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.