One evening there was so full an assembly round the table in the inn that all the gentlemen with whom I had become acquainted in Luttach were present, with the exception of Franz Schorn. He, as the Burgomaster told us, had driven in the early morning to GÖrz to bring thence some expensive agricultural machines which he wished to employ on his farm. He had promised the Burgomaster to come to the inn late in the evening to give an account of his purchases, and he was expected to appear any minute.

Since the young man had of late been a constant attendant at the round table, the conversation which had formerly been quite lively with regard to him had ceased. It was all the more lively on this evening, and the subject of it was the purchases he had gone to GÖrz to make. Several of the men present were the owners of large estates. They at least knew something of agriculture, and yet they were the very ones who expressed themselves as disapproving of the novelties which Franz was trying to introduce.

"He is always endeavouring to use something new-fangled and peculiar," Herr Gunther, one of the richest of the land-owners in the county, declared. "These machines are probably useful enough in Germany, in countries where labour is perhaps very expensive, but they do not suit us here, where they are a ruinous innovation. We have so many poor people about us who want work, that it is a positive crime to deprive them of it by the use of machinery."

"That is just why Schorn buys the machines," another interposed, a man by the name of Mosic. "He hates our poor Slavonic labourers and would like to be independent of them. He has probably heard that many of our best labourers have combined against him and will not work for the German. Where does he get the money he is spending upon such expensive machines?"

"The harvests for several years have not been so plentiful as to enable a farmer to accumulate much cash," said another.

"Perhaps he buys on credit," said the notary, Dietrich.

"Not at all," rejoined the merchant, Meyer. "I have often offered him credit, but he has never accepted it. 'What I cannot buy with ready money I will go without; I will not burden myself with debt,' has always been his reply to me."

"He does not need to do so; he is always economical, and has money enough," remarked the shopkeeper, Weber. "As he was paying me yesterday for his clover seed, I saw that his pocket-book contained a roll of hundred-gulden notes."

"He has certainly spent a deal of money lately; he has purchased two splendid horses, and they were really not necessary, for the two which he gave in part payment to Schmelzigsohn were good enough. He is squandering money at present. People whisper queer things of him. In fact, they are beginning to whisper no longer, but to talk loudly, and before long what they say will be proclaimed in the market place."

"It certainly is strange that Schorn has so much money at his command. Before old Pollenz was murdered he seemed to have very little."

For an instant profound silence followed the last remark of Mosic's. A strange expression spread over the countenances of those present. The innuendo in the words just spoken made a most painful impression upon all. The Clerk was the first to recover himself. With an angry look at Mosic, he said in a tone of harsh reproof:

"How dare you, Herr Mosic, utter such an accusation against an absent member of our circle? I shall inform Herr Schorn of what you have said that he may call you to account for it."

Herr Mosic changed color.

"Oh, pardon me, sir," he said, and his voice trembled; "you entirely misunderstood me. I have no idea of uttering an accusation against Herr Schorn. I only repeated the stupid talk of the townsfolk. Of course I attach no importance to it; it is not my fault if people will talk."

"You ought not to repeat such nonsensical gossip," the Clerk said angrily.

Hitherto the Judge had taken no part in the conversation. He had sat silent drinking glass after glass of wine, but now he turned to the Clerk, and in a very odd tone said, with a glance toward me:

"You judge rather hastily, sir; you should remember that the voice of the people is the voice of God."

"Pardon me, Judge," cried the doctor; "in this case the despicable gossip is the voice of the devil; no honest man should repeat or defend it."

"So say I. 'Tis a cowardly, unworthy accusation!" exclaimed the Captain, and the Burgomaster nodded assent. "Franz is a rough, morose fellow, but a man of honour through and through, incapable of committing a crime."

"Besides," added the doctor, "very little understanding is necessary to perceive that he never could have committed the murder. Even if he had been a hard-hearted wretch quite capable of it, no suspicion of this crime could attach to him."

"Indeed!" said the Judge, contemptuously; "I really am curious to learn why no possible suspicion in this case could attach to Schorn."

"Upon my word, it is sad to think that I, an old doctor, understanding nothing of criminal law, should have to instruct a learned Judge as to what his simple, sound, good sense should teach him, but since it is so, since such ridiculous gossip has found no one in this circle to expose it as such, it must be. The murderer was certainly a man with whom old Pollenz was very intimate; Franz he hated like sin and held him to be his mortal enemy.

