on the next day a strange thing happened, of which a mere chance, in the first place, gave me the explanation. i was, needless to say, very disheartened at what seemed the absolute impossibility of attempting to rescue poor asta.

“i am afraid it is all over with her by this time,” i said to von lindheim, when i had related what i had seen the night before. “at any rate, if she is still alive her sand is running very low.”

“and we can do nothing.”

“i can’t stay here, indoors,” i said; for the whole affair was on my nerves, and i felt almost suffocated in the little inn. “you had better not come with me; but i am going to have a look at that grave, and see if it is as they left it last night. after that we will go into carlzig together.”

accordingly, i set off along the valley, skirting this time the boundary of the private wood until i came to a point about opposite to where the men had been at work. here, by the aid of a tree, i climbed over the high wall and went cautiously through the wood leading down to the water. happily, for my presence in the wood was risky, the distance was short, and when once i got sight of the monastery, and could take my bearings from the little door, i had no difficulty in finding what i sought. the raised mass of earth [pg 146]spread with pine needles was there; the hurdles, covered in like manner, were in position. i lifted one and looked down with a shudder into what it covered. a grave, without doubt, though empty as yet. the place was evidently untouched since the men left it overnight. that was all i had come to see; so far i was satisfied, and having replaced the hurdle, covered as i found it, i made my way with all speed out of the grounds, and so back to von lindheim. then we set off together to carlzig.

i was in rather a depressed state of mind, not seeing what i could do towards effecting the purpose that had brought me there. my feeling now was that the only thing to do was just to keep watch, in the faint hope that chance might show me an opening into that house of mystery and death. but the hope was so slender as to be scarcely more than despair, for i was convinced that the quiet, cold-blooded tragedy i dared not think about would be accomplished by that evening.

beyond the man who had accompanied count furello from buyda, and the two ruffians i had seen in the wood, i was ignorant of the strength of his household; at the same time i realized that, even had i a dozen men at my back, to attempt to rescue fr?ulein von winterstein by force would be absurd. it would only make matters worse. there was no law to be invoked; the whole force, moral and physical, open and secret, of the government would be against me. if the poor girl’s death were deemed necessary for state reasons, not even her parents could have a valid protest against it.

the walk into carlzig took us, perhaps, two hours. it was through a picturesquely wild country, which, however, seemed to me that day dreary and gloomy in the extreme. until within a mile or two of the town we saw scarcely a living soul; no fitter locality [pg 147]for the hostel of st. tranquillin (as we were told the monastery was named) could have been chosen.

carlzig we found a fair-sized town, duller even than such places at midday usually are. we looked up and claimed our baggage, and arranged for a carriage to drive back with it. then, having made a few purchases, we went to the principal inn for luncheon. when this was over and we were paying our bill, i felt von lindheim touch my foot significantly under the table. i looked up quickly, following the direction of his eyes, with a half apprehension that i should see the man uppermost in my mind just then, count furello.

no.

the person he meant me to notice was a clean-shaven cleric, a round-faced, rather distinguished-looking man, whose general air and manner suggested that he had mistaken his profession. he had come into the room with a hand valise, as though from a journey, and was now refreshing himself with a bottle of wine, a bumper of which he poured down his throat in a style not quite becoming his cloth. but his face told me nothing more, and i glanced back inquiringly at my companion. he looked serious enough, but merely returned a slight frown to silence me. then he rose; i followed. as we went out the priest looked up carelessly, but no sign of recognition passed between him and von lindheim. a waiting-maid bustling in with the man’s dishes prevented any further notice with which he might have been inclined to favour us.

“who on earth was that?” i asked directly we were in the street. “you don’t imagine you saw il conte under that disguise?”

“no,” he answered shortly, and went on. after a few steps he stopped, as though to inspect a particularly uninteresting shop window, but, as i knew, [pg 148]as an excuse for looking round. then we walked on again, and he took my arm.

“who do you think that was?”

“i haven’t an idea.”

“the man who married the princess and von orsova.”

“whew!” i could only whistle in surprise. “what in the world is he doing here?”

“that is what i am wondering.”

“his cure may be near this place. but then, why does he travel with a bag?”

“and lunch at an hotel. a man of that sort would have had a meal before he started, or brought some wurst sandwiches in his pocket. i think he had come a long journey.”

“and is not at the end of it.”

“or why does he go to an inn?”

“you are right, lindheim; it is suspicious. shall we keep watch?”

there was a smaller inn nearly opposite to that in which we had lunched. we went in, called for coffee, and took up our position at the window commanding the street. for a long while we saw nothing of the priest, but at length, just as we were wondering whether we were not perhaps losing our time, a closed carriage rumbled along the street and drew up at some distance below our inn. a man alighted and appeared to give some directions to the coachman, who turned his horses and drove off the way he had come. the man walked up the street towards us; not a prepossessing fellow by any means, with his long nose, stubby black moustache, swarthy complexion, and restless way of looking about him. something told me instinctively that he was making for the hotel opposite us. such was the case; he went in, returning in a few minutes, as we felt certain he would, with the priest carrying his valise. they [pg 149]went down the street in the direction the carriage had taken. when they had gone a safe distance we went out and followed them. the man who had fetched the priest kept looking round; he was a fellow who, though far from being the salt of the earth, would have been turned into a good imitation thereof in the days of lot. a suspicious curiosity was with him evidently second nature. however, we kept too far behind for him to be able to distinguish what manner of men we were, and we were careful to adopt a pantomime calculated to disarm suspicion.

on they went till they reached the outskirts of the town, and there, just beyond the bridge where the road crossed the river, we saw the carriage waiting. they got in, the priest first, his companion following after a good look round, which, however, we took care should not fall on us. then they drove quickly off, the road they took being that which led to the geierthal.

“what does it mean?” von lindheim asked.

“i can’t tell. except that i am certain they have gone to the hostel. who knows? perhaps those butchers are methodical enough in their trade to give their victims christian burial. ah! it’s horrible. let us get back. i must see the end of it.”