ALLAN PINKERTON'S

GREAT DETECTIVE BOOKS. 

 1. --MOLLIE MAGUIRES AND DETECTIVES. 2. --STRIKERS, COMMUNISTS, AND DETECTIVES. 3. --CRIMINAL REMINISCENCES AND DETECTIVES. 4. --THE MODEL TOWN AND DETECTIVES. 5. --SPIRITUALISTS AND DETECTIVES. 6. --EXPRESSMAN AND DETECTIVE. 7. --THE SOMNAMBULIST AND DETECTIVES. 8. --CLAUDE MELNOTTE AS A DETECTIVE. 9. --MISSISSIPPI OUTLAWS AND DETECTIVES. 10. --GYPSIES AND DETECTIVES. 11. --BUCHOLZ AND DETECTIVES. 12. --THE RAIL ROAD FORGER AND DETECTIVES. 

These wonderful Detective Stories by Allan Pinkerton are having anunprecedented success. Their sale is fast approaching one hundredthousand copies. "The interest which the reader feels from the outsetis intense and resistless; he is swept along by the narrative, heldby it, whether he will or no. "

All beautifully illustrated, and published uniform with this volume. Price $1. 50 each. Sold by all booksellers, and sent _free_ by mail, on receipt of price, by

G. W. CARLETON & CO. , Publishers, New York. 

[Illustration: _The Arrival at South Norwalk. _]

BUCHOLZ AND THE DETECTIVES. 

BY

ALLAN PINKERTON, AUTHOR OF "THE EXPRESSMAN AND THE DETECTIVE, " "THE MODEL TOWN AND THEDETECTIVES, " "THE SPIRITUALISTS AND THE DETECTIVES, " "THE MOLLIEMAGUIRES AND THE DETECTIVES, " "STRIKERS, COMMUNISTS, TRAMPS ANDDETECTIVES, " "THE GYPSIES AND THE DETECTIVES, " ETC. , ETC. , ETC. 

NEW YORK:_G. W. Carleton & Co. , Publishers_, MADISON SQUARE. MDCCCLXXXII. 

COPYRIGHT BYALLAN PINKERTON. 1880. 

Stereotyped bySamuel Stodder, Electrotyper & Stereotyper, 90 Ann Street, N. Y. 

Trow Printing and Book-Binding Co. N. Y. 

CONTENTS. 

THE CRIME. 

CHAPTER I. PAGE

The Arrival in South Norwalk. --The Purchase of the Farm. --AMiser's Peculiarities, and the Villagers' Curiosity 17

CHAPTER II. 

William Bucholz. --Life at Roton Hill. --A Visit to New York City 30

CHAPTER III. 

An Alarm at the Farm House. --The Dreadful Announcement of WilliamBucholz. --The Finding of the Murdered Man 39

CHAPTER IV. 

The Excitement in the Village. --The Coroner's Investigation. --TheSecret Ambuscade 47

CHAPTER V. 

The Hearing Before the Coroner. --Romantic Rumors and VagueSuspicions. --An Unexpected Telegram. --Bucholz Suspected 56

CHAPTER VI. 

The Miser's Wealth. --Over Fifty Thousand Dollars Stolen from theMurdered Man. --A Strange Financial Transaction. --A Verdict, andthe Arrest of Bucholz 67

CHAPTER VII. 

Bucholz in Prison. --Extravagant Habits, and SuspiciousExpenditures. --The German Consul Interests Himself. --BucholzCommitted 78

CHAPTER VIII. 

My Agency is Employed. --The Work of Detection Begun 87

THE HISTORY. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Dortmund. --Railroad Enterprise and Prospective Fortune. --HenrySchulte's Love. --An Insult and Its Resentment. --An Oath ofRevenge 93

CHAPTER X. 

A Curse, and Plans of Vengeance 109

CHAPTER XI. 

A Moonlight Walk. --An Unexpected Meeting. --The Murder of EmerenceBauer. --The Oath Fulfilled 115

CHAPTER XII. 

The Search for the Missing Girl. --The Lover's Judgment. --HenrySchulte's Grief. --The Genial Farmer Becomes the Grasping Miser 122

CHAPTER XIII. 

Henry Schulte becomes the Owner of "Alten-Hagen. "--SurprisingIncrease in Wealth. --An Imagined Attack Upon His Life. --The MiserDetermines to Sail for America 131

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Arrival in New York. --Frank Bruner Determines to Leave theService of His Master. --The Meeting of Frank Bruner and WilliamBucholz 148

CHAPTER XV. 

A History of William Bucholz. --An Abused Aunt who Disappoints HisHopes. --A Change of Fortune. --The Soldier becomes a Farmer. --TheVoyage to New York 157

CHAPTER XVI. 

Frank Leaves the Service of His Master. --A Bowery ConcertSaloon. --The Departure of Henry Schulte. --William Bucholz Entersthe Employ of the Old Gentleman 166

THE DETECTION. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Detective. --His Experience, and His Practice. --A Plan ofDetection Perfected. --The Work is Begun. 177

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Detective Reminiscence. --An Operation in Bridgeport in 1866. --TheAdams Express Robbery. --A Half Million of Dollars Stolen. --Captureof the Thieves. --One of the Principals Turns State'sEvidence. --Conviction and Punishment 185

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Jail at Bridgeport. --An Important Arrest. --Bucholz Finds aFriend. --A Suspicious Character who Watches and Listens. --BucholzRelates his Story 205

CHAPTER XX. 

Bucholz Passes a Sleepless Night. --An Important Discovery. --TheFinding of the Watch of the Murdered Man. --Edward Sommers Consolesthe Distressed Prisoner 218

CHAPTER XXI. 

A Romantic Theory Dissipated. --The Fair Clara Becomescommunicative. --An Interview with the Bar Keeper of the "CrescentHotel" 226

CHAPTER XXII. 

Sommers Suggests a Doubt of Bucholz's Innocence. --HeEmploys Bucholz's Counsel to Effect his Release. --AVisit from the State's Attorney. --A Difficulty, and an Estrangement 233

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Reconciliation. --Bucholz makes an Important Revelation. --SommersObtains his Liberty and Leaves the Jail 244

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Sommers Returns to Bridgeport. --An Interview with Mr. Bollman. --Sommers Allays the Suspicions of Bucholz's Attorney, and Engages Him as his Own Counsel 252

CHAPTER XXV. 

Sommers' Visit to South Norwalk. --He Makes the Acquaintance of SadieWaring. --A Successful Ruse. --Bucholz Confides to his Friend theHiding Place of the Murdered Man's Money 260

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Edward Sommers as "The Detective. "--A Visit to the Barn, and Partof the Money Recovered. --The Detective makes Advances to the Counselfor the Prisoner. --A Further Confidence of an Important Nature 270

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A Midnight Visit to the Barn. --The Detective Wields a Shovel toSome Advantage. --Fifty Thousand Dollars Found in the Earth. --AGood Night's Work 284

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The Detective Manufactures Evidence for the Defense. --An AnonymousLetter. --An Important Interview. --The Detective Triumphs Overthe Attorney 295

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Bucholz Grows Skeptical and Doubtful. --A fruitless Search. --TheMurderer Involuntarily Reveals Himself 309

THE JUDGMENT. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

The Trial. --An Unexpected Witness. --A Convincing Story. --An Ablebut Fruitless Defense. --A Verdict of Guilty. --The Triumph ofJustice 319

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Another Chance for Life. --The Third Trial Granted. --A FinalVerdict, and a Just Punishment 338

PREFACE. 

The following pages narrate a story of detective experience, which, in many respects, is alike peculiar and interesting, and one whichevinces in a marked degree the correctness of one of the cardinalprinciples of my detective system, viz. : "That crime can and must bedetected by the pure and honest heart obtaining a controlling powerover that of the criminal. "

The history of the old man who, although in the possession ofunlimited wealth, leaves the shores of his native land to escape theimagined dangers of assassination, and arrives in America, only tomeet his death--violent and mysterious--at the hands of a trustedservant, is in all essential points a recital of actual events. Whileit is true that in describing the early career of this man, the mindmay have roamed through the field of romance, yet the importantevents which are related of him are based entirely upon informationauthentically derived. 

The strange operation of circumstances which brought these two mentogether, although they had journeyed across the seas--each with noknowledge of the existence of the other--to meet and to participatein the sad drama of crime, is one of those realistic evidences of theinscrutable operations of fate, which are of frequent occurrence indaily life. 

The system of detection which was adopted in this case, and which waspursued to a successful termination, is not a new one in the annalsof criminal detection. From the inception of my career as adetective, I have believed that crime is an element as foreign to thehuman mind as a poisonous substance is to the body, and that by thecommission of a crime, the man or the woman so offending, weakens, ina material degree, the mental and moral strength of their charactersand dispositions. Upon this weakness the intelligent detective mustbring to bear the force and influence of a superior, moral andintellectual power, and then successful detection is assured. 

The criminal, yielding to a natural impulse of human nature, mustseek for sympathy. His crime haunts him continually, and the burdenof concealment becomes at last too heavy to bear alone. It must finda voice; and whether it be to the empty air in fitful dreamings, orinto the ears of a sympathetic friend--he must relieve himself of theterrible secret which is bearing him down. Then it is that thewatchful detective may seize the criminal in his moment of weaknessand by his sympathy, and from the confidence he has engendered, hewill force from him the story of his crime. 

That such a course was necessary to be pursued in this case will beapparent to all. The suspected man had been precipitately arrested, and no opportunity was afforded to watch his movements or to becomeassociated with him while he was at liberty. He was an inmate of aprison when I assumed the task of his detection, and the coursepursued was the only one which afforded the slightest promise ofsuccess; hence its adoption. 

Severe moralists may question whether this course is a legitimate ordefensible one; but as long as crime exists, the necessity fordetection is apparent. That a murderous criminal should go unwhipt ofjustice because the process of his detection is distasteful to thehigh moral sensibilities of those to whom crime is, perhaps, astranger, is an argument at once puerile and absurd. The office ofthe detective is to serve the ends of justice; to purge society ofthe degrading influences of crime; and to protect the lives, theproperty and the honor of the community at large; and in thisrighteous work the end will unquestionably justify the means adoptedto secure the desired result. 

That the means used in this case were justifiable the result hasproven. By no other course could the murderer of Henry Schulte havebeen successfully punished or the money which he had stolenrecovered. 

The detective, a gentleman of education and refinement, in theinterests of justice assumes the garb of the criminal; endures theprivations and restraints of imprisonment, and for weeks and monthsassociates with those who have defied the law, and have stained theirhands with blood; but in the end he emerges from the trying and fieryordeal through which he has passed triumphant. The law is vindicated, and the criminal is punished. 

Despite the warnings of his indefatigable counsel, and the fearswhich they had implanted in his mind, the detective had gained acontrol over the mind of the guilty man, which impelled him toconfess his crime and reveal the hiding place of the money which hadled to its commission. 

That conviction has followed this man should be a subject ofcongratulation to all law-abiding men and women; and if the fate ofthis unhappy man, now condemned to long weary years of imprisonment, shall result in deterring others from the commission of crime, surelythe operations of the detective have been more powerfully beneficialto society than all the eloquence and nicely-balanced theories--incapableof practical application--of the theoretical moralist, who doubts theefficiency or the propriety of the manner in which this great resulthas been accomplished. 

ALLAN PINKERTON. 

BUCHOLZ AND THE DETECTIVES. 

THE CRIME. 

CHAPTER I. 

_The Arrival in South Norwalk. _--_The Purchase of the Farm. _--_AMiser's Peculiarities, and the Villagers' Curiosity. _

About a mile and a half from the city of South Norwalk, in the Stateof Connecticut, rises an eminence known as Roton Hill. The situationis beautiful and romantic in the extreme. Far away in the distance, glistening in the bright sunshine of an August morning, roll thegreen waters of Long Island Sound, bearing upon its broad bosom thenumerous vessels that ply between the City of New York and thevarious towns and cities along the coast. The massive and luxurioussteamers and the little white-winged yachts, the tall "three-masters"and the trim and gracefully-sailing schooners, are in full view. Atthe base of the hill runs the New York and New Haven Railroad, withits iron horse and long trains of cars, carrying their wealth offreights and armies of passengers to all points in the East, while tothe left lies the town of South Norwalk--the spires of its churchesrising up into the blue sky, like monuments pointing heaven-ward--andwhose beautiful and capacious school-houses are filled with thebright eyes and rosy faces of the youths who receive from competentteachers the lessons that will prove so valuable in the time to come. 

Various manufactories add to the wealth of the inhabitants, whoseluxurious homes and bright gardens are undoubted indications ofprosperity and domestic comfort. The placid river runs through thetown, which, with the heavy barges lying at the wharves, thedraw-bridges which span its shores, and the smaller crafts, whichafford amusement to the youthful fraternity, contribute to thegeneral picturesqueness of the scene. 

The citizens, descended from good old revolutionary sires, possessthe sturdy ambitions, the indomitable will and the undoubted honor oftheir ancestors, and, as is the case with all progressive Americantowns, South Norwalk boasts of its daily journal, which furnishes thelatest intelligence of current events, proffers its opinions upon theimportant questions of the day, and, like the _Sentinel_ of old, stands immovable and unimpeachable between the people and anyattempted encroachment upon their rights. 

On a beautiful, sunny day in August, 1878, there descended from thetrain that came puffing up to the commodious station at SouthNorwalk, an old man, apparently a German, accompanied by a muchyounger one, evidently of the same nationality. The old gentleman wasnot prepossessing in appearance, and seemed to be avoided by hiswell-dressed fellow-passengers. He was a tall, smooth-faced man aboutsixty years of age, but his broad shoulders and erect carriage gaveevidence of an amount of physical power and strength scarcely inaccord with his years. Nor was his appearance calculated to impressthe observer with favor. He wore a wretched-looking coat, and uponhis head a dingy, faded hat of foreign manufacture. His shoes showedfrequent patches, and looked very much as though their owner hadperformed the duties of an amateur cobbler. 

It was not a matter of wonder, therefore, that the round-faced Squireshrugged his burly shoulders as the new-comer entered his office, orthat he was about to bestow upon the forlorn-looking old man sometrifling token of charity. 

The old gentleman, however, was not an applicant for alms. He did notdeliver any stereotyped plea for assistance, nor did he recite a taleof sorrow and suffering calculated to melt the obdurate heart of theaverage listener to sympathy, and so with a wave of his hand hedeclined the proffered coin, and stated the nature of his business. 

The Squire soon discovered his error, for instead of asking forcharity, his visitor desired to make a purchase, and in place ofbeing a victim of necessity, he intended to become a land-owner inthat vicinity. 

The young man who accompanied him, and who was dressed in clothing ofgood quality and style, was discovered to be his servant, and the oldgentlemen, in a few words, completed a bargain in which thousands ofdollars were involved. 

The blue eyes of the worthy Squire opened in amazement as thesupposed beggar, drawing forth a well-filled but much-worn leatherwallet, and taking from one of its dingy compartments the amount ofthe purchase-money agreed upon, afforded the astonished magistrate aglimpse of additional wealth of which the amount paid seemed but asmall fraction. 

The land in question which thus so suddenly and strangely changedhands was a farm of nearly thirty acres, situate upon Roton Hill, andwhich had been offered for sale for some time previous, withoutattracting the attention of an available purchaser. When, therefore, the new-comer completed his arrangements in comparatively such fewwords, and by the payment of the purchase-money in full, he socompletely surprised the people to whom the facts were speedilyrelated by the voluble Squire, that the miserably apparelled owner ofthe "Hill, " became at once an object of curiosity and interest. 

A few days after this event, the old gentleman, whose name wasascertained to be John Henry Schulte, formally entered intopossession of his land, and with his servants took up his abode atRoton Hill. 

The dwelling-house upon the estate was an unpretentious framebuilding, with gable roof, whose white walls, with their proverbialgreen painted window shutters overlooking the road, showed tooplainly the absence of that care and attention which is necessary forcomfort and essential to preservation. It was occupied at this timeby a family who had been tenants under the previous owner, andarrangements were soon satisfactorily made by Henry Schulte by whichthey were to continue their residence in the white farm-house uponthe "Hill. "

This family consisted of a middle-aged man, whose name was JosephWaring, his wife and children--a son and two blooming daughters, andas the family of Henry Schulte consisted only of himself and hisservant, the domestic arrangements were soon completed, and he becamedomiciled at once upon the estate which he had purchased. 

The young man who occupied the position as servant, or valet, to theeccentric old gentleman, was a tall, broad-shouldered, fine-lookingyoung fellow, whose clear-cut features and prominent cheek-bones atonce pronounced him to be a German. His eyes were large, light bluein color, and seemed capable of flashing with anger or melting withaffection; his complexion was clear and bright, but his mouth waslarge and with an expression of sternness which detracted from thepleasing expression of his face; while his teeth, which were somewhatdecayed, added to the unpleasing effect thus produced. He was, however, rather a good-looking fellow, with the erect carriage andjaunty air of the soldier, and it was a matter of surprise to many, that a young man of his appearance should occupy so subservient aposition, and under such a singular master. 

Such was William Bucholz, the servant of Henry Schulte. 

Between master and man there appeared to exist a peculiar relation, partaking, at times, more of the nature of a protector than theservant, and in their frequent walks William Bucholz would invariablybe found striding on in advance, while his aged, but seeminglyrobust, employer would follow silently and thoughtfully at a distanceof a few yards. At home, however, his position was more clearlydefined, and William became the humble valet and the nimble waiter. 

The reserved disposition and retired habits of the master wereregarded as very eccentric by his neighbors, and furnished frequentfood for comment and speculation among the gossips which usuallyabound in country villages--and not in this case without cause. Hismanner of living was miserly and penurious in the extreme, and allideas of comfort seemed to be utterly disregarded. 

The furniture of the room which he occupied was of the commonestdescription, consisting of an iron bedstead, old and broken, which, with its hard bed, scanty covering and inverted camp-stool for apillow, was painfully suggestive of discomfort and unrest. A largechest, which was used as a receptacle for food; a small deal table, and two or three unpainted chairs, completed the inventory of thecontents of the chamber in which the greater portion of his time waspassed when at home. 

The adjoining chamber, which was occupied by Bucholz, was scarcelymore luxurious, except that some articles for toilet use were addedto the scanty and uninviting stock. 

The supplies for his table were provided by himself, and prepared forhis consumption by Mrs. Waring. In this regard, also, the utmostparsimony was evinced, and the daily fare consisted of the commonestarticles of diet that he was able to purchase. Salt meats and fish, brown bread and cheese, seemed to be the staple articles of food. Atthe expiration of every week, accompanied by William, he wouldjourney to South Norwalk, to purchase the necessary stores for thefollowing seven days, and he soon became well-known to theshopkeepers for the niggardly manner of his dealings. Upon his returnhis purchases would be carefully locked up in the strong box which hekept in his room, and would be doled out regularly to the servant forcooking in the apartments below, with a stinting exactness painfullyamusing to witness. 

The only luxury which he allowed himself was a certain quantity ofRhenish wine, of poor quality and unpleasant flavor, which waspartaken of by himself alone, and apparently very much enjoyed. Athis meals Bucholz was required to perform the duties of waiter;arranging the cloth, carrying the food and dancing in constantattendance--after which he would be permitted to partake of his ownrepast, either with the family, who frequently invited him, and thussaved expense, or in the chamber of his master. 

Gossip in a country village travels fast and loses nothing in itspassage. Over many a friendly cup of tea did the matrons and maidsdiscuss the peculiarities of the wealthy and eccentric old man whohad so suddenly appeared among them, while the male portion of thecommunity speculated illimitably as to his history and hispossessions. 

He was frequently met walking along the highway with his hands foldedbehind his back, his head bent down, apparently in deep thought, William in advance, and the master plodding slowly after him, andmany efforts were made to cultivate his acquaintance, but alwayswithout success. 

This evidence of an avoidance of conversation and refusal to makeacquaintances, instead of repressing a tendency to gossip, onlyseemed to supply an opportunity for exaggeration, and speculationlargely supplied the want of fact in regard to his wealth and hisantecedents. 

Entirely undisturbed by the many reports in circulation about him, Henry Schulte pursued the isolated life he seemed to prefer, payingno heed to the curious eyes that were bent upon him, and entirelyoblivious to the vast amount of interest which others evinced in hiswelfare. 

He was in the habit of making frequent journeys to the City of NewYork alone, and on these occasions William would meet him upon hisreturn and the two would then pursue their lonely walk home. 

One day upon reaching South Norwalk, after a visit to the metropolis, he brought with him a large iron box which he immediately consignedto the safe keeping of the bank located in the town, and this factfurnished another and more important subject for conversation. 

He had hitherto seemed to have no confidence in banking institutionsand trust companies, and preferred to be his own banker, carryinglarge sums of money about his person which he was at no pains toconceal, and so, as he continued this practice, and as hispossessions were seemingly increased by the portentous-looking ironchest, the speculations as to his wealth became unbounded. 

Many of the old gossips had no hesitancy in declaring that he wasnone other than a foreign count or some other scion of nobility, whohad, no doubt, left his native land on account of some politicalpersecution, or that he had been expatriated by his government forsome offense which had gained for the old man that dreadfulpunishment--royal disfavor. 

Oblivious of all this, however, the innocent occasion of theirwonderment and speculation pursued his lonely way unheeding andundisturbed. 

CHAPTER II. 

_William Bucholz. _--_Life at Roton Hill. _--_A Visit to New YorkCity. _

William Bucholz, the servant of the old gentleman, did not possessthe morose disposition nor the desire for isolation evinced by hismaster, for, instead of shunning the society of those with whom hecame in contact, he made many acquaintances during his leisure hoursamong the people of the town and village, and with whom he soonbecame on terms of perfect intimacy. To him, therefore, perhaps asmuch as to any other agency, was due in a great measure the fabulousstories of the old man's wealth. 

Being of a communicative disposition, and gifted with a seeminglyfrank and open manner, he found no difficulty in extending his circleof acquaintances, particularly among those of a curious turn of mind. In response to their eager questioning, he would relate such wonderfulstories in reference to his master, of the large amount of money whichhe daily carried about his person, and of reputed wealth in Germany, that it was believed by some that a modern Croesus had settled intheir midst, and while, in common with the rest of humanity, they paidhomage to his gold, they could not repress a feeling of contempt forthe miserly actions and parsimonious dealings of its possessor. 

With the young ladies also William seemed to be a favorite, and hismanner of expressing himself in such English words as he hadacquired, afforded them much interest and no little amusement. Aboveall the rest, however, the two daughters of Mrs. Waring possessed thegreatest attractions for him, and the major part of his time, whennot engaged in attending upon his employer, was spent in theircompany. Of the eldest daughter he appeared to be a devoted admirer, and this fact was far from being disagreeable to the young ladyherself, who smiled her sweetest smiles upon the sturdy young Germanwho sued for her favors. 

Sadie Waring was a wild, frolicsome young lady of about twenty yearsof age, with an impulsive disposition, and an inclination formischief which was irrepressible. Several experiences were related ofher, which, while not being of a nature to deserve the censure of herassociates, frequently brought upon her the reproof of her parents, who looked with disfavor upon the exuberance of a disposition thatacknowledged no control. 

Bucholz and Sadie became warm friends, and during the pleasant daysof the early Autumn, they indulged in frequent and extended rambles;he became her constant chaperone to the various traveling shows whichvisited the town, and to the merry-makings in the vicinity. Throughher influence also, he engaged the services of a tutor, and commencedthe study of the English language, in which, with her assistance, hesoon began to make rapid progress. 

In this quiet, uneventful way, the time passed on, and nothingoccurred to disturb the usual serenity of their existence. No attemptwas made by Henry Schulte to cultivate the land which he hadpurchased, and, except a small patch of ground which was devoted tothe raising of a few late vegetables, the grass and weeds vied witheach other for supremacy in the broad acres which surrounded thehouse. 

Daily during the pleasant weather the old gentleman would wend hisway to the river, and indulge in the luxury of a bath, which seemedto be the only recreation that he permitted himself to take; and inthe evening, during which he invariably remained in the house, hewould spend the few hours before retiring in playing upon the violin, an instrument of which he was very fond, and upon which he playedwith no ordinary skill. 