"When little Anna went to Luttach with old Johanna, her father locked the front door behind them, and, as always when resting at noon, withdrew to his own room and bolted himself in. Whoever wished to enter the house or to see its owner would be obliged either to break down the door or be admitted by old Pollenz himself. Now, no sensible human being could believe that the old man would have opened his door for Schorn, to allow himself to be murdered--for Franz Schorn, of whom he was afraid, of whom he always said, 'Schorn will kill me one of these days.' He would have drawn a double bolt on every door if Franz had asked for admittance, but on this occasion he drew back the bolt and opened the door. There is no trace of any violence used in opening it, and a bolted door cannot be opened unless from within, or with violence; therefore I maintain that the murderer must have been an intimate friend of old Pollenz, and in no case can the slightest suspicion attach to Franz Schorn. I think I have now proved this clearly."

"Clear as sunlight; the legal profession loses a shining light in you, doctor," the Judge rejoined, his thin lips curled in a contemptuous smile. "After your lucid defense," he continued, "it seems to me incumbent upon us all to say not one word to Franz Schorn of our previous conversation; he would surely be deeply offended and insulted if he could believe that any one of us entertained the smallest doubt of his innocence. We must take it upon ourselves to discountenance the town gossip wherever we hear it, always taking care that the young man learns nothing of the rumours concerning him. The object of such rumours can never combat them himself. Should he try to do so, it would but strengthen belief in them; but we can have many opportunities to silence slander. I hope you all agree with me, gentlemen."

All agreed. The doctor offered the Judge his hand in token of acknowledgment, and said with a kindly nod:

"You are a good fellow, after all, Judge, and I beg your pardon. It is fine of you to stand up so bravely for Franz, although you cannot endure him. I will not forget it of you."

That the Judge's words had produced their effect upon all present, even upon those most opposed to Schorn, was evident when the young man soon afterward entered the room; he was received with more cordiality and kindness than ever before; it really seemed as if Herr Gunther and Herr Mosic were trying by their courtesy to atone for the words spoken in his absence.

Franz was so pleasantly surprised by this friendly reception that he became far more amiable and genial than ever before. At the Burgomaster's request, he explained the new machines which he had bought in GÖrz and the use to which he intended to put them, not only for his own advantage, but hoping to improve the agriculture of the entire Luttach valley by introducing them generally.

This excited a little war of words between him and the two land-owners, who declared themselves opposed to the introduction of new methods, but their opposition was expressed with so much moderation that Franz could not take offense.

And the Captain, who, as a good Conservative, was strongly opposed to the introduction of machinery in agricultural operations, sided with the land-owners.

"You mean well, Franz," he said; "you would like to increase the prosperity of our valley; but with your cursed innovations you put the cart before the horse. You will never improve the labourer's condition by depriving him of his means of subsistence."

"These machines will not deprive the labourer of his work. On the contrary, they will give him an opportunity of working more effectually than has been possible for him hitherto. A more thorough cultivation of our fields and vineyards will create a fresh demand of labour, which will be better paid than ever."

"Dreams, dreams, in which I have no faith," replied the Captain. "The manufacturers of these machines and the people who sell them have started these tales. When a machine undertakes the labour hitherto performed by man, the man sinks to the machine's level. In all great manufacturing towns the labouring class, with very few exceptions, is poverty-stricken and starving. Don't tell me of such innovations. We should count ourselves happy that here in the country we have hitherto been free from machinery."

"Nevertheless, perhaps because of this, our labourers here suffer the bitterest poverty."

"That is because the last few years have been poor ones. If the peasant's harvest fails and the vineyards do not flourish, the labourer can earn nothing. Your machines cannot improve his condition; they can only make it worse. The Herr Professor has given me an idea of what would improve the condition of our people here more than ought else."

I gazed at the Captain in surprise. I did not remember that I had ever said a word to him about the poverty of the labouring class in the Luttach valley, or had ever mentioned any means whatever of improving their condition. He nodded to me with a gentle smile, and then continued:

"Yes, yes, Herr Professor, you do not recall how on the very first morning after your arrival among us we had a conversation which I remember well. Our valley should be opened to tourists; we are situated just between two important railways, not more than a league distant from each; we could be visited with the greatest facility, and where tourists are gathered together money is sure to circulate; all will be the gainers; the inns, the tradesfolk, those owning horses, who will hire out carriages; the laundresses, and even the labourers, who will be employed either as drivers or as guides for excursions among the mountains."

