A CHARGE OF MURDER
The farmer lumbered along at my side for a while, puffing and blowing
hard, and as we climbed a hilly field we had to call a halt.
"I'm not so young as you," he said, gasping and wiping his forehead.
"I'm very anxious to get to my friend," I replied.
"He didn't seem very anxious to see you; at least he didn't say anything
about any friend; but it was a hint from him which sent me down to that
barn of mine to look for you."
"What did he say?" I asked, seeing that there was something behind his
words.
"We've had a very rough character about these parts for some time
past--a rascal that has been robbing right and left and has knocked one
or two of the neighbours on the head--and I was speaking of him to my
wife before the old stranger, and he turned and said he had seen a man
of the sort in the barn there."
I laughed but held my tongue.
"You must excuse me, but is there anything funny about the old
gentleman? He is a gentleman, of course; I could see that in a
twinkle?"
The question gave a hint of the line to take. "Did you notice anything
odd about him, then?"
"It's not for me to talk, of course; but my wife thought he was a bit
strange in his head."
"Poor old fellow," I replied in a tone of commiseration.
"Ah, I thought as much," was the answer with a note of
self-satisfaction. "My wife isn't often wrong. Are you in charge of him
so to speak?"
"He is in my charge just at present; but I'm not his keeper, if that's
what you mean? He's as harmless as a child; but he fancies himself a
desperate conspirator. He's a noble."
"He told us that, but we didn't believe him."
"It's true; and of course his people are well able to pay handsomely for
anything that is done for him."
The bait was taken readily. "I shall be glad to help of course if I
can."
"If he's still at the house, you can. I want to get on to the city and
send his friends out for him. If you could look after him meanwhile,
you can name your own price, and I'll pay you something on account of
it."
"I suppose he really is harmless. I mean he wouldn't be likely to give
any trouble if we kept him in the house?"
"Oh, no chance of it. And certainly not, if you or I were in the room
with him. Although of course I must get on to the city. I suppose two
or three twenty mark pieces would pay you for a lost day?"
"I should think it would be worth five," he replied with Teutonic
aptitude for driving a bargain.
"It's a lot of money; but we'll make it the five with an extra one for
the wife, if she looks well after him. I always like the wife to have
something."
We came in sight of the house soon after that, and with intense
satisfaction I saw the Baron sitting by the door basking in the
sunlight. Fearing that possibly he might take fright when he saw me and
run away, or do something to scare the farmer from the bargain, I gave
the latter a couple of gold pieces as an earnest, and sent him on ahead
to get the Baron up into a room.
There was no difficulty. He went up to the Baron, who greeted him with
a condescending smile. They spoke together, and I breathed a sigh of
fervent thanksgiving when the two went indoors.
That load was lifted from my shoulders, and I followed to the house
after an interval. Over a hearty meal I heard that the Baron had been
put to bed, where he had fallen fast asleep. I did my utmost to
ingratiate myself with both the farmer and his wife, and laughed as
heartily as he himself did when he told her how he had treated me in the
barn; and with a promise that they should be relieved of their charge as
soon as possible, I set off in the farmer's cart for the nearest station
on my way back to the city, to relieve Althea's anxiety and send her out
to her father's assistance.
The stroke of good luck in finding a shelter for him had raised my
spirits, and as I paced up and down the platform of the little
by-station, where I had to wait over an hour for the train, I was able
to view with comparative ease of mind the complications which still
beset me.
My first step was obvious. As soon as I had seen Althea, I would get an
interview with Herr Borsen and make a clean breast of everything, both
in regard to myself and von Felsen. I was convinced in my own mind that
the man who had fired that shot at me after leaving the station had been
instigated by him. I had seen him at my house, had recognized him at
the station, and again after he had fired at me.
In the face of that, it would be quixotic to wait for further proofs
before letting von Felsen feel the weight of my hand. That day should
see the end of things so far as he was concerned; I would hand over to
Herr Borsen, not only the confession of the theft of the papers, but
also that of the murder.
