle,
while Franz kept bowing and smiling in grateful acknowledgment of the
shouts of welcome. The carriage stopped before the gateway of the
hotel. Franz would have descended, but strong arms lifted him to
Rassak's shoulders, and thus he was carried into the garden. The
doctor, the Burgomaster and the Captain followed, laughing. The festal
programme was carried out in the garden, except that the Burgomaster's
speech and one cask of wine did not suffice. Speech followed speech,
and I should have had a fine opportunity of admiring the Slavonic
eloquence, if I could have understood a word of it all, but,
unfortunately, the words were all Slavonic, even those in which Franz
thanked the assembly for its sympathetic welcome. I could only guess at
what he said from the shouts of applause. It was a stormy occasion and,
after a fashion, a brilliant one, but it was not exactly a comfortable
festival. This we had in the evening at the house of the doctor. My
presence there, pretty little Anna declared, was quite indispensable,
and so Rassak carried me thither on his burly shoulders. I could not
possibly have walked. The doctor had invited only the Burgomaster, the
Captain, the Clerk and myself to share in the joy of this first evening
of the reunion of the betrothed pair and to be the witnesses of their
happiness.
I certainly never passed a more delightful evening. It was a positive
delight to me, old man that I am. It warmed my heart to behold the
handsome couple so full of bright anticipations for the future. The
merriment in our small circle was not loud; we were all somewhat under
the influence of the very recent events, but we all quietly rejoiced in
being delivered from our depressing anxiety. The doctor himself
proposed the health of the young couple, and in a short speech
congratulated us all upon the happy chance which had terminated the
fearful episode. I noticed that as he spoke the beautiful young girl
shook her head as if in disapproval. The toast was drunk with
enthusiasm, and Anna joined in it; but, turning to the doctor and
looking at him very gravely, she said:
"It was no chance that saved my Franz. It was God's own doing. In order
to hide his first crime, the Judge attempted a second; he cut through
the rope in the cave and, as a result, Franz saved the Professor's
life. If Franz had not thus ventured his own life, he would have been
lost. The truth would never have come to light. If the Judge had not
cut the rope, the Herr Professor would not have sprained his foot, and
he would not have been forced thereby to keep his room, nor would Frau
Franzka have tried to procure him space for his collection. Was this
chance! No; it was an answer to my prayer. God ordained that Franz
should risk his life to find his life."
"There is logic in your words, child," the doctor said with a smile;
"it is the logic of pious, grateful faith, of which I would in nowise
deprive you. But you need not frown, little girl, if I speak of a
chance which we must all bless. Chance or Providence, the words express
the same idea, that of strangely combined circumstances leading to a
certain end. Was it chance or Providence that brought our dear Herr
Professor to Luttach to catch butterflies, and that the Captain sent
him on the very first day up to St. Nikolas, whence he returned,
thirsty, to the Lonely House? Keep your pious belief, child; it will be
a source of hope and happiness for you while life lasts."
* * * * *
Two weeks after this delightful evening, I left Luttach to return to my
northern home. I should have liked to have stayed longer in the
charming little town, with people who had grown so dear to me, but my
holidays were at an end, and the summer heat is so enervating at my
age, that I did not dare to stay longer. I took leave of my dear ones
there, but I have promised to return next spring, for I would not have
the marriage of the happy couple celebrated without me.
THE END.
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