"What talk is this, old friend?" the Burgomaster interrupted him with a laugh. "What have we here to attract tourists? They can make the ascent of Nanos very easily from Prayvalt, and our valley has really nothing more to show. It is quite wonderful that a naturalist, our Herr Professor, should have visited us. Certainly none of those who travel for pleasure would ever contemplate coming hither."

"Therefore we must try to find something that will attract them. The Herr Professor called my attention to the fact that we live on from day to day without regard to our ignorance as to whether we do not possess a greater attraction for travellers than the Adelsberg Grotto. Does any one of us here present know how extensive are the caves which we possess, and whether they may not perhaps be finer than the grotto at Adelsberg? The only one among us who has interested himself about them is, if I do not mistake, Franz Schorn, and he has done very little in the way of exploration. How is it, Franz; am I not right?"

"It is true that I have done very little in the way of exploration. I penetrated furthest into the cave in the grove of the Rusina. It is a laborious piece of work. I lost all desire to penetrate further; it seemed useless."

"The Herr Professor thinks differently. Do you still desire to attempt to explore one of these caves, Herr Professor? I was anxious to offer you my assistance in so doing some time ago, but this horrible murder has occupied our minds to the exclusion of every other thought."

The Captain's proposal was very welcome to me. In my excursion on the forenoon of this very day I had gazed with much interest in the grove of the Rusina, at the dark opening among gigantic blocks of granite. I had an intense desire to explore it, but prudence called a halt. Overheated as I was in climbing about the mountains, I would not expose myself to the danger to which the cold, damp interior of the cave would expose me, and, besides, it would have been very foolish to attempt any exploration without companions, for the slightest slip might prove fatal. No one would ever have looked for me in the cave; if not killed, I might have starved before I was discovered.

Such considerations at the time forbade gratifying my desire to explore the cave, but it awoke again within me at the Captain's offer; it pleased me that it should be so entirely voluntary. I thanked him and declared that I would gladly take part in an exploration of the cave whenever he should arrange it.

"Bravo! Then let us set to work early tomorrow morning and begin with the cave in the grove of the Rusina. You will join us, Franz!"

"Gladly. I only fear that we shall not get far. There is a deep abyss not many yards from the entrance."

"How deep is it!"

"I do not know. I threw a lighted match into it, but it was quickly extinguished; and a stone which I cast down soon struck some rock and I could not see where it lay. I took no pains to explore further."

"Then we will try to do so to-morrow. Let us take with us a couple of sturdy fellows, who can carry torches, some lanterns and a sufficient length of strong rope, with perhaps a ladder or two. I will take with me some magnesium wire, which will give us a brilliant light in the depths."

Franz agreed. We discussed the interesting expedition further, and decided that we would start at seven o'clock the next morning.

"May I make one of your party?" the Judge asked, when we had completed our arrangements. Franz Schorn started and regarded the speaker with a searching glance. Evidently he was about to refuse decidedly, but thought better of it, bit his lip, and, with a slight gesture of his hand, referred the matter to me. I cannot say that the proposal was agreeable to me. I was surprised that the Judge should be willing to take part in an expedition to which Franz Schorn was, to a certain degree, the guide. I feared some unpleasant encounter between the two men and I should have liked to refuse. This, however, courtesy forbade. The Judge had always been so amiable and obliging in his behaviour to me that it was impossible for me to decline his company.

He noticed that I hesitated a moment, and, probably guessing whence such hesitation proceeded, continued with a smiling look at Franz Schorn:

"I am very much interested in our Ukraine caves, and I have already visited a number of them. The cave in the grove of the Rusina is not unfamiliar to me. I have not explored it to the extent of which Herr Schorn tells us, but I am familiar with the entrance and would like to penetrate its depths. Of course, I voluntarily acquiesce in the intelligent guidance of Herr Schorn, who will take command of our expedition. You would oblige me very much, Herr Professor, by your permission to accompany you."