As I recalled my interview with him I saw how he had fooled me, and that
his prompt recovery from terror--which I had attributed to his relief at
hearing that his life might still be saved--was in reality due to his
belief that he could compass my death in time to save himself from all
trouble through the revelation of what I had forced from him.
Such a snake as that deserved no mercy, and he should have none.
I anticipated very little trouble in getting out of my own troubles. I
had committed no crime. My association with old Ziegler and the men who
had been plotting against the Government was in reality innocent enough;
and although it was probable that those whom I had outwitted on the
previous night would tell of my presence at the wharf and would do all
they could against me, the fact that I had gone in search of the Baron
would put that right.
The one step which I did regret was that I had had to take the life of
the man, Gassen. But it had been done in self-defence. I had not
intended to do more than send him adrift in the boat, while his attack
on me had meant murder and nothing short of it. But whether it would be
prudent to open my lips about it was questionable, and I would await
developments before deciding.
Altogether, I was in a very confident mood as I drove from the station
to my house, and jubilant in my anticipation of Althea's delight at the
good news I could give her about her father.
But instead of having to deliver good news I had to receive bad--the
worst indeed. The servants were alone in the house and on the point of
leaving it; and I found Ellen sitting disconsolately in the hall, her
eyes red with weeping, dressed in her hat and jacket ready to go.
"What is the matter? Where is Fraeulein von Ringheim?"
"She has gone, sir. There has been such trouble here. We had the
police looking for you, and they searched the house from top to bottom,"
she wailed, her words interspersed with sobs. "Cook has packed, sir;
and I can't stay, if you please."
"Very well, but before you go, try and tell me something more definite."
She fumbled in her pocket and brought out a telegram. "The Fraeulein
opened it, sir: I didn't; and she told me I must get it to you as it was
very important."
It was from Bessie and announced her safe arrival in Brussels with
"everything." This was one piece of good news at any rate.
"Now, Ellen," I said, turning to question her, "of course you must go
away if you wish, and I shouldn't think of stopping you. But I assure
you the whole businesss is a mistake somewhere, and you do not run the
faintest risk in staying here. Martha has not gone yet?" This was the
cook.
"No, sir; but she's just ready."
"Well, while I change and look round, go and tell her to see me before
she leaves."
"But the police told us both to go, sir."
"I'm not at all sure that you've had the police here at all. Did the
Fraeulein go away with them, whoever they were?"
"No, sir. Herr von Felsen was here and was with her when the men were
turning the place upside down. You never saw such a mess as they've made
of things."
"Never mind the mess. Did he come with them?"
"Just before them, He was very excited and said they were coming."
"What time was that?"
"About midday, sir."
"And when did he leave? Did the Fraeulein go with him?"
"Yes, sir. That was about an hour ago."
It was just four o'clock. If I had not had to wait for that train, I
should have been in time to take a hand in the business.
"I am quite convinced from your answers that these men were not police,
Ellen; but tell me were any of them the men who were watching the house
yesterday?"
"Yes, sir. One of them spoke to me yesterday, and it was he who told us
to-day that if we didn't go we should be in trouble. He behaved
shameful, and wanted to put us out there and then without our boxes; but
cook she up and told him she wasn't going without hers, and then he gave
us an hour to clear out in."
"Well done, Martha," I exclaimed, as the cook came downstairs. I
explained to her that the men had not been the police, and endeavoured
to allay the fears of them both.
I succeeded after some difficulty, and they agreed to remain.
"That fellow said he'd come back in an hour to see that we had gone,"
said Martha, a woman with a great deal of spirit. "I hope he will
come"; and she nodded her head with an emphasis which promised him a
warm reception.
"I don't expect you'll see him here again. Now, a last question. Did
they say anything to you about the supposed crime for which I was to be
arrested?"
"They went on awful about you, sir," replied Martha. "You was a
conspirator, and a murderer, and you'd either run away to get out of
their hands or had killed yourself; and I don't know what else. But you
were never coming back. That was certain."
