TWO WOUNDED HANDS.
Both kitchen and dining-room in the "Golden Vine" were crowded with
guests--a very unusual thing of a week-day. The report of the murder in
the Lonely House had spread quickly, not only in the little town, but
also in the surrounding villages, and, naturally, all were eager to
hear further particulars, and could find no better place for gratifying
this desire than in the inn, the home of the Judge, who was sure to be
there in the evening.
In the spacious kitchen, which was the gathering place of guests of the
lower classes, peasants and small tradesmen, there was quite a crowd.
Some were even obliged to drink their wine standing; all the benches
and chairs were occupied. Here not a German word was to be heard; the
talk was entirely in Slavonic; even around the hearth where Frau
Franzka received her intimate friends, all spoke in that tongue.
Nearly twenty men, principally petty tradesmen from Luttach, were
sitting and standing around the huge hearth listening respectfully to
Frau Franzka's words, who, as she cooked and broiled, was obliged
to give all the details of the terrible deed which the "German
fly-catcher"--such was the name that had already been bestowed upon me
in Luttach--had discovered. When I passed through the kitchen to go to
the dining-room, I was most politely and kindly greeted by all present,
while they looked at me with undisguised curiosity.
In the dining-room there was a far larger assembly than usual. All the
tables were occupied, but principally the great round one at which the
Burgomaster presided. All the gentlemen to whom I had been presented on
the previous evening were present, with the exception of the Captain.
The District Physician, two gentlemen (strangers to me), and, oddly
enough, Franz Schorn, were also there; the last sat next the Judge's
assistant.
I had evidently been expected. A chair beside the District Judge had
been reserved for me, and when I appeared--quite too late to suit the
impatience of those present--I was cordially received. Even Franz
Schorn rose from his seat, and when the other gentlemen offered me
their hands, he held out his--not the right hand, but the left, like
the Judge, who had protected his wounded hand with a black glove. I
remarked that Franz Schorn did not use his right hand, but kept it
concealed in the breast of his coat, which was closely buttoned.
The conversation was hardly interrupted by my arrival. Naturally it had
been concerning the murder in the Lonely House, and it so continued
after I had taken my place at the table. It was to me that all
inquisitive inquiries were now addressed--to me instead of to the Judge
or his assistant or to the physician. I was obliged to relate all that
I had seen. I was questioned about the smallest details; the most
insignificant interested every one.
The Judge, the assistant and Franz Schorn alone were silent. I could
inform the two first of nothing new; there was no need for them to
question me, and Franz Schorn probably did not wish to thrust himself
forward with inquiries.
It was evident, however, that he listened with intense interest to
everything that I related. As I spoke I narrowly observed the behaviour
of the Judge and of Franz Schorn, the two rivals. Herr Foligno appeared
scarcely to hear what I was saying. His eyes were fixed gloomily on his
wineglass, and he seemed to take no part in what was going on, but from
time to time as he looked up I could see that he heard every word that
I said. Franz Schorn kept his eyes riveted upon me as I spoke. The
description of my first discovery of the murdered man evidently
horrified him; he was more agitated by it than any of my other hearers.
After I had ended my narrative, and it had been completed by the
physician, the question of course was discussed as to who the murderer
could be, whence he had come, how he had entered the locked house,
whither he had fled, and what had been the amount of his robbery. In
this discussion, however, the Judge and his assistant and Franz Schorn
took no part, although they listened with close attention.
The physician defended with much acuteness his own theory that only an
intimate acquaintance of old Pollenz could have committed the crime; on
the other hand, many present maintained that the murderer must be some
Italian from Trieste, for neither in Luttach nor in the surrounding
country was there a man capable of such a deed.
During this discussion, to which Franz Schorn listened very
attentively, the physician accidentally pushed aside the left arm of
his neighbour--Franz Schorn--who dropped the cigar which he was holding
in his hand and stooped to pick it up. As he did so, he instinctively
drew from his bosom his right hand, which had hitherto been concealed
by his coat. It was bound about with a white bandage, upon which were
several spots of blood. He thrust it quickly into his breast again, but
not before the physician had noticed the spots on the white linen.
