LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 871, 10 April 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A STRANGE WITNESS,

( Continued)

‘ Here I found it no easy work to keep my partner away from the liquor bar and the cards and the dice. I saw, to my sorrow, that Sprenger was a passionate gambler; and from the hints and remarks he would occasionally drop I had good reason to believe that he had more than once or twice wilfully thrown away the fairest chances, and I therefore had great cause to fear that he might be tempted to do the same thing again. However, by dint of careful watchful and friendly remonstrance, 1 managed to keep him pretty straight, until we reached London at last.

‘Naturally wanting to see the sights of that wonderful city, we agreed to stay there a short time. One day, when we were visiting the great Museum, we got accidentally separated, alas ! for from that unlucky hour dates the fatal chain of misfortunes, leading ultimately to the sad death of my late companion and friend, and to my appearance here in peril of my own life. Sprenger did not return to our lodgings till late next morning. He had ben drinking hard ; he was full of boisterous mirth; he had met an old New York friena, he told me—a jolly fellow—and they were going in for a little London life now. I remonstrated with him as a frieud ; I warned him to distrust his New York acquaintance. He took a handful of gold and silver from his pocket, telling me, with great glee, that he could take care of himself, and that he had won this little lot of the New Yorker, and was determined to have another shy at him that very night. Well, 1 warmly argued the case with him, and I thought 1 had got him all right. He promised to follow my counsel, and agreed to stay at home that day. In the afternoon —it was the ISth April--he sat down to write a letter. He wanted an envelope-there was none; I told him we could get one on our way to our supper, and he might post his letter next day. He finished his letter then, and put it into his pocket book. Just then the landlord of the h' use came into our room, to ask me to look at a lock up-stairs which had got jammed, as he understood that I was a locksmith. I went. When I returned, five minutes afte*, I found Sprenger gone. I did not see him again till eight o’clock next morning. He looked pale as death. “My money is gone!” he exclaimed frantically ; “gone every note of it, everj dollar, every cent ! lam cleaned out ! lam a beggar !” He was fearful to look at in his frantic despair. I tried to calm him. At last I got out of him, bit by bit, that he had taken advantage of my short absence to go away to meet his New York acquaintance ; that they had had supper together, with lots of wine and spirits ; that he had then been taken by his vile tempter to a “snug” gaming hell, among a lot of strangers, who had been playing recklessly for hundred and thousand pound notes, as he was told and believed. The demon of gambling had then come over him, and he had ultimately been stripped of every cent. In his despair he had shown fight, when he was knocked down senseless; and on recovering he found himself lying at the foot of the Nelson Monument in Trafalgar Square. He was altogether unable to point out the house, the street, or even the part of London where he had lust his all.

‘We were total strangers in London. There was nothing left for us, then, but to put up with things as they unfortunately had turned out, and to get away as quickly as we could. I clearly understood now that Sprenger had not the least control over his passions when once excited. His wretchedness and despair touched me deeply, however, I offered him five hundred dollars of my share to enable him to go back to California. He frankly told me it would be no use, unless he could find another companion to watch over him as I had done. No, he would rather go home to his native place in Austria ; and if I would give him the five hundred dollars he might begin life once more there with a fair chance.

‘ So it was settled. He was to come along with me to Fichteuhain, where 1 would hand him the money. I would meanwhile pay all expenses ; and I gave him a score of thalers or so to put in his pocket. ‘ We came over by steamer to Hamburg, thence by rail to Eisenach. The rest of our journey to Fichtenhain we were to make on foot. On our road we went into an inn for refreshment. After dinner there we set out again. Ever since our arrival at Eisenach station Sprenger had seemed rather strange. Soon after we had started on ou> walk, he asked me quite abruptly, whether I really meant to give him five hundred dollars; and then again whether 1 meant five hundred dollars, aud no more. I told told him that I meant to give him the five

hundred dollars promised, and the remainder of the cash in my purse, which might come to sixty thalers or so. When we had passed Lilienfeld, and reached the little footpath in the wood, so w r ell known to me from my childhood, he suddenly stopped, and told me that he would rather not go along with me to Fichtenhain, and would take his money there and then. This he said in a blustering half-threatening way, giving me an ugly look which really disconcerted me not a little. We were seemingly alone in the wood; not a soul was to be seen on the road. Indeed, I had known Sprenger as an apparently good-natured fellow ; but as I had found by sad experience that he could so easily let the passion of gambling master him, it naturally occurred to me that he might gave way with equal facility to other passions, and that it would be the height of impudence to give him a chance to strip me, perhaps, of all I possessed. * I therefore firmly declined to let him have the money then. I told him he must come along with me to Fichtenhain. He consented at last with a very bad grace. When he had been -walking some tea minutes, he suddenly said he felt so tired that he must rest a little. I consented, and we seated ourselves on the trunk of a fallen tree. He seemed to make it a point to keep away from me as far as he could. I did not like his face at all.