"Well, here I am, you see; so you can tell how much to believe of the
rest."
"They said they had warrants for you, sir," put in Ellen. "They showed
me some papers; and the Fraeulein told me afterwards they had, and that
she was going away in order to prevent any harm coming to you."
"Well, we'll soon have things all right again," I replied, and went off
to change my clothes and view the results of the men's work.
I thought I could understand it all, I guessed that the man who had
fired at me on the previous night had mistaken my fall for the result of
his shot, and had accordingly reported that the attempt had been
successful. With me out of his way, von Felsen had only to recover
possession of the stolen paper, the keys and the confessions he had
written, to find his hand once more on the controlling lever of
everything so far as Althea was concerned.
That was what the search meant, and that it had been complete, the
evidence of my own eyes showed. But it had not been successful, any the
more for that. The stolen paper was safe in Brussels, and I had been in
such a cyclone hurry to get after the Baron on the previous night, that
I had not stayed to look the other things up, but had thrust them into
the first place which had caught my eye. This had been the large
upright iron stove in the hall among the kindling wood and paper. And
there I found them.
Almost every other conceivable nook and cranny in the house which would
have served for a hiding-place had been ransacked, and every desk and
drawer opened and searched. It was a stupendous piece of luck.
A moment's reflection decided me to leave them where they were. My
first task must be to find Althea. Her safety was much more to me than
my own, and she was not safe for a single second of the time she was
with von Felsen.
It was an easy guess that his failure to find what he had sought so
drastically would put him in a very ugly mood, and even his belief in my
death would not suffice to ease his mind. So long as that evidence of
his crimes remained in existence, it was liable to fall into the hands
of some one who would be able to use it with disastrous results to him.
I would have given much to know the story he had told to Althea. He
would not say a word about my supposed death, and the servants'
references to the warrants for my arrest suggested the line he had
taken.
He would seek to prey upon her fears both for her father and myself, and
pose as being still in a position to save us both. If he had done that
I had no doubt that he would drive her to consent to marry him; and my
fear was that, exasperated by not having found what he sought and needed
so desperately, he would rush matters to a crisis at once.
I hurried at once to von Felsen's house, but only to find it shut up. I
knocked and rang several times without result, and in the end had to
turn away baffled and a prey to fresh fears and apprehension.
Where to look for him I had no idea, nor where to look for Althea of
course. I had felt so certain of finding them both at the house that
the sting of the disappointment was all the more disconcerting.
It flashed across my thoughts that possibly Althea might have gone back
to her own house, or might have communicated with Chalice in some way
during my absence; and acting on the impulse, I jumped back into the cab
and told the man to drive me there.
On the way another thought occurred to me: Hagar Ziegler. She might
know where to tell me to look for von Felsen; and I was putting my head
out of the window to give the driver the fresh direction, when we pulled
up at Chalice's house.
As I should lose no more than a few minutes in seeing her, I ran up to
the door, and when the servant opened it I sprang up the stairs without
wasting the time to be announced, dashed into her room, and, without an
apology for my abruptness, asked if Althea had been there.
Chalice jumped to her feet on my entrance, stared at me as if I were a
lunatic, and then backed and laid her hand on the bell-pull.
"Why do you come here? I can't help you, Herr Bastable. You must know
that."
"You can answer my question at any rate. Fraeulein Althea is missing
from my house and I am searching for her. Has she been here?"
She fixed her eyes on me with an expression of bewilderment. "She can't
help you to escape; and of all houses in Berlin this is the last you
should have come to."
"For Heaven's sake do give me an answer. Can't you see I am on fire
with impatience? Every minute may mean ruin to her."
She bent toward me and came a step or two forward. "Do you mean you
don't know? You must not stay here. It will ruin me if you are found
here. Do you mean that you don't know?
"Know what?" I cried angrily in my exasperation.
"Good heavens! Why, that you are accused of the murder of Hagar
Ziegler's father!"