"Ah, Franz! What is the matter with your hand?" he asked kindly.
"Nothing," Franz replied curtly; "a slight cut."
"Slight! That can hardly be; if you have a bandaged hand and don't use
it, it must be a tolerably deep cut. Of course, you have done nothing,
as usual, but wrap a rag about it. You young people are incorrigible.
You never reflect that the neglect of such cuts, which you consider
insignificant, may cost you the hand itself. Take off the bandage; I
want to see what it is."
"It is nothing; a trifle, not worth mentioning."
"All the more readily should you show it to me. You owe obedience to an
old friend of your father's, you obstinate fellow; so off with your
bandage; I wish to see the wound."
"Certainly, if you insist," Franz replied, holding out his hand and
unwinding the bandage. It did not come off easily, but adhered to the
wound and a few drops of blood followed its removal.
"A couple of good cuts," said the physician, examining the hand; "not
dangerous; they will heal without any particular care if you spare your
hand a little for a couple of days; but how did you get such strange
cuts! Four fingers implicated, and another gash in the palm. It looks
as if you had done it with a knife."
"And so I did," Franz replied. "I was using a large knife in the
vineyard to-day and laid it down upon a high wall; it fell and would
have pierced my foot, if instead of shifting it, I had not foolishly
grasped at the falling knife and seized the sharp blade instead of the
handle. That is the whole story. Such slight cuts are not worth
mentioning." He wrapped the bandage around his hand again and concealed
it as before in the breast of his coat.
"Such slight cuts are not worth mentioning," the young man had said,
and it was true; they were insignificant. Nevertheless they aroused in
me a chain of thought which filled me with dread. Involuntarily I
thought of the bloody, dagger-like knife which I had seen in the Lonely
House. If the murderer in his contest with the old man had endeavoured
to take the knife from him and had accidentally seized it by the blade,
his hand would have been wounded precisely as was that of Franz Schorn.
Schorn had hitherto kept his right hand concealed. Why so? Did he wish
to conceal the wound? An involuntary motion, an accident, had compelled
him to show the bandaged hand, and it was with great reluctance that he
had acceded to the physician's request.
I looked at the District Judge. The same suspicion which had made me
shudder had been aroused also in him. I could read it in the lowering,
searching glance which he gave to the hand as Franz was wrapping it in
the bandage again. When he looked up afterwards and his gaze met mine,
his eyes were more eloquent than his tongue could have been. He slowly
raised his hand in its black glove as if in token of our understanding
each other. Strangely enough, his motion and his look had the effect of
instantly banishing the dark suspicion that had been awakened within
me. I had no right to entertain it. Had not the Judge himself also
accidentally wounded his right hand this very day? Might I not have
seen him also near the Lonely House, since he had been climbing among
the rocks in search of flowers? No, it would be rank folly to found a
suspicion with regard to Franz Schorn upon such accidental
circumstances. That the young man seemed even more gloomy and
preoccupied than on the previous evening, and that he scarcely uttered
a word, furnished no grounds for any suspicion with regard to him. Must
he not be deeply agitated by the terrible death of an old man with whom
he stood in such close, although hostile, relations? I blamed myself
for being so carried away by my indignation as to be ready to find in
insignificant trifles an undue importance. Besides, with the exception
of the Judge, whose duty it was to investigate all grounds of
suspicion, no other member of the company had thought of connecting
Franz Schorn's wounded hand with the murder. They all continued to
converse freely; even the physician, so acute in piecing out evidence,
who might have entertained some vague suspicion, had none at all; he
had thought no possible evil of Franz, and continued to address him now
from time to time as kindly and unreservedly as before. Still, this
evening I was very uncomfortable among them all. Their continued talk,
always of the same details, always of the horrible crime, increased my
nervous agitation to an intolerable degree. It was impossible to change
the subject of the conversation; it always reverted to the murder in
the Lonely House.