‘ “ Look here, ” he said, “ Conrad, you had better give me the money here; I can walk back. I will not go along with you to your village; and you had better make it five thousand dollars instead of five hundred. You know wo made the money together. You could not have done it alone—as little as I could. I have had bad luck, true ; but I mean to turn over a new leaf, and to do this I must have five thousand dollars. I might even ask you to give me the half of the money ; but I will be satisfied with a third—hand it over, then ! ”

‘ I was fairly startled. But I tried to keep my composure. 1 stared at him ; his face looked as if meditating mischief. ‘ “ Joseph,” I said at last, after a few moments’ thought, “I have been a good friend and companion to you, and I mean to be so now. You have foolishly, nay wickedly, gambled away your share of our earnings ; I am afraid you will do the same over again if you have another chance. Still, I will consent to give you two thousand dollars instead of five hundred when we reach Fichtenhain ; and if you can hereafter show me that you have turned over a new leaf, you shall have the other three thousand you demand. There! Mind, this is my last word ; so we had better be off, for you see evening is closing in.” ‘ As I was talking I glanced at Sprenger’s face sideways. It cleared, and for a brief time he looked the old good-natured fellow again.

‘“All right, old boy,’ he said, “that will do; I will trust you. Let us be moving. ” ‘At this moment we heard a rustling noise, and immediately after a stranger stood before us ; a middle-aged man, dressed in a long blue surtout—the same, in fact, who has been described by the Baron Lilienfeld. ‘ We had met this gentleman before, I recollected, at the inn where we had dined. He sat far away from us in a corner. I should have taken no notice of him had he not stared at me and Sprenger in a most extraordinary fashion, his eyes travelling restlessly from one to the other. He made me feel somewhat uncomfortable, indeed, and I called Joseph’s attention to his strange ways; but Joseph clearly was on other thoughts i ntent and took no notice. The strange gentleman, however, left the inn before we did, and I had forgotten all about him when he so suddenly made his appearance before us.

‘.He started at us with his weird eyes, which made me feel quite uneasy. ‘“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said politely. Then fixing his eyes intently upon Joseph, he said to him, in sharp incisive tones, almost threatening, “Look you, sir; there has been a witness to what you have been saying. So you had better beware, and mind what yau are about.” ‘He turned round sharply, and had disappeared in the wood before either of us had recovered from our surprise, I observed that Joseph looked greatly troubled, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground. ‘We rose to go. Joseph walked before me with long rapid strides. Something was working in his mind clearly ; for he was jerking his arras about in a strange fashion. All at once he turned round to me, his face once more wearing the old ugly look. ‘ “ Conrad,” he cried, “ give me the two thousand dollars here, and let me go back. I will not go to Fichtenhain with you. I am sure you want to do me. You will not keep your promise when we get there. Give me the money at once. * I firmly replied, “No; you get nothing until we reach Fichtenhain, when I promise you, on my soul, you shall have the two thousand dollars, but not a cent till then.” ‘He sulkily went on. I saw, to my horror, that he put his hand into the right pocket of his trousers. I knew that he carried a large spring dagger-knife there. I instinctively felt for my revolver in my breastpocket. I drew it, to be prepared for all contingencies. He suddenly turned upon me, trying to lay hold of me with his left hand, brandishing the open knife in his right. “ Hog !” he cried, his face distorted with evil passion, “ your money—and your life!”

* I sprang sideways to avoid the desperate clutch of his left hand. He followed me. I cocked my revolver. “For God’s sake, Joseph,” I cried, “ mind what you are about; remember there is a witness against you.” ‘He laughed a fiendish laugh, and continued his efforts to reach me with hia knife.

‘“I tire, Joseph,” I cried desperately, “ if you do not keep off.” ‘He made another fierce plunge at me. I was distracted, half with fear, half with anger, I must confess—anger that this vile murderous wretch should want to kill me, in return for my kindness to him. He was upon me. I fired. He fell with a deep groan. I recovered my senses. I bent over him. He was atone dead. I assure you, on my soul’s salvation, gentlemen of the jury, that I was in a most pitiable state. I hoped at first the stranger in the blue coat would return. He could not have gone very far; he must have heard the shot tired. I waited in vain ; he did not come back. I remained alone with the dead. At last I recovered sufficient composure to thhxk of continuing my way home. The rest you know. {To be continued.)