It cannot be but thou hast murdered him;
So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim!
SHAKESPEARE: _Midsummer Night’s Dream_.
“Upon my honor, old man,” said Ordener to Spiagudry, “I began to think
that the corpses who lodge in this building would have to open the
door.”
“Excuse me, sir,” replied the keeper, in whose ears the names of king
and viceroy still rang, as he repeated his trite excuse, “I was--I was
sound asleep.”
“Then I suppose your dead men do not sleep, and it was probably they
whom I heard talking just now.”
Spiagudry was confused.
“You--stranger,--you--heard?”
“Oh, yes! but what does it matter? I did not come here to meddle with
your affairs, but to interest you in mine. Let us go inside.”
Spiagudry was by no means anxious to allow the new-comer to see Gill’s
body, but these last words comforted him considerably; and besides, how
could he prevent his entrance?
He accordingly allowed the young man to pass, and closing the door,
said: “Benignus Spiagudry is at your service in all that relates to
human science; yet if, as your unseasonable visit seems to show, you
suppose that you are dealing with a sorcerer, you are wrong; _ne famam
credas_; I am only a learned man. Enter my laboratory, stranger.”
“Not at all,” said Ordener; “my errand is with these corpses.”
“These corpses!” said Spiagudry, beginning to tremble again. “But, sir,
you cannot see them.”
“What! I cannot see bodies which are placed here for the sole purpose of
being seen! I repeat, that I wish to question you concerning one of
them; it is your duty to answer. Obey cheerfully, old man, or you will
be forced to obey.”
Spiagudry had a sincere respect for swords, and he saw the flash of
steel at Ordener’s side.
“_Nihil non arrogat armis_,” he muttered; and fumbling with his bunch of
keys, he opened the grating, and admitted the stranger into the second
section of the hall.
“Show me the captain’s clothes,” said the latter.
At this instant a ray from the lamp fell upon Gill Stadt’s bloody head.
“Good God!” exclaimed Ordener, “what abominable sacrilege!”
“Great Saint Hospitius, pity me!” sighed the poor keeper.
“Old man,” continued Ordener, in threatening tones, “are you so remote
from the tomb that you can safely violate the respect which is its due?
And do you not fear, wretched fellow, that the living will teach you
what you owe to the dead?”
“Oh,” cried the poor keeper, “mercy! It was not I! If you only knew--”
And he stopped; for he remembered the little man’s words: “Be faithful,
be dumb.” “Did you see any one escape through that aperture?” he asked
faintly.
“Yes; was it your accomplice?”
“No; it was the guilty man, the only guilty man! I swear it by all the
torments of hell, by all the blessings of heaven, by this same body so
infamously profaned!” and he fell upon the pavement before Ordener.
Hideous as Spiagudry was, there was yet an accent of truth in his
despair and protestations, which convinced the young man.
“Old man,” said he, “rise; and if you did not outrage death, do not
degrade age.”
The keeper rose. Ordener continued: “Who is the culprit?”
“Oh, silence, noble youth! You know not of whom you speak. Silence!”
And Spiagudry mentally repeated: “Be faithful, be dumb.”
Ordener answered coldly: “Who is the culprit? I must know!”
“In Heaven’s name, sir, do not say so! Be silent, for fear--”
“Fear will not silence me, but shall make you speak.”
“Excuse me; forgive me, young master!” said the agonized Spiagudry. “I
cannot.”
“You can, for I insist. Tell me the profaner’s name!”
Spiagudry still strove to evade.
“Well, noble master, the profaner of this corpse is the assassin of that
officer.”
“Then that officer was murdered?” asked Ordener, reminded, by this
abrupt transition, of the object of his search.
“Yes, undoubtedly, sir.”
“And by whom,--by whom?”
“In the name of the saint on whom your mother called when she gave you
birth, do not seek to know his name, young master; do not force me to
reveal it.”
“If my desire to know it required any spur, you would add it, old man,
in the shape of curiosity. I command you to name the murderer.”
“Well, then,” said Spiagudry, “see these deep wounds, made by long,
sharp nails on the body of this unfortunate man. They will name the
assassin.”
