The Lonely House Part 2

A very strange fellow! He need not have considered himself so strictly bound by his promise not to press his friends.h.i.+p upon me. He need not have grudged me a kindly greeting and a word or two. I should have liked to ask him about the nearest cottage where I could perhaps get a drink of water, but there was no help for it; I could not run after him and must find my way for myself.

I pursued the footpath further. To my joy I soon found myself in the neighbourhood of a house, but as I approached it my joy turned to disappointment. All the windows--not only those of the ground floor, but those of the first story--were provided with strong iron bars, and I made sure that I had reached the _Lonely House_, whose possessor, old Pollenz, according to all that I had heard of him, could hardly be expected to show any civility to a hated German. Should I ask him for a drink of water? It would not be pleasant to be rudely refused so modest a request. If I had not been tortured with thirst, I would rather have continued upon my path to Luttach instead of asking any favour of the old usurer; but he could at most only return me a surly "No," so I determined to try it. On reaching the house, contrary to my expectation I found the front door wide open, although Mizka had told me that old Pollenz almost always kept it locked and would not open it until continued knocking had removed all suspicion of thieves.

Uncertain whether or not to enter, I stood before the open door; it looked into a s.p.a.cious hall running through the entire house, ending in another door which probably led into the courtyard. That I confronted the Lonely House was made certain by the huge iron bolts with which the door towards the courtyard was secured. A steep staircase leading to the upper story led from one side of the hall. Opposite the staircase was a door; and two other doors, one to the right, one to the left of the entrance, led into the inner rooms of the house; they were all closed.

I entered and knocked modestly at the door on my left. No reply; no "Come in." I listened; there was not a sound to be heard; an uncanny stillness reigned throughout the house. I knocked again, more loudly, and then, after a pause, more loudly still for the third time. The sound of my knocking was so loud that it surely must have been heard within, but it met with no response. I waited in vain.

A strange and uncomfortable sensation overcame me. I dreaded the Lonely House, where everything seemed dead. What folly! An old man should have more sense. I was ashamed of this strange and disagreeable sensation and turned towards the door on the right of the entrance. Perhaps my knock here might have a better result. No longer as modestly as before, I knocked loudly, and the door, which happened to be only ajar, opened slowly of itself. I cast one look into a s.p.a.cious room, and staggered back, overcome by intense horror.

There, almost in the centre of the apartment, a motionless figure lay upon the floor in a pool of blood, which had stained the white boards dark red. Such horror, such intense dread, seized me that my first thought was of flight as swift as my feet could carry me from this terrible sight; but the next moment I was ashamed of such cowardly fear. Perhaps the unfortunate man who lay there in his blood still lived. Perhaps I might help him. I overcame the paralyzing terror and entered the room.

All that I saw there only increased my horror. No mortal help could avail the unfortunate man whose stiffened corpse lay before me. He had either killed himself, or had been horribly murdered. His throat was cut, and from the gaping wound dark drops of blood were still trickling. The pale, bloodless, distorted countenance was that of a dead man.

Had there been a murder here! Had the old man's foreboding, always dwelling upon burglars and murderers, been fulfilled! Perhaps the murderer was still in the house. The horrible crime could not have been committed for long, for the blood had not yet congealed; some drops were still trickling from the wound.

Horror seized me afresh. I looked timidly about me. It seemed to me the murderer might be near. Hastily I drew from my breast pocket my loaded revolver; I was safe from any attack and could look about me with less agitation.

There was no doubt that a horrible crime had been committed here. There upon the floor, at some distance from the dead man, lay a b.l.o.o.d.y knife, near a large cabinet, the folding doors of which stood wide open.

Several drawers had been drawn out and papers lay scattered upon the floor. The murderer had apparently been searching the cabinet for money or valuables, and had scattered about these papers.

Had he been startled by my knocking and escaped! If so, he must have pa.s.sed through the door which led on the left to an adjoining room, for the windows here were barred.

I summoned all my courage to follow him, but there was no need, for the door leading outside was bolted and no one could have left the room by it. He must have escaped before I entered; he might be concealed somewhere near; but, again, he might have left the house, and, in his hasty flight, have forgotten to close the front door.

What should I do? Ought I not to search the place? Yet if he were not there, all search would be unavailing, and if I found him, it would be foolhardy to wander about these unfamiliar rooms merely to expose myself to an attack. The murderer might deal a blow from behind which would make me and my revolver useless.

It suddenly occurred to me that old Pollenz did not live alone in the house; that he had a daughter. Where was she! And where was the old servant of whom Mizka had told me? They had not heard my knocking, and yet it had been loud enough to resound through the entire building. Had they, in their endeavour to escape from the murderer, concealed themselves? Or--oh, horrible thought!--had they also fallen victims to the monster! On this point I must have certainty. If the a.s.sa.s.sin were still in the house, I could not leave the two women unprotected. My cowardly fear must be overcome; I must pursue the wretch. Humanity made my duty clear. With my revolver held ready and with a beating heart, I turned back to the bolted door, which I opened easily. I entered a s.p.a.cious, dreary room. A bed against the wall, a table, a couple of wooden chairs, and two large closed wardrobes formed its entire furniture. Evidently it was the old man's sleeping room--a sordid apartment. Here I found n.o.body, and I continued my search. A second door in the room was unlocked. Through it I again entered the hall.