I could not but accord it. It was impossible to do otherwise. The Judge thanked me, as he did Schorn and the Captain, so courteously that I was half inclined to suspect his sincerity. The prospect of this expedition seemed to delight him. He suddenly became talkative and showed an uncommon amiability to Schorn, although the young man met his advances with monosyllabic replies. His attempt to make himself acceptable to him was not happy; his cheerfulness seemed forced; his friendliness assumed; his gaiety feverish. In his usual attitude at the table, looking gloomily into his wineglass, he impressed me very unfavourably, but to-day, when he was talkative and gay, I was still more unfavourably impressed.

I had a very strange feeling with regard to the Judge. I could not but acknowledge that he was a good, honourable man. He had shown this abundantly; but I felt a vague, instinctive aversion to him, which, however I struggled against it, increased the more I knew him.

I was uncomfortable in his society that evening; therefore I rose from my place earlier than usual and called Mizka to light me to my room. To my surprise, the Judge followed my example, although he had just ordered another measure of wine.

"I will go with you, Herr Professor," he said, and he accompanied me without drinking his wine. "To-morrow, then, at seven o'clock, Herr Schorn."

As he spoke he offered his hand to Schorn, but the young man ignored it.

"It is to the Herr Professor or to the Captain that you owe permission to accompany us," Schorn said, with cool contempt. "I have not agreed to it. You and I have nothing in common."

"Perhaps you are wrong, Herr Schorn. I may convince you of this to-morrow. I willingly submit myself to your guidance. Good-night."

His features wore a detestable sneer as he uttered these words, and, bowing to the rest of the company, he followed me.

Upstairs on the landing I would have bidden him good-night, but he said:

"I followed you, Herr Professor, because I want to speak a few words with you alone. Allow me to go into your room with you. I'll not detain you long."

Of course I invited him to enter and to take a place on the old straight-backed sofa, curious to learn what he could have to say to me. When Mizka, after having lighted the candles, left the room, he sprang up, went to the door and opened it to convince himself that she was not listening, and then opened the door leading to the adjoining room to make sure that no one was there. Then he returned to me, and in a voice trembling with agitation said:

"I pray you, Herr Professor, to give me at once, now, your report of meeting Franz Schorn in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House."

I was startled. I had not expected this demand. Surprise made me speechless for a moment. I could only ejaculate "Herr Foligno!"

"I understand your surprise, your dismay," he continued. "Believe me, it has cost me a struggle to resolve to make this request, but it must be. I may have neglected my duty in postponing it so long. Now, when my suspicions have become almost a certainty, I can wait no longer. I am compelled to collect all the grounds for it that I possess, and among them belongs your meeting with him near the Lonely House. The paper must be sent to the Attorney General at Laibach. It must be, Herr Professor; you cannot refuse me. Every man of honour is bound to support the authorities in the investigation of crime. You could not wish to shield a criminal from the rigour of the law."

"Most certainly not; but I am more than firmly convinced that Franz Schorn is no murderer. You yourself, scarcely an hour ago, admitted the proofs of his innocence adduced by the doctor."

"Did you not perceive that my words were ironical? I was obliged to change the subject of the conversation. Franz Schorn must not be warned by his friends. He must believe himself safe from discovery, or he will betake himself to flight, for which the money gained by his crime gives him abundant opportunity. Trieste is not far off, and a guide thither is quickly found. I was obliged to conceal from him the knowledge that I have discovered his crime. I put force upon myself to control my abhorrence of him. This very night I must complete the full report showing forth all the evidence against him, and in this I must include your meeting with him near the Lonely House. An official will take the paper to Laibach and deliver it in person; then the Attorney General must decide whether the evidence it contains be sufficient to warrant Schorn's arrest. I am myself perfectly convinced of his guilt. I ought perhaps to arrest him on my own responsibility, but I will not expose myself to the reproach of acting from personal hostility. I shall watch him narrowly to prevent his flight, and therefore I begged to be allowed to join your cave exploration. His arrest I will leave to the Attorney General in Laibach. Thus I have explained to you frankly the grounds for my action, and I pray you to give me the report for the protocol, which you promised me a week ago. This report should consist, in order to save yourself and myself unpleasant after inquiries, of the declaration that to your meeting with Schorn you attached no importance in the beginning, but since you have learned that the voice of the people pronounce him the murderer you hold it to be your duty to mention seeing him in the forest. You might add that you hold this meeting to be of no importance and that you are most unwilling to arouse a suspicion of the young man, but that, nevertheless, you feel it your duty to tell of your encounter with him. I think such a report cannot outrage your sense of justice."