And the old man showed Ordener a number of ugly scratches on the naked,
freshly washed corpse.
“What!” said Ordener, “was it some wild beast?”
“No, my young lord.”
“But unless it was the Devil--”
“Hush! Beware, lest your guesses come too close to the mark. Did you
never hear,” added the keeper in a low voice, “of a man or a monster
with human face, whose nails are as long as those of Ashtaroth who
ruined us all, or of Antichrist who will yet destroy us?”
“Speak more plainly.”
“‘Woe unto you!’ says the Apocalypse--”
“I demand the assassin’s name!”
“The assassin--his name? My lord, have pity on me; have pity on
yourself!”
“The second of those prayers would destroy the first, even if serious
reasons did not compel me to tear that name from your lips. Abuse my
patience no longer.”
“So be it, if you insist, young man,” said Spiagudry, raising himself,
and in a loud voice. “The murderer, the profaner, is Hans of Iceland.”
This terrible name was not unknown to Ordener.
“What!” he cried, “Hans! that execrable bandit!”
“Do not call him a bandit, for he has no followers.”
“Then, wretch, how do you know him? What common crimes have brought you
together?”
“Oh, noble master, do not stoop to believe in appearances. Is the
oak-tree poisonous because the serpent finds shelter within its trunk?”
“No idle words! A scoundrel has no friend who is not an accomplice.”
“I am not his friend, and still less his accomplice; and if all my oaths
fail to convince you, sir, let me implore you to observe that this
monstrous sacrilege exposes me, twenty-four hours hence, when Gill
Stadt’s body is to be removed, to the torture allotted to those guilty
of profanation, and thus casts me into the most fearful state of
anxiety ever endured by innocent man.”
These considerations of personal interest moved Ordener more than the
suppliant voice of the poor keeper, much of whose pathetic though
useless resistance to the little man’s sacrilegious act they had
doubtless inspired. Ordener reflected a moment, while Spiagudry tried to
read in his face whether this pause meant peace or boded a storm.
At last he said, in a severe though quiet tone: “Old man, speak the
truth! Did you find any papers upon that officer?”
“None, upon my honor.”
“Do you know if Hans of Iceland found any?”
“I swear by Saint Hospitius that I do not know.”
“You do not know? Do you know where this Hans of Iceland hides?”
“He never hides; he roams about perpetually.”
“Perhaps; but where is his den?”
“That pagan,” whispered the old man, “has as many dens as the island of
Hitteren has reefs, or the dog-star rays.”
“I order you again,” broke in Ordener, “to speak in plain terms. Let me
set you an example; hearken. You are mysteriously allied with a brigand,
whose accomplice you still declare that you are not. If you know him,
you must know where he has gone. Do not interrupt me. If you are not his
accomplice, you will not hesitate to lead me in search of him!”
Spiagudry could not contain his fright.
“_You_, noble lord! _you_,--great God! full of youth and life,--_you_
would provoke, seek out that demon! When four-armed Ingiald fought the
giant Nyctolm, at least, he had four arms!”
“Well,” said Ordener, with a smile, “if four arms are a requisite, will
you not be my guide?”
“I! your guide! How can you jest with an old man who almost needs a
guide himself?”
“Listen,” replied Ordener; “do not try to jest with me. If this
profanation, of which I would fain believe you innocent, exposes you to
be punished for sacrilege, you cannot stay here. You must fly. I offer
you my protection, but on condition that you lead me to the brigand’s
lair. Be my guide, I will be your saviour. Nay, more: if I catch Hans of
Iceland, I shall bring him here, dead or alive. You can then prove your
innocence, and I promise to restore your office. Stay; meantime, here
are more coins than your place brings you in a year.”
Ordener, by keeping his purse until the last, had observed that
gradation in his arguments required by the wholesome laws of logic. They
were strong enough in themselves to make Spiagudry consider. He began by
taking the money.
