_The Hearing before the Coroner._--_Romantic Rumors and Vague
Suspicions._--_An Unexpected Telegram._--_Bucholz Suspected._
The next day the sun shone gloriously over a beautiful winter's day,
and as its bright rays lighted up the ice-laden trees in the little
wood, causing their branches to shimmer with the brilliant hues of a
rainbow's magnificence, no one would have imagined that in the gloom
of the night before, a human cry for help had gone up through the
quiet air or that a human life had been beaten out under their
glittering branches.
The night had been drearily spent in the home which Henry Schulte had
occupied, and the body of the murdered man had been guarded by
officers of the law, designated by the coroner who designed holding
the customary inquest upon the morrow.
To the inmates of the house the hours had stretched their weary
lengths along, and sleep came tardily to bring relief to their
overwrought minds. Bucholz, nervous and uneasy, had, without
undressing, thrown himself upon the bed with Sammy Waring, and during
his broken slumbers had frequently started nervously and uttered
moaning exclamations of pain or fear, and in the morning arose
feverish and unrefreshed.
The two girls, who had wept profusely during the night, and before
whose minds there flitted unpleasant anticipations of a public
examination, in which they would no doubt play prominent parts, and
from which they involuntarily shrank, made their appearance at the
table heavy-eyed and sorrowful.
As the morning advanced, hundreds of the villagers, prompted by idle
curiosity and that inherent love of excitement which characterizes
all communities, visited the scene of the murder, and as they gazed
vacantly around, or pointed out the place where the body had been
found, many and varied opinions were expressed as to the manner in
which the deed was committed, and of the individuals who were
concerned in the perpetration of the crime.
A rumor, vague at first, but assuming systematic proportions as the
various points of information were elucidated, passed through the
crowd, and was eagerly accepted as the solution of the seeming
mystery.
It appeared that several loungers around the depot at Stamford, a
town about eight miles distant, on the night previous had observed
two conspicuous-looking foreigners, who had reached the depot at
about ten o'clock. They seemed to be exhausted and out of breath, as
though they had been running a long distance, and in broken English,
scarcely intelligible, had inquired (in an apparently excited
manner), when the next train was to leave for New York. There were
several cabmen and hangers-on who usually make a railroad depot their
headquarters about, and by them the two men were informed that there
were no more trains running to New York that night. This information
seemed to occasion them considerable annoyance and disappointment;
they walked up and down the platform talking and gesticulating
excitedly, and separating ever and anon, when they imagined
themselves noticed by those who happened to be at the station.
Soon after this an eastern-bound train reached the depot, and these
same individuals, instead of going to New York, took passage on this
train. They did not go into the car together, and after entering took
seats quite apart from each other. The conductor, who had mentioned
these circumstances, and who distinctly remembered the parties, as
they had especially attracted his attention by their strange
behavior, recollected that they did not present any tickets, but paid
their fares in money. He also remembered that they were odd-looking
and acted in an awkward manner. They both left the train at New
Haven, and from thence all trace of them was lost for the present.
Upon this slight foundation, a wonderful edifice of speculation was
built by the credulous and imaginative people of South Norwalk. The
romance of their dispositions was stirred to its very depths, and
their enthusiastic minds drew a vivid picture, in which the manner
and cause of Henry Schulte's death was successfully explained and
duly accounted for.
These men were without a doubt the emissaries of some person or
persons in Germany, who were interested in the old gentleman and
would be benefited by his death. As this story coincided so fully
with the mysterious appearance of the old man at South Norwalk; his
recluse habits and avoidance of society, it soon gained many
believers, who were thoroughly convinced of the correctness of the
theory thus advanced.
Meanwhile the coroner had made the necessary arrangements for the
holding of the inquest as required by the law, and his office was
soon crowded to overflowing by the eager citizens of the village, who
pushed and jostled each other in their attempts to effect an entrance
into the room.
The first and most important witness was William Bucholz, the servant
of the old gentleman, and who had accompanied him on that fatal walk
home.
He told his story in a plain, straightforward manner, and without any
show of hesitation or embarrassment. He described his meeting Mr.