The Autumn passed away, and Winter, cold, bleak, and cheerless, settled over the land. The bright and many-colored leaves that hadflashed their myriad beauties in the full glare of the sunlight, hadfallen from the trees, leaving their trunks, gnarled and bare, to themercy of the sweeping winds. The streams were frozen, and themerry-makers skimmed lightly and gracefully over the glassy surfaceof pond and lake. Christmas, that season of festivity, when thehearts of the children are gladdened by the visit of that fabulousgift-maker, and when music and joy rule the hour in the homes of therich--but when also, pinched faces and hungry eyes are seen in thehouses of the poor--had come and gone. 

To the farm-house on the "Hill, " there had come no change during thisfestive season, and the day was passed in the ordinary dull anduneventful manner. William Bucholz and Sadie Waring had perhapsderived more enjoyment from the day than any of the others, and inthe afternoon had joined a party of skaters on the lake in thevicinity, but beyond this, no incident occurred to recall veryforcibly the joyous time that was passing. 

On the second day after Christmas, Henry Schulte informed William ofhis intention to go to New York upon a matter of business, and aftera scanty breakfast, accompanied by his valet, he wended his way tothe station. 

They had become accustomed to ignore the main road in their journeysto the town, and taking a path that ran from the rear of the house, they would walk over the fields, now hard and frozen, and passingthrough a little strip of woods they would reach the track of therailroad, and following this they would reach the station, therebymaterially lessening the distance that intervened, and shortening thetime that would be necessary to reach their destination. 

Placing the old gentleman safely upon the train, and withinstructions to meet him upon his arrival home in the evening, Bucholz retraced his steps and prepared to enjoy the leisure accordedto him by the absence of the master. 

In the afternoon his tutor came, and he spent an hour engaged in thestudy of the English language, and in writing. Shortly after thedeparture of the teacher Mrs. Waring requested him to accompany herto a town a few miles distant, whither she was going to transact somebusiness, and he cheerfully consenting, they went off together. 

Returning in the gathering twilight Bucholz was in excellent spiritsand in great good humor, and as they neared their dwelling theydiscovered Sadie slightly in advance of them, with her skates underher arm, returning from the lake, where she had been spending theafternoon in skating. William, with a view of having a laugh at theexpense of the young lady, when within a short distance of her, drewa revolver which he carried, and discharged it in the direction inwhich she was walking. The girl uttered a frightened scream, butWilliam's mocking laughter reassured her, and after a mutual laugh ather sudden fright the three proceeded merrily to the house. 

It was now time for William to go to the station for his master, whowas to return that evening, and he started off to walk to the train, reaching there in good time, and in advance of its arrival. 

Soon the bright light of the locomotive was seen coming around acurve in the road, the shrill whistle resounded through the wintryair, and in a few minutes the train came rumbling up to the station, when instantly all was bustle and confusion. 

Train hands were running hither and thither, porters were loudlycalling the names of the hotels to which they were attached, theinevitable Jehu was there with his nasal ejaculation of "Kerige!"while trunks were unloaded and passengers were disembarking. 

Bright eyes were among the eager crowd as the friendly salutationswere exchanged, and merry voices were heard in greeting to returningfriends. Rich and poor jostled each other in the hurry of the moment, and the waiting servant soon discovered among the passengers the formof the man he was waiting for. 

The old gentleman was burdened with some purchases of provisionswhich he had made, and in an old satchel which he carried the necksof several bottles of wine were protruding. Assisting him to alight, Bucholz took the satchel, and they waited until the train startedfrom the depot and left the trackway clear. The old man lookedfatigued and worn, and directed Bucholz to accompany him to a saloonopposite, which they entered, and walking up to the bar, he requesteda couple of bottles of beer for himself and servant. This evidence ofunwonted generosity created considerable wonderment among those whowere seated around, but the old gentleman paid no attention to theirwhispered comments, and, after liquidating his indebtedness, the twotook up their packages and proceeded up the track upon their journeyhome. 

What transpired upon that homeward journey was destined to remain fora long time an inscrutable mystery, but after leaving that little innno man among the curious villagers ever looked upon that old man'sface in life again. The two forms faded away in the distance, and theweary wind sighed through the leafless trees; the bright glare of thelights of the station gleamed behind them, but the shadows of themelancholy hills seemed to envelop them in their dark embrace--and toone of them, at least, it was the embrace of death. 

CHAPTER III. 

_An Alarm at the Farm-house. _--_The Dreadful Announcement of WilliamBucholz. _--_The Finding of the Murdered Man. _

The evening shadows gathered over Roton Hill, and darkness settledover the scene. The wind rustled mournfully through the leaflessbranches of the trees, as though with a soft, sad sigh, whileoverhead the stars glittered coldly in their far-off setting of blue. 

Within the farm-house the fire glowed brightly and cheerily; thelamps were lighted; the cloth had been laid for the frugal eveningmeal, and the kettle hummed musically upon the hob. The family of theWarings, with the exception of the father, whose business was in adistant city, were gathered together. Samuel Waring, the son, hadreturned from his labor, and with the two girls were seated aroundthe hearth awaiting the return of the old gentleman and William, while Mrs. Waring busied herself in the preparations for tea. 

"Now, if Mr. Schulte would come, " said Mrs. Waring, "we would ask himto take tea with us this evening; the poor man will be cold andhungry. "

"No use in asking him, mother, " replied Samuel, "he wouldn't accept. "

"It is pretty nearly time they were here, " said Sadie, with a longinglook toward the inviting table. 

"Well, if they do not come soon we will not wait for them, " said Mrs. Waring. 

As she spoke a shrill, startled cry rose upon the air; the voice of aman, and evidently in distress. Breathless they stopped tolisten--the two girls clinging to each other with blanched faces andstaring eyes. 

"Sammy! Sammy!" again sounded that frightened call. 

Samuel Waring started to his feet and moved rapidly toward the door. 

"It sounds like William!" he cried, "something must have happened. "

He had reached the door and his hand was upon the latch, when it wasviolently thrown open and Bucholz rushed in and fell fainting uponthe floor. 

[Illustration: "_Bucholz rushed in and fell fainting to the floor. _"]

He was instantly surrounded by the astonished family, and uponexamination it was discovered that his face was bleeding, while theflesh was lacerated as though he had been struck with some sharpinstrument. He had carried in his hand the old satchel whichcontained the wine purchased by Mr. Schulte, and which had beenconsigned to his care on leaving the depot, and as he fellunconscious the satchel dropped from his nerveless grasp upon thefloor. 

Recovering quickly, he stared wildly around. "What has happened, William, what is the matter?" inquired Samuel. 

"Oh, Mr. Schulte, he is killed, he is killed!"

"Where is he now?"

"Down in the woods by the railroad, " cried Bucholz. "We must go andfind him. "

Meanwhile the female members of the family had stood wonder-strickenat the sudden appearance of Bucholz, and the fearful informationwhich he conveyed. 

"How did it happen?" inquired Samuel Waring. 

"Oh, Sammy, " exclaimed Bucholz, "I don't know. When we left thestation, Mr. Schulte gave me the satchel to carry, and we walkedalong the track. I was walking ahead. Then we came through the woods, and just as I was about to climb over the stone wall by the field, Iheard Mr. Schulte call out, 'Bucholz!' 'Bucholz!' It was dark, Icould not see anything, and just as I turned around to go to Mr. Schulte, a man sprang at me and hit me in the face. I jumped awayfrom him and then I saw another one on the other side of me. Then Iran home, and now I know that Mr. Schulte is killed. Oh Sammy! Sammy!we must go and find him. "

Bucholz told his story brokenly and seemed to be in great distress. 

"If I had my pistol I would not run, " he continued, as if in reply toa look upon Samuel Waring's face, "but I left it at home. "

Sadie went up to him, and, laying her hand upon his arm, inquiredanxiously if he was much hurt. 

"No, my dear, I think not, but I was struck pretty hard, " he replied. "But come, " he continued, "while we are talking, Mr. Schulte is lyingout there in the woods. We must go after him. "

Bucholz went to the place where he usually kept his revolver, andplacing it in his pocket, he announced his readiness to go in searchof his master. 

"Wait till I get my gun, " said Samuel Waring, going up-stairs, andsoon returning with the desired article. 

Just as he returned, another attack of faintness overcame William, and again he fell to the floor, dropping the revolver from his pocketas he did so. 

Sammy assisted him to arise, and after he had sufficiently recovered, the two men, accompanied by the mother and two daughters, startedtoward the house of the next neighbor, where, arousing old FarmerAllen, and leaving the ladies in his care, they proceeded in thedirection where the attack was said to have been made. 

On their way they aroused two other neighbors, who, lightinglanterns, joined the party in their search for the body of Mr. Schulte. 

Following the beaten path through the fields, and climbing over thestone wall where Bucholz was reported to have been attacked, theystruck the narrow path that led through the woods. A short distancebeyond this the flickering rays of the lantern, as they penetratedinto the darkness beyond them, fell upon the prostrate form of a man. 

The body lay upon its back; the clothing had been forcibly torn open, and the coat and vest were thrown back as though they had beenhastily searched and hurriedly abandoned. 

The man was dead. Those glassy eyes, with their look of horror, whichwere reflected in the rays of the glimmering light; that pallid, rigid face, with blood drops upon the sunken cheeks, told them tooplainly that the life of that old man had departed, and that theystood in the awful presence of death. 

Murdered! A terrible word, even when used in the recital of an eventthat happened long ago. An awful word to be uttered by the cheerfulfireside as we read of the ordinary circumstances of every-day life. But what horrible intensity is given to the enunciation of itssyllables when it is forced from the trembling lips of stalwart men, as they stand like weird spirits in the darkness of the night, andwith staring eyes, behold the bleeding victim of a man's foul deed. It seemed to thrill the ears and freeze the blood of the listeners, as old Farmer Allen, kneeling down by that lifeless form, pronouncedthe direful word. 

It seemed to penetrate the air confusedly--not as a word, but as asound of fear and dread. The wind seemed to take up the burden of thesad refrain, and whispered it shudderingly to the tall trees thatshook their trembling branches beneath its blast. 

I wonder did it penetrate into the crime-stained heart of him who hadlaid this harmless old man low? Was it even now ringing in his ears?Ah, strive as he may--earth and sky and air will repeat in chorusthat dreadful sound, which is but the echo of his own accusingconscience, and he will never cease to hear it until, worn and weary, the plotting brain shall cease its functions, and the murderous heartshall be cold and pulseless in a dishonored grave. 

CHAPTER IV. 

_The Excitement in the Village. _--_The Coroner's Investigation. _--_TheSecret Ambuscade. _

Samuel Waring knelt down beside the form of the old man, and laid histrembling hand upon the heart that had ceased to throb forever. 

"He is dead!" he uttered, in a low, subdued voice, as though he toowas impressed with the solemnity of the scene. 

Bucholz uttered a half articulate moan, and grasped more firmly inhis nerveless hand the pistol which he carried. 

One of the neighbors who had accompanied the party was about tosearch the pockets of the murdered man, when Farmer Allen, raisinghis hand, cried:

"Stop! This is work for the law. A man has been murdered, and theofficers of the law must be informed of it. Who will go?"

Samuel Waring and Bucholz at once volunteered their services andstarted towards the village to notify the coroner, and those whoseduty it was to take charge of such cases. 

Farmer Allen gazed at the rigid form of the old man lying therebefore him, whose life had been such an enigma to his neighbors, thenat the retreating forms of the two men who were slowly wending theirway to the village, and a strange, uncertain light came into his eyesas he thus looked. He said nothing, however, of the thoughts thatoccupied his mind, and after bidding the others watch beside thebody, he returned to his own home and informed the frightened femalesof what had been discovered. 

The news spread with wonderful rapidity, and soon the dreadfultidings were the theme of universal conversation. A man rushed intothe saloon in which the old man and Bucholz had drank their beer, andcried out:

"The old man that was in here to-night has been murdered!"

Instantly everybody were upon their feet. The old gentleman wasgenerally known, and although no one was intimately acquainted withhim, all seemed to evince an interest in the cause of his death. 

Many rumors were at once put in circulation, and many wild andextravagant stories were soon floating through the crowds thatgathered at the corners of the streets. 

Samuel Waring and Bucholz had gone directly to the office of thecoroner, and informing him of the sad affair, had proceeded to thedrug-store in the village, with the view of having the wounds uponhis face dressed. They were found to be of a very slight character, and a few pieces of court-plaster dexterously applied were all thatseemed to be required. 

By this time the coroner had succeeded in impanneling a jury toaccompany him to the scene of the murder, and they proceeded in abody toward the place. The lights from the lanterns, held by thosewho watched beside the body, directed them to the spot, and they soonarrived at the scene of the tragedy. 

The coroner immediately took charge of the body, and the physicianwho accompanied him made an examination into the cause of his death. 

Upon turning the body over, two ugly gashes were found in the back ofhis head, one of them cutting completely through the hat whichcovered it and cutting off a piece of the skull, and the otherpenetrating several inches into the brain, forcing the fracturedbones of the skull inward. 

It seemed evident that the first blow had been struck some distancefrom the place where the body had fallen, and that the stunned manhad staggered nearly thirty feet before he fell. The second blow, which was immediately behind the left ear, had been dealt with theblunt end of an axe, and while he was prostrate upon the ground. 

Death must have instantly followed this second crushing blow, and hehad died without a struggle. Silently and stealthily the assassinsmust have come upon him, and perhaps in the midst of some pleasantdream of a boyhood home; some sweet whisper of a love of the longago, his life had been beaten out by the murderous hand of one whohad been lying in wait for his unsuspecting victim. 

From the nature of the wounds the physician at once declared thatthey were produced by an axe. The cut in the back of the head, andfrom which the blood had profusely flowed, was of the exact shape ofthe blade of an instrument of that nature--and the other must havebeen produced by the back of the same weapon. The last blow must havebeen a crushing one, for the wound produced was several inches deep. 

An examination of the body revealed the fact that the clothing hadbeen forcibly torn open, as several buttons had been pulled from thevest which he wore, in the frantic effort to secure the wealth whichhe was supposed to have carried upon his person. 

In the inner pocket of his coat, which had evidently been overlookedby the murderers, was discovered a worn, yellow envelope, which, onbeing opened, was found to contain twenty thousand dollars in Germanmark bills, and about nine hundred and forty dollars in United Statesgovernment notes. His watch had been wrenched from the guard aroundhis neck, and had been carried off, while by his side lay an emptymoney purse, and some old letters and newspapers. 

Tenderly and reverently they lifted the corpse from the ground afterthis examination had been made, William Bucholz assisting, and themournful procession bore the body to the home which he had left inthe morning in health and spirits, and with no premonitory warning ofthe fearful fate that was to overtake him upon his return. 

The lights flashed through the darkness, and the dark forms, outlinedin their glimmering beams, seemed like beings of an unreal world; thebearers of the body, with their unconscious burden, appeared like amournful procession of medieval times, when in the solemn hours ofthe night the bodies of the dead were borne away to their finalresting-place. 

They entered the house and laid their burden down. The lids were nowclosed over those wild, staring eyes, and the clothing had beendecently arranged about the rigid form. The harsh lines that hadmarked his face in life, seemed to have been smoothed away by someunseen hand, and a smile of peace, such as he might have worn when achild, rested upon those closed and pallid lips, clothing thefeatures with an expression of sweetness that none who saw him thenever remembered to have seen before. 

After depositing the body in the house, several of the partiesproceeded to search the grounds in the immediate vicinity of themurder. Near where the body had fallen a package was found, containing some meat which the frugal old man had evidently purchasedwhile in the city. Another parcel, which contained a pair of what arecommonly known as overalls, apparently new and unworn, was alsodiscovered. An old pistol of the "pepper-box" pattern, and a rustyrevolver, the handle of which was smeared with blood, was found nearwhere the body was lying. No instrument by which the murder couldhave been committed was discovered, and no clue that would lead tothe identification of the murderers was unearthed. They were about toabandon their labor for the night, when an important discovery wasmade, which tended to show conclusively that the murder had beenpremeditated, and that the crime had been in preparation before thehour of its execution. 

By the side of the narrow path which led through the woods, stood asmall cedar tree upon the summit of a slight rise in the ground. Itsspare, straggling branches were found to have been interwoven withbranches of another tree, so as to form a complete screen from theapproach from the railroad, in the direction which Henry Schulte mustinevitably come on his way from the depot. Here, undoubtedly, themurderer had been concealed, and as the old man passed by, unconscious of the danger that threatened him, he had glidedstealthily after him and struck the murderous blow. 

These, and these only, were the facts discovered, and the question asto whose hand had committed the foul deed remained a seeminglyfathomless mystery. 

Midnight tolled its solemn hour, and as the tones of the bell thatrang out its numbers died away upon the air, the weary party wendedtheir way homeward, leaving the dead and the living in the littlefarm-house upon the "Hill, " memorable ever after for the dark deed ofthis dreary night. 

CHAPTER V. 

_The Hearing before the Coroner. _--_Romantic Rumors and VagueSuspicions. _--_An Unexpected Telegram. _--_Bucholz Suspected. _

The next day the sun shone gloriously over a beautiful winter's day, and as its bright rays lighted up the ice-laden trees in the littlewood, causing their branches to shimmer with the brilliant hues of arainbow's magnificence, no one would have imagined that in the gloomof the night before, a human cry for help had gone up through thequiet air or that a human life had been beaten out under theirglittering branches. 

The night had been drearily spent in the home which Henry Schulte hadoccupied, and the body of the murdered man had been guarded byofficers of the law, designated by the coroner who designed holdingthe customary inquest upon the morrow. 

To the inmates of the house the hours had stretched their wearylengths along, and sleep came tardily to bring relief to theiroverwrought minds. Bucholz, nervous and uneasy, had, withoutundressing, thrown himself upon the bed with Sammy Waring, and duringhis broken slumbers had frequently started nervously and utteredmoaning exclamations of pain or fear, and in the morning arosefeverish and unrefreshed. 

The two girls, who had wept profusely during the night, and beforewhose minds there flitted unpleasant anticipations of a publicexamination, in which they would no doubt play prominent parts, andfrom which they involuntarily shrank, made their appearance at thetable heavy-eyed and sorrowful. 

As the morning advanced, hundreds of the villagers, prompted by idlecuriosity and that inherent love of excitement which characterizesall communities, visited the scene of the murder, and as they gazedvacantly around, or pointed out the place where the body had beenfound, many and varied opinions were expressed as to the manner inwhich the deed was committed, and of the individuals who wereconcerned in the perpetration of the crime. 

A rumor, vague at first, but assuming systematic proportions as thevarious points of information were elucidated, passed through thecrowd, and was eagerly accepted as the solution of the seemingmystery. 

It appeared that several loungers around the depot at Stamford, atown about eight miles distant, on the night previous had observedtwo conspicuous-looking foreigners, who had reached the depot atabout ten o'clock. They seemed to be exhausted and out of breath, asthough they had been running a long distance, and in broken English, scarcely intelligible, had inquired (in an apparently excitedmanner), when the next train was to leave for New York. There wereseveral cabmen and hangers-on who usually make a railroad depot theirheadquarters about, and by them the two men were informed that therewere no more trains running to New York that night. This informationseemed to occasion them considerable annoyance and disappointment;they walked up and down the platform talking and gesticulatingexcitedly, and separating ever and anon, when they imaginedthemselves noticed by those who happened to be at the station. 

Soon after this an eastern-bound train reached the depot, and thesesame individuals, instead of going to New York, took passage on thistrain. They did not go into the car together, and after entering tookseats quite apart from each other. The conductor, who had mentionedthese circumstances, and who distinctly remembered the parties, asthey had especially attracted his attention by their strangebehavior, recollected that they did not present any tickets, but paidtheir fares in money. He also remembered that they were odd-lookingand acted in an awkward manner. They both left the train at NewHaven, and from thence all trace of them was lost for the present. 

Upon this slight foundation, a wonderful edifice of speculation wasbuilt by the credulous and imaginative people of South Norwalk. Theromance of their dispositions was stirred to its very depths, andtheir enthusiastic minds drew a vivid picture, in which the mannerand cause of Henry Schulte's death was successfully explained andduly accounted for. 

These men were without a doubt the emissaries of some person orpersons in Germany, who were interested in the old gentleman andwould be benefited by his death. As this story coincided so fullywith the mysterious appearance of the old man at South Norwalk; hisrecluse habits and avoidance of society, it soon gained manybelievers, who were thoroughly convinced of the correctness of thetheory thus advanced. 

Meanwhile the coroner had made the necessary arrangements for theholding of the inquest as required by the law, and his office wassoon crowded to overflowing by the eager citizens of the village, whopushed and jostled each other in their attempts to effect an entranceinto the room. 

The first and most important witness was William Bucholz, the servantof the old gentleman, and who had accompanied him on that fatal walkhome. 

He told his story in a plain, straightforward manner, and without anyshow of hesitation or embarrassment. He described his meeting Mr. Schulte at the depot; their entering the saloon, and their journeyhomeward. 

"After we left the saloon, " said Bucholz, who was allowed to tell hisstory without interruption and without questioning, "Mr. Schulte saidto me, 'Now, William, we will go home;' we walked up the railroadtrack and when we reached the stone wall that is built along by theroad, Mr. Schulte told me to take the satchel, and as the path wasnarrow, he directed me to walk in advance of him. He was silent, and, I thought, looked very tired. I had not walked very far into thewoods, when I heard him call from behind me, as though he was hurt orfrightened, 'Bucholz! Bucholz!' I heard no blow struck, nor any soundof footsteps. I was startled with the suddenness of the cry, and as Iwas about to lay down the satchel and go to him, I saw a man on myright hand about six paces from me; at the same time I heard a noiseon my left, and as I turned in that direction I received a blow uponmy face. This frightened me so that I turned, and leaping over thewall, I ran as fast as I could towards the house. One of the men, whowas tall and stoutly built, chased me till I got within a shortdistance of the barn. He then stopped, and calling out, 'Greenhorn, Icatch you another time, ' he went back in the direction of the woods. He spoke in English, but from his accent I should think he was aFrenchman. I did not stop running until I reached the house, andcalling for help to Sammy Waring, I opened the door and fell down. Iwas exhausted, and the blow I received had hurt me very much. " Hethen proceeded to detail the incidents which followed, all of whichthe reader has already been made aware of. 

He told his story in German, and, through one of the citizenspresent, who acted as interpreter, it was translated into English. While he was speaking, a boy hurriedly entered the room, and pushinghis way toward the coroner, who was conducting the examination, hehanded to him a sealed envelope. 

Upon reading the meager, but startling, contents of the telegram, forsuch it proved to be, Mr. Craw gazed at Bucholz with an expression ofpained surprise, in which sympathy and doubtfulness seemed to contendfor mastery. 

The telegram was from the State's Attorney, Mr. Olmstead, who, whileon the train, going from Stamford to Bridgeport, had perused theaccount of the murder of the night before, in the daily journal. Being a man of clear understanding, of quick impulse, and indomitablewill, for him to think was to act. Learning that the investigationwas to be held that morning, immediately upon his arrival atBridgeport he entered the telegraph office, and sent the followingdispatch:

 "_Arrest the servant. _"

It was this message which was received by the coroner, while Bucholz, all unconscious of the danger which threatened him, was relating thecircumstances that had occurred the night before. 

Mr. Craw communicated to no one the contents of the message he hadreceived, and the investigation was continued as though nothing hadoccurred to disturb the regularity of the proceedings thus begun. 

Mr. Olmstead, however, determined to allow nothing to interfere withthe proper carrying out of the theory which his mind had formed, andtaking the next train, he returned to South Norwalk, arriving therebefore Bucholz had finished his statement. 

When he entered the room he found that Bucholz had not been arrestedas yet, and so, instead of having this done, he resolved to place anofficer in charge of him, thus preventing any attempt to escape, should such be made, and depriving him practically of the services oflegal counsel. 

Mr. Olmstead conducted the proceedings before the coroner, and hisquestioning of the various witnesses soon developed the theory he hadformed, and those who were present listened with surprise as theassumption of Bucholz's guilty participation in the murder of hismaster was gradually unfolded. 

Yet under the searching examination that followed, Bucholz neverflinched; he seemed oblivious of the fact that he was suspected, andtold his story in an emotionless manner, and with an innocentexpression of countenance that was convincing to most of those wholistened to his recital. 