"It does not accord with my sense of justice to admit a suspicion which I think false. If I make my report now, it will look as though I shared this suspicion. The Attorney General would so interpret it, even though I declared the contrary. I ought to have made the report immediately after the discovery of the murder. You prevented my doing so then, and now I will not make it until I see at least the possibility of other grounds for it."

"It is the duty of the Attorney General, not yourself, to judge of the importance of your evidence," Herr Foligno replied sternly. "It is the duty of the private individual to impart to the proper authorities every circumstance that may be connected with a crime. Of course you know that."

"It is not his duty," I said angrily, "if his inmost conviction is that the circumstance he relates has no connection whatever with the crime, although it may serve to arouse suspicion. If what you maintain be correct, I ought also to advise the Attorney General that you yourself were in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House on that morning and that I found your pocket handkerchief where you had been plucking Ophrys Bertolini."

Herr Foligno shot such a look of rage at me from beneath his black brows that I started in terror. I had no idea of affecting him so deeply by my words. In a voice trembling with anger, which he vainly strove to control, he said:

"Then you would tell the Attorney General a falsehood. I have told you that I did not pluck the flowers in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House, but at a great distance from it, and in a spot difficult to find, and that my handkerchief was by accident where you picked it up. Is it possible that you do not believe me, although I have told you all this distinctly?"

He probably read in my face that I was not convinced of the truth of this statement, for he continued in a sharp, angry tone:

"You doubt, in spite of my words. Perhaps you entertain the possibility of my having some connection with the crime----"

"What folly, Herr Foligno!" I cried, interrupting him. "I mentioned you and your pocket handkerchief only to contradict your assertion that it was my duty to tell of an insignificant experience. If I ought to report having seen Franz Schorn near the Lonely House, I also ought to report the finding of your handkerchief under the same circumstances."

"If you really consider this your duty, I shall not gainsay you," he replied darkly, not lifting his eyes from the ground. "It is no affair of mine. My task is to send this very night my deposition, containing an account of your meeting with Franz Schorn, to the proper authorities either with or against your consent. I may find myself in a very unpleasant position and even imperil my office when I relate that I myself advised you to withhold your report concerning Schorn, but personal considerations must yield to my sense of duty. I had thought, Herr Professor," he continued, in a more friendly tone, finding me still silent, "that you would not willingly thus embarrass me. Believe me, I would not so insist upon your evidence were I not thoroughly and firmly convinced of the young man's guilt. To show you how highly I esteem you, what implicit confidence I place in your honour and silence, I will tell you, although scarcely warranted in so doing, of the results of my laborious investigations during the last few weeks. You yourself will then be convinced of your duty. It is a hard task for me to make these revelations to you, for not only do they militate against Franz Schorn, but against one who has been very dear to my heart, and for whom to-day, in spite of my better judgment, I feel warm affection; but it must be; you shall hear all."

"Proceed; you may rely upon my discretion."

I waited for what he had to say with intense eagerness. For a few moments he sat silent, with downcast looks; then he began, not once looking at me as he spoke:

"It is difficult to indicate the precise moment at which suspicions of Schorn were aroused within me. You yourself know of his bitter enmity towards old Pollenz, whose death he could not but desire, since it alone would bring him the fulfilment of his dearest wish. You know of his being near the Lonely House immediately after the murder. You know also of the wound in his hand, to account for which he told of having grasped a double-edged knife as it fell from where he had left it. His reluctance to show the wound to the doctor, and, more than all else, his sudden accession of wealth after the crime, accuses him loudly. He has made purchases which would have been impossible with his own unassisted means. All these grounds of suspicion the doctor thought to annihilate by his acute reasoning, showing that old Pollenz himself could not possibly have admitted Schorn and that the murderer had evidently entered the house without any violent breaking in of the door. How is this to be accounted for? Unfortunately, the explanation is only too clear. FrÄulein Anna Pollenz, when officially examined, as well as in her words to the Captain and to the doctor, portrayed a life in her father's house absolutely opposed to reality. She maintained that her father loved her most tenderly; that he was always kind and gentle to her, and that even her connection with the hated Schorn and her refusal to give me her hand had produced no change in his demeanour toward her. Anna's words were universally believed. Who could doubt who looked into her eyes and acknowledged their spell? To see her is to love her. She wins all hearts at once. Every one believes her; every one trusts her; and nevertheless every word that she spoke is false. For years the Lonely House has witnessed terrible scenes between father and daughter. The old man abused the lovely child outrageously because she would not obey him. Unfortunately I myself was often the cause of this abuse, although I declared continually to old Pollenz that I never would claim Anna's hand unless she bestowed it upon me voluntarily; unless I succeeded in winning the young girl's love. The old fellow was a rough, heartless, violent man; a coward to those stronger than himself, brutal to those who were weaker. He locked his daughter up; he half starved her; he beat her so that she escaped from him bleeding. For years he never spoke a kind word to her. He had unbounded confidence in me; he even angrily complained to me of her disobedience. I myself have witnessed frightful scenes, and on several occasions prevented him with all my physical strength from maltreating the beautiful, unfortunate child in my presence."