Beneath the staircase was a door which evidently led to the cellar; it was closed by a ma.s.sive bolt. Two other doors led from the hall to rooms on the left. I went to the first of these--the one at which I had knocked so loudly--opened it, and entered a large apartment much better furnished than the rooms which I had hitherto explored. It gave an impression of more comfort, and I was struck by its great cleanliness.

By the window there was a work-table, upon which lay some sewing. A couple of flowers blooming in earthen pots stood on the window sill. A bed with snowy curtains stood against the wall opposite the window.

Undoubtedly this was the sitting-room and bedchamber of the fair Anna, the daughter of the murdered man. Without delay I continued my search.

A door opposite the bed was unlocked. Through it I entered the kitchen.

Here also I found no one, and I returned to the hall.

The four rooms of the ground floor had now been searched without result. With a calmer mind I mounted the steep staircase to the second story. Here I found rooms similar to those below. They were all unlocked and appeared to be used partly for old rubbish. In one of them there was a bed, probably that of the old servant.

I had found nothing. It seemed useless to ascend to the garret, so I went down to the room in which the murdered man lay, to consider what steps I should take next.

My fear lest the daughter and the maid had been the murderer's victims had proved groundless. Neither of them was in the house. The monster had probably profited by their absence to kill and rob the old man, whom he knew to be alone. Any longer stay in this terrible abode seemed useless. Of course I must inform the proper authorities of the murder, and it was my plain duty to do this as soon as possible. I ought not to linger longer in the Lonely House. Everything must be left lying as it was to await the legal investigation. I could do no good to the dead man by remaining. I ought to proceed to Luttach as quickly as my feet could carry me to inform the District Judge of my terrible discovery.

On, then, to Luttach and the District Judge! Suddenly, by a strange chain of ideas, the memory awoke in me of Franz Schorn as he was coming from the Lonely House, with eyes gloomily downcast, in the forest path; of how he started when he saw me before he fled away through the undergrowth. Franz Schorn came from the house of his mortal enemy. I shuddered. Had I met the murderer fresh from the cruel deed? Had not the old man who lay there in his blood always feared him? Had not Mizka yesterday evening told me that Franz was a rough, morose fellow, who might be readily suspected of taking the life of his mortal enemy?

This was a dreadful suspicion, but not without foundation; and, at all events, it seemed to be my duty to inform the Judge as quickly as possible of my meeting with Franz Schorn. I hastily left the scene of the crime, not casting another glance behind me. I breathed more freely when I emerged from the gloomy hall into the brilliant suns.h.i.+ne. No longer under the spell of the ghastly spectacle, I could consider more calmly what was to be done. My first determination, however, remained unaltered. It was my plain duty to hasten to Luttach by the nearest way and there report to the District Judge. The nearest way, as the Captain had told me in the morning, was by the rocks. I could not miss it; I saw it clearly before me. A broad, well-worn path went directly from the Lonely House probably to the outlying cottages of the village of Oberberg. Another, narrow and overgrown, led in the direction of Luttach, and, at first, in a gentle incline down the mountain. This must be the footpath, then, which further on became the narrow way, over the rocks leading directly to the inn, which the Captain had described to me as perilous. Ought I to expose myself to the danger of a fall! The descent was more difficult than the ascent. The rocky way was at least the nearer by fifteen minutes. I had certainly climbed up and down more dangerous places among rocks in order to procure a rare caterpillar. I was now upon a far more important errand, and ought to reach Luttach quickly. It is foolish to expose oneself to unnecessary danger, but the man who shuns it when something important is at stake is a miserable coward. I delayed no longer. One glance over my shoulder I cast. The door of the Lonely House was wide open. Any pa.s.ser-by might enter. Surely it was wrong to leave it open for more than an hour without any guard. Could I lock it! The key might still be in the lock.

I approached it once more, I confess with great reluctance. The silence as of the grave which reigned within filled me with horror, but I overcame this weakness. My expectation was confirmed; the large house key was still there. I locked the door, and taking the key could now pursue my way, sure that for the next hour no pa.s.ser-by could enter. I hurried down the narrow way leading to the rocky abyss; it was a charming path. The view of the valley was enchanting; I had no eyes for it; I saw nothing of the wealth of rare mountain plants blooming on either side, nothing of the gorgeous peonies which now and then projected their red blossoms almost from the very rock. My thoughts still clung to the Lonely House and the gloomy room where lay the dead man. I encountered not a single human being as I hurried along. At length the little town lay directly below me. I must descend over the dangerous rocks. I looked about me searchingly; it was not easy to find the narrow, untrodden footway, but it soon became plain to my practised eye. Without hesitation I strode down from stone to stone, partly leaping, knowing that a false step would cost me my life; but my training among the mountains made my footing sure, and after a few minutes I stood at the garden gate of the inn.

CHAPTER III.

THE PROFESSOR'S RETURN.