No person ever appeared more innocent under such trying circumstancesthan did this man, and but for a slight flush that now and thenappeared upon his face, one would have been at a loss to discover anyevidence of feeling upon his part, which would show that he was aliveto the position which he then occupied. 

His bearing at the investigation made him many friends who were veryoutspoken in their defense of Bucholz, and their belief in his entireinnocence. Mr. Olmstead, however, was resolute, and Bucholz returnedto the house upon the conclusion of the testimony for that day, incharge of an officer of the law, who was instructed to treat himkindly, but under no circumstances to allow him out of his sight, andthe further investigation was deferred until the following week. 

CHAPTER VI. 

_The Miser's Wealth. _--_Over Fifty Thousand Dollars Stolen from theMurdered Man. _--_A Strange Financial Transaction. _--_A Verdict, andthe Arrest of Bucholz. _

Meantime there existed a necessity for some action in regard to theeffects of which Henry Schulte was possessed at the time of hisdeath, and two reputable gentlemen of South Norwalk were dulyauthorized to act as administrators of his estate, and to performsuch necessary duties as were required in the matter. 

From an examination of his papers it was discovered that his onlyliving relatives consisted of a brother and his family, who residednear Dortmund, Westphalia, in Prussia, and that they too wereapparently wealthy and extensive land-owners in the vicinity of thatplace. 

To this brother the information was immediately telegraphed of theold gentleman's death, and the inquiry was made as to the dispositionof the body. To this inquiry the following reply was received:

 "TO THE MAYOR OF SOUTH NORWALK:

 "I beg of you to see that the body of my brother is properly forwarded to Barop, near Dortmund, so as to insure its safe arrival. I further request that you inform me at once whether his effects have been secured, and how much has been found of the large amount of specie which he took with him from here? Have they found the murderer of my brother?

 Signed, "FREDRICK W. SCHULTE. "

Had those who knew the previous history of Henry Schulte expected tohave received any expression of sorrow for the death of the oldgentleman, they were doomed to be disappointed, and the telegramitself fully dissipated any such idea. The man was dead, and theheirs were claiming their inheritance--that was all. 

Shortly after this a representative of the German Consul at New Yorkarrived, and, presenting his authority, at once proceeded to takecharge of the remains, and to make the arrangements necessary towardshaving them sent to Europe. 

The iron box which had proved such an object of interest to theresidents of South Norwalk, was opened at the bank, and to thesurprise of many, was found to contain valuable securities andinvestments which represented nearly a quarter of a million ofdollars. 

It was at first supposed that the murderers had been foiled in theirattempt to rob as well as to murder, or that they had been frightenedoff before they had accomplished their purpose of plunder. Thefinding of twenty thousand dollars upon his person seemed to beconvincing proof that no robbery had been committed, and the friendsof Bucholz, who were numerous, pointed to this fact as significantlyestablishing his innocence. 

Indeed, many people wondered at the action of the State's attorney, and doubtfully shook their heads as they thought of the meagerevidence that existed to connect Bucholz with the crime. A furtherexamination of the accounts of the murdered man, however, disclosedthe startling fact that a sum of money aggregating to over fiftythousand dollars had disappeared, and, as he was supposed to havecarried this amount upon his person, it must have been taken from himon the night of the murder. 

Here, then, was food for speculation. The man had been killed, androbbery had undoubtedly been the incentive. Who could have committedthe deed and so successfully have escaped suspicion and detection?

Could it have been William Bucholz?

Of a certainty the opportunity had been afforded him, and he couldhave struck the old man down with no one near to tell the story. Butif, in the silence of that lonely evening, his hand had dealt thefatal blow, where was the instrument with which the deed wascommitted? If he had rifled the dead man's pockets and had taken fromhim his greedily hoarded wealth, where was it now secured, or whatdisposition had he made of it?

From the time that he had fallen fainting upon the floor of thefarm-house kitchen, until the present, he was not known to have beenalone. 

Tearful in his grief for the death of his master, his voice had beenthe first that suggested the necessity for going in search of him. Hewas seen to go to the place where he usually kept his pistol, andprepare himself for defense in accompanying Samuel Waring. 

He had stood sorrowfully beside that prostrate form as the hand ofthe neighbor had been laid upon the stilled and silent heart, andlife had been pronounced extinct. He had journeyed with Sammy Waringto the village to give the alarm and to notify the coroner, and onhis return his arms had assisted in carrying the unconscious burdento the house. Could a murderer, fresh from his bloody work, have donethis?

From that evening officers had been in charge of the premises. Bucholz, nervous, and physically worn out, had retired with SammyWaring, and had not left the house during the evening. If he hadcommitted this deed he must have the money, but the house wasthoroughly searched, and no trace of this money was discovered. 

His bearing upon the inquest had been such that scarcely any onepresent was disposed to believe in his guilty participation in thefoul crime, or that he had any knowledge of the circumstances, savesuch as he had previously related. 

Where then was this large sum of money which had so mysteriouslydisappeared?

A stack of straw that stood beside the barn--the barn had beenthoroughly searched before--was purchased by an enterprising andambitious officer in charge of Bucholz, and although he did not own ahorse, he had the stack removed, the ground surrounding it diligentlysearched, in the vague hope that something would be discovered hiddenbeneath it. 

But thus far, speculation, search and inquiry had availed nothing, and as the crowd gathered at the station, and the sealed casket thatcontained the body of the murdered man was placed upon the train tobegin its journey to the far distant home which he had left but ashort time before, many thought that with its departure there hadalso disappeared all possibility of discovering his assassin, andpenetrating into the deep mystery which surrounded his death. 

An important discovery was, however, made at this time, which changedthe current of affairs, and seemed for a time to react against theinnocence of the man against whom suspicion attached. 

In the village there resided an individual named Paul Herscher, whowas the proprietor of the saloon in which the deceased and hisservant had taken their drink of beer, after leaving the train uponthe night of the murder. 

During the residence of Mr. Schulte at Roton Hill, Bucholz and PaulHerscher had become intimate acquaintances, and Bucholz had statedupon his examination that during the month of the previous October hehad loaned to Paul the sum of two hundred dollars. That the servantof so parsimonious a man should have been possessed of such a sum ofmoney seemed very doubtful, and inquiries were started with the viewof ascertaining the facts of the case. 

The investigation was still going on, and Paul was called as awitness. His story went far towards disturbing the implicitconfidence in Bucholz's innocence, and caused a reaction of feelingin the minds of many, which, while it did not confirm them in abelief in his guilt, at least made them doubtful of his entireignorance of the crime. 

Paul Herscher stated that on the morning after the murder Bucholz hadentered his saloon, and calling him into an adjoining room, hadplaced in his hands a roll of bills, saying at the same time, inGerman:

"Here is two hundred dollars of my money. I want you to keep it untilI make my report to the coroner. _If anybody asks you about it, tellthem I gave it to you some time ago. _"

Here was an attempt to deceive somebody, and, although Paul hadretained this money for several days, without mentioning the fact ofits existence, his revelation had its effect. Upon comparing thenotes, all of which were marked with a peculiar arrangement ofnumbers, and by the hand of the deceased, they were found tocorrespond with a list found among the papers of Henry Schulte, andthen in the custody of his administrators. 

To this charge, however, Bucholz gave a free, full and, so far asoutward demeanor was concerned, truthful explanation, which, while itfailed to fully satisfy the minds of those who heard it, served tomake them less confident of his duplicity or his guilt. 

He acknowledged the statements made by Paul Herscher to be true, butstated in explanation that he received the money from Mr. Schulte ontheir way home on the evening of the murder, in payment of a debt duehim, and that, fearing he might be suspected, he had gone to Paul, and handing him the money, had requested him, if inquiries wereinstituted, to confirm the statement which he had then made. 

That this statement seemed of a doubtful character was recognized byevery one, and that a full examination into the truthfulness of hisassertions was required was admitted by all; and, after othertestimony, not, however, of a character implicating him in themurder, was heard, the State's attorney pressed for such a verdict aswould result in holding Bucholz over for a trial. 

After a long deliberation, in which every portion of the evidence wasconsidered by the jury, which had listened intently to its relation, they returned the following verdict:

"That John Henry Schulte came to his death from wounds inflicted withsome unknown instrument, in the hands of some person or persons knownto William Bucholz, and we do find that said William Bucholz has aguilty knowledge of said crime. "

This announcement occasioned great surprise among the peopleassembled; but to none, perhaps, was the result more unexpected thanto William Bucholz himself. He stood in a dazed, uncertain manner fora few moments, and then, uttering a smothered groan, sank heavily inhis seat. 

The officers of the law advanced and laid their hands upon hisshoulder; and, scarcely knowing what he did, and without uttering aword, he arose and followed them from the building. He was placedupon the train to Bridgeport, and before nightfall the iron doors ofa prison closed upon him, and he found himself a prisoner to beplaced on trial for his life. "

[Illustration: "_The officers of the law advanced and laid theirhands upon his shoulders_"--]

CHAPTER VII. 

_Bucholz in Prison. _--_Extravagant Habits and SuspiciousExpenditures. _--_The German Consul Interests Himself. _--_Bucholzcommitted. _

Sorrowful looks followed the young man as he was conducted away, andfrequent words of sympathy and hope were expressed as he passedthrough the throng on his way to the depot, but he heeded them not. Adull, heavy pain was gnawing at his heart, and a stupor seemed tohave settled over his senses. The figures around him appeared likethe moving specters in a horrible dream, while a black cloud ofdespair seemed to envelop him. 

He followed the officers meekly, and obeyed their orders in amechanical manner, that showed too plainly that his mind waswandering from the scenes about him. He looked helplessly around, anddid not appear to realize the situation in which he was so suddenlyand unexpectedly placed. 

He experienced the pangs of hunger, and felt as though food wasnecessary to stop the dreadful pain which had taken possession ofhim, but he made no sign, and from the jury-room to the prison heuttered not a word. 

It was only when he found himself in the presence of the officials ofthe prison, whose gloomy walls now surrounded him, that he recoveredhis equanimity, and when he was ordered to surrender the contents ofhis clothing, or submit to a search, his eyes flashed withindignation, and the tears that welled up into them dropped upon hispallid cheek. 

With a Herculean effort, however, he recovered his strong calmness, and drawing up his erect figure he submitted in silence to thenecessary preparations for his being conducted to a cell. 

But as the door of the cell clanged to, shutting him in, and thenoise reverberated through the dimly-lighted corridors, he clutchedwildly at the bars, and with a paroxysm of frenzy seemed as though hewould rend them from their fastenings; then, realizing how fruitlesswere his efforts, he sank upon the narrow bed in a state ofstupefying despair. 

The pangs of hunger were forgotten now, he could not have partaken ofthe choicest viands that could have been placed before him, and aloneand friendless he fed upon the bitterness of his own thoughts. 

In vain did he attempt to close his eyes to the dreadfulsurroundings, and to clear his confused mind of the horrible visionsthat appalled him. The dark cloud gathered about him, and he coulddiscover no avenue of escape. 

The night was long and terrible, and the throbbing of his brainseemed to measure the minutes as they slowly dragged on, relievedonly at intervals by the steady tramp of the keepers, as they wenttheir customary rounds. The lamp from the corridor glowed with anunearthly light upon his haggard face and burning eyes, while hismind restlessly flitted from thought to thought, in the vain attemptof seeking some faint relief from the shadows that surrounded him. 

All through the weary watches of the night he walked his narrow cell, miserable and sleepless. Hour after hour went by, but there came nodrooping of the heavy lids, betokening the long-looked-for approachof sleep. At length, when the darkness of the night began to fleeaway and the gray dawn was breaking without, but ere any ray hadpenetrated the gloom of his comfortless apartment, he threw himselfupon the bed, weary, worn and heart-sick--there stole over his sensesforgetfulness of his surroundings, and he slept. 

The body, worn and insensible, lay upon the narrow couch, but themind, that wonderful and mysterious agency, was still busy--hedreamed and muttered in his dreaming thoughts. 

Oh, for the power to look within, and to know through what scenes heis passing now!

Leaving the young man in the distressing position of a suspectedcriminal, and deprived of his liberty, let us retrace our steps, andgather up some links in the chain of the testimony against him, whichwere procured during the days that intervened between the night ofthe murder and the day of his commitment. 

It will be remembered that he had been placed in charge of twoofficers of South Norwalk, who, without restraining him of hisliberty, accompanied him wherever he went, and watched his everymovement. 

Bucholz soon developed a talent for spending money, which had neverbeen noticed in him before. He became exceedingly extravagant in hishabits, purchased clothing for which he had apparently no use, andseemed to have an abundance of funds with which to gratify histastes. At each place he went and offered a large note in payment ofthe purchases which he had made, the note was secured by theofficers, and was invariably found to contain the peculiar markswhich designated that it had once belonged to the murdered man. Hedisplayed a disposition for dissipation, and would drink to excess, smoking inordinately, and indulging in carriage-rides, always incompany with the officers, whose watchful eyes never left him andwhose vigilance was unrelaxed. 

The State's attorney was indefatigable in his efforts to force uponBucholz the responsibility of the murder, and no means were leftuntried to accomplish that purpose. As yet the only evidence was hispossession of a moderate amount of money, which bore the marks madeupon it by the man who had been slain, and which might or might nothave come to him in a legitimate manner and for legitimate services. 

The important fact still remained that more than fifty thousanddollars had been taken from the body of the old man, and that themurderer, whoever he might be, had possessed himself of that amount. It was considered, therefore, a matter of paramount importance thatthis money should be recovered, as well as that the identity of themurderer should be established. 

The case was a mysterious one, and thus far had defied the efforts ofthe ablest men who had given their knowledge and their energies tothis perplexing matter. 

Mr. Olmstead, who remained firm in belief in Bucholz's guilt, and whorefused to listen to any theory adverse to this state of affairs, determined in his heart that something should be done that wouldprove beyond peradventure the correctness of his opinions. 

About this time two discoveries were made, which, while affording noadditional light upon the mysterious affair, proved conclusively thatwhoever the guilty parties were they were still industrious in theirattempts to avert suspicion and destroy any evidence that might beused against them. 

One of these discoveries was the finding of a piece of linen cloth, folded up and partly stained with blood, as though it had been usedin wiping some instrument which had been covered with the crimsonfluid. This was found a short distance from the scene of the murder, but partially hid by a stone wall, where Bucholz and Samuel Waringwere alleged to have stood upon the night of its occurrence. 

The other event was the mysterious cutting down of the cedar tree, whose branches had been intertwined with others, and which hadevidently been used as an ambuscade by the assassins who had lain inwait for their unsuspecting victim. 

Meantime, the German Consul-General had been clothed with fullauthority to act in the matter, and had become an interested party inthe recovery of the large sum of money which had so mysteriouslydisappeared. With him, however, the position of affairs presented twodifficulties which were to be successfully overcome, and twointerests which it was his duty to maintain. As the representative ofa foreign government, high in authority and with plenary powers of anofficial nature, he was required to use his utmost efforts to recoverthe property of a citizen of the country he represented, and at thesame time guard, as far as possible, the rights of the accused man, who was also a constituent of his, whose liberty had been restrainedand whose life was now in jeopardy. 

The course of justice could not be retarded, however, and aninvestigation duly followed by the grand jury of the County ofFairfield, at which the evidence thus far obtained was presented andWilliam Bucholz was eventually indicted for the murder of John HenrySchulte, and committed to await his trial. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

_My Agency is Employed_--_The work of Detection begun. _

The events attendant upon the investigation and the consequentimprisonment of Bucholz had consumed much time. The new year haddawned; January had passed away and the second month of the year hadnearly run its course before the circumstances heretofore narratedhad reached the position in which they now stood. 

The ingenuity and resources of the officers at South Norwalk had beenfully exerted, and no result further than that already mentioned hadbeen achieved. The evidence against Bucholz, although circumstantiallytelling against him, was not of sufficient weight or directness towarrant a conviction upon the charge preferred against him. He hademployed eminent legal counsel, and their hopeful views of the casehad communicated themselves to the mercurial temperament of theprisoner, and visions of a full and entire acquittal from the gravecharge under which he was laboring, thronged his brain. 

The violence of his grief had abated; his despair had been dissipatedby the sunshine of a fondly-cherished hopefulness, and his mannerbecame cheerful and contented. 

It was at this time that the services of my agency were called intorequisition, and the process of the detection of the real criminalwas begun. 

Upon arriving at my agency in New York City one morning in the latterpart of February, Mr. George H. Bangs, my General Superintendent, waswaited upon by a representative of the German Consul-General, who wasthe bearer of a letter from the Consulate, containing a short accountof the murder of Henry Schulte, and placing the matter fully in myhands for the discovery of the following facts:

 I. Who is the murderer?

II. Where is the money which is supposed to have been upon the personof Henry Schulte at the time of his death?

Up to this time no information of the particulars of this case hadreached my agency, and, except for casual newspaper reports, nothingwas known of the affair, nor of the connection which the GermanConsul had with the matter. 

At the interview which followed, however, such information as wasknown to that officer, who courteously communicated it, was obtained, and my identification with the case began. 

It became necessary at the outset that the support of the State'sAttorney should be secured, as without that nothing could besuccessfully accomplished, and an interview was had with Mr. Olmstead, which resulted in his entire and cordial indorsement of ouremployment. 

The difficulties in the way of successful operation beset us at thecommencement, and were apparent to the minds of all. The murder hadtaken place two months prior to our receiving any informationconcerning it, and many of the traces of the crime that might haveexisted at the time of its occurrence, and would have been ofincalculable assistance to us, were at this late day no doubtobliterated. 

Undismayed, however, by the adverse circumstances with which it wouldbe necessary to contend, and with a determination to persevere untilsuccess had crowned their efforts, the office was assumed and thework commenced. 

Mr. Bangs and my son, Robert A. Pinkerton, who is in charge of my NewYork agency, procured another interview with Mr. Olmstead, andreceived from him all the information which he then possessed. 

Mr. Olmstead continued firm in his belief that the crime had beencommitted by Bucholz, and being a man of stern inflexibility of mind, and of a determined disposition, he was resolved that justice shouldbe done and the guilty parties brought to punishment. 

Declining to offer any opinion upon the subject until the matter hadbeen fully investigated in the thorough manner which alwayscharacterizes my operations, it was decided to send a trusted andexperienced operative to the scene of the murder, to obtain from allpersons who possessed any knowledge of the affair every item ofinformation that it was possible at that late day to secure. 

Accordingly, John Woodford, an intelligent and active man upon myforce, was detailed to the scene of operations with full authority toglean from the already well-harvested field whatever material waspossible, and from his reports the particulars as detailed in thepreceding chapters were obtained. The inquiries were made in the mostthorough manner, and at the end of his labors every item ofinformation connected with the matter was in our possession and thefoundation was laid for a system of detection that promised success. 

The particulars of the case were communicated to me at myheadquarters in Chicago, and I was resolved also to learn theantecedents of John Henry Schulte and his servant, in order tounravel the mystery which attended his appearance at South Norwalk, and to discover the relations which existed between the master andthe man who now stood charged with a foul crime. 

That this eccentric man, possessed of such large means, should thushave taken up his abode in a land of strangers, and should have livedthe secluded life he did, was an added mystery in the case, which Iresolved to become acquainted with. I considered this necessary, also, in order to discover some motive for the crime, if any existedexcept that of robbery, and to guide me in my dealings with anysuspected persons who might thereafter be found. 

His brother was communicated with, and another operative was detailedto gather up the history of the man from the time of his landing inAmerica. 

John Cornwell, a young operative in the service of my New Yorkagency, was delegated for this service, and he performed the dutyassigned him in a manner which furnished me with all the informationI desired to possess, and as the story contains much that is ofinterest, I will give it here. 

THE HISTORY. 

CHAPTER IX. 

_Dortmund. _--_Railroad Enterprise and Prospective Fortune. _--_HenrySchulte's Love. _--_An Insult and its Resentment. _--_An Oath ofRevenge. _

How true it is, that in the life of every one, there exists a vein ofromance which justifies the adage that "Truth is stranger thanfiction. "

No page of history may bear their names. No chronicle of importantevents may tell to the world the story of their trials andsufferings. No volume of poetry or song may portray the sunshine andthe storms through which they journeyed from the cradle to the grave. But in their quiet, humble lives, they may have exemplified the vicesor virtues of humanity, and may have been prominent actors inunpublished dramas, that would excite the wonderment or theadmiration, the sympathy or the condemnation of communities. 

The life of Henry Schulte evinces this fact, in a remarkable degree. 

The town of Dortmund in Prussia, in 1845. 

A quiet, sleepy, German town, in the Province of Westphalia, whoseinclosing walls seemed eminently fitted to shut out the spirit ofenergy and activity with which the world around them was imbued, andwhose five gates gave ample ingress and egress to the limited tradeof the manufacturers within its limits. 

Once a free imperial city, it had acquired some importance, and was amember of that commercial alliance of early times known as the"Hanseatic League, " but its prosperity, from some cause, afterwardsdeclined, and passing into the hands of Prussia in 1815, Dortmund hadslumbered on in adolescent quiet, undisturbed by the march ofimprovement, and unaffected by the changes that were everywhereapparent in the great world without her boundaries. 

This sober, easy-going method of existence seemed to be in perfectaccord with the habits and dispositions of the people. The honest oldburghers pursued the even tenor of their way, paying but little heedto the whirl and excitement of the large cities, and plodding on withmachine-like regularity in their daily pleasures, and their slow butsure acquirement of fortune. Children were born, much in the usualmanner of such events--grew into man and womanhood--were married, andthey--in their turn, raised families. Altogether, life in this oldtown partook very much of the monotonous and uneventful existence ofa Van Winkle. 

Such was Dortmund in 1845. 

About this time, however, the wave of the advancing spirit ofbusiness activity had traveled sufficiently westward to reach thisdreamy village, and a railroad was projected between Dortmund and theCity of Dusseldorf. 

Dusseldorf, even at that time, was the great focus of railroad andsteamboat communication, and situated as it was, at the confluence ofthe Dussel and Rhine rivers, much of the transit trade of the Rhinewas carried on by its merchants. 

Here, then, was an opportunity afforded for such an added impetus totrade, such a natural increase in fortune, that it would readily beimagined that the entire community would have hailed with delight anenterprize which promised such important results, and that new lifeand energy would have been infused into the sluggish communities ofDortmund. 

Such was the case, to a very great extent, and a large majority ofthe people hailed with delight a project which would place their townin direct communication with the great cities of their own countryand with all the ports of foreign lands. But of this we shall speakhereafter. 

On the road which led from Dortmund to Hagen, about fifteen milesdistant, dwelt Henry Schulte, a quiet, reserved man, who had tilledthe soil for many years. Of a reserved and morose disposition, hemingled but rarely with the people who surrounded him, and among hisneighbors he was regarded as peculiar and eccentric. His broad acresevinced a degree of cultivation which proved that their owner waswell versed in the science of agriculture; the large crops that wereannually gathered added materially to the wealth of their proprietor, and the general appearance of thrift about the farm denoted thatHenry Schulte was possessed of a considerable amount of the world'sgoods. 

But while every care was taken of the fruitful fields, and everyattention paid to the proper management of his lands, the cottage inwhich he lived, stood in marked contrast to its surroundings. A low, one-story structure, with thatched roof, and with its broken windowsfilled here and there with articles of old clothing, proclaimed thefact that its occupant was not possessed of that liberal nature whichthe general appearance of the farm indicated. 

There was an air of squalor and poverty about the cottage, which toldunmistakably of the absence of feminine care, and of the lack ofwoman's ministrations--and this was true. 

For many years Henry Schulte had lived alone, with only his hired manfor company; and together they would perform the necessary domesticduties, and provide for their own wants in the most economical mannerpossible. 

Many stories were told among the villagers about Henry Schulte, for, like most all other localities, gossip and scandal were prevailingtopics of conversation. 

It is a great mistake to suppose that in the country, people may livealone and undisturbed, and that anyone can hope to escape the pryingeyes or the listening ears of the village gossip, male or female. Such things are only possible in large cities, where men take nointerest in each other's affairs, and where one man may meet anotherdaily for years without ever thinking of inquiring who he is or whathe does, and where you pass a human being without a greeting or evena look. In the country, however, where everybody knows everybody, each one is compelled to account to all the others for what he does, and no one can ever be satisfied with his own judgment. 

