LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 869, 7 April 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A STRANGE WITNESS. ( Continued ) ‘lt will take you about an hour’s quick walking.’ ‘ Then I sha 1 ! not be there before dark ?’ ‘ No. The sun will set in a quarter of an hour.’ ‘1 am greatly obliged to you, sir. Good evening.’ ‘Good evening.’ ‘ And,’ added the baron, ‘ I felt very much relieved indeed when the gentleman had left me. His searching look had something so strange about it that it almost frightened me, I followed him with my eyes, and, to my very great surprise, I saw hi m stop at the identical footpath which is known even to so very few people hereabout, and after some short hesitation enter it. It struck me as very extraordinary that a stranger in these parts, who apparently did not know the road to Gerstorlf, should take an unknown bypath, which certainly would lead him far away from the locality to which he was professedly bound. Why should he near nightfall seek the darkness of the woods ? It was whilst I was debating this puzzling question that the two wayfarers of whom I have just spoken came up ; and when I saw them take the same path I was still more puzzled. I wondered whether any of the three would return to the road; but for more than a quarter of an hour I waited in vain. ‘ Then 1 suddenly heard a shot fired in the wood, in the direction which the three travellers had taken, which astonished me still more, as I knew that there was no hunting, and poaching is entirely unknown hereabout. It was clear to me that the three strangers, or some one of them, must be quite near the place where the shot had been tired, and I waited to see whether any of them would come back. ‘After a few minutes I was just on the point of leaving the window and returning to the house, to send some of my servants into the wood to see whether anything extraordinaryj had occurred, when I saw the stranger in the blue surtout, wdio had asked me to Gerstorlf, issue again from the foot path ; and instead of pursuing the road to his professed destination, come up to me at the window. ‘ By this time twilight was deepening, and it required sharp sight to clearly distinguish things about. The stranger’s eyes were again fixed on my face ; they shone with a strange lustre, though his face remained perfectly calm to all outward appearance, in so far as I could distinguish in the uncertain twilight. ‘ I had a notion that something serious had happened in the -wood, and that he had come up to me to give information of it. I at once asked him, ‘ You come from the wood ?’ ‘ Yes, he replied, with perfect calmness. ‘ What has taken place there ?’ * Have you heard anything ? he asked in return, coming up quite close to the window, and sending his phosphorescent glances right through me, as it seemed to me. ‘ I must confess I did not at all like the appearance of things. It is at least five minutes’ walk from my pavilion to the house. I was quite alone with the mysterious stranger; not a soul was to be seen on the road. A shot had been fired in the wood, where this man had been at the time. I was afraid a crime had been committed, and the stranger, with his very peculiar eyes and his unpleasantly close personal approach to me, made me feel quite uncomfortable. ‘ Good God ! ’ I thought, ‘if this man has committed a murder, and has come back here, perchance to rid himself of an inconvenient witness ! ’ So I almost involuntarily shrank back from the window, and retreated to the other end of the room. ‘ Why, a shot was tired just now in the wood,’l said, ‘just in the direction where you have come from What does it mean ; you surely can tell mo ? ’g. * But instead of to my question, he simply shouted me back to the window, as he peak to me. I naturally told might just as easily converse as * Will you to come here sir,’ he repeated Itttf'more. ‘ I wish to tell you something. ’ ‘ Of course I declined to respond to this invitation, as 1 felt fully convinced now that I had either a criminal or a madman before me. * He waited a minute or so longer, then he went away in the direction of the town, muttering to himself, ‘ The man is a fool ! How can I talk to him if ho will not come to the window ? Besides, if. is getting too dark for converaa tiou, and I must make haste back to the railway, that I may not miss the train.’ This was the Baron Lilicnfeld’a statement. Orders wore accordingly given to the gou darmerie to scour the country in search of the gentleman in the blue coatgaud the com panion of the murdered man.