“Noble master, you are right,” said he; and his eye, hitherto vague and
uncertain, was fixed upon Ordener. “If I follow you, I incur the future
vengeance of the terrible Hans. If I stay, I fall to-morrow into the
hands of Orugix the hangman. What is the penalty of sacrilege? Never
mind. In either case, my poor life is in danger; but as, according to
the wise remark of Saemond-Sigfusson, otherwise called the Sage, _inter
duo pericula æqualia, minus imminens eligendum est_, I will follow you.
Yes, sir, I will be your guide. Pray do not forget, however, that I have
done all I could to dissuade you from your daring scheme.”
“Very good,” said Ordener. “Then you will be my guide. Old man,” he
added, with a meaning glance, “I count upon your fidelity.”
“Oh, master!” replied the keeper, “Spiagudry’s faith is as pure as the
gold which you so graciously gave me.”
“Let it remain so, or I will show you that the steel which I bear about
me is as sterling as my gold. Where do you think Hans of Iceland is?”
“Why, as the southern part of the province of Throndhjem is full of
troops sent thither on some errand of the lord chancellor, Hans must
have gone in the direction of Walderhog cave, or toward Lake Miösen. Our
road lies through Skongen.”
“When can you start?”
“At the close of the day now dawning, when night falls and the Spladgest
is closed, your poor servant will begin his duties as your guide, for
which he must deprive the dead of his care. We will try to hide the
mutilation of the miner from the eyes of the people for this one day.”
“Where shall I meet you to-night?”
“In the market-place, if it please my master, near the statue of
Justice, which was formerly Freya, and which will doubtless protect me
with her shadow, in gratitude for the fine devil which I had carved at
her feet.”
Spiagudry would probably have repeated the terms of his petition to the
governor, had not Ordener interrupted him.
“Enough, old man; it is a bargain.”
“A bargain,” repeated the keeper.
He had scarcely uttered these words, when a low growl was heard above
their heads. The keeper shuddered.
“What is that?” he said.
“Is there not,” asked Ordener, equally surprised, “any other living
being dwelling here besides yourself?”
“You remind me of my assistant, Oglypiglap,” replied Spiagudry,
reassured by the thought. “It was probably his snores which we heard. A
sleeping Lapp, Bishop Arngrimmsson says, makes as much noise as a waking
woman.”
As they talked, they approached the door of the Spladgest. Spiagudry
opened it softly.
“Good-by, young sir,” he said to Ordener; “may Heaven keep you merry.
Good-by until to-night. If your road lead you by the cross of Saint
Hospitius, deign to utter a prayer for your wretched servant, Benignus
Spiagudry.”
Then hastily closing the door, as much through fear of being seen as to
guard his lamp from the early morning breezes, he returned to Gill’s
corpse, and did his best so to arrange it that the wound might not be
perceived.
Many reasons combined to persuade the timid keeper to accept the
stranger’s perilous offer. The motives for his bold resolve may be
ranked as follows: (1) fear of Ordener here and now; (2) dread of Orugix
the hangman; (3) an ancient grudge against Hans of Iceland,--a grudge
which he scarcely dared acknowledge even to himself, so strong was the
power of fear; (4) a love of science, which would benefit largely by his
journey; (5) confidence in his own cunning, which would enable him to
evade Hans; (6) a wholly speculative attraction for certain metal
contained in the young adventurer’s purse, and probably also in the iron
casket stolen from the captain and intended for Widow Stadt, a message
which now ran a great risk of never leaving the messenger’s hands.
Still another and a final reason was the well or ill founded hope of
returning sooner or later to the post which he was about to desert.
Besides, what did it matter to him whether the robber killed the
traveller, or the traveller the robber? At this point in his meditations
he could not help saying aloud: “It will be one more corpse for me,
anyhow.”
Another growl was heard, and the unhappy keeper shivered.
“Indeed, that is not Oglypiglap’s snore,” said he; “that noise comes
from without.”
Then, after a moment’s thought, he added: “How silly I am to be so
frightened! The dog on the wharf probably waked and barked.”
Then he finished his arrangement of Gill’s disfigured remains, and
closing all the doors, threw himself upon his mattress to sleep off the
fatigue of the past night and gain strength for the coming one.
[Illustration: _Schumacker and his Daughter in the Prison Garden._