Notwithstanding the charm which exists in this communion of work andrest in word and deed, the custom has very serious drawbacks, and anyperson having good or bad reasons of his own for disposing of histime in a manner different from what is customary, has to contendagainst the gossip, the jibes and the mockery of all. Hence, almostall localities have their peculiar characters, whose idiosyncrasiesare well known, and who are frequently the subject of raillery, andoften of persecution. 

To the gay and simple villagers of Hagen, Henry Schulte was an objectof great interest, and to most of them the story of his past was wellknown. Many of the old men who sat around the broad fire-place in thevillage inn, could remember when he was as gay a lad as any in thevillage, and had joined in their sports with all the zest andenthusiasm of a wild and unrestrained disposition; and when hemarched away to join his regiment, no step was firmer, and no formmore erect than his. 

When he had waved adieu to the friends who had accompanied him to thelimits of the town, and had bidden farewell to the tearful Emerence, his betrothed, who had come with the others; many were the prayersand good wishes that followed him upon his journey. He was a greatfavorite with both the young and old people of Hagen, and nomerry-making was considered complete without the company of youngHenry Schulte and his violin. 

It was at one of the May-day festivals that Henry had met thebeautiful Emerence, the daughter of old Herr Bauer, the brewer, andas their regard proved to be mutual, and the father of the young ladybeing propitious, nothing occurred to mar the pleasure of the youngpeople, and the course of their true love flowed on as smoothly asthe gentle river until Henry was required to do service for his kingand to enter the ranks as a soldier. 

It is needless to follow the young man through the various episodesof his soldier life, in which he distinguished himself for hisuniform good nature, cheerful obedience of orders and strictattention to duty; it is enough to know that at the expiration of histerm of service he returned home, and was welcomed by the manyfriends who had known and loved him from his youthful days. 

It was at this time that the catastrophe occurred which changed thewhole tenor of his life, and made him the reserved, hard man that wefind him at the commencement of our story. 

In the village there lived a wild, reckless young man by the name ofNat Toner, who had just returned to his native place after an absenceof several years, and who since his return had spent his time at thevillage tavern amid scenes of dissipation and rioting, in which hewas joined by the idle fellows of the village, who hailed withdelight the advent of the gay fellow whose money furnished theirwine, and whose stories of romantic adventure contributed to theirentertainment. 

Nat was a bold, handsome fellow, whose curling black hair andflashing black eyes and wild, careless manner played sad havoc withthe hearts of the young girls of Hagen, and many a comely maidenwould have been made supremely happy by a careless nod of greetingfrom this reckless young vagabond. 

Not so with Emerence Bauer. Her timid, gentle nature shrankinvoluntarily from the rough, uncouth manners of the handsome Nat, and the stories of his extravagances only filled her mind withloathing for the life he was leading and the follies he wascommitting. 

As she compared her own cheerful, manly Henry to this dissipatedAdonis, whose roistering conduct had made him the talk of thevillage, she felt that her love was well placed and her heart wellbestowed. 

To Nat Toner the aversion manifested by Emerence only served tocreate in him a passionate love for her, and he was seized with anuncontrollable longing to possess her for his own. 

Up to this time he had not been informed of the betrothal existingbetween Emerence and Henry Schulte, and his rage and disappointmenton discovering this fact was fearful to behold. He cursed the youngman, and swore that, come what would, and at whatever cost, he wouldpermit no one to come between him and the object of his unholyaffections. 

His enmity to Henry Schulte, which soon became very evident, wasmanifested upon every possible occasion, until at length Henry'suniversal good nature gave way under the repeated taunts of hisunsuccessful rival, and he resolved that further submission would beboth useless and cowardly. 

Nothing further occurred, however, for some time, but fresh fuel wasadded to the fire of Nat Toner's anger by an incident that he was anunobserved witness of. One evening he was returning home from thetavern, where he had been drinking with his companions till a latehour. His way led him past the residence of Emerence Bauer, and as hepassed by upon the other side of the lighted street he witnessed theaffectionate parting of Henry Schulte and the lady of his love. 

Setting his teeth firmly, his eyes flashing with the malignity ofhate, he strode on, vowing vengeance upon the innocent cause of hisanger, who, with his mind filled with many pleasant dreams of thefuture, pursued his way towards the little farm-house where he thendwelt with his father and mother. 

The next evening as Henry was passing the village tavern on hisreturn from Dortmund, where he had been to dispose of some of theproduce of the farm, he found Nat and his companions in the midst ofa wild and noisy revel. 

Henry would have rode on unmindful of their presence, but Nat, spyinghis rival, and heated with wine, induced his companions to insistupon his stopping and drinking a glass of wine with them, whichinvitation Henry, after vainly attempting to be excused from, reluctantly accepted, and, dismounting from his horse, he joinedtheir company. 

After indulging in the proffered beverage, Henry seated himself withhis companions and joined with them in singing one of those quaintGerman songs which are so full of sweetness and harmony, and whichseem to fill the air with their volume of rude but inspiring music. 

After the song was finished, Nat filled his glass, and rising to hisfeet said, in a taunting voice:

"Here is a health to the pretty Emerence, and here is to her loutishlover. " Saying which he deliberately threw the contents of his glassfull in the face of the astonished Henry. 

With a smothered expression of rage, Henry Schulte sprang to his feetand with one blow from his right hand, planted firmly in the face ofhis insulter, he laid him prostrate upon the floor. Quicklyrecovering himself, the infuriated Nat rushed at his brawnyantagonist, only to receive the same treatment, and again he wentdown beneath the crushing force of that mighty fist. An ox could nothave stood up before the force of the blows of the sturdy farmer, much less the half-intoxicated ruffian who now succumbed to itsweight. 

[Illustration: "_And again he went down beneath the crushing forceof that mighty fist. _"]

Foaming with rage and bleeding from the wounds he had received, NatToner struggled to his feet the second time, and drawing a long, murderous-looking knife from his bosom, he made a frantic plunge athis assailant. 

Quick as a flash, however, the iron grip of Henry Schulte's righthand was upon the wrist of the cowardly Nat, and with a wrench of hisleft hand the knife was wrested from him and thrown out of thewindow. Then Henry, unable to further restrain his angry feelings, shook his aggressor until his teeth fairly chattered, and, finallyflinging him from him with an expression of loathing, said:

"Lie there, you contemptible little beast, and when next you try tobe insulting, count upon your man in advance. "

Saying which, and with a quiet good evening to the astonishedcompany, he walked out of the house, and mounting his horse, rodeslowly homeward. 

The discomfited Nat slowly arose, and gaining his feet, glared aroundat his wonder-stricken friends, in whose faces, however, he failed todiscover the faintest evidence of sympathy or support. 

These honest, good-natured Germans were far too sensible andfair-minded to justify such an unwarrantable and unexpected insult asthat which had been put upon one of their favorite friends, andconsequently not one of the company lifted their voice or expressedany regrets for the punishment which Nat had so justly received. Henry had, in their opinion, acted in a manner which accordedentirely with their own views upon such matters, and much the same asthey themselves would have done under similar circumstances. 

Raising his clenched hand, and with face deadly pale, Nat Toner facedthe silent group, and cried out, in the intensity of his passion:

"Henry Schulte shall pay dearly for this. As truly as we both live, Iwill have a full revenge, and in a way he little dreams of. "

Uttering these words, he strode fiercely from the room, anddisappeared in the darkness of the night. His companions, realizingthat their pleasure for that evening was ended, silently took theirleave, and wended their way to their several homes. 

How well Nat Toner kept his oath will hereafter be seen, but many ofthe old men of Hagen yet recall with a shudder his dreadful words, and their fulfillment. 

CHAPTER X. 

_A Curse. _--_Plans of Revenge. _

As Nat strode onward to his home, after leaving his companions, hismind was in a chaotic state of excitement and rage. He was stillsmarting from the blows he had received, and the blood was flowingfrom his nostrils and lips. He paid no heed to this, however, forthere was murder in his heart, and already his plans of revenge werebeing formed--plans which fiends incarnate might well shrink from, and from the execution of which even demoniac natures would haverecoiled in horror. 

As he walked on, the dark, lowering clouds that had been gatheringoverhead, broke into a terrific storm of rain; the wind whistled andhowled through the valleys, and from the mountain gorges thelightning flashed with a vividness almost appalling; but, undismayedby the storm and the tempest, which seemed at that time to accordwith the emotions of his own wicked heart, Nat continued on his way, which lay past the unpretending, but comfortable farm-house, where, in the peace and contentment of a happy home, Henry Schulte dweltwith his parents. 

As he reached a point in the road opposite the dwelling of his hatedrival, and from the windows of which the lights were gleamingcheerily, Nat stopped, and, unmindful of the drenching rain, he shookhis uplifted hand at the inoffensive abode, and, in a voice chokingwith rage, cried:

"Curse you, Henry Schulte! Be on your guard, for if I live, you willknow what it is to suffer for what you have done this night. Enjoyyourself and your victory while you can, but there will come a timewhen you would rather be dead than the miserable thing I will makeyou. Curse you! Curse you!"

Having relieved the exuberance of his passion in this manner, hesilently resumed his journey, and reaching his home retired at onceto his room, and throwing himself upon the bed, he gave himself up tothe devilish meditations which filled his mind. 

Ah, Nat Toner, far better for you, for that happy village of Hagen, and for the future happiness of two loving hearts, if to-night thelightning's flash had sent its deadly stroke through your murderousheart and laid you lifeless upon the road. 

As may be imagined, the news of the encounter between Henry Schulteand Nat Toner was noised about the village, and during the next daythe matter became the universal theme of conversation. It wasastonishing, however, to remark the unanimity of opinion whichprevailed with regard to it. The entire community with one accordunited in condemning the insult and applauding its resentment; andwhen Nat Toner made his appearance the following day, bearing uponhis face the marks of the punishment he had received, he was greetedwith cold salutations and marked evidence of avoidance by those whoheretofore had been disposed to be friendly, and even gracious. 

This only intensified his anger at the cause of his humiliation, buthe concealed his emotions and shortly afterwards returned to hishome. 

The anxiety of Emerence for the safety of her lover was mostprofound, and trembling with fear of the threatened revenge of NatToner, for his oath had also been repeated, she besought Henry to bewatchful and cautious of his unscrupulous adversary, all of which helaughingly and assuringly promised to do. Not so much for his ownsecurity, of which he had no fear, as for the sake of the dear girlwho was so solicitous for his welfare, and to whom his safety was amatter of so much importance. 

The next few days passed uneventfully away, Nat remaining at home, nursing his wrath and the wounds upon his face, and Henry Schulteattending to his various duties upon the farm. The quarrel finallyceased to be a matter of remark, and the simple-minded villagers, believing that Nat's threats were only the utterances of a man crazedwith drink, and smarting under the punishment he had received, quieted their fears and resumed their ordinary peaceful and contentedmode of living. 

To Nat Toner the days passed all too slowly, but with theslowly-moving hours, in the seclusion of his own home, and his ownevil thoughts, his revenge became the one object of his life. Hisreckless, vagabond existence of the past few years, during which itwas hinted by several of the villagers, with many shrugs of theirshoulders and wise noddings of their venerable heads, he had beenengaged in the service of a bold and successful French smuggler, hadnot tended to elevate his mind, or to humanize his disposition. Hisdepraved nature and vicious habits were roused into full action bythis encounter with Henry Schulte, and the anger of his heart was inno wise lessened, as he reflected that he had brought his injuriesupon himself. All the brutal instincts of his degraded dispositionwere aflame, and he resolved that his revenge for the indignitiesthat had been put upon him, should be full and complete. 

With a fiendish malignity he determined to strike at the heart of hisantagonist through the person of the object of his love, and by thatmeans to be revenged upon both. 

CHAPTER XI. 

_A Moonlight Walk. _--_An Unexpected Meeting. _--_The Murder ofEmerence Bauer. _--_The Oath Fulfilled. _

On a beautiful moonlight evening, about a week after the hostilemeeting of Henry Schulte and Nat Toner, Emerence, all impatient tomeet her lover, whom she had not seen for some days, and whom shefondly expected this evening, left the residence of her parents andwalked towards a little stream that ran along the outskirts of thevillage, where she had been in the habit of meeting Henry upon theoccasions of his visits. 

The evening was a delightful one, and the scene one of surpassinglyromantic beauty. The bright rays of the moon sparkled and danced uponthe rippling water; the border of grand old trees that fringed thebank of the stream was reflected with exaggerated beauty far downamong the waters; the glittering stars stole in and out among theirbranches, and shone in the clear crystal mirror. Now a fleecy speckof cloud floated over the face of the Queen of Night, from behindwhich she would soon emerge, with increased brilliancy, to dart herlong arrowy beams away down to the pebbly bottom of the flowingriver, kissing the fairies that the old German legends tell us dweltthere in the days of old. 

Silently, but with happy heart and beaming eyes, the young girl gazedupon the scene that lay before her; then, walking to the center ofthe rustic bridge that spanned the stream from shore to shore, sheleaned over the low railing and watched, with her mind teeming withpleasant visions of the future, her figure reflected as in aburnished mirror, upon the water beneath her. 

Her sweet reverie was interrupted by the sound of approachingfootsteps, and a blush illumined her face as she thought she wouldsoon greet her coming lover, and feel his strong arms about her. Turning her head a little, she saw another shadow there so distinctlytraced that she had no difficulty in recognizing it, and she startedin affright as she discovered that instead of Henry Schulte, thenew-comer was none other than his enemy and hers, Nat Toner. 

She would have yielded to an intuitive sense of danger, and fled fromthe spot, but Nat stepped quickly in the way and barred her passage, lifting his hat in mock reverence as he addressed her. 

"Good evening, pretty Emerence, you look like a beautiful watersprite in the rays of this bright-beaming moon. "

Did she imagine it, or was there a cold, hard ring in the voice thatuttered these words, which filled her heart with an aching fear, andmade her lips tremble as she acknowledged his salutation?

"You are waiting for Henry Schulte, I suppose!" he continued, in thesame hard, mocking tone. 

Mustering up all the latent courage which she possessed, she lookedup unflinchingly, as she replied:

"I do not know that anyone has a right to question me upon mymovements, or to assign a reason for my actions. "

"Indeed, my pretty little spit-fire! You speak truly, but Nat Tonerintends to assume a right which no one else possesses, " answered Nattauntingly, while his black eyes glistened in the moonlight with abaleful light. 

"I cannot stop to listen further to such language, and must bid yougood evening, " said Emerence, drawing herself up haughtily, andturning to leave the bridge. 

"Stop where you are and listen to me, " cried Nat sharply, and withhis right hand he grasped the wrist of the shrinking girl. 

"Nat Toner!" at last said Emerence boldly, "remove your hand from mywrist, or I will call for help, and then perhaps your conduct willmeet with its just punishment. "

"Utter one word, at your peril. I have something to say to you, andyou must listen to me, " said Nat, releasing his hold, and glaringfiercely at the brave girl who stood before him. 

"I will listen to nothing further from you to-night. Stand aside andlet me pass, " said Emerence firmly, and again turning to leave thebridge. 

"Emerence Bauer, listen to me I say. I have something to tell youthat concerns that lover of yours, Henry Schulte, and you shall hearwhat I have to say. "

At the mention of Henry's name Emerence stopped, and thinking thatperhaps she might serve her lover by remaining, she said:

"I will hear you, Nat Toner, but be as brief as possible. "

"Aha! for the sake of your dear Henry, you will listen to me. Ithought so. Do you know that he is my enemy till death; that theinsults which he has heaped upon me can only be washed away by blood;and that you, my haughty beauty, alone can satisfy the hate I bear toHenry Schulte and the revenge I have sworn against him?"

"Nat Toner, what do you mean?" tremblingly inquired the affrightedgirl, unable to stir. 

Ah, well might she tremble now! There was murder in the flashing ofthose wicked black eyes that glared upon her, and the distorted, pallid face before her showed too plainly the passions of his heart, as he answered:

"What do I mean? I will tell you! I loved you, Emerence Bauer, and Ihate Henry Schulte for the insult he has put upon me. You scorn mylove, and Henry Schulte must pay the penalty. He shall never possessyou, for--I mean to kill you!"

With a wild shriek, that rang through the air as the cry of afrightened bird, Emerence turned to flee from the fiend before her. But, alas, too late! The murderous weapon came down with a dull, heavy crushing sound upon that fair, girlish head, and she felllifeless at the feet of the madman who had slain her. 

[Illustration: "_She fell lifeless at the feet of the madman whohad slain her. _"]

Without uttering a word Nat Toner lifted up the body of theunfortunate girl and threw it over the low railing of the bridge intothe rippling water beneath. A splash followed that sent the water inbrightly burnished crystals high in the air--and then the riverflowed on, as though unconscious and uncaring for the burden that hadbeen committed to its keeping. 

Raising himself to his full height and shaking his blood-red hand inthe direction of the village, Nat Toner cried out with demoniacexultation:

"Now, Henry Schulte, I am revenged!"

Saying which, he plunged into a strip of woods that grew near by, anddisappeared from view. 

Oh, shimmering moon, did no pitying glance fall from thy cold, brightface as this fair, young life was cruelly beaten out by the hand ofher brutal assassin? Oh, glittering stars, did no dark cloudsintervene between thy merry twinklings and the dreadful scene below?And ye, oh, rippling river, did no murmur escape thee as the crimsontide of this fair dead girl mingled with thy transparent waves andfloated away into the darkness of the night?

CHAPTER XII. 

_The Search for the Missing Girl. _--_The Lover's Judgment. _--_HenrySchulte's Grief. _--_The Genial Farmer becomes the Grasping Miser. _

Half an hour later, Henry Schulte, who had been delayed beyond hiswont in the village, came walking briskly along the road that led tothe abode of Emerence. His heart was gay, and a blithe, merry songrose to his lips as he journeyed along. All unconscious of the darkdeed that had been committed, he stood upon the rustic bridge, wherehe had expected to meet his betrothed, and gazed at the beauty of thelandscape that was spread before him. No sound came from thatgurgling stream, to tell the impatient lover of the fate of her heloved, and little did he dream, as he stood there in quietcontemplation of the glorious night, that directly beneath his feet, with her calm, dead face upturned towards him, could be seen, through the transparent waters, the lifeless body of the fair maiden, whose head had nestled on his bosom and whose loving lips had madehim happy with their kisses of love. 

Ah, nevermore for thee will the bright moon shine in its translucentsplendor, and never again will you know the happiness and the peaceof this beautiful evening, as you waited on that bridge for her whonevermore would come to your call again. 

After waiting a short time, and not hearing the footsteps of hisaffianced, Henry resumed his journey and soon arrived at theresidence of the wealthy brewer, whose hospitable doors flew open athis knock, and the mother of Emerence stood in the low, broadpassage-way. 

"Where is Emerence?" quickly inquired the mother of the girl, insurprise, at seeing him alone. 

"Emerence! Is she not at home?" exclaimed Henry, equally surprised. 

"No, " replied the mother. "She went out about an hour ago, to meetyou on the way. "

Henry immediately became alarmed. He had not seen her, and it seemedincredible that she could have gone to visit any friends on theevening when she expected him, and certainly not without informingher parents of the fact. 

"I will go at once in search of her, " he said, as he turned away fromthe house, and hurriedly retraced his steps towards the village, witha terrible fear for her safety pressing upon his heart. 

He inquired at every house where her friends resided, but everywherewas met with a wondering negative. No one appeared to have seen her, or to know anything of her whereabouts, and at length, wearied withhis fruitless inquiries, and rendered almost desperate at his want ofsuccess, he went to the village tavern, and requested the aid of hiscomrades in searching for the missing girl, for whose safety andhappiness he would willingly have laid down his life. 

In a moment all was bustle and excitement; torches were procured andthe party started upon their mission, resolved to discover some clueof the missing lady before the dawning of another day. Henry was inadvance, and under his direction every part of the road which ledfrom the residence of the brewer to the village, and the adjacentwoods, were carefully examined, but all with no success. No tracecould be discovered, and the superstitious villagers began to regardthe disappearance as a supernatural mystery. 

Utterly fatigued with their bootless investigation, and saddened bythe thought that some harm must have come to the innocent maiden, they reluctantly left the house of the brewer and turned theirfootsteps towards the village, determined to continue their search inthe morning. To Henry the suspense was agonizing. He seemed almostcrazed at the uncertainty which shrouded the fate of the girl heloved so dearly, and he vainly attempted to discover some solution ofthe awful mystery. 

As the silent party were crossing the bridge, they stopped for atemporary rest before proceeding further on their way, and indulgedin subdued conversation upon the mystery which thus far had defiedtheir efforts to solve. 

Suddenly they were startled by an exclamation from one of theirnumber, who, on looking casually over the railing into the streambeneath, discovered in the bright reflection of the brilliant moon, the figure of the murdered girl lying in the shallow water. With anagonizing cry Henry sprang into the river, and in a few momentsclasped the lifeless body in his strong arms and bore her to theshore. 

It was too true--the pale, beautiful features that met theirfrightened gaze were none other than those of the villagebeauty--Emerence, and a stillness like that of death fell upon theassembly as they looked upon her. 

At first it was supposed that she had been accidentally drowned, butupon the lights being brought, and that cruel blow upon the headbeing discovered, each one looked at the other, and the words burstalmost simultaneously from the lips of all:

"_Nat Toner!_"

After the first cry which escaped him, Henry Schulte never spokeagain during that painful time, but with reverent hands he smoothedthe wet drapery about her shapely limbs, and closed the great staringeyes, which, when he last looked upon them, were full of love, andhope, and happiness--and then, as the men gathered up the fair formand bore it to her once happy home, he followed silently, and withfaltering steps. 

It had needed no words from the villagers to tell him of the authorof this crime. Before they had spoken, his own mind had discoveredthe murderer, and he had resolved upon the course to be pursued, andwhen, immediately after the sad funeral rites had been performed, andthe body of the fair young Emerence had been placed in the ground, Henry disappeared from the village, one and all felt that the missionhe had gone upon was a righteous one, and no one disputed his rightto go. 

At the end of a month he returned, but with a face so changed that hewas scarcely recognized. The happy light was gone forever from hiseyes, and the hard stern lines about the mouth told the sad story oflong suffering, and of a harsh judgment that had been fulfilled. 

No one questioned him upon his journey, or its result, and he gave noexplanations, but when some weeks later a party of hunters in theforests on the mountains, near Werne, discovered the lifeless body ofNat Toner, with his pistol by his side, and a bullet-hole through thelow, white forehead, the villagers felt that Henry's search had notbeen in vain, or his revenge incomplete. 

To this day no one can tell, whether, suffering the pangs of remorse, the miserable man had put an end to his own life, or whether thewound in the low, white forehead was planted there by the man whom hehad so dreadfully wronged. 

No inquiries were made, however, and as time passed on, the historyof Nat Toner passed out of the conversations of the simplevillage-folk, and, save as it was occasionally recalled by someromantic and unfortunate event abroad, was never mentioned. 

To Henry Schulte the record of that sad night was always present, andwas never effaced from his memory. The change that was wrought in himwas apparent to all. He no longer mingled with the villagers in theirmerry-makings, but isolated himself entirely from their meetings andtheir pleasures. 

A few years afterwards his parents died, and his elder brotherassuming the control of the farm and estates of his father, Henryremoved to the farm where we now find him, and to the lowly cottagewhich he had occupied to the time of which we write. He became asettled misanthropist, whose only aim in life seemed to be theacquirement of wealth, and whose once genial and generous nature hadnow become warped into the selfishness and avarice of the miser. 

So he had lived, a social hermit, until in 1845 he had become aprematurely old man, with whitened hair and furrowed brow, whose lovefor gold had become the passion of his life, and whose onlycompanions were a hired man and the old violin with which, in hisyounger days, he was wont to make merry music at the festivals in thevillage, but which now was tuned to mournful harmonies "cadenced byhis grief. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

_Henry Schulte becomes the Owner of "Alten Hagen. "_-_SurprisingIncrease in Wealth. _--_An Imagined Attack upon His Life. _--_The MiserDetermines to Sail for America. _

It was at this time that the projected railroad between Dortmund andDusseldorf began to assume definite proportions, and as the line ofthe contemplated road lay through the village of Hagen, muchexcitement was engendered in consequence. 

The people of Dortmund were building extravagant castles in the air, and wild and vague were the dreams which filled their sanguine mindsas they contemplated the advantages that were to accrue to them uponthe completion of this enterprise. 