"Frightful!" I exclaimed. The dreadful picture which the narrator unfolded before me filled me with horror.

"Beside myself, there is one other human being who is aware of the family life in the Lonely House. Old Johanna was a witness of the maltreatment which the unhappy girl suffered daily in our presence; in the presence of others the old man assumed a kind, mild demeanour toward his child; old Johanna suffered almost as much as Anna from the brutality of her master. She would long ago have left him if she had not been detained by tender affection for her mistress. After what you have just heard you may judge with what amazement I was filled upon learning after the death of old Pollenz that Anna had described her relations with her father as happy, peaceful, and loving, and that old Johanna in the final examination, had confirmed all that Anna said. I pondered long to discover what grounds Anna could have for such a false representation of the actual circumstances and why she should suddenly develop such inconceivable hatred for me, who had so often protected her from ill treatment. When at last I suspected the true cause I found it difficult of belief. I alone can expose the tissue of lies which she has woven around herself. I alone cannot be won over to testify to her truth, as she has won over old Johanna, who would perjure herself willingly for her darling, and Anna needs such falsehoods. It is almost impossible to believe that the daughter, driven to madness and despair by daily ill treatment, herself opened the locked doors for her lover. Spare me further words, Herr Professor. My reason becomes confused when I reflect on a deed so horrible. Ever since this solution became clear to me, sleep is banished. I toss restlessly throughout the night. My thoughts dwell perpetually in the Lonely House. At times I have feared that I should become insane. The struggle raging within me during these last few days is indescribable. I loved Anna with all my heart. I love her still, and, although it is madness, I shall love her to my last breath. Neither her crime nor the hatred which she displays towards me can kill this insane love within me, and fate has ordained that I should be the inexorable judge, the dread accuser of her lover, in ruining whom I ruin her also; but I must do my duty, let my heart bleed as it may."

He had finished. The narrative had agitated him fearfully; he trembled in every limb; his eyes glowed as with fever. I was scarcely less moved than he. His words had torn the veil from my eyes; I could now see the fearful scenes in the Lonely House clearly, and how they had led to the final deed. I was ineffably sad. Great as was my detestation of the horrible crime, I could not but pity deeply the unfortunate child whom despair had maddened. Detestation, horror and pity by turns filled my heart. I could put myself in the place of the unhappy man who had just revealed to me his innermost soul.

How long we confronted each other in silence I cannot say. We were both too deeply moved to give expression in words to our feelings. Herr Foligno recovered himself first. His voice no longer trembled as he asked, after a long pause:

"Will you now sign the report which I will write out for you?"

"Yes."

I brought him paper, pen and ink. He quickly took down the evidence I had to give, as he had before required that I should give it, and then read aloud what he had written. I had no objection to offer, and signed it.

He arose and held out his hand in farewell.

"I have another terrible night before me," he said. "To-morrow a messenger must take this early to Laibach, and a hard day will follow a weary night for both of us. It will not be easy for you, Herr Professor, to make one to-morrow of Franz Schorn's party to the cave without allowing him to perceive your detestation of him."

"I cannot; I shall excuse myself on the plea of illness."

"No, Herr Professor, you must not do this. Schorn will surely learn through Mizka that I came with you to your room; he might suspect something. A criminal of his calibre is on the watch for the merest trifle which can arouse suspicion of his discovery. You, too, Herr Professor, have a hard duty to perform, but it must be done. You must be one of the party, as I shall be. Neither the Captain nor Schorn must dream of what the near future will bring forth. I trust to your honour, and I know that I do not trust in vain."

"You may rely upon me; I will control myself."

With another pressure of the hand we separated.