"Dinner has been waiting for you ever so long, Herr Professor," called Frau Franzka to me as I entered the kitchen, but hardly had I approached her before she clasped her hands above her head with "Holy Virgin, how you look! How pale! How distressed, and how dripping with perspiration! Why, large drops are falling from your hair; no one can climb about the mountains in the hottest part of the day. The District Judge----"

"Is the District Judge at home!" I broke in.

"Yes; he came home about a quarter of an hour ago. I did not see him, but I heard him going upstairs. He is in his room and is probably dressing. The Herr Professor ought also to go to his room and dress.

You will take cold in your damp clothes."

I scarcely heard the last words. I hurried up the three flights of stairs and in the pa.s.sage looked about me for the door marked No.

12--the District Judge's sitting room. I knocked at the door; no answer. I knocked more loudly; there came from within, as from an adjoining room, "Who's there?"

"Professor Dollnitz. I must see you with regard to a matter of great importance, Herr Foligno."

"I pray you just wait for a few minutes. I am dressing, but I'll be ready immediately."

I had to wait. Whilst I stood motionless before the door I suddenly became conscious of the intolerable thirst which, more than half an hour before, had driven me to the Lonely House. During my great excitement I had not been conscious of any physical need, but now in the first moments of quiet it attacked me with double violence. I was perfectly exhausted--almost fainting. Fortunately on the table in the pa.s.sage there stood a carafe half filled with water. It must have been there for hours; the water was lukewarm, but I drank it eagerly and it gave me the refreshment of which I stood in need. I was as one new born.

I had to wait at least five minutes. The time seemed very long to me.

At last the door opened and the District Judge appeared in a new and very elegant summer suit. His thin, sallow face had not attracted me on the previous evening, and now as he received me with a forced friendly smile I liked it still less.

"Forgive me for keeping you so long, Herr Professor," he said, "but I could not open the door before; I was, to speak frankly, entirely undressed when you knocked. I was obliged to change my clothes because, in your interest, I have had quite a fatiguing walk on the mountain. I am a little of a botanist--only a layman--but I am interested in botany, and I was desirous to surprise the learned Herr Professor with some rare plants whose habitat I knew. It cost me an effort to obtain them, and even a little danger; I had a fall which gave me a slight wound in my hand, but it is very insignificant, scarcely worth mentioning, since I have procured what I desired. Here they are." With his left hand (his right was wrapped in a white handkerchief) he took some orchids from the table before the sofa and handed them to me. They were of a beautiful and rare species, and at any other time would have given me the keenest delight, but at this moment I scarcely looked at them.

"I must reserve my thanks for a time," I said gravely, "the terrible intelligence which I bring to you, Herr Foligno, as the foremost official in the town, will admit of no delay. I come directly from the Lonely House--the scene of a horrible murder and robbery."

The District Judge recoiled as from a sudden blow. Pallor as of death overspread his sallow face. His mouth twitched; his eyes became glazed and fixed on me with a look wherein gleamed downright fear and absolute dismay.

"You came from the Lonely House--a murder and robbery! Incredible!" he stammered. Terror so mastered him that he could scarcely utter these few words.

"What I tell you is only too true," I replied, and then in the fewest words I related what I had seen and how I had closed the open door and hurried to Luttach in order to make him, as the chief authority of the place, acquainted with the fearful crime.

During my short narrative he was struggling to regain his composure and succeeded. He listened with his gaze fixed gloomily upon the floor.

When I finished, he cast upon me a searching, piercing glance, and his voice trembled as he said, "Did you find no trace of the murderer! Did you see no one in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House!"

On my way down the mountain it had been clear to me that it was my duty to report my meeting with Franz Schorn, but when the District Judge put this question to me, I suddenly felt a decided reluctance to inform him of it. This man was Schorn's mortal enemy. Ought I to make him a sharer of my suspicion, which had been aroused by nothing but a chance encounter?

Still more searching and still more penetrating was the glance the District Judge bestowed upon me as I hesitated to reply.

"Did you see no one in the neighbourhood of the house, or upon the path towards it!" he asked once more.

As Judge he had a right to put the question and I ought to tell him the truth. As I reflected thus, I overcame my reluctance and replied.

"I did encounter a man not far from the Lonely House in the forest, but I cannot think myself justified in suspecting him of evil." I then described accurately my meeting with Franz Schorn.

He listened in silence, his eyes still fixed on the floor. When I finished, he said with emotion, extending his left hand to me: "I thank you, Herr Professor; your report may be of the first importance for the discovery of the murderer, but it may also subject an innocent man to a horrible suspicion. As long as there is no evidence against a man except that he was seen in the neighbourhood of the scene of a murder, nothing would justify his being suspected of what, even as a mere suspicion, might darken his whole future life. Therefore, let me request you to allow me to consider your account of your meeting with Herr Franz Schorn as a matter personal to myself and confidential, not official. I shall then not be forced to include it in a short account which I must write out of your information."

"You surprise me, Herr Foligno."

"I suppose so, and I owe you an explanation of my request. Herr Franz Schorn is my bitter enemy and I have never concealed my dislike of him.