The contagion spread rapidly to Hagen, and the simple-mindedvillagers, who saw in this movement the rapid growth of their littletown; the possible increase in the value of their property and theconsequent augmenting of their now limited fortunes, hailed withdelight the information that energetic operations would soon bebegun, with the view of successfully accomplishing the desiredobject. 

Not so, however, thought the Baron von Lindenthal, whose vast estatelay in close proximity to the village, immediately adjoining the farmowned and occupied by Henry Schulte, and through whose domain theroad must necessarily pass. 

To him the idea of encroaching upon the ancestral acres of a vonLindenthal, was an act of sacrilege not to be complacently submittedto. The quiet and peaceful seclusion in which he and those who hadpreceded him had lived, and the repose of his declining years was tobe disturbed by the whistling of the locomotive and the rattle of thetrain. The din, and bustle and activity of trade was to be brought tohis very threshold, and the ease and comfort of his aristocraticretirement would soon become a thing of the past. This must not andcould not be permitted, and the blood of the patrician boiled withinhis noble veins as he contemplated the outrage that thus threatenedhim, and which was to result in laying profane hands upon hispossessions. Improvements were all very well in their way, but thenthey must not be of such a character as to interfere with thepleasure or the luxurious ease of the Baron von Lindenthal. Hiscomfort and happiness were things to be considered far above thematerial growth of a commercial town, and were not to be subordinatedto the welfare of its ambitious inhabitants. 

But then, as now, the march of public improvement was not to beretarded, and so, finding it impossible to successfully oppose or toprevent the building of the objectionable railroad, the incensedBaron very reluctantly determined to dispose of his baronial estatesand to remove to a more congenial locality, where the encroachmentsof trade were not to be feared, and where, in undisturbed seclusionand retirement, he might pass the remainder of his days. 

With the irascible and impetuous Baron, the formation of an opinionled to immediate action, and no sooner had he resolved to thesatisfaction of his own mind to dispose of his broad acres, than hebegan to look about him for a purchaser. 

When Henry Schulte heard of this intention of the Baron, hedetermined, if possible, to become the owner of this extensivedemesne. His mind was sufficiently alive to the importance of thisrailroad movement to convince him that the real estate in proximityto the line of the road must necessarily increase in value, and healso realized the necessity of seeing the Baron without delay, inorder to precede any of the railroad contractors, who would no doubtpresent themselves ere long. 

He consequently waited upon the irate Baron on the morning following, and upon being ushered into the presence of the last of the vonLindenthals, at once broached the subject of his desire to purchasethe land. 

The gouty old land-owner looked with astonishment as hisshabbily-dressed visitor proffered his request. He had never imaginedthat his unobtrusive neighbor was possessed of any money besides hisfarm, and the proposition to become the purchaser of "Alten-Hagen"was a complete surprise to him. 

The Baron did not know of the hours of patient toil, nor of thehabits of miserly economy which had enabled Henry Schulte toaccumulate so large a sum of money as to warrant him in entertainingthe desire to increase his estate; nor did he know that hiseconomical neighbor could see further into the future, and betterappreciate the advantages which would accrue to him from thepossession of this additional property, than could their presentaristocratic owner. 

However, the Baron lost no time in idle speculations as to the meansby which his visitor had grown wealthy. His land was for sale, apurchaser stood before him, and in a short time the wealthy miserbecame the owner of the Baron's land for a price entirely inadequateto the value which he received. When, a few weeks later, the questionof appropriating the land and allowing the damage therefor came to beconsidered, the railroad company were required to treat with themiser of Hagen instead of the Baron von Lindenthal. 

The wisdom and foresight displayed by Henry Schulte in becoming thepurchaser of this estate was very soon clearly demonstrated, for in avery short time afterwards he received from the railroad company, asdamages and for the right of way through his grounds, more than thesum he had originally paid to the impulsive Baron for the fee of theentire estate. 

A few years after this several coal mines were opened in thevicinity, iron works were erected, and as Hagen became a thriving, flourishing city it naturally extended its industries. HenrySchulte's newly acquired property then became available for theerection of iron works and coal breakers, and his wealth wasconsiderably increased by these means. A division of a part of hisland into building lots, on the main road from Herdecke to Hagen, also swelled the volume of his increasing revenue. It seemed that hehad suddenly fallen upon the wave of advancing fortune, for soonafter this some parts of the soil being found to be of excellentquality for brick-making, he entered into arrangements with someextensive manufacturers and received a large sum for the use andoccupation of his grounds for that purpose. 

Thus, in a very few years, the patient, plodding, avaricious farmerfound himself one of the wealthiest men in the locality. This fact, however, produced no change in his habits or his dress, nor did hismode of living undergo any improvement consequent upon the changedcondition of his circumstances. This vast accumulation of money onlyseemed to intensify his avarice, to increase his meanness, and thedesire for gain became the ruling passion of his heart and mind. Heremoved to the large and imposing mansion lately occupied by theBaron, but this was done simply because he could find no otheroccupant for it; while he could readily procure a tenant for thelittle cottage where he had previously resided. 

The effect of his presence there was soon made manifest, and only ashort time elapsed before this beautiful residence presented anappearance of negligence sadly at variance with the thrifty neatnessthat was everywhere apparent during the time of its occupancy by theBaron and his family. The general air of neglect and squalorsurrounding it proclaimed that the habits of the miser had been toofirmly grounded to be easily disturbed, and that the man remained thesame, whether in the castle or the hovel. 

Indeed, it seemed that his reserve and isolation became more marked, and he dressed so shabbily that he scarcely ever appeared in otherthan soiled and ragged garments. His heart became harder and moregrasping, and the few people who had known him in his younger days, and were disposed to be friendly, soon dropped away from him, findingit impossible to endure his harshness of manner and his penuriousways. 

His household now consisted of a housekeeper and a valet, the formeran elderly woman, who had long been an object of charity to thepeople of Hagen, and whose services were procured by him at a merenominal price, and the latter was a young, simple-minded fellow, whoperformed the multifarious duties of a man-of-all-work, for astipulated sum that barely sufficed for his needs, exclusive of thedaily fare which he received from the hands of his economicalemployer. 

His administration of domestic affairs was in entire accord with hisnarrow-minded and contracted heart, and the servants found but littlecomfort while in his employ. He took sole charge of his domesticarrangements himself, and to the patient and uncomplaining Mrs. Scheller would daily furnish the meager complement of beans andpotatoes which were required for the day's consumption. The balanceof the store would then be religiously kept under lock and key toprevent any tendency towards extravagance on the part of those whoserved him. 

In addition to the various other investments possessed by him, hecultivated a large portion of the land acquired from the Baron, and, being a practical farmer, thoroughly understanding the advantage ofdrainage, he succeeded in redeeming a great amount of land heretoforedeemed worthless, and brought it to a high state of cultivation. 

His farming land consisted of several hundred acres, which requiredthe employment of many men, and the large forests, with theirapparently inexhaustible timber, furnished occupation for a number ofwoodmen, all of whom were under the supervision of the master. Here, too, his parsimony extended, and, while no efforts were spared toimprove the quality of the land, and to increase the crops that weregathered, in every other respect his miserly nature exerted itself. 

The horses and cattle were lean and poorly fed, the buildings wereout of repair, and a general system of rigorous and pinching economywas observed, all of which tended to the dissatisfaction of thoseemployed by him, but which in no wise affected the firmly-groundedavarice of their employer, who every day appeared to grow more harshand unfeeling. 

He became grinding and pitiless in his dealings with those who wereindebted to him, exacting full and prompt payment of all moneys dueto him, without regard to the straitened circumstances of hisdebtors, or the destitution which frequently followed his summarymeans of enforcing his collections. 

The various cares and anxieties attendant upon the management of hisaffairs were often vexatious and annoying, and as time wore on hebecame exceedingly captious and irritable. His ebullitions of temper, which now became quite frequent, were vented upon the innocent headsof those who labored in his service, and much dissatisfaction wasengendered in consequence. He became suspicious of all who surroundedhim, and imagined that every one with whom he was connected wereseeking to rob him, and finally an idea took possession of his mind, which completely destroyed his peace and made his existence perfectlymiserable. He imagined that his life was in danger, and that therewas a conspiracy formed to murder him for his money. 

So firmly did this conviction cling to him that he became intenselynervous and restless, and was scarcely able to sleep in his bed atnights. He would bolt and bar himself in his chamber so securely thatit was a matter of perfect impossibility to effect an entrance, andthen, still doubtful, he would be wakeful and uneasy during the long, weary hours of the night, until from sheer exhaustion he would fallinto a troubled sleep, which lasted late into the morning. 

Nothing occurred of a character to justify his suspicions or toincrease his fears, until one morning he was awakened at a very earlyhour by the breaking with a loud crash of one of the windows thatopened into his room. Instantly he was awake, and, springing from hisbed, he rushed frantically to the window, discharged his pistolseveral times in succession, at the same time calling loudly forhelp. 

His cries alarmed his valet, who slept in a room communicating withthat of his master, and who hastened at once to his assistance. Itwas too dark to discover anything of the cause of the breaking of theglass, and as no further demonstration occurred, he succeeded inquieting the fears of his master, and restoring him to tranquillity. As soon as it was daylight, he made an investigation into the causeof this seeming attack, and an examination of the outside of thepremises disclosed the fact that the alarm had been occasioned by thefalling of the branch of an old tree that stood near to the house, and on which some of the limbs were withered and dead. 

This discovery, however, by no means allayed his fears or dissipatedhis suspicions, but, on the contrary, he became so fixed in theinsane idea that he would be assassinated, that his life in the oldhome became a burden to him, and he longed for a change of scene thatwould ensure ease for his mind, and safety for his body. 

Henry Schulte was at this time an old man--the sixty years of hislife had passed away slowly, but eventfully to him, and his whitenedhair and wrinkled face betokened that age had left its indelible markupon the once stalwart form of the Henry Schulte of days gone by. Hishead was generally bowed as though in deep thought, whether at homeor abroad, and the broad shoulders seemed to have yielded to theweight of trouble which had come upon him in those early days. He wasnever seen to smile, and the hard, set lines about the mouth neverrelaxed, however mirthful was the scene before him, or howeverpleasurable the association in which he might accidentally findhimself placed. His violin was his only companion during the longevening hours, and almost every night the harmonious strains of themusic which he evoked from that instrument could be heard by thosewho journeyed upon the lonely road which passed in front of hishouse. 

In the early fall of 1877, an incident occurred, which, in thedisordered state of his mind, rendered it impossible for him toremain any longer in fancied peace and security. 

One morning about daybreak a party of gunners, who were in search ofgame, were passing the premises occupied by Henry Schulte, when oneof their number, a nephew of the old man, being the son of his elderbrother, knowing his weakness in regard to being assassinated, andfrom a spirit of mischief which prompted him, took careful aim andfired directly through the window of the sleeping apartment of hisuncle, and then quickly and laughingly passed on. The old gentleman, suddenly aroused from his slumbers, jumped up in affright, callingloudly in the excess of his terror:

[Illustration: "_The old man jumped from his bed in affright, calling loudly for help. _"]

"Help! Help! The villains have attempted to murder me again!"

Frank Bruner, his servant, being thus awakened, ran to the window andsaw the party rapidly disappearing around a bend in the road. Herecognized Bartolf Schulte as being one of the party, and informedhis master of the fact. 

"Mein Gott! Mein Gott!" exclaimed the old man. "My own brother's sontry to take my life--this is horrible. He wants my money and he triesto kill me. "

It was a long time before his violence subsided, but when at lengthFrank succeeded in calming his excitement and restoring him toreason, one idea seemed to have taken possession of him, and that wasthat he must leave his home for his own safety, and that the soonerthis was accomplished the better it would be for him and for hispeace of mind. 

No inducement that could be offered was sufficient to disturb hisresolution upon this point. No argument that could be suggested, butwhat was urged against this seemingly insane notion, but all to noavail. His mind was fully made up, and nothing could overcome thesettled determination which he had arrived at, to get away at oncefrom the place which threatened so much danger to his person, and inwhich he was in constant dread and fear. 

He therefore immediately began his preparations for departure, andplacing his property in the hands of a careful attorney at Hagen, helost no time in converting his available securities into money anddecided to take passage for America--a land of which he had heard somuch, and which promised a rest for his over-wrought mind. 

He journeyed to Hamburg, and from thence in a few days, accompaniedby his servant, he took passage in a steamer, arriving in New YorkCity, "a stranger in a strange land, " in the month of August in thesame year. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

_The Arrival in New York. _--_Frank Bruner determines to leave theService of his Master. _--_The meeting of Frank Bruner and WilliamBucholz. _

The vagaries of the human mind under all circumstances are frequentlyinscrutable, but under no other influence, perhaps, is the mind sosusceptible of impressions of a governing character from unimportantcauses as it is when controlled by the fear of personal safety. 

It would readily be imagined that Henry Schulte, whose mind wasfilled with vague but distressing apprehensions for his life, couldhave found refuge, safe and unassailable, within the broad domain ofhis own native land, and that he might have considered himself freefrom impending danger if he could have placed even a short distancebetween himself and those whom he believed to be his mortal enemies. This, however, he found it impossible to do and rest contented; so, resisting all the arguments that were urged by his faithful butovertaxed servant and companion, and believing that his only safetylay in his getting away from his native land, he persisted in comingto America, where he felt assured he would be free from persecution, and where, in the quiet and repose of rural retirement, his peace ofmind would be undisturbed. 

That these fears must have been deeply-grounded there can be nodoubt, for this old man, in leaving the home of his childhood and themany scenes which were endeared to him by the close association ofearly friendship and experience, turned his back upon the spot wherehe had first seen the light of day, and where he had grown from youthto manhood. Here, too, the joy and sorrow of his life had come tohim, and in the little churchyard of the village, beneath the wavingtrees, reposed all that was mortal of the one great love of his life. 

Stolid and seemingly indifferent, so far as outward evidence gave anydemonstration, of the many tender associations surrounding him, heleft his native village and set off upon the long journey that was toend in his death. Speeding away from the imagined assassin, hejourneyed directly to the presence and companionship of the man whowas to slay him. 

Taking passage upon a steamer bound for America, they were soonriding upon the broad bosom of the Atlantic, and after an uneventfulvoyage landed safely in New York. 

Not one of the many passengers of the vessel, or among the crowd thatstood upon the pier and watched their disembarking, would for amoment have supposed that this old man, whose face gave evidence ofthe years through which he had passed, whose clothing showed tooplainly the marks of long and hard usage, and whose generalappearance resembled that of a beggar, was the possessor of wealthenough to render any of them independent of the world. Nor would theyhave thought that the worn and frequently-patched coat he woreconcealed a sum of money equalling nearly a hundred thousand dollars. Yet such was the fact; for upon his person he carried fully thisamount of money, most of which was in German mark bills, easilyconvertible into American money; and which, should the fact becomeknown, would have been sufficient to excite the cupidity of many ofthem, who would not hesitate to attempt the operation of relievinghim of his hoarded wealth, and who might, perhaps, scarcely consideran old man's life of sufficient importance to successfully interferewith their possessing themselves of his money. 

He had jealously guarded his secret and his treasure, and althoughhis sleep was frequently disturbed by startling visions of robberyand murder, not one of the many who surrounded him suspected for aninstant the wealth that he possessed. 

To his servant he was generally reticent, but not so excessivelysecretive, for Frank Bruner was well-informed of the extent of hismaster's treasures, although he was not fully aware of the amount hehad brought with him. 

Poor Frank led a miserable existence on that passage to New York, andmany times after he had settled himself in his berth for acomfortable night's sleep he would be rudely awakened by his nervousand suspicious master, who was continually imagining that somebodywas forcing an entrance into his state-room. He would start up withaffright, and nothing would allay his fears but a rigid examinationof the premises, which invariably resulted in finding nothing of asuspicious or fear-inspiring nature. 

Many times, upon remonstrating with his master about thegroundlessness of his fears, he would be made to feel the heavinessof his hand, and chastisements were the reward of his devotion sofrequently that his usually submissive spirit began to rebel, andFrank resolved to leave the service of so peculiar and so thankless amaster upon the first favorable opportunity that presented itself. 

The journey, as we have said, was made in safety, and Henry Schulte, with his wealth intact, arrived in New York, and, seeking a quiet, comfortable hotel, he was directed to "THE CRESCENT, " where he soonwended his way, and to which he directed his servant to have histrunks conveyed without delay. 

The hotel which he had selected was a German boarding-house, ofmodest dimensions and of unpretentious appearance. Over its doorwayswung the faded sign of the Crescent, and over its destinies presidedthe portly, good-natured landlord, who dispensed the creaturecomforts to the limited number of guests who lodged beneath his roof. 

Henry Schulte entered the little room of the hotel which was used asa bar-room, and, paying no attention to the other occupants, heseated himself at one of the tables, ordered a bottle of wine, whichhe proceeded to drink slowly until nearly finished, after which hepushed the bottle and glass towards his thirsty and longing servantand bade him consume the balance. 

Seated around the room in various attitudes, but all engaged in theoccupation of smoking and drinking, were a number of men, all inmatesof the hotel, and all Germans, to whom the old man's appearancenaturally gave occasion for considerable curiosity. 

Several attempts were made to cultivate his acquaintance and tointerrogate him upon the incidents of his passage over, but all of noavail. He maintained a reserve that was impossible to overcome; hisanswers were given in monosyllables, and, as but little encouragementwas given to friendly converse, he was finally left alone to enjoyhis musings. 

At an early hour of the evening he signified his intention ofretiring, and, accompanied by his servant, he left the room andshortly afterwards went to bed. 

After attending to the requirements of the old gentleman, FrankBruner returned to the bar-room and joined the group sitting aroundthe table. His mind was fixed upon leaving a service that wasdistasteful to him, and in which he was made to feel the hand of themaster too frequently and too heavily to be borne longer withsubmission or silence. He was anxious, therefore, to make someinquiries in regard to a change of position from those whom hesupposed would be acquainted with the facts he was desirous oflearning. 

While they were thus conversing, a young man entered, and aftersaluting those present in a careless, off-hand manner, he seatedhimself among them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young German, with blonde hair and smoothly-shaven face; his eyes were large and ofa light blue color. His cheek-bones were rather prominent, and whenhe laughed he displayed his teeth, which, being somewhat decayed, gave a rather unpleasant expression to the countenance, otherwise hewas what might have ordinarily been considered a good-looking fellow. 

Upon seating himself, he was jocularly questioned by one of thenumber, in reference to some young lady, who was evidently known tothem all. 

"Ah, William, how did you find the lovely Clara this evening?"inquired his friend, in German. 

William Bucholz, for that was the name of the new-comer, shrugged hisshoulders, and with an amused expression upon his face, answered:

"Oh, as well as usual, and quite as charming. "

And then, perceiving the presence of Frank, he looked inquiringly athis friends, and added: "Whom have we here?"

"A young man who has just arrived from Germany, " was the reply. 

Bucholz immediately arose, cordially shook hands with the stranger, and engaged him in conversation. 

CHAPTER XV. 

_The History of William Bucholz. _--_An Abused Aunt who DisappointsHis Hopes. _--_A Change of Fortune. _--_The Soldier becomes aFarmer. _--_The Voyage to New York. _

William Bucholz had been an inmate of the hotel for several weeksprior to this time, having arrived from Germany in the latter part ofJuly. He was somewhat of a favorite with the people with whom heassociated, and being of a free and jovial disposition had made manyfriends during his limited residence in the city. As he is to bear aninteresting part in the sequence of this narrative a few words maynot be out of place in regard to his antecedents. 

The father of Bucholz, who was a veterinary surgeon of someprominence in Schweigert, had reared his children in comparativecomfort, and had provided them with a liberal education. 

The early years of young Bucholz had been spent with an uncle, whowas very fond of him, and delighted to have him near his person. Thisuncle was a brother of his father, and very late in life had marrieda lady of large fortune, but whose appearance was not at allprepossessing. As William grew into manhood he entered the army andbecame connected with the "Brunswick Hussars. "

Here he distinguished himself principally by leading a life ofdissipation and extravagance, which made him an object of remark inhis regiment. There were many wild spirits among his comrades, butnone who displayed such an irrepressible and reckless disposition asWilliam Bucholz. His uncle, loving him as a son, and whose union hadbeen blessed with no children, forgave his follies and liquidated hisdebts without a murmur, but shook his head frequently in a doubtfulmanner, as rumors reached him of some new exploit in which Williamhad been a leading spirit, or some fresh scandal in which he was aprominent participant. 

The family of Bucholz, with that weakness which sometimescharacterizes the relative of the wealthy, soon began to display acoolness and dislike toward the wife of the uncle, and as no childrenwere born to them, they looked forward with certainty to inheritingthe vast wealth of their childless relative, without seeming toregard the rights or interests of the wife, who, in Germany as wellas in America, frequently exercises a potent influence in thedisposition of her husband's affairs. 

That this conduct was displeasing to the woman who had brought somuch wealth into the family may readily be imagined, and beingpossessed of sufficient spirit to resent the affronts put upon her, she did not tamely submit to be thus ignored by the superciliousrelatives of her husband, but determined to be revenged upon them ina manner which she knew would be complete and satisfactory toherself. 

Among her numerous friends was the widow of a captain of hussars, whohad been in the same regiment with Bucholz, but who had died a shorttime before, leaving his sorrow-stricken wife without sufficientincome for her support, and with the care of an only son who had beenborn to them in their brief married life. To this lady William's auntimmediately offered her house as a home, and promised to take care ofher child's education and provide for its future. This offer wasgratefully accepted by the bereaved and impecunious widow, who, withher child, soon became domiciled beneath the roof of the uncle andthe socially abused aunt. 

As the boy grew into years he displayed so many traits of a noble, manly character and of a fond and loving disposition, that the heartsof the aged couple instinctively warmed towards him with an abidingaffection, and the mother dying soon after, he was formally adoptedby them. 

The uncle continued, however, to supply the wants of his prodigal anddegenerate nephew, but they increased so enormously that he wasforced to remonstrate with the young man upon the recklessness of hisconduct. His remonstrances were met with a spirit of impertinence anddefiance that angered the old gentleman to such an extent that hedeclined at once to pay any further debts of his nephew'scontracting, and limited his allowance to a sum which, whilesufficiently large to provide for his actual needs, afforded noopportunities for lavish outlays or indiscreet dissipations. 

This action excited the ire of William and his family, who did nothesitate to ascribe it to the promptings of the wife, whom they hadso consistently ignored, and whose feelings they had so frequentlyoutraged. 

The relations between the brothers ceased to be friendly, and anestrangement took place which was increased by the family of Bucholz, who spoke every where in the most disrespectful terms of the wife ofthe brother. 

While matters were in this position the uncle was suddenly attackedwith a malady which resulted in his death. After the funeral the willwas opened, and it was found, to the mortification and disappointmentof his relatives, that instead of leaving to them the bulk of hislarge fortune, he had bequeathed the major portion to his adoptedson, and had only left the sum of twenty thousand dollars to bedivided equally among the six children of his brother. 

If the widow had desired to be revenged, she had succeeded admirablyin her wishes, and the solemn countenances of the disappointedBucholzes, as they wended their way homeward after the reading of thewill, from which they had hoped so much, would have been fullsatisfaction for the years of insult she had been compelled to endurefrom them during the life of her husband. 

This disposition of the estate of the uncle was a severe blow tothose who had so confidently expected to have been enriched by hisdeath, and produced a marked change in their manner of living. Thebright, airy castles which they had builded, faded away--their hopesof prospective wealth were rudely dissipated, and the necessity forfacing the actual position of affairs stared them in the face. William could no longer be permitted to lead the idle life of asoldier, and one and all would be compelled to labor for themselves. It was a bitter awakening from a bright dream, but the man of theirhopes was dead, and their regrets were unavailing. 

Bucholz, therefore, obtained an extended leave of absence, and in ashort time entered into an engagement with an extensive farmer tolearn the science of agriculture, and became domiciled beneath theroof of his employer and instructor. The dull routine of a farmer'slife was, however, illy suited to his impulsive disposition, andalthough he had no manual labor to perform, he soon grew tired of themonotony of his existence and longed for a change. 

He had read of the wonderful success which attended the efforts ofsome of his countrymen who had emigrated to Australia, that arcadiaof the agriculturist, and burning with a desire to seek his fortunein the new land of promise, he began to make inquiries of the place, its products, and of the possibilities of successful operations whilethere. 

