_Sommers' Visit to South Norwalk._--_He makes the Acquaintance of
Sadie Waring._--_A Successful Ruse._--_Bucholz Confides to His Friend
the Hiding Place of the Murdered Man's Money._
Upon the return of Edward Sommers to the jail at Bridgeport he was
warmly welcomed by his friend, to whom the intervening days had
passed slowly and wearily.
His greeting was cordial and friendly, and as Sommers related his
experiences during his absence, the eyes of William would light up
with pleasure. No one to have looked at him now would have imagined
for a moment that the face now wreathed with smiles had once been
distorted by a murderous passion, or grown ashen pale with the fear
of the consequences of his action.
Their conversation was long and seemingly interesting, and as Sommers
unfolded his plans for the relief of the imprisoned man, all doubt of
their success was dissipated from his mind, and visions of
prospective safety came thick and fast. He still appeared doubtful of
communicating the promised secret of the hiding-place of the old
man's money to his companion. He avoided the subject by eager
questions upon other topics, and when the time arrived for the
departure of Sommers, the confidence was still withheld, and the
position of the stolen money was known only to the man who had placed
it there.
Sommers had informed him of his visit to Mr. Bollman and of the
conversation which had taken place between them relating to the
suspicions entertained by him of Sommers, to all of which Bucholz
listened with wrapt attention, and when he was again solemnly
cautioned about informing his counsel of the relations existing
between them, or of their possession of any of the wealth of the
murdered man, with a peculiar twinkle in his eye he promised a strict
obedience.
Finding it impossible to extract anything from him upon this visit,
Sommers took his leave, promising to return upon the next day that
visitors were admitted, and also agreeing to furnish him with some
delicacies for which he had expressed a desire.
Sommers began to grow impatient under this continued procrastination
and evasion, and he resolved to take such measures as would
accomplish the object desired. He had found, during his connection
with Bucholz, that he had not the slightest regard for the truth. He
would make the most astounding assertions, unblushingly insisting
upon their truthfulness, and even when brought face to face with
facts which contradicted his statements, he would stubbornly decline
to be convinced or to admit his error or falsehood. All through their
intercourse he had evinced this tendency to exaggeration and
untruthfulness, and Sommers had grown to be very skeptical with
regard to any statement which he would make.
He had promised William to visit the farmhouse where Henry Schulte
had resided, and to call upon the family of the Warings, who still
continued to reside there, and to carry a message to Sadie.
Accordingly, one morning he started for South Norwalk, and, arriving
there in safety, he walked up the main road, and, entering through
the gate in front of the house, he knocked at the door.
The family were all absent except Sadie, who greeted the new-comer in
a friendly manner. He announced himself as a friend of William's, and
conveyed to her the affectionate messages which he had been entrusted
with. Sadie appeared to be rejoiced at the information which he
brought, and soon became quite communicative to the young man. She
related to him the incidents of the murder, and expressed her belief
in the innocence of Bucholz, and her hopes of his acquittal.
Sommers, by the exercise of a little good nature and that tact which
is generally acquired by a man of the world, succeeded in
ingratiating himself into the favor of the young lady, and when,
after spending some time in her company, he arose to take his leave,
she volunteered to accompany him a short distance upon his journey,
and to point out to him the spot where the murder had taken place.
Her offer was cheerfully accepted by Sommers, and they were soon
chatting pleasantly on their way through the fields. Arriving at the
strip of woods, they walked along the narrow path and Sadie
designated to him the place where the body had been found.
Very different now was the scene presented. The trees, whose branches
were then bare, were now covered with their bright and heavy verdure;
the ground, that then was hard and frozen, was now carpeted with the
luxurious grass; the birds sang merrily overhead, and the warm
sunshine lighted up the wood with a beauty far different than was
apparent upon that bleak winter night when Henry Schulte met his
death upon the spot where they now were standing.
They then walked together up the railroad, and meeting the mother and
sister returning home, Sommers bade them a pleasant good-bye and
promised to pay them another visit as soon as practicable.
He determined to make this visit the groundwork of a definite attack
upon the reticence of William Bucholz. The next morning, upon going
to the jail, he informed William of his visit to South Norwalk, and
of his meeting with Sadie Waring. After relating the various
incidents that had occurred during his visit, and which were listened
to with lively interest, he turned suddenly to Bucholz, and lightly
said:
"By the way, Bucholz, the Warings are going to move."
Bucholz started suddenly, as though the information conveyed an
unpleasant surprise.
"You must not let them move, Sommers," he exclaimed quickly, and with
an evidence of fear in his voice. "That will never do."
"I can not prevent their moving," replied Sommers. "They will do as
they please about that, I guess. Besides, what has their moving got
to do with us?"
"Oh, everything, everything," exclaimed Bucholz.
"Well, they are going at all events."
"Then the money must be got. Oh, Sommers, do not betray me, but one
of the pocket-books is in the barn."
"Whereabouts in the barn?" inquired Sommers, almost unable to conceal
his satisfaction at the success of his ruse.
"I will show you how to get it. I will draw a sketch of the barn, and
show you just where it is to be found," exclaimed William, hurriedly.
"Oh, my dear Sommers, you do not know how worried I have been. I
first threw the money under the straw in the barn, and on the Sunday
morning after old Schulte was killed I went out in the barn to get
it, and put it in a safe place, when I found that the straw had been
taken away. I stood there as if I was petrified, but I looked
further, and there, under the loose straw upon the ground, I saw the
pocket-book lying all safe. The man who had taken the straw away had
not been smart enough to see it. I felt as though a bright gleam of
sunshine had come over me, and I picked it up and hid it away in a
safe place. My God! My God! What a fool I was."
"I should think so," replied Sommers.
Bucholz then drew a sketch of the barn, and designated the
hiding-place of the money as being under the flooring of the first
stall that you met on entering.
It was with great difficulty that Summers retained his composure as
he received this information, but he succeeded in controlling his
emotions, and took the paper from the hands of his companion with a
calmness which displayed the wonderful control which he exercised
over himself.
"There are some marks upon these bills," said Bucholz with a laugh,
"and if Mr. Olmstead was to see them he would know what they mean."
"Ah, yes," replied Sommers. "They are the numbers which Mr. Schulte
put upon them, but," he added, confidently, "I will soon fix that, a
little acid will take that all out and nobody will know anything
about it."
The prisoner laughed, gleefully, and slapping his companion upon the
back, exclaimed:
"Ah, Sommers, you are a devil of a fellow! and I can trust your skill
in anything."
He then informed Sommers that he did not know how much money was in
the pocketbook; that he had taken some fifty and one-hundred-dollar
bills out of it, but that fearing to have so much money about him he
had replaced a large portion of what he had previously taken.
The time was now approaching for visitors to leave the prison, and
Sommers arose to go. Bucholz arose also, as if some new idea had
occurred to him, or he had formed some new resolve; he said:
"While you are there you may as well get--" then he stopped abruptly,
and changing his mind, he added: "But never mind, that is too--high
up."
Sommers felt confident that his companion was withholding something
from him, and he was resolved that before he had finished, he would
arrive at the whole of the mystery, but he had gained enough for one
day and he was compelled to be satisfied.
Before leaving Bucholz for that day he informed him that he would
take the money to New York and endeavor to get the marks out of the
bills; that he would then throw the empty pocket-book in some place,
where it would be found, and that would be a good thing for him upon
the trial.
Bucholz caught greedily at this suggestion, and laughed loudly at the
prospect of blinding the eyes of justice by the operation of this
clever trick.
Leaving him in this excellent good humor, Sommers took his departure
from the jail, and, in a jubilant frame of mind, returned to the
town.