All search after the former proved unavailing, however. Nobody remembered having seen him, except the keeper of the inn in one of the villages on the road to Mciningcn, who stated that ho had remarked in his guest-room both the man in the blue surtmit and the two foreign sailor-looking chaps. He also identified the dead body as one of the two latter. He had paid no particular attention to the man in the blue surtout; he had observed only that he sat tar away from the two others, and that lie left some ten minutes before them. He should say that the two parties were ua known to each other. On Sunday morning, the 27th of April, one of the gendarmirie, named Kretschmar, came to the mountain village of Fichtenhain, where he rode up to the inn to inquire of the landlord whether any strangers had been seen there the last few' days. He told the innkeeper all about the discovery of the murder, and gave a description of the man in the blue surtout and of the murdered man’s companion. ‘ Why, then, Kretschmar,’ said the innkeeper, with signs of the most lively astonishment, ‘ you surprise me indeed ! I know nothing whatever of your friend in the blue coat; but tire other chap, in the blue cloth jacket, wide gray-linen trousers, high boots, white-and-red check cotton shirt, and low yellow straw hat, is even now here in this very place, in which he was indeed boro. His name is Conrad Tuchmann ; he is the only son of the village tailor. Ho left the place when he was barely fifteen. Some four years ago he returned, but only for a few days. He had learned the trade of a locksmith, and had saved money enough, he said, to take him to America, where he was determined to try his luck. Yesterday morning he came hack, as I hear, with a well-filled puree. Why, if what I hear is true, he is worth some twenty thousand Prussian thalers ! Only think 1 And he susnected of murdering his companion ! iWhy, it is awful! Ob, the greed for money s a tearful thing ! ’ * * * * * Yes, it was as the innkeeper said. On Friday night, at about midnight, a loud knocking at the tailor Tuchmann’s door had startled the inmates - the tailor and his wife, and a widow, who rented a room in the cottage —from their first sleep. Mrs Tuchmann had got up and opened the window to ask who was there. ‘ Conrad !’ a voice had answered, which the mother, overjoyed, knew for her son’s, Upon this the father had jumped out of bed to open the door to his beloved boy. Even the widow lodger bad leT her couch to witness and share the joy and hoppiness of the two old people and their child, restored to their arras after four years’ absence from home. No going to bed again that night. Father and mother must take their fill of looking at their handsome son, a young man now of about twenty-five, with a'fine open face and a vigorous frame ; in stature a little above the middle size He had of course to tell all about his travels, to which the old people listened with rapt attention But when he came to relate how he had been in the golden land of California, and had there picked up the precious metal to the tune of some twenty thousand Prussian thalers, the mere mention of such a sum fairly took the old people’s breath away. And when he produced a large oilskin parcel and took from it a lot of engraved papers, which be declared to be American notes to the amount named, father Tuchmann suddenly took bis wife by the hand on one side, and the widow Lehmann, who was a first cousin of his, on the other, and danced with ’hem, who were quite equally elated, up and down the room, out into the passage, and up and down stairs, back again into the room, until the three had to sit down thoroughly tired out. When the first enthusiastic burst was over, however, the mother could not help perceiving that her Conrad did not seem altogether at his ease. He would suddenly start up from his seat and listen with fixed attention to some fancied noise outside. Then, again, he would be absent minded, lost in thought apparently, so much so indeed, occasionally, that his father had to repeat, the same question twice over before an answer to it could be got from him. He attributed this strange behaviour to the fatigue of his journey and to overexcitement. He told his parents he would soon get over that. He said he would have to go to town the first thing on Monday morning to make a statement to the authorities, which might perhaps cause some temporary trouble ; but it would be all right in the end, he wasquite sure. When his parents pressed him to be more explicit, be told them not to trouble about it; it was all right. He would tell them on Monday morning before leaving for town. So the Saturday passed and the Sunday morning. The mother went to church with the widow Lehmann, the father and Conrad stayed at home. After church the dinner was put on the table. It was again remarked that Conrad partook only sparingly of it, and that he was showing signs of increasing uneasiness. Suddenly the door opened and there appeared the gendarme Kretschmar, accompanied by the mayor and two village constables. Conrad Tuchmann turned white as chalk and trembled violently. He made an effort to rise from his chair, but he could not. He seemed to have suddenly lost all power over his limbs. His mother was also frightened at this visit of the authorities ; she rose tottering fiom her chair ; but when she cast her eyes upon her son, her heart failed her altogether, and she fell with a low wailing moan into her husband’s arms, who, pale as death, could with difficulty keep his own legs. ‘Great God in heaven ! My son, my unhappy son !’ he cried, bursting into a Hood of tears. Kretschmar stopped up to Conrad, * Your name is Conrad Tuchmann ?’ he said, with official brevity. ‘Yes,’ replied the unhappy young man, in a scarcely, dible voice. ‘You'*i®. i returned here a few days ‘ j|PPin the same low tone. ‘ffl|Kbi did you come here ?’ ‘■lSKhe night from Friday to Saturday.’ _ ■ lb;- mafic a supreme effort to recover his ; composure. He succeeded to some extent at , least. » He addressed the gendarme ere the I latter fiad time to ask him the next question. ‘ You want me about Joseph Maria Sprcngcr V he asked, in a firm and steady voice. ‘ Yes ; it is about him that we arc here. Can you give any information about him ’ His courage seemed again to have fallen.

With a fresh effort he recovered himself sufficiently to reply firmly, ‘Yes, lean unhappily.’ ‘Well,’ continued Kretschmar, ‘ what have you to say ?’ ‘ The body has been found then ?’ queried the young man in reply. ‘lt has,’ said the gendarme, fixing his eyes sharply on the ashen pale face before him. ‘Well’’ ‘ I have killed him ! ’ It was with unspeakable difficulty that he forced the omiuons words through his bloodless lips. Then he added more freely, and with a certain natural dignity, which almost impressed the habitually rather unimpressible gendarme with a vague notion that there might be some mystery in the matter, * I have killed him, indeed ; but I have not murdered him.’ When Conrad uttered the words, * I have killed him,’ his poor mother slid from her trembling husband’s feebly-supporting arms, and fainted away on the ground, Father Tuchmann sank tottering down into a seat, with scalding blinding tears coursing down his sallow ch eks. ‘0 my God ! ’ he moaned ; ‘ and I had prayed You so fervently to preserve his life, and to send him back' to us safe. And now ! omy merciful Creator ! I wish he had died ere this. A murderer and a thief I f'urse the money which tempted him ! Curse—no, I will not curse him. His fate is hard indeed to bear wi hout a father’s curse.’ ‘ No, oh, no, father, do not curse me ! ’ cried Conra l passionately. *I am innocent I lam innocent I I swear it 1 Look at me, father. Do I look like a murderer ? ’ ***** Conrad tui ned to the gendarme. *I am innocent, Mr Gendarme,’ he said pleadingly, ‘ innocent in intention. On my sou' I am. Let me explain the whole affair, I entreat you. ’ {To be continued.)