All the information which he gleaned was of such a character as tofill his mind with ambitious projects, and a desire to make hisfortune in that far-off country, and he resolved to undertake thejourney. 

His preparations were soon made, and ere many days he was afloat uponthe heaving ocean, bound for New York, where he was informed he couldprocure a sailing vessel direct to Australia, at a cost much lessthan he could by any other process of travel. 

Arriving without accident in New York, he had taken up his quartersat "The Crescent Hotel, " and proceeded to make inquiries concerningthe continuance of his journey. 

To his disappointment, however, he discovered that no vessels werelikely to sail from New York directly to Australia, and the limitedmeans he had brought with him were insufficient for the expensenecessary to travel overland to a point of embarkation. He wastherefore compelled to delay his journey until he could receivesufficient funds to enable him to continue farther. He immediatelywrote to his family for the money he required, and it was whileawaiting their reply that he met Frank Bruner, the servant of HenrySchulte, whose acquaintance was destined to produce such a marked anddramatic effect upon his future life. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

_Frank leaves the Service of his Master. _--_A Bowery ConcertSaloon. _--_The departure of Henry Schulte. _--_William Bucholzenters the employ of the old gentleman. _

We left William Bucholz and Frank Bruner in conversation at "TheCrescent Hotel. " The young Hussar who had been reared in luxury, whose life until this time had been a round of pleasure and gayety, and who had come to America to seek his fortune--and the servant ofthe strange and silent old man who had crossed the sea to escape theimagined dangers which threatened him and to find peace and comfortin his declining years. 

"You have just come over from Germany, I understand, " said Bucholz, addressing his companion in German. 

"Just arrived to-day, " replied Bruner. 

"Did you come alone?"

"Oh, no; I came with the old gentleman who has just gone to bed. "

"Have you been long with him?"

"Long enough to want to get away from him, " was the reply. 

"What is the reason?" inquired Bucholz, with some indication ofsurprise and curiosity. 

"Well, he does not use me properly, and I have grown tired of hisabuse, " answered Frank, sullenly. 

After further questioning him, Bucholz learned the story of the oldman's eccentricities, the fact of his large possessions, and theprobability of his extending his travels as far West as California. 

"I would not leave him, " said Bucholz, after Frank had finished hisnarrative; "he may not live very long, and he will no doubt dosomething handsome for you. "

"I don't care for that, " replied Frank Bruner; "I would not continuemany days longer in his service even if I knew that he would leave meall his money. "

At that moment the sound of a cane struck angrily upon the floorabove them admonished Frank that his master desired his services, andalso that he was in no pleasant humor. 

"There he goes!" cried Frank, "and I must go to him or I shall feelthe weight of his stick. Good-night. "

"Good-night!" said Bucholz, extending his hand, "I will see you againin the morning. "

The young man turned and left the room, and Bucholz seated himselfapart from the rest of the company, apparently lost in profoundmeditation. Shortly after, he roused himself, as with an effort, andbidding his comrades good-night he went up stairs to his room. 

He did not immediately retire, however, but sat up until a late hour, revolving in his mind the information which he had just received anddebating with himself as to his future course of action. 

The result of this mental consultation appeared satisfactory to him, and he undressed himself and went to bed. He would encourage Frank toleave his distasteful employment, and he would offer himself as anapplicant for the vacant position. He had no fears of the result, andfelt no anxiety about the probabilities of his being made the subjectof the old man's castigations. If the old gentleman designed going toCalifornia he would be so much nearer to the coveted place of hisambitious dreams, and he could very easily submit to temporarydiscomforts in order to secure the practical benefits which he somuch desired. With this comforting reflection he closed his eyes andwas soon fast asleep. 

In the morning he again met Frank Bruner, and the conversation of thenight before was continued. Bucholz, without seeming to be anxiousupon the subject, adroitly led the unsuspecting servant on in hisdislike for his occupation, and he succeeded so well that before theday was passed, Frank had firmly resolved to inform Henry Schulte ofhis plans and of his intention to leave his service. 

In the evening, immediately after supper, he communicated hisintention to his master, who received it with violent manifestationsof disappointment and anger, and almost instantly retired to hisroom, locked his door, thereby denying admission to Frank, who wasprepared to serve his irate master until he could provide himselfwith another servant. 

Finding himself left to his own resources, Frank cordially acceptedan invitation to take a stroll with his newly-found associate, andputting on his hat he linked his arm in that of Bucholz, and theyleft the hotel together. 

Walking slowly on they soon came to the brilliantly-lightedthoroughfare in the Bowery, known as Chatham Street, and here theirears were saluted with the sounds of music, which emanated from theilluminated saloons, which lined the sidewalks at frequent intervals. 

Frank gazed with curious eyes at this phase of New York life, so newand startling to one whose early years had been passed in the ruralsimplicity of a German peasant, and as Bucholz stopped before one ofthese places and asked him if he would like to go inside, he made notthe slightest objection. Quietly following his guide they foundthemselves within the walls of one of those gilded palaces of sin, that have so often proved the avenues through which many unsuspectingyoung men have entered upon a life of shame and dishonor. 

To Frank, however, the scene was novel and exciting, the music wasexhilarating, and the "pretty waiter girls" were objects of curiosityand unfeigned admiration. Pushing their way through the crowdedassembly, where men and women were engaged in drinking and indulgingin loud and boisterous laughter, they reached a position in front ofa stage that had been erected in the rear end of the hall, and beforewhich hung a gaudily-painted curtain, which hid from the spectatorsthe mysteries and perhaps the miseries that lay beyond. 

Bucholz appeared to be perfectly at home among this mixed assemblage, and nodded familiarly to right and left in recognition of numerousfriends and acquaintances. Presently a buxom-looking German girl, whose rosy cheeks and rotund figure gave evidence that her life inthis place had been of short duration, advanced towards them, and, seating herself beside Bucholz, bade him good evening, in a tone offamiliarity which betokened a long, or, at least, a well-understoodacquaintance. 

[Illustration: _"A buxom looking german girl sat down besideBucholz, and bade him Good Evening. "_]

To the young man who accompanied Bucholz there seemed to be afascination in the glitter of his present surroundings, and heinstinctively began to feel envious of his more fortunate companion, who appeared so much at his ease, and whose intimacy with theTeutonic siren was so much to be admired. 

During the progress of the mixed entertainment that followed, inwhich dancing and singing, banjo playing, and a liberal display ofthe anatomy of the female "artists" formed the principal features, they sipped their beer and applauded loudly the efforts of those whoministered to their enjoyment. 

Upon the conclusion of the performance, they returned to their hotel, and Frank Bruner's mind was more firmly settled in his determinationto leave the service of Henry Schulte, and to find employment in thecity, where such pleasures would be open to him at all times. 

On their walk homeward to the hotel Frank again mentioned his resolveto Bucholz. 

"I think you are very foolish, " was the reply. "The old man has lotsof money, and if I was in your place I would do very different. "

Frank was immovable, however, and the words of his companion producedno effect upon his mind. 

The next morning Mr. Schulte endeavored in vain to induce Frank tochange his determination, and at last, finding it impossible to doso, he paid him the amount that was due to him and dispensed, ratherreluctantly, with his further services. 

A few days after this, having completed the business which detainedhim in New York, the old gentleman announced his intention ofdeparting, and, having his baggage transferred to the coach, hestarted for the depot, leaving Frank behind him, who now halfregretted having so suddenly sundered his relations with hiseccentric employer. 

Bucholz's opportunity had now arrived, and jumping into the coach, hetook his seat beside the old gentleman, whose acquaintance he hadcultivated during his brief sojourn at the hotel. 

"You are going away, Mr. Schulte?" said Bucholz. 

The old man nodded his head affirmatively, but made no audible reply. 

"Which way are you going?" asked Bucholz, unabashed by the manner ofthe other. 

"I am going down to South Norwalk, in Connecticut, to buy a farmwhich was advertised for sale there, " answered Mr. Schulte. 

"Where is Frank?" asked Bucholz, as though in ignorance of theirseparation. "Is he not going with you?"

"Frank is no longer in my employ. I have discharged him, and he mustnow look out for himself. "

"Don't you want somebody to take his place?" said Bucholz, eagerly. 

"Yes, but I will get some one down there, I guess, " replied the oldman, as though he did not desire to talk any further about hisaffairs. 

"Don't you think I would suit you, Mr. Schulte? I have nothing to do, and would be very glad to take the place, " urged Bucholz. The oldgentleman looked up in surprise at this question, and said:

"You would not come for such wages as I would pay. "

He named a sum ridiculously small, but Bucholz announced his perfectwillingness to accept the position at the remuneration offered. 

The old gentleman revolved the question in his mind for a fewmoments, gazing somewhat suspiciously at the young man the while, andat length said to Bucholz, who was anxiously awaiting his decision:

"Well, you may come along and see how you will like it. If it doesnot suit you, you can return, and we can make our arrangementsafterward. "

The matter was thus disposed of, and William Bucholz journeyed toSouth Norwalk with his employer. The gay soldier had become thehumble servant, the prospective farmer had been transformed into theobsequious valet. 

These two men had journeyed across the seas, for a far-off land, andthus had strangely met. The web of fate had woven itself around theirtwo lives, and the compact this day made was only to be severed bythe death, sudden and mysterious, of the eldest party to theagreement. 

Who could have told that before many months had rolled away, that oldman would have been brutally beaten to death, and that thebright-faced young man who sued for his favor would be sitting in alonely cell under the dreadful charge of committing the foul deed!

Perhaps could either have glanced with prophetic vision into thefuture, their paths, by mutual consent, would have widely diverged, and their intimacy have ceased forever on that August afternoon. 

THE DETECTION. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

_The Detective. _--_His Experience and His Practice. _--_A Plan ofDetection Perfected. _--_The Work is Begun. _

The detective occupies a peculiar position in society, and is aprominent actor in many scenes of which the general public can haveno knowledge. In his breast may be locked the secrets of many men whostand in proud pre-eminence before the public, and who are admiredand respected for the possession of virtues that are but the cloakwith which they hide the baser elements of their dispositions. 

The canting hypocrite, whose voice may be loudest in chapel ormeeting-house, and whose sanctimonious air and solemn visage willcover the sins of his heart to the general observer, is well known tothe detective, who has seen that same face pale with apprehension, and has heard that same voice trembling with the fear of exposure. 

That dapper young gentleman, who twirls his moustache and swings hiscane so jauntily upon the promenade, is an object of admiration tomany; but to the man who knows the secrets of his inner life anotherscene is opened, and he remembers when this same exquisite walked thecell of a prison--a convict guilty of a crime. 

Through all the various grades of society the detective has wendedhis way, and he has looked into men's hearts when infamy stared themin the face and dishonor impended over them. 

His experience has rendered him almost incapable of surprise, ormobility of feeling. He is ever watchful for the deceptiveness ofappearances, ever prepared to admit everything, to explaineverything, and to believe nothing--but what he sees. 

The judicial officer, with the nicety and legal acumen of a thoroughjurist, applies the technicalities of the law to the testimonysubmitted to him, but the detective observes with caution, andwatches with suspicion all the odious combinations and circumstanceswhich the law with all the power at its command cannot successfullyreach. 

He is made the unwilling, but necessary recipient of disgracefuldetails; of domestic crimes, and even of tolerated vices with whichthe law cannot deal. 

If, when he entered upon his office, his mind teemed with illusionsin regard to humanity, the experience of a year has dissipated themto the winds. 

If he does not eventually become skeptical of the whole human race, it is because his experience has shown him that honor and vice maywalk side by side without contamination; that virtue and crime may beclosely connected, and yet no stain be left upon the white robe ofpurity, and that while upon the one hand he sees abominationsindulged in with impunity, upon the other, he witnesses a sublimegenerosity which cannot be weakened or crushed. The modest violet mayexhale its fragrance through an overgrowth of noxious weeds--andhumanity bears out the simile. 

He sees with contempt the proud bearing of the impudent scoundrelswho are unjustly receiving public respect, but he sees also withpleasure many heroes in the modest and obscure walks of life, whodeserve the rich rewards which they never receive. 

He has so often pierced beneath the shining mask of virtue anddiscovered the distorted visage of vice, that he has almost reached astate of general doubtfulness until results shall demonstrate thecorrectness of his theories. He believes in nothing until it isproven--not in absolute evil more than in absolute good, and theresults of his teachings have brought him to the conclusion that notmen but events alone are worthy of consideration. 

A knowledge of human nature is as necessary to him as that he shallhave eyes and ears, and this knowledge experience alone can give. 

In my eventful career as a detective, extending over a period ofthirty years of active practice, my experience has been of such acharacter as to lead me to pay no attention to the outward appearanceof men or things. The burglar does not commit his depredations in theopen light of day, nor in the full view of the spectator. Nor doesthe murderer usually select the brilliantly-lighted highway to strikethe fatal blow. Quietly and secretly, and with every imaginedprecaution against detection, the criminal acts, and it is only byequally secretive ways that he can be reached. 

Weeks and months may elapse before he is finally brought to bay, butI have never known it to fail, at least in my experience, thatdetection will follow crime as surely as the shadow will follow amoving body in the glare of sunlight. 

From the facts collected by my operatives, and from every otheravailable source, I was now put into possession of every point in thecase of the murder of Henry Schulte, that could be arrived at, and wewere prepared to define a plan of operation, which, if strictlyadhered to, bore the impress of promised success. 

An old man had been foully murdered, and his body had been robbed ofa large sum of money. Money, therefore, was the cause of the murder, and the recovery and identification of this would undoubtedly lead tothe discovery of the criminal. 

The matter, with all its attendant facts, was placed in the hands ofMr. Bangs, my general superintendent, and of my son, Robert A. Pinkerton, who resolved to succeed in the undertaking if success werepossible. 

The details of our proposed line of action were submitted to theGerman Consul-General and to the State's attorney, Mr. Olmstead. Theformer, while expressing doubts of the expediency of the planproposed, determined finally to allow us to pursue such course as inour judgment was advisable, while the latter gentleman signified hishearty approval, as it accorded in many respects with a plan which hehad previously thought feasible in this very matter. 

Our relations with these gentlemen were of a nature somewhatpeculiar. The German Consul was acting in a double capacity, and hadtwo interests to serve. He represented the heirs of the murdered man, and in that relation he was desirous of recovering the money that hadbeen stolen, as well as discovering who the murderer was and bringinghim to justice. At the same time, he was expected to render whateverassistance that was in his power to the unfortunate man who stoodaccused of the crime, and who was also a native of Germany, requiringhis protection. The German Consul also entertained a well-groundedfaith in the innocence of Bucholz, and desired that every fact thatwould substantiate this opinion should be discovered and used for hisbenefit. 

The State's attorney, on the contrary, was firmly established in hisbelief that the murder had been committed by Bucholz, and none other, and his desire was that this theory should be proved beyond thepossibility of doubt, in order that he, as the prosecuting officer ofthe State, should be enabled to uphold the dignity of outraged law, and to bring the guilty man to the justice which he believed was sorichly merited. 

It was determined, therefore, after a conference with thesegentlemen, that my agents should pursue the investigation in such amanner as seemed best, and which gave greatest promise of eventualsuccess. 

Armed with this double authority, our arrangements were soon made, and active operations were instituted. Whether our efforts resultedin victory or defeat, the sequel will prove. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

_A Detective Reminiscence. _--_An Operation in Bridgeport in1866. _--_The Adams Express Robbery. _--_A Half Million of DollarsStolen. _--_Capture of the Thieves. _--_One of the Principals TurnsState's Evidence. _--_Conviction and Punishment. _

When a great crime has been committed the public mind experiences asensation of horror. Imaginative persons are busy in the formation ofall sorts of fancies with regard to the perpetrators. His probableappearance, gigantic proportions and horrible aspect are dulycommented upon, and exaggeration invariably takes the place of factin such estimations. In the majority of cases that have come under mynotice the personal appearance of the criminal belied the possibilityof his guilt. 

The verdant spectator is frequently amazed to find the apparentgentleman, attired with the precision of the tailor's art, withimmaculate linen, and of delicate, and sometimes refined appearancearraigned for the crime of robbery or murder. 

Many times I have seen the eager spectator in a court-room, lookingvainly among the group of lawyers before the bar, for the monsterthey have conjured up in their imaginations, and finally settlingupon some sharp-featured, but unimpeachable attorney as themalefactor, indulge in wise reflections as to the impossibility ofmistaking a rogue from his appearance. 

I have seen their start of surprise as the real criminal, genteel, cool and gentlemanly, would rise from his seat and plead to theindictment that would be read to him, and their solemn shake of thehead as their wise reflections were scattered to the winds. 

My first experience with the town of Bridgeport was particularlysuggestive of these reflections. I was engaged in a detectiveoperation in which the Adams Express Company were the sufferers, having been robbed of a large amount of money, and, as the robberytook place in the vicinity of that city, the thieves, whom Isucceeded in capturing, were confined in the jail there. 

The affair occurred during the first week of January, 1866, and thefacts were as follows:

On the night of the sixth of January, in the year just mentioned, thepublic mind was startled by the announcement that the Adams ExpressCompany had been robbed of over a half million of dollars, by thethieves breaking into the car in which their valuables were placed, prying open the safes, and abstracting over six hundred thousanddollars, in notes, bonds and other valuable securities. 

The train to which the car was attached had left New York for Bostonat eight o' clock in the evening, and it was not until arriving atNew Haven that the depredation was discovered. 

The dismay of the company's officials may be imagined when, onentering the car at the latter place, the fractured safes met theirastonished gaze. A marlin spike, three dark lanterns and a sledgehammer which lay beside them, told too plainly how the work had beenaccomplished, but it furnished no clue as to how, or when, or bywhom. 

The car was of the ordinary size of a box freight car, built with aniron frame, sheathed over with thick sheet iron plates, rivettedstrongly together, and so closely made that a light placed insidecould not be seen when the doors were closed. A messenger alwaysaccompanied this car, but he usually sat in the baggage car of thetrain, and as the train did not make any stoppages between New Yorkand New Haven, it was only at this time that the theft was discoveredby the entrance of the messenger. 

It further appeared that the company's safes were taken from thedepot in New York and placed in the iron car, which was waiting upona side-track, and which was immediately afterwards attached to thetrain. 

The safes having been placed in the car, the door was securelylocked, and, as the train was then ready to start, the agent of thecompany gave the word "All right!" The train started and sped uponits journey, and nothing further was known until its arrival at NewHaven and the discovery of the theft. 

I was immediately notified of the matter, and after a carefulobservation of the safes and an investigation into the facts of thecase, I thought I detected the handiwork of a party of young thieveswhom I had accidentally encountered in another operation in which Ihad been engaged some months previously. 

Operatives were immediately despatched in various directions, and themovements of the suspected parties were carefully but unobservedlywatched. Very soon after, I succeeded in running down two of theparties, named John Tristram and Thomas Clark, and upon arrestingthem each one had in his possession a gold watch, both of which wereidentified as stolen property. They were accordingly conveyed toBridgeport and held to await their trial. 

Mr. Wells, the genial and efficient keeper of the prison, whoseacquaintance I had previously made, received the prisoners andsecurely fastened them up. 

A few days following this, an old resident of Norwalk, who was alsoan uncle of one of the men arrested, was observed by one of my men, carrying a package of unusual weight from his residence to the houseof a sister of Tristram in New York City, and an examination of thehouse resulted in finding nearly eighty seven thousand dollars of thestolen treasure. The old man was arrested, but developments provedtoo plainly that he was only acting as a mere blind messenger for theother parties, and he was accordingly discharged. 

The trial of the two men, which subsequently took place atBridgeport, was attended by a large array of New York burglars, shoplifters and pick-pockets--all friends of the criminals. They wereclosely watched, as it was feared that they intended making someattempt to rescue the prisoners. This precaution proved not to havebeen in vain, for during the sitting of the court an attempt was madeto purloin an iron box in which most of the testimony intended foruse in the case, was kept. This was fortunately discovered in time, and many of the individuals concerned in it left town immediately. 

On the trial Tristram pleaded guilty and was sentenced to a term ofimprisonment of three years and six months. 

From the evidence upon the part of the company, it appeared that themoney in the safes was in four separate pouches, and consisted mainlyof currency belonging to banking institutions, and all of whichlacked the signatures of the bank officers to give it full characteras money. 

The amounts taken were as follows:

 From the Washington Pouch, $278, 000. 00 From the Baltimore Pouch, 150, 000. 00 From the Philadelphia Pouch, 100, 000. 00 From the New York Pouch, 150, 000. 00 ---------- $678, 000. 00

The two watches that were found upon the prisoners and identified asstolen from the safes, were designed as gifts, and were being carriedby the company for delivery to the friends of the givers in Boston. 

Clark stood trial alone and was found guilty of only one count of theinformation against him, and his counsel obtained a stay ofproceedings. 

I was now determined to capture the other members of the gang, and myarrangements were made accordingly. I suspected an individual namedJames Wells as being a participant in the robbery, and therefore madehim the principal object of attack. 

Wells was living at home with his mother at that time, and Isucceeded in introducing one of my operatives into the house as aboarder. This operative cultivated the acquaintance of James, andproved a very agreeable companion indeed, while by the female membersof the family he was regarded as one of the most pleasant boardersimaginable. The work was admirably accomplished, and he obtained allthe information that was necessary to enable me to act intelligentlyand actively in the matter. 

Prompt arrests followed, and Martin Allen, James Wells, GillyMcGloyn, Eddy Watson and John Grady were pounced upon and conveyed toprison. 

Thus far the evidence obtained had been of a character sufficient towarrant an arrest, but hardly of convincing force to justify aconviction upon a trial by jury. 

Most of the stolen property had been recovered, and I finally decidedto make an onslaught upon the weak points of Clark, the manpreviously arrested, and now awaiting the new trial which had beengranted in his case. 

Accordingly I visited the jail and had an interview with thisindividual, who did not, at first, appear at all delighted with thevisit. In a short time, however, I had gained entire control of theman, and he became like wax in my hands. He made a full confession ofthe robbery, and declared his readiness to become a witness for theprosecution. Having accomplished my purpose, I announced to theofficers of the State my readiness to proceed to trial, and mysanguine hopes of a full conviction of the parties implicated. 

The trial took place shortly afterwards in Danbury, and I do notremember ever to have seen a more gentlemanly-looking array ofprisoners before a bar of justice. 

They were all dressed in the most exquisite style, and deportedthemselves in a manner far from what would ordinarily be expectedfrom men engaged in professional criminal pursuits. 

During the trial the Court House was thronged by the fair sex ofDanbury, whose sympathetic hearts were profoundly touched at thesight of these gentlemanly-appearing rascals. The attendance wasfurther augmented by the appearance of many of their friends, bothmale and female, who came from New York to witness the proceedingsand offer their loving consolations to the unfortunates. 

The alarm of these sympathetic friends reached a culminating pointwhen the prosecuting attorney arose in his place and announced thathe would place upon the stand one of the principals in the robbery, who would unfold the plot and its successful execution. Each prisonerlooked at the other, and angry, suspicious glances flashed from theeyes of them all. Threats were whispered audibly among their friends, but no demonstration took place, and the silence in the court-roombecame painfully oppressive as the State's attorney, after finishinghis address to the jury, called the name of Thomas Clark. 

The prisoner took the stand, and, unabashed by the angry glances thatwere directed towards him, he told the story of the robbery in aplain, straightforward manner, that carried conviction to the mindsof both judge and jury. 

The testimony which he gave was as follows:

"My connection with this robbery commenced on or about the 20th ofDecember last (1865), at which time I met Martin Allen at a saloon inNew York City. It was on that occasion that he told me that hisbrother-in-law, James Wells, who resided in Brooklyn, had anacquaintance named Gilly McGloyn, and that Gilly had a brother-in-lawnamed Grady, who was a brakeman on the express train of the New Yorkand New Haven Railroad, which left New York at 8 o'clock in theevening. He also said that Grady wanted McGloyn to get somebody tohelp throw the safes out of that train. McGloyn went to Wells onpurpose to inform him, and Wells told him of it, and Allen told me. 

