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."
You must help me!
"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."
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."
Then began a struggle
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?