The private secretary shook like a leaf. He tried to speak, but could
not. The bishop handed the parchment to the pale and agitated president.
“What do I see?” exclaimed the latter, as he unfolded the parchment. “A
note to the noble Count d’Ahlefeld, upon the means of legally ridding
himself of Schumacker! I--I swear, reverend Bishop--”
The paper dropped from his trembling fingers.
“Read it, read it, sir,” said the bishop. “I doubt not that your
unworthy servant has abused your name as he has that of the unfortunate
Schumacker. Only see the result of your uncharitable aversion to your
fallen predecessor. One of your followers has plotted his ruin in your
name, doubtless hoping to make a merit of it to your Grace.”
These words revived the president, as showing him that the suspicions of
the bishop, who was acquainted with the entire contents of the casket,
had not fallen upon him. Ordener also breathed more freely. He began to
see that the innocence of Ethel’s father might be made manifest at the
same time with his own. He felt a deep surprise at the singular fate
which had led him to pursue a fearful brigand to recover this casket,
which his old guide, Benignus Spiagudry, bore about him all the time;
that it was actually following him while he was seeking for it. He also
reflected on the solemn lesson of the events which, after ruining him by
means of this same fatal casket, now proved the instrument of his
salvation.
The president, recovering himself, read with much show of indignation,
in which the entire audience shared, a lengthy memorandum, in which
Musdœmon set forth all the details of the abominable scheme which we
have seen him execute in the course of this story. Several times the
private secretary attempted to rise and defend himself, but each time he
was frowned down. At last the odious reading came to an end amid a
murmur of universal horror.
“Halberdiers, seize that man!” said the president, pointing to the
private secretary.
The wretch, speechless and almost lifeless, stepped from his place, and
was cast into the criminal dock, followed by the hoots of the populace.
“Judges,” said the bishop, “shudder and rejoice. The truth, which has
just been brought home to your consciences, will now be even more
strongly confirmed by the testimony of our honored brother, Athanasius
Munder, chaplain to the prisons of this royal town.”
It was indeed Athanasius Munder who accompanied the bishop. He bowed to
his superior in the Church and to the court, then at a sign from the
president, proceeded as follows: “What I am about to state is the truth.
May Heaven punish me if I utter a word with any other object than to do
my duty! From what I saw this morning in the cell of the viceroy’s son,
I was led to think that the young man was not guilty, although your
lordships had condemned him upon his own confession. Now, I was called,
a few hours since, to give the last spiritual consolations to the
unfortunate mountaineer so cruelly murdered before your very eyes, and
whom you condemned, worthy sirs, as being Hans of Iceland. The dying man
said to me: ‘I am not Hans of Iceland; I am justly punished for having
assumed his name. I was paid to play the part by the chancellor’s
private secretary; he is called Musdœmon; and it was he who managed the
whole revolt under the name of Hacket! I believe him to be the only
guilty man in this whole matter.’ Then he asked me to give him my
blessing, and advised me to make haste and repeat his last words to the
court. God is my witness. May I save the shedding of innocent blood, and
not cause that of the guilty to flow!”
He ceased, again bowing to his bishop and the judges.
“Your Grace sees,” said the bishop to the president, “that one of my
clients was not mistaken when he found so much resemblance between
Hacket and your private secretary.”
“Turiaf Musdœmon,” said the president to the prisoner, “what have you to
say in your defence?”
Musdœmon looked at his master with an expression which alarmed him. He
had recovered his usual impudence, and after a brief pause, answered:
“Nothing, sir.”
The president resumed in a weak and faltering voice: “Then you
acknowledge yourself guilty of the crime with which you are charged? You
confess yourself to be the author of a conspiracy alike against the
State and against one John Schumacker?”
“I do, my lord,” replied Musdœmon.
The bishop rose. “Mr. President, that there may be no shadow of doubt in
this affair, will your grace ask the prisoner if he had any
accomplices?”
“Accomplices?” repeated Musdœmon.
He hesitated a moment. The president wore a look of awful anxiety.
“No, my lord Bishop,” he said at last.
The president’s look of relief fell full upon him.
“No, I had no accomplices,” repeated Musdœmon, still more emphatically.
“I concocted this plot through affection for my master, who knew nothing
of it, to destroy his enemy, Schumacker.”
The eyes of prisoner and president met once more.
“Your Grace,” said the bishop, “must see that as Musdœmon had no
accomplices, Baron Ordener Guldenlew must be innocent.”
“Then why, worthy Bishop, did he confess his guilt?”
“Mr. President, why did that mountaineer persist that he was Hans of
Iceland at the risk of his life? God alone knows our secret motives.”
Ordener took up the word: “Judges, I can tell you my motive, now that
the real criminal has been discovered. I accused myself falsely to save
the former chancellor, Schumacker, whose death would have left his
daughter without a protector.”
The president bit his lip.
“We request the court,” said the bishop, “to proclaim the innocence of
our client, Ordener Guldenlew.”
The president responded with a nod; and at the request of the lord
mayor, they finished their examination of the terrible casket, which
contained nothing more except Schumacker’s titles of nobility, and a few
letters from the Munkholm prisoner to Captain Dispolsen,--bitter, but
not criminal letters, which alarmed no one but Chancellor d’Ahlefeld.
The court then withdrew; and after a brief deliberation, while the
curious crowd, gathered on the parade, waited with stubborn impatience
to see the viceroy’s son led forth to die, and the executioner
nonchalantly paced the scaffold, the president pronounced in a scarcely
audible voice the death sentence of Turiaf Musdœmon, the acquittal of
Ordener Guldenlew, and the restoration of all his honors, titles, and
privileges.