"The next day Allen, Wells, McGloyn and Grady met me at LafayetteHall, on Broadway, about the 21st of December. At that time Gradyexhibited a piece of soap which contained an impression of a key-holein the lock of the Adams Express car. In the course of theconversation which ensued at that time, Grady said that there weretwo messengers who looked after the Adams Express cars alternately, one on each alternate night. He said that the most careless of thetwo messengers was named Moore, and that his evenings from New Yorkwere Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Grady said he thought any oneof those evenings would be the best to select for the purpose ofcommitting the robbery. 

"Some time afterward, on a night when Moore had charge of the expresscar, I got on the train at Forty-second street, and went into thesmoking car. There was a man there busy making a fire in the stove, and in a few moments Grady came into the car, and in order tosignalize to me who Moore was, slapped the man on the back, saying, 'Billy Moore, you don't know how to make a fire. '

"The place which I selected as the proper point for throwing off thesafes was between Coscob Bridge and Stamford. I hit upon that spotfor the purpose, because at that point the distance between stoppageswas short, being only three miles from Coscob Bridge to Stamford. Ileft the train at Bridgeport, where I stopped at the Atlantic Hotel, near the depot, all night. I returned to New York by the 10 o'clocktrain next morning. I think it was the same day that the parties Ihave named had another meeting at Lafayette Hall. 

"It was at that time we arranged a plan for getting the safes out atForty-second street, where we got the size of the lock of the expresscar. Next day Allen and myself visited nearly every hardware store inNew York for the purpose of purchasing a lock similar to that on thecar. The nearest to it in appearance was found in a store on Howardstreet, between Crosby street and Broadway. We wanted this lock toput on the door of the car after breaking the other off. That sameday Allen and Wells went to the same store and bought a sledgehammer. On the evening of the same day Allen went to Crowe's liverystable and hired a horse and a heavy express wagon. 

"Some time before this Allen and I went to a blacksmith shop and hada piece of steel made into shape for the purpose of prying the lockoff the car. No less than five efforts were made to take the safesoff the car at Forty-second street, on nights when Moore wasmessenger. Next day after our last attempt Allen, McGloyn, Grady andmyself met at Lafayette Hall and arranged to abandon the Forty-secondstreet plan. Tristram, Hudson and McGuire were never present at ourconferences at Lafayette Hall. I used to meet McGuire and tell himwhat had transpired, and he used to convey the intelligence toTristram and Hudson. 

"The new plan was that three of us were to secrete ourselves in theexpress car during its brief stay at Forty-second street, and theother five were to go in the passenger cars. We three were to throwoff the safes after the train got over the Harlem Bridge. The fivewere to get out at the bridge. After the three had thrown off thesafes they were to ring the bell, stop the train, get off and walkback till they met the others. They were then to take the safes tosome convenient place, break them open, and pack the money andvaluables in two valises which they had with them, and leave thesafes there. 

"On the night of the 6th of January last, the eight of us, Allen, Tristram, McGuire, Hudson, Wells, McGloyn, Grady and myself met byprevious agreement, about seven o'clock, near the depot andForty-second street. McGuire brought with him two carpet-bags, amarlin spike and a common mortising chisel. The others of us had apiece of steel, a lock, a sledge hammer and a dark lantern. Hudson, Grady, McGuire and myself got in between the express car and thefreight train, and managed to break the lock with the marlin spike. We then drew back the door and three of us, Grady, McGuire andmyself, got in. Hudson then placed the lock in the staple outside, but not in the hasp, and then closed the door. This was to saveappearances. 

"We sat quietly until the train got in the tunnel, between New Yorkand Harlem. We found three safes in the car. We got one of them overand tried to break in the bottom with the sledge hammer, but we foundthis would not work. We then took the marlin spike, drove it into thedoor of the safe and pried it open. McGuire held the spike and Gradyand I knocked it in. Having packed the contents of this in acarpet-bag, we broke open another safe, the contents of which we alsopacked away. The reason we did not get out after passing HarlemBridge was because we discovered, after getting into the car, thatthe rope was in an iron tube, and that prevented our stopping thecar. 

[Illustration: "_We pried the safe open. _"]

"At Coscob Station we got out and hid one of the bags in a pile oflumber. We then walked up the track a mile toward Stamford, where wehid in a stone wall the large carpet-bag. The three of us then, unincumbered, walked to Stamford. Here Grady lived, and he wished usto go to a barn, and said he would bring us something to eat; butMcGuire and I thought it best to go back to New York as soon aspossible; so we got aboard a freight train for Norwalk and took theOwl, a midnight train, from there. Going to New York we sat indifferent parts of the car and did not speak. The train stopped forsome reason or other at One Hundred and Twentieth street, and thereMcGuire and I got out. 

"We were then on our way to Tristram's house, and there we met Allen, Hudson and Tristram. They told us they had got on the car as agreedupon, and had got off at Harlem Bridge, and walked up the track aboutsix miles, but, failing to find us, had become disgusted and returnedhome. That evening Tristram, McGuire and I started for Norwalk in thefive o'clock train. We all got off at Stamford, and I went to alivery stable, for the purpose of hiring a horse and wagon in orderto remove the stolen property. I told the stable keeper I was goingto Norwalk, but it was so cold he would not hire his horses. We couldnot get a horse at Stamford, so we arranged to take the next train toNorwalk. We reached Norwalk the next day, and stopped at the house ofold Josiah Tristram till Tuesday evening. On Monday evening we werejoined by Hudson. He came to the house with Tristram in a Rockawaycarriage. We then went to Coscob Bridge, got the hidden bags, andreturned to Tristram's house. We here unpacked and repacked the bags, tying a couple of skate straps about them, so as to be handy forJosiah Tristram to carry them to New York next day, January 9. Weremained here Tuesday evening, when Tristram and I were arrested. "

The effect of Clark's evidence was thrilling in the extreme. Thestory was too potent for cross-examination. The enemy was badlyshattered and demoralized. Ex-Judge Stuart, counsel for theprisoners, maintained the currency was not money because it wasincomplete without the bank officers' signatures, but he wasoverruled by the court. 

A host of witnesses were then produced to prove that Allen, Wells andsome of the other prisoners were elsewhere on the night of therobbery. The characters of the witnesses for the defense broke downunder cross-examination; but no matter, the jury disagreed--a resultwhich had been anticipated owing to certain associations of one ofthe jurors with friends of some of the prisoners. 

A second trial was ordered, and took place in Danbury during thelatter part of the year. During the interval that elapsed before thesecond trial, McGuire, who was out on bail, took part in the boldrobbery of the Bowdoinham Bank, in Maine, for which he is now servingout a fifteen years' sentence in State Prison. 

Hudson managed to escape before the first arrest of the prisoners, and with ten thousand dollars of the stolen money went to Europe, where he has been ever since. 

One of Allen's friends, who was visiting Danbury with his familyduring the first trial, and who was on visiting terms with one of thejurors, represented to an old friend who met him in the hotel that he"had found Jesus" and was "leading a new life. " He was congratulated, but carefully watched. 

One of the female witnesses for the _alibi_, a handsome brunette, said, on cross examination, that she was a dressmaker, but seldommade dresses, as she was the recipient of two hundred dollars everyweek from a New York merchant, who admired her for her beauty. 

At the second trial the four remaining prisoners, McGuire having goneinto business in Maine, fared not so well. They were convicted andsent to Wethersfield, from whence some of them may have emerged wiserand better members of society. Some of them could not reform. Thestolen money was nearly all recovered, and the Adams Express Companyhad, long previous to the end of the trial, indemnified all theircustomers for any loss sustained by the robbery. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

_The Jail at Bridgeport. _--_An Important Arrest. _--_Bucholz Finds aFriend. _--_A Suspicious Character who Watches and Listens. _--_BucholzRelates His Story. _

A few days had elapsed after my taking charge of the case of WilliamBucholz, when two arrests were made by the officials of Bridgeport, one of which promised to have an important bearing upon theinvestigation in hand. 

One was that of a shrewdly-educated young Irishman, whose sharp, piercing black eyes, and closely-cut black hair, gave him a look ofacuteness that was apparent to the most casual observer. He had beencharged with false pretense in assuming to be the agent of apublisher of chromos, and his practice was to take orders for thepictures which he exhibited, from his unsuspecting customers, thesame to be delivered at some future time. He would then receive apart of the purchase money in advance, and take his departure, whilethe innocent subscriber would look in vain for the fulfillment of hiscontract. 

The other arrest was that of a handsome and gentlemanly-looking manof about thirty-five years of age. His hair, which was prematurelygray, curled gracefully about his brow and temples, but hismoustache, which was of a brownish color and carefully trimmed, lessened the indication of greater age on account of the color of hishair. He evinced a quiet reserve of manner, and a general air ofrespectability scarcely in accord with his appearing to answer forthe commission of a crime, and many sympathetic remarks were made bythe bystanders on the occasion of his hearing. 

He was charged with forgery, and had been arrested in the act ofpresenting a forged order for a money package, at the office of theAdams Express Company at Bridgeport. The evidence of the forgery wasunmistakable, and the agent of the company detecting it, at once hadthe man arrested. 

These two arrests were almost coincident; their hearing at thepreliminary examination took place at the same session of the court, and as each of them waived a hearing and were unable to procure bail, they were both consigned to the jail to await their trial at the nextsitting of the general court. 

As a general thing there seems to be a sort of community of interestor fraternity of feeling existing between prisoners during theirconfinement. At certain hours in the day, in many places ofimprisonment, the authorities permit the prisoners to leave theircells and to take exercise in the corridors. At such times theymingle together indiscriminately and indulge in general conversation, and many interesting episodes could be gathered from their recitalsof the various scenes through which they have passed during theirvicarious life, and the experiences thus related would tend to prove, beyond question, that the imagination of the romancer falls far shortof the actual realities of life. 

Many wild and seemingly extravagant stories are related, which fillthe listener with incredulity, but which, upon inquiry, are usuallyfound to be but truthful relations of actual occurrences. 

But in this jail at Bridgeport there was one person, who, uponfinding himself a prisoner, held himself aloof from the rest, declining to make any acquaintances or to engender any friendships, and this person was the quiet-looking man who had been arrested bythe express company, and whose name was ascertained to be EdwardSommers. He studiously avoided his fellow-prisoners and maintained adegree of reserve which repelled their advances and at once inducedtheir respect. 

Thomas Brown, the black-haired, false pretender, however, immediatelyplaced himself on friendly terms with every one within reach, and hismerry stories were fully appreciated by the residents of thecorrectional institution in which they found themselves throwntogether. 

But how fared William Bucholz during the days that had intervenedsince his incarceration? His mind, it is true, had grown calmer sincethe first paroxysm of his grief had spent itself, and he had composedhimself sufficiently to look the future hopefully in the face. As dayafter day was passed in the seclusion of his cell, he had grownreconciled to a certain extent to the existing state of affairs, buthe still looked forward anxiously to the day which was to deliver himfrom the enclosing walls that restrained him of his liberty. 

He was moody and silent, and his mind was much disturbed. His wakingthoughts were ever busy with the weighty and depressing considerationof his position and of the fate that hung over him like a pall. Hourafter hour he would pace the corridors, seeking no companionship andtaking no pleasure in the mirth-provoking actions of those whosurrounded him, or in any of the events that transpired within thejail. 

Mechanically he would walk backward and forward, apparently in deepand dejected thoughtfulness, and when the time came for the keepersto lock him up again he would yield a ready but listless obedience, and spend the remainder of the time in reading and profoundmeditation. 

He appeared to have no visitors except his counsel and a few friendsfrom South Norwalk. But his attorneys would invariably exercise acheering influence upon him, and their visits were always lookedforward to with pleasure. 

Under their ministrations Bucholz seemed to have buoyed himself upwith a certain well-grounded hope of ultimate acquittal, and thethought of the possibility of conviction, while it would frequentlyoccur to him, never found a firm place in his mind. 

During the infrequent and invariably short conversations that tookplace between himself and any of his fellow prisoners, he alwaysspoke hopefully of his approaching trial, and ever asserted, with anair of conviction, that upon its completion he would walk out of thecourt-room a free man. His counsel had solemnly warned him againstmaking a confidant of any one with whom he conversed, and he wasalways very careful in his utterances when speaking about hisconnection with the murder of Henry Schulte. 

Thus the days sped on until Edward Sommers entered the jail, and thenit seemed as though his disposition for reserve entirely left him. There appeared to be some feeling of personal attraction betweenBucholz and the newcomer almost unaccountable, for as they both hadavoided the companionship of the other inmates, they, strange to say, soon quietly, almost imperceptibly, drifted into a friendship foreach other seemingly as profound as it was demonstrative. 

Both being natives of Germany, they conversed in the language of theFatherland, and as they were familiar with many localities of jointinterest, they became quite intimate, and many hours were whiled awayin the relation of their earlier experiences and in fondrecollections of bygone days. 

During the entire time in which they were allowed to mingle with eachother, these two would sit together, and their friendship soon becamethe topic of general conversation. Thomas Brown, however, seemed tobe exceedingly uneasy under its manifestations, and he wouldoftentimes steal upon them unawares and endeavor to catch somefleeting words of their apparently interesting conversations. 

Under the inspiration of a mutual interchange of thoughts the twofriends became warmly attached to each other, particularly so far asBucholz was concerned. They shared together their stores and thedelicacies which would be furnished them by visiting ladies or by thecounsel of Bucholz, who frequently visited his client and suppliedhim with needed articles of diet, which were not furnished by theauthorities of the prison. 

Thus matters went on, the friendship of Sommers and William Bucholzseeming to increase with every recurring day, and the watchful Brownstill jealously watching their movements and attempting to listen totheir confidences. 

They were sitting together one day shortly after this, when Bucholz, in a jocular manner, addressing his companion, said:

"Ah, my dear Sommers, I am surprised to find you here in jail andupon such a charge as they have brought against you. "

"Yes, but my dear Bucholz, consider my surprise to find you here, andupon the charge of murder, too. You must remember you are not clearyet, " answered Sommers, with a tinge of annoyance in his voice, butwhether it was his tone or the language used that brought the colorto the face of the accused man, Sommers did not then know. 

"Ah, you should not joke upon such a serious matter, " he answered, with a degree of confusion that could not have escaped the attentionof his friend. 

"Never mind, my friend, " replied Sommers. "It will all come out rightin the end, only you must not talk to your fellow-prisoners abouttheir troubles, nor allow them to talk to you about yours. "

"Oh, no!" said Bucholz; "my lawyers always tell me to say nothing toanybody. "

"That is right. You cannot tell who would be your friend or who yourenemy, in a place of this kind. "

The next day, as they were sitting together, two German newspaperswere handed to Sommers by the hall-man, and upon receiving them hehanded them at once to his companion. Bucholz opened the papercarelessly, but as his eyes glanced over its contents, he stopped, started to his feet, and then throwing the paper suddenly down uponthe floor, he buried his face in his hands. 

"What is the matter now?" asked Sommers, astonished at this strangebehavior, and picking up the discarded paper. 

"Look there!" exclaimed Bucholz, pointing to a passage in the paper. "Read that. That is the first time that paper ever said I wasguilty. "

The article to which he alluded was in regard to a statement whichBucholz had made at the time of his arrest. In explaining the fact ofhis having several large sums of money in his possession, he haddeclared that his sister had sent them to him from Germany. Thisstatement had just been discovered to be untrue, and the denial ofthe sister of the fact of her having sent any money at all, was thebasis of the article in question. 

"This looks rather bad for you, William, " said Sommers, sorrowfully. 

"It does look bad, " he replied, "but I never did say that I receivedany money from my sister. I never did say anything of that kind. "

The black eyes of the ubiquitous Brown were upon the two men as theystood talking, but he was too far away to hear what was transpiringbetween them. 

"What can they have against you any how?" inquired Sommers. "Surelythere must be some ground of suspicion upon which to base theircharge. "

"Ah, you do not know. After the old man was murdered; I was arrested;I was closely questioned, and I did say some things that I should nothave said. I had no lawyer, and a white-haired fox whose name wasIlling did every thing he could against me. I did not have anopportunity to explain myself at all. "

"That was too bad, indeed, " added Sommers; "but it can all be shownright upon the trial, and then you will come out safely. "

"Oh, yes, it will come out all right on the trial, I know, for then Iwill have my lawyers to defend me. "

"But, tell me, William, how did this murder occur?"

Thus questioned, Bucholz, without hesitation, at once commenced andrelated to his friend the circumstances of the affair, adheringstrictly to the same story which he had told at the inquest, andwhich he had religiously repeated ever since. 

While they were thus conversing, the jailer came to lock them intheir cells for the night. Brown slipped quietly away, and the twomen, thus so strangely thrown together, shook hands and retired totheir separate apartments, where they spent the night in slumber. Butah, how pleasant or how fatiguing was that slumber!

CHAPTER XX. 

_Bucholz passes a Sleepless Night. _--_An Important Discovery. _--_TheFinding of the Watch of the Murdered Man. _--_Edward Sommers consolesthe Distressed Prisoner. _

Our narrative must necessarily deal somewhat largely with theinterior arrangements and experiences of a prison. Not a verygratifying spectacle certainly, nor one ordinarily calculated to giveoccasion for many incidents of a pleasurable character, or for thoseglossed with the tints of romance or gallantry. 

How many untouched pillows there are as the sable folds of nightgather around the dreary walls of the prison. How many aching heartsand weary brains are waiting and watching for the dawning of theday--the coming of the bright rays of the morning, which shall dispelthe gloom and despair of their narrow chamber, and gild with goldenbeauty the darkened corners where, in the solemn hours of the night, lurk the grim specters that were born of their remorse or theirfears. 

Bucholz passed a sleepless night after the conversation just had withhis companion, Edward Sommers; the buoyancy of his hopes was shaken, and between the fitful, restless slumbers, dark dreaming and frowningvisitants came to him in all the forbidding presence of accusingspirits. 

In the morning he arose unrested and unrefreshed, and as he greetedhis friend, the latter detected traces of tears in his eyes, whichwere shrouded with the dark lines that gave token of a lack of sleepand of intense mental distress. 

After the usual morning salutations were exchanged, they partook oftheir breakfast in silence. Upon the arrival of the hour for theadmission of visitors, Paul Herscher, who had testified in regard tothe money which Bucholz had given him, was announced as desiring tosee the prisoner, and together they went into his cell. 

The information which he brought proved to be very important, thoughnot in the least consoling, and appeared to have an effect uponBucholz far from assuring. It appeared that a severe storm of snowhad fallen on the Sunday afternoon following the murder, and whichhad remained upon the ground in the fields and woods until this time, when the March rains and warm sunshine had caused all traces of it todisappear, leaving the ground uncovered to the bright sunlight of aSpring morning. 

On the morning previous to this visit, a farmer engaged in the fieldsadjoining the farm formerly occupied by Henry Schulte, had discovereda watch lying upon the ground, which had evidently been hidden fromview by the snow. This watch had been immediately identified asbelonging to the murdered man. 

It will be remembered that at the inquest it had been discovered thatthe watch usually worn by Henry Schulte, had been torn forcibly fromthe guard around his neck, and from that time all traces of it haddisappeared, until this unexpected resurrection from under itscovering of snow. 

What made this discovery of more importance was the fact that thewatch was found, not far from a fence bordering a road along whichBucholz was known to have traveled on the night of the murder whileon his way to the village to give the alarm. It verily seemed asthough another link had been forged in the chain of evidence that wasbeing drawn around him, and Bucholz realizing this felt his heartsink within him, as he listened to the loquacious visitor who seemedto be very well pleased in having something to tell. 

Maintaining his composure, however, he listened to the recitalwithout any evidence of emotion, and not one would have imagined thatit had the slightest effect upon him other than that of curiosity, but after Paul Herscher had departed he threw himself upon his bedand sobbed bitterly. 

In this condition he was found by Edward Sommers a few minutesafterwards, and almost immediately thereafter he was followed by thestealthy-moving Brown, who, passing the door of the cell occupied byBucholz, and looking in, had discovered the strange proceedings thatwere taking place. 

Posting himself upon the outside of the cell door Brown endeavored tolisten to what ensued between the two men inside, but to his intensechagrin and disappointment he discovered that they were talking inGerman and he could not understand a word. 

Sommers seated himself upon the bed beside his companion, and placinghis hand upon his shoulder endeavored to solace him in his apparentdistress. 

"My dear fellow, " said he, after Bucholz had told him the cause ofhis tears, "do not be so discouraged. "

"Ah, how can I help it, " replied Bucholz, "when everything seems tobe turning against me?"

"Never mind, Bucholz; you have good lawyers, and they will tell youwhat to do, " said his companion, soothingly. "Now, tell me, myfriend, how many people ever saw this watch of Mr. Schulte? If hemade no friends, he could not have shown his watch to many people. "

"That is so, " replied Bucholz, eagerly catching at the suggestion, and his face brightened at once. "There is only one person who canidentify it--the old man's former servant, Frank Bruner, and he mustbe got out of the way. "

Sommers gazed at his companion in astonishment. The change in him waswonderful--the depression of spirits had disappeared entirely, andthis effect had been produced by a proposition to _dispose_ of onewho might prove a damaging witness against him. Rather a strangesuggestion to come from one who was entirely guiltless of crime!

"You are a great fellow, Sommers, " continued Bucholz, with glee, "andafter we get out of this we will have a good time together. "

"What will we do to have a good time?" asked Sommers, ratherdoubtfully. 

"We will go to Australia, " replied the other, in great good humor, "and we will enjoy ourselves there, I can tell you. "

"Yes, but that will take a great deal of money, and where is that tocome from?"

"Never you mind about the money; I will fix that all right. I do notintend to work, and you need not do so either. "

Sommers looked up at his friend, who smiled in a peculiar manner, andwas about to question him further upon the subject, but at thatmoment the conversation for that day was interrupted by theannouncement of a visit from Mr. Bollman, one of the counsel Bucholzhad employed to conduct his case, and who was the only one of theattorneys who made frequent visits to their client. 

Sommers bade his friend good morning, and, as he left the cell, heran forcibly against the listening Brown, who had ensconced himselfnear the door. The two men glared at each other for a moment, andthen, without speaking, each went their separate ways. Sommersdetermined to keep his eye on this fellow, and dispose of him in avery decisive way should he prove further troublesome. 

Thus day by day did the intimacy between Bucholz and Sommersincrease, while the watchfulness of Brown had not diminished in theleast. He seemed to keep his searching eyes upon the pair, andscarcely any movement was made that escaped his notice. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

_A Romantic Theory Dissipated. _--_The Fair Clara becomescommunicative. _--_An Interview with the Barkeeper of "The CrescentHotel. "_

While these events were transpiring within the jail, I was activelyengaged in the attempt to follow the clue in relation to the twosuspicious individuals who had made their mysterious appearance atStamford on the night of the murder of Henry Schulte. 

It will be remembered that their actions attracted universalattention, and that, after inquiring for a train to New York, theyhad taken one going in a directly opposite direction. 

Judicious inquiries soon brought my officers in personal contact withseveral parties who distinctly recollected the two strange personsabove mentioned, and from their descriptions we were enabled to tracethem to their places of residence. 

It was ascertained that they were two respectable and peaceably-disposedGermans who resided at New Haven, and who had come to Stamford onthat evening to attend a frolic at the house of a German farmer wholived near to that place. They had spent the evening in a jovialmanner, and had left the house under the impression that by hasteningtheir steps they would be in time to catch the train for their homes. They had consequently run the greater part of the distance to thestation, which being nearly a mile away, accounted for theirbreathless condition upon reaching there. They had then inquired fora train _from_ New York, and not _to_ that city, and upon beinginformed that no further trains from that direction (as theyunderstood it) would arrive that night, they had indulged in anextended personal altercation, each accusing the other of being thecause of their detention. When the train did arrive, contrary totheir expectations, their ill feelings had not sufficiently subsided, and they sat sullen and apart upon their journey to their places ofabode. 

These facts, of course, dissipated the romantic theory that foreignemissaries had been employed by the relatives of the deceased to puthim out of the way in order to secure his wealth; and so thatglittering edifice of speculation fell to the ground. 

I did not have much faith in this story from the outset, but it is arule with me to follow every point in an investigation to a definiteand satisfactory conclusion, and this line of inquiry was diligentlypursued to the results mentioned. I therefore dismissed the matterfrom further consideration. 

Operatives were also detailed to visit the Crescent Saloon, where thefair and voluptuous Clara presided and ministered to the bibulousappetites of her numerous friends and admirers. 

