AN OLD CHEST.
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
_Caecigena_ 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 Goerz 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 Goerz, 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 Goerz. I will employ this day in
examining all the testimony you have here given me, as well as the
witnesses--yourself, Fraeulein 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."
[Illustration: 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?