Schulte at the depot; their entering the saloon, and their journey
homeward.
"After we left the saloon," said Bucholz, who was allowed to tell his
story without interruption and without questioning, "Mr. Schulte said
to me, 'Now, William, we will go home;' we walked up the railroad
track and when we reached the stone wall that is built along by the
road, Mr. Schulte told me to take the satchel, and as the path was
narrow, he directed me to walk in advance of him. He was silent, and,
I thought, looked very tired. I had not walked very far into the
woods, when I heard him call from behind me, as though he was hurt or
frightened, 'Bucholz! Bucholz!' I heard no blow struck, nor any sound
of footsteps. I was startled with the suddenness of the cry, and as I
was about to lay down the satchel and go to him, I saw a man on my
right hand about six paces from me; at the same time I heard a noise
on my left, and as I turned in that direction I received a blow upon
my face. This frightened me so that I turned, and leaping over the
wall, I ran as fast as I could towards the house. One of the men, who
was tall and stoutly built, chased me till I got within a short
distance of the barn. He then stopped, and calling out, 'Greenhorn, I
catch you another time,' he went back in the direction of the woods.
He spoke in English, but from his accent I should think he was a
Frenchman. I did not stop running until I reached the house, and
calling for help to Sammy Waring, I opened the door and fell down. I
was exhausted, and the blow I received had hurt me very much." He
then proceeded to detail the incidents which followed, all of which
the reader has already been made aware of.
He told his story in German, and, through one of the citizens
present, who acted as interpreter, it was translated into English.
While he was speaking, a boy hurriedly entered the room, and pushing
his way toward the coroner, who was conducting the examination, he
handed to him a sealed envelope.
Upon reading the meager, but startling, contents of the telegram, for
such it proved to be, Mr. Craw gazed at Bucholz with an expression of
pained surprise, in which sympathy and doubtfulness seemed to contend
for mastery.
The telegram was from the State's Attorney, Mr. Olmstead, who, while
on the train, going from Stamford to Bridgeport, had perused the
account of the murder of the night before, in the daily journal.
Being a man of clear understanding, of quick impulse, and indomitable
will, for him to think was to act. Learning that the investigation
was to be held that morning, immediately upon his arrival at
Bridgeport he entered the telegraph office, and sent the following
dispatch:
"_Arrest the servant._"
It was this message which was received by the coroner, while Bucholz,
all unconscious of the danger which threatened him, was relating the
circumstances that had occurred the night before.
Mr. Craw communicated to no one the contents of the message he had
received, and the investigation was continued as though nothing had
occurred to disturb the regularity of the proceedings thus begun.
Mr. Olmstead, however, determined to allow nothing to interfere with
the proper carrying out of the theory which his mind had formed, and
taking the next train, he returned to South Norwalk, arriving there
before Bucholz had finished his statement.
When he entered the room he found that Bucholz had not been arrested
as yet, and so, instead of having this done, he resolved to place an
officer in charge of him, thus preventing any attempt to escape,
should such be made, and depriving him practically of the services of
legal counsel.
Mr. Olmstead conducted the proceedings before the coroner, and his
questioning of the various witnesses soon developed the theory he had
formed, and those who were present listened with surprise as the
assumption of Bucholz's guilty participation in the murder of his
master was gradually unfolded.
Yet under the searching examination that followed, Bucholz never
flinched; he seemed oblivious of the fact that he was suspected, and
told his story in an emotionless manner, and with an innocent
expression of countenance that was convincing to most of those who
listened to his recital.
No person ever appeared more innocent under such trying circumstances
than did this man, and but for a slight flush that now and then
appeared upon his face, one would have been at a loss to discover any
evidence of feeling upon his part, which would show that he was alive
to the position which he then occupied.
His bearing at the investigation made him many friends who were very
outspoken in their defense of Bucholz, and their belief in his entire
innocence. Mr. Olmstead, however, was resolute, and Bucholz returned
to the house upon the conclusion of the testimony for that day, in
charge of an officer of the law, who was instructed to treat him
kindly, but under no circumstances to allow him out of his sight, and
the further investigation was deferred until the following week.