They succeeded in making the acquaintance of the young lady, and by aliberal purchase of drinks, were successful in getting the fair butfrail damsel in a communicative mood. She related her previousexperience with Bucholz and confessed to entertaining at one time adecided regard for him, which regard was, however, not unmixed withfear. She also related several incidents, in which Bucholz, afterhaving gone to South Norwalk, had visited the saloon and had beenvery lavish in spending his money. 

"He was here, " said the girl, "only a few days before the murder, andhe drank a great deal. He appeared to have plenty of money, and spentmore than fifty dollars here at one time. He seemed wild and excited, and talked about the old man in a manner that frightened me. When Iheard about the murder from the young servant that used to work forMr. Schulte, I could not help thinking that Bucholz had something todo with it. His eyes had a wild, wicked look when he spoke about theold man's money, and I felt sure that he was robbing him during hislifetime. When I heard that he was dead and had been murdered, Icould not help it, but I thought at once that Bucholz had done it. Ido not know why I thought so, but I could not get rid of thatimpression. "

These statements, although furnishing no proofs of Bucholz's guilt, were of a character to convince me of the possibility of his havingcommitted the murder. He had evidently been stealing from the old manbefore his death, and whether the murder had been committed to hidehis previous robberies or to obtain possession of the great wealthwhich he carried about him, was the question I was resolved todetermine. 

A visit was also paid to the hotel where Bucholz had boarded andwhere he had met Mr. Schulte and engaged in his service. Thecheery-faced landlord was very reticent upon the subject, and butlittle was learned from him. His barkeeper, however, was moredisposed to talk, and it was ascertained that when Bucholz had leftthe hotel to enter the employ of Mr. Schulte he had left unpaid abill for board which had been accumulating for some weeks, and thathis trunk had been detained in consequence. After the murder he hadvisited the hotel in company with the officers who had him then incharge, and had paid his bill and taken his trunk away. The barkeepershrugged his shoulders and declined to have anything to say whenasked about any suspicious actions on the part of Bucholz during hisresidence in the house or since his engagement with Mr. Schulte. 

From this person it was also discovered that a mail package, evidently containing some money, had been received at the hotel, addressed to William Bucholz. It purported to come from Germany, butan examination of the seals disclosed the fact that the package hadbeen manufactured in the city, and that it had been designed to givecolor to the story of Bucholz's, of his having received money fromhis relatives who resided in Germany. There were, however, too manycircumstances surrounding this package of a suspicious character tosuccessfully deceive any one about its having come through theregular channels, or, in fact, having come from Germany at all. Thispackage was the subject of discussion in the German paper, whosecomments had produced such a marked effect upon the prisoner when heread it. 

This information I was compelled to receive for what it was worth. The package had been delivered, and I could only depend upon therecollections of those who had seen it at the time. Their statementsor opinions would certainly not be received as evidence, nor couldthey be used in any legal manner. They only served to strengthen mybelief in William Bucholz's guilty participation in the murder, anddetermined me to pursue my present system of investigation vigorouslyand unremittingly to a successful conclusion. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

_Sommers suggests a doubt of Bucholz's Innocence. _--_He employsBucholz's Counsel to effect his Release. _--_A Visit from the State'sAttorney. _--_A Difficulty and an Estrangement. _

We will now return to the prison at Bridgeport and to the unfortunateman confined within its walls for the murder of his master. 

The intimacy and friendship existing between Sommers and Bucholzcontinued to increase as the days passed slowly on. By degrees and infragmentary conversations Sommers had learned the story of the murderfrom his companion. He had advised him repeatedly about hisdeportment in the prison, and as to his manner of conducting himselfupon his approaching trial. He had evinced a deep sympathy for hisunfortunate position, and, by timely suggestions and judiciouswarnings, had led the accused man to rely upon him, in a materialdegree, for advice and comfort. 

During all this long intimacy Bucholz never wavered in hisprotestations of innocence, or in his consistent statement of theknowledge which he professed to have of the murder of Henry Schulte. 

One day they were sitting together in the cell of Sommers. Bucholzwas in a very pleasant humor, owing to some event that hadoccurred--a visit from some ladies of the village--and turning toSommers, he laughingly said:

"Ah, Sommers, it seems very strange that you and I should be inprison, while others are free and enjoying the brightness andpleasures of liberty. "

"Yes, " replied his companion, "but if we had both behaved ourselvesbetter, we would not be here. "

Bucholz's manner changed instantly. He became livid in the face, hislips trembled, and casting a searching look at his companion, hesaid:

"But I did not do this thing that I am accused of. "

Quietly and calmly his companion returned his glance, and then helaughingly said:

"Oh, I know all about that. You can't fool me. "

Bucholz did not reply. In a few moments he turned away and left thecell, and the subject was not mentioned between them for severaldays. 

A short time after this, Sommers complained of the length of hisconfinement, and wished that he might have his bail reduced, in orderto effect his deliverance. He also suggested that if he could onceget out of the jail he could work for his friend--in whose welfare hewas warmly interested--in a manner that would greatly benefit him. 

Bucholz, apparently ignoring this proposition, seemed anxious torevert to their previous conversation, and began by referring to hisfriendly relations with Henry Schulte during his lifetime, andcomplained of the absurdity of placing him in jail upon the charge ofmurdering him. 

"Why, " said he, "he promised to take me with him to Germany and makeme inspector of his estates there, and I should probably have beenheir to many thousands of dollars at his death. Would I not be a foolto kill him?"

Sommers listened patiently to the long recital, which he knew did notcontain a particle of truth, and upon its conclusion he remarked, ina light, careless way:

"Now, William, between you and I, I actually believe that you hadsomething to do with this murder. "

Again that deathly pallor overspread his face; he became confused andscarcely able to speak--but at length, recovering himself with aneffort, he declared his innocence, and said that he could not situpon the bed enjoying health if he had done this deed, or knew theparties who had. 

"Why, " continued he, "I would not have gone to Norwalk that night andreported the murder if I had done it. Ah, my dear Sommers, you willlearn when you go to Norwalk yourself from everybody there that allmy actions have been those of an innocent man. "

Sommers looked doubtfully at his friend, and when he had finishedspeaking, he said:

"Well, Bucholz, it is none of my business. I hate to see you in thisdifficulty, and no matter whether you had anything to do with it ornot, I will do all that I can to get you out of it. I feel almost asbadly about it as you do. "

"Ah, Sommers, I tremble at the thought of a verdict of guilty! Ithink I should die upon the spot if I should hear that word. "

Sommers comforted him as well as he was able to do; promised himwhatever assistance that was in his power to render him, and byrepeated assurances, he succeeded in quieting his fears and restoringhis tranquillity. 

It was finally agreed between them that Sommers should make a decidedeffort to be admitted to bail, and then securing his liberty, heshould devote himself to the interests of his friend Bucholz, butduring all their after conferences he never asserted his innocence toEdward Sommers again. 

The ubiquitous Brown had not been idle; he still watched these menwith ceaseless and jealous vigilance, and whenever they were togetherhe would endeavor to approach them as closely as possible. He sawmany things that excited his curiosity, but their conversations hecould not understand. These two men were the only prisoners who spokeGerman, and on that account they were as secure from interruption asthough no prying eyes were watching them or no suspicions wereentertained in regard to their intimacy. 

One day an incident occurred, however, which threatened to mar theserenity of the intercourse of these two men, who had been sostrangely thrown together, but which eventually resulted in cementingtheir union more closely. 

Sommers had retained Mr. Bollman, the attorney for Bucholz, for thepurpose of having his bail reduced in order to effect his releasefrom imprisonment. This course was deemed necessary for tworeasons--his health had been considerably impaired by his longconfinement, and, besides that, it was decided that he could workmore successfully in the interests of Bucholz, could he be freed fromthe restraint of the prison. 

Mr. Bollman had met Mr. Olmstead upon the train and had broached thematter to him. Mr. Olmstead had demurred to the reduction, forreasons which seemed sufficient for his action, and had informed Mr. Bollman that he would visit the jail, have an interview with Sommers, and ascertain the full particulars of his case. 

In accordance with that suggestion, he had called at the jail, andSommers had been notified of the desire of the State's attorney tosee him. 

He was conversing with Bucholz in their usual friendly manner whenthe notice was conveyed to him, and as Bucholz heard the name of thevisitor and the nature of the communication, he became confused andapparently much frightened. He looked beseechingly at Sommers as heturned to obey the summons, and tears came into his eyes as hisfriend left the cell. 

A hundred thoughts came crowding through his brain as Sommersdeparted. What object could the State's attorney have in sending forhis friend? Could it be that their intimacy had been noticed andreported, and that Mr. Olmstead would attempt to force him to divulgetheir secrets? Would he offer such inducements to Sommers as wouldoutweigh his proffered friendship and induce him to betray theconfidence that had been reposed in him? He could not tell, and withbitter, anxious and doubtful thoughts pressing upon his mind, he lefthis cell and walked in the direction of the little room where he knewthe conference was being held. 

No sound of the conversation reached his ears, and with aching heart, his mind filled with perplexing and agonizing doubts, he returned tohis cell, and throwing himself upon the bed, he gave himself up tothe dreadful thoughts that possessed him. 

At length he heard the opening and closing of the door, and soon thereturning footsteps of Sommers sounded along the passage. 

Bucholz hastened out, and at once communicated his fears to hisfriend--that he had betrayed him. 

Sommers received this outburst with dignified calmness of demeanor, and finally turning upon his companion with a show of anger, he said:

"I did not think that you had such a small opinion of me. I have beena friend to you all along, and it is not probable that I shouldchange my position towards you now, but if you think so, I cannothelp it. "

Saying which, and with an injured air, Sommers left his friend, andgoing at once to his own cell he shut the door forcibly behind him. 

[Illustration: _The quarrel between William Bucholz and EdwardSommers. _]

This was the commencement of an estrangement which lasted severaldays. These two men, formerly so intimate and friendly, avoided eachother so pointedly that it was observed by all the inmates of theprison, and to none did it afford more gratification than to thecurious and suspicious Brown, whose black eyes now glittered with awicked satisfaction as he noticed the coolness that existed betweenthe two men whose previous friendliness had occasioned him so muchconcern. 

He immediately began to make advances toward Bucholz, with, however, but little success. William repelled his attempts at friendliness, and seemed to be sorrowful and despondent. He missed thecompanionship of Sommers. He felt convinced that he had accused himunjustly, and the only man he cared for among the many by whom he wassurrounded held himself aloof from him, and he had no disposition tomake new friends. 

Three days elapsed, during which no communication took place betweenthem, and this continued silence proved too much for William Bucholz. He missed the companionship that had whiled away so many weary hours, and unable to endure any longer the anger of his friend, he sat downand indited a letter to Sommers, apologizing for his actions andproffering a renewal of his friendship. 

This message was duly received by Sommers, who, in addition to theirestrangement, appeared to be distressed about his own affairs, butwho, nevertheless, welcomed the repentant Bucholz with all thecordiality of his disposition, and the coldness of the past few dayswas forgotten in this renewal of their friendship. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

_The Reconciliation. _--_Bucholz makes an Important Revelation. _--_Sommersobtains His Liberty and leaves the Jail. _

It is a truism almost as old as Time itself, that true love is neverfully known until after the lovers have once quarreled and made theirpeace. The kiss of reconciliation after a temporary estrangement isfrequently more potent than the first declaration of affection. 

Nor was the rule disproved in the present case, and as the two menclasped hands upon the renewal of their seeming friendship, thecrisis of their intercourse was reached. The separation of the pastfew days had shown Bucholz the necessity of a friendly voice and afriendly hand. The guilty secret which he had been keeping so long inhis heart must find utterance--it had become heavy to bear. From thisday forth all the concealment which he had practiced upon Sommerswere to be swept away before the tide of this reconciling influence. Hereafter they were to stand face to face, acknowledged criminals, whose joint interest was to secure their liberty; whose only objectwas to effect their escape from the meshes of the law they hadoutraged, and which now seemed to envelop them so completely. 

No protestations of innocence or acknowledgments of guilt werenecessary--the bedrock of an implicit and instinctive understandinghad been reached, and each looked upon the other as fellow prisonerswho were to suffer for their misdeeds, unless some potent agencyintervened for their preservation. 

From the nature of their intercourse preceding this event, Sommersdid not entertain a single doubt of the guilt of William Bucholz. Hisavoidance of the matter while in conversation; the confusion whichmarked his demeanor as Sommers conveyed to him indirectly orotherwise his belief that he knew more of the murder than he had asyet admitted, and his weak denials--all went very far to confirm himin the belief that William Bucholz, and him alone, was connectedintimately and actively with the tragedy. 

At the interview which followed their reconciliation, Sommersappeared to be very much depressed, and gave his companion tounderstand that all his hopes of being admitted to bail had beendisappointed on account of the failure of his attorney--who was alsoacting for Bucholz--to have the amount reduced, and of the inabilityof the friends upon whom he relied to furnish the large sum required. 

He also complained that the jailer had opened one of his letters andhad discovered the fact that his relations were respectable people, who moved in good society, and who were as yet ignorant of hisperilous and degrading situation. He was fearful that they wouldlearn of his true condition unless he was enabled soon to effect hisrelease. He regretted this fact particularly, because it preventedhim from assisting his friend, who needed so much the services ofsome one to act in his behalf, which service, despite the previousdoubts that had been entertained of him, he was still willing butunable to render. 

The disappointment of Bucholz was no less acute than that of hiscompanion. He had counted so securely upon the release of Sommers, inorder to enlist his services for his own safety, that the effect ofthis unpleasant information was painful to witness. 

At length, unable further to control himself, he threw his armsaround Sommers, crying out:

"Oh, I wish I could only get out one night, one single night, then Icould give you five hundred dollars, and all would be right!"

"That is easily said, " replied Sommers, despondingly, "but if you didget out, where could you get the money?"

"I am speaking the truth, " said Bucholz. "If you wanted fivethousand, I could give it to you, if I was only out one night. Icould tell you a secret that would open your eyes, but as long as youare here I can do you no good, and you cannot help me. "

Sommers, who was reclining upon the bed, raised himself upon hishand, and looking Bucholz in the face with a knowing smile, said:

"I suppose you would lift old Schulte's treasure!"

Bucholz started slightly, but he had gone too far to retreat, and headmitted at once that if he could get out, he knew where the money ofthe murdered man was hid, and that no one beside himself possessedthe knowledge. 

There was an instantaneous gleam of satisfaction in the eyes ofSommers as this information was conveyed to him, and he determined tosecure his release at all hazards. New life seemed to be infused intohim, and there was a glow of excitement in his ordinarily pallid facethat told of the agitation of his mind. 

He jumped from the bed, and facing his companion, said:

"I will get out of this if it is in the power of human effort toaccomplish it. I will write to my friend at once, and no time shallbe lost in the attempt. "

This change in his manner soon communicated itself to Bucholz, and ina short time, under the influence of this new-born hope, theirconversation assumed a more cheerful strain, and bright pictures ofthe future were indulged in. 

Active measures were at once begun, the friends of Sommers werewritten to; another interview was had with the State's attorney, andsufficient reasons were offered for a reduction in the amount of thebail under which he was held. 

Mr. Olmstead, after listening to the statements made to him, agreedto the reduction asked for, and in a few days the necessary formswere gone through with. The requisite amount of money was depositedwith the Court, and everything was in readiness for the release ofEdward Sommers from his place of confinement. 

The information was conveyed to Bucholz and Sommers, while they werewalking up and down the corridor during the hours in which they werereleased from their cells, and the effect was observable upon thefaces of both. Bucholz, while rejoicing in the accomplishment of aresult that would prove of incalculable benefit to himself, was nonethe less reluctant as the time approached, to part with the friendwho had brightened many gloomy hours, and whose intercourse hadproduced such a beneficial change upon his spirits and disposition. 

He seemed loth, now that they were about to be separated, to utterthe parting word, but as he thought of the advantage which thisrelease would be to him, he assumed a cheerful demeanor, and appearedrejoiced at his speedy deliverance. 

Their leave-taking was of the most friendly character, and afterbestowing upon Bucholz the various articles which his cell contained, and many delicacies which had been received during his imprisonment, Sommers prepared to leave the prison. 

Clasping the hand of Bucholz, he whispered:

"Courage, William. I will see you often, and between us we willsucceed in our undertaking yet. "

Saying which, and after a cordial parting salutation from the genialand pleasant jailer, Mr. Wells, the doors of the prison wereunlocked, and Edward Sommers walked out into the bright sunshine andinhaled the sweet fragrance of a beautiful spring morning--a freeman. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

_Sommers returns to Bridgeport. _--_An Interview with Mr. Bollman. _--_Sommers allays the Suspicions of Bucholz's Attorney, andengages him as his own Counsel. _

The cold, bleak winds of March had yielded to the warm andinvigorating showers of April, and these had brought forth the brightflowers and fragrant grasses that grew and blossomed on thisbeautiful May morning, when Edward Sommers left the confining wallsof the prison at Bridgeport. More than two months had elapsed sincehe entered its frowning portals to commence the isolated life of aprisoner, and a sigh of grateful relief escaped him as he gazedaround upon the brightness and beauty of the scene that was spreadbefore him. 

There was but little time given him for indulgence in these soothingand agreeable reveries. There was work for him to do, and he mustsummon up all his energies for the task before him. His release hadbeen accomplished, and the promised revelation of Bucholz would bemade to him in a few days, but he must visit those who had aninterest in his welfare, and to whom he was responsible for hisactions. He would also be enabled during the few days of rest tostrengthen his shattered nerves and prepare himself for the importantduties which would soon devolve upon him. He therefore took the trainfor New York and arrived there in due time. 

To William Bucholz the absence of his friend and confidant was asevere blow, but as he realized the service he promised to performfor him, and the prospect of safety that was opening before hisdespairing mind, he became reconciled to his lonely fate, and waitedpatiently for the return of the man who was expected to devotehimself to his interests. 

The suspicious actions of Brown, the prisoner who had watched theirmovements so zealously, had not escaped the notice of both Sommersand Bucholz, and, on leaving, the former had cautioned his companionparticularly and repeatedly against saying anything to him or to anyone else about matters connected with his case. 

At the end of three days Edward Sommers returned to Bridgeport, and, selecting a private boarding-house, he took up his abode there andprepared to carry out the plans that were to be arranged betweenhimself and William Bucholz. 

He considered it of paramount importance at the outset to disabusethe minds of the attorneys for Bucholz of any suspicion in regard tothe relations existing between them, and with that end in view hepaid a visit to the city of New Haven, and finding Mr. Bollman, thecounsel who had acted for both of them, at his office, he engaged himfor the conduct of his own case when it should come to trial. 

In the course of the conversation which ensued, Mr. Bollman turnedsuddenly to Sommers, and said:

"Do you know, Mr. Sommers, that I have earnestly and repeatedlywarned my client against you? I had reason to believe that theprosecuting attorney had placed some one in the jail to cultivate thefriendship of William Bucholz, in the attempt to obtain a confessionfrom him, and I thought you were the man. William would not listen tothis, however, and I myself believe now that such is not the case asregards yourself, but I told him that he must not trust any one withwhom he was associated, nor make a confidant of any one in theprison. A man in his position, you know cannot be too careful. "

Sommers listened attentively and good-humoredly to these remarks, andfinally informed Mr. Bollman that he knew Bucholz had been warnedagainst him, for he had told him so. 

"But, Mr. Bollman, " continued he, "you need not be afraid of me, forI have given him the same advice myself. "

"Do you know of any suspicious persons in the jail?" asked Mr. Bollman. 

"I cannot tell with any certainty, " replied the other; "but I do notlike the looks of one of the hall men, nor of that treacherous-lookingBrown, who is always spying upon the actions of the inmates of theprison. I have warned Bucholz against these men myself, and I do notthink he has given them any information whatever. "

After a protracted conversation, during which Sommers laboreddiligently and successfully to erase any latent suspicions from themind of the attorney, Mr. Bollman at length said:

"Well, Mr. Sommers, to be candid with you, my suspicions were themost decidedly aroused when I had my interview with Mr. Olmstead, theState's attorney, about your bail. He evinced an unwillingness toreduce the amount, and expressed a belief that you had known Bucholzbefore you came to the jail. His manner of speaking led me to thinkthat he knew more about you than was good for my client, and I feltsure that he had been the means of placing you in the jail to watchhim. "

"I quite agree with you, Mr. Bollman; it did look suspicious, " saidSommers; "but Mr. Olmstead asked me the same questions when I spoketo him. I suppose he thought from our intimacy that I must have beenacquainted with him before he was arrested. "

With this explanation, and the ingenuous manner in which it wasgiven, the mind of Mr. Bollman seemed to be at rest upon thissubject, and their further conversation related to the case in whichSommers himself would appear as defendant, and in which Mr. Bollmanwas to act as his counsel. 

Sommers informed him that he had seen the gentleman whose name hadbeen forged, and that, in consideration of the family connections ofthe accused, he had agreed not to appear against him, and that therewould be very little danger of his conviction of the crime of whichhe was charged. 

This appeared to be very gratifying information for Mr. Bollman, whotherefore anticipated very little trouble in clearing his client andearning his fee. 

It was further arranged between them that a letter should be sent tothe relations of Bucholz in Germany, who had not as yet displayed anysympathy for the unfortunate man or made any offer of assistance tohim, during the hour of his trial. 

One noticeable feature of their conversation was the evidentavoidance by both of them of a discussion of the probable guilt orinnocence of the accused man, nor did either declare his belief inhis innocence. 

Mr. Bollman expressed himself very carefully: "I have followed up thetheory of his guilt, and it does not agree with his own statements orthose of other people. Then, again, I have taken up the theory of hisinnocence, and this does not agree with his story either. It is amost extraordinary case, and sometimes it seems to me that it cannotbe otherwise but that William Bucholz is the guilty party; and then, again, there are some of his actions that tend positively to showthat he did not do it. I am at a loss what to say about it myself. "

Sommers gave Mr. Bollman to understand that he believed in the guiltof the accused man, but that, in despite of that fact, he was willingto help him to the extent of his power. 

And so they parted, and Edward Sommers returned to Bridgeport to benear his fellow-prisoner, and to carry out the plan which was to beentrusted to him. 

As he stepped from the train upon the platform, he was surprised tosee the figure of Thomas Brown standing in the doorway of thestation, evidently waiting for the train to bear him away for thetime. Upon making inquiries he ascertained that he had been releasedon bail, and that he had found friends to assist him. He never sawhim again. Whether this individual was an embryo detective, who wasdesirous of discovering the mystery of the Schulte murder, or whetherhe was simply a victim of intense curiosity, was never learned. 

He disappeared, and, so far as his relation to this narrative isconcerned, was never heard of again. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

_Sommers' Visit to South Norwalk. _--_He makes the Acquaintance ofSadie Waring. _--_A Successful Ruse. _--_Bucholz Confides to His Friendthe Hiding Place of the Murdered Man's Money. _

Upon the return of Edward Sommers to the jail at Bridgeport he waswarmly welcomed by his friend, to whom the intervening days hadpassed slowly and wearily. 

His greeting was cordial and friendly, and as Sommers related hisexperiences during his absence, the eyes of William would light upwith pleasure. No one to have looked at him now would have imaginedfor a moment that the face now wreathed with smiles had once beendistorted by a murderous passion, or grown ashen pale with the fearof the consequences of his action. 

Their conversation was long and seemingly interesting, and as Sommersunfolded his plans for the relief of the imprisoned man, all doubt oftheir success was dissipated from his mind, and visions ofprospective safety came thick and fast. He still appeared doubtful ofcommunicating the promised secret of the hiding-place of the oldman's money to his companion. He avoided the subject by eagerquestions upon other topics, and when the time arrived for thedeparture of Sommers, the confidence was still withheld, and theposition of the stolen money was known only to the man who had placedit there. 

Sommers had informed him of his visit to Mr. Bollman and of theconversation which had taken place between them relating to thesuspicions entertained by him of Sommers, to all of which Bucholzlistened with wrapt attention, and when he was again solemnlycautioned about informing his counsel of the relations existingbetween them, or of their possession of any of the wealth of themurdered man, with a peculiar twinkle in his eye he promised a strictobedience. 

Finding it impossible to extract anything from him upon this visit, Sommers took his leave, promising to return upon the next day thatvisitors were admitted, and