This perpetual return to the same horrible subject stretched me upon
the rack; I could no longer endure it. As soon as I had finished my
trout and my wine, I rose to withdraw to my room. The Judge followed my
example, and rose also. After emptying his tall glass at a draught, he
said he was tired and unhinged and needed to go to bed early after so
terrible a day. His clerk and the physician, with several other
gentlemen, courteously entreated me to stay at least for half an hour
longer, it was so early. Without positive discourtesy I could not
refuse their request, and ordered myself another glass of wine. The
Judge followed my example, although no one had requested him to remain.
In the short time that I stayed, barely half an hour, he drank two full
glasses of wine, the last at a draught just as I arose and declined to
remain longer.
Together we ascended the stairs. Mizka preceded us with a candle. When
we reached the landing in the first story, the Judge offered me his
left hand in farewell.
"Good-night, Herr Professor," he said aloud, adding in a whisper, "I
fear I shall be obliged to ask you to-morrow to give me officially an
account of your meeting with Herr Franz Schorn in the neighbourhood of
the Lonely House." He looked around at Mizka, who was opening the door
of my room, and as she entered it he continued, "A ground of suspicion
such as the wound in his right hand compels me to abandon all personal
considerations."
Greatly startled, I replied, "Mere chance, Herr Foligno; you, too, have
wounded your right hand to-day."
My innocent words made him start as if I had struck him a blow in the
face. I could not see his features, it was too dark on the landing; a
weak ray of light coming from the open door of my room was the only
illumination; but the quiver in his voice as he answered me after a
pause of a second, betrayed the disastrous effect of my words.
"You are perfectly right, Herr Professor; it may be 'mere chance.' I
shall not proceed against Herr Schorn. I will even try to combat my
suspicion of evil in him, my enemy, but it is my duty to search for
further grounds of suspicion against him. That must be done in spite of
my hostile feeling towards him. Good-night, Herr Professor."
He pressed my hand once more, and we parted.
Mizka was already busy in my room putting everything in order for the
night. She was obliged to do this as quickly as possible, for the
number of guests below in the dining-room and in the kitchen depended
upon her services; but she could not forego a little gossip. She told
me that before I had entered the dining-room this evening there had
been quite a quarrel between the Judge and his assistant. They had been
seated at the round table when Franz Schorn entered the room and looked
around for a place. All the tables were full, and the Clerk had invited
Schorn to sit beside him at the round table. This made the Judge
violently angry, but the Clerk declared that the Judge had no more
authority than any other guest in the dining-room of the inn. Franz
Schorn would have retired, but the Clerk detained him, and the
physician, who had been an old friend of Franz's dead father, had
declared that he himself would stay only on condition of Franz's
remaining, and would never again take his place at the round table if
Herr Foligno denied a seat there to Franz. The Burgomaster, too, and
the other gentlemen, who were not always friendly to Franz, now took
his part, so that the Judge was obliged to yield, and Franz, induced by
their persuasions, took his seat; but neither the Judge nor Franz after
the quarrel had exchanged a word.
What strange occurrences were these in this little country town! Even
here, the few cultivated people, so circumscribed in their social
relations, were divided by hatred and prejudice. I undressed myself
and, with a memory of the gymnastic feats of my boyhood, clambered into
my lofty bed. I was sadly in need of repose. The agitations of the day
had been too much for my old body. They had exhausted my strength, and
yet excitement of mind conquered bodily weariness. I could not sleep. I
tried in vain to banish the memory of the dreadful scenes through which
I had passed. I tried to think of it all with indifference; but what I
had seen in the Lonely House scared away sleep, of which I had such
sore need. Hours and hours passed. The time seemed eternal before at
last I closed my weary eyes.
And the Judge had the same experience; he could not sleep that night.
As long as I lay awake in bed I heard the sound of his footsteps above
me, as he paced his room to and fro restlessly. Surely the same
memories were agitating him which denied me the blessing of slumber.
The investigation at the Lonely House had not been the mere fulfilment
of a duty for him, any more than it had been for the physician. The
horror of it all had impressed him as profoundly as it had myself. It
did not lessen my opinion of him that he should thus have preserved in
the midst of his official duties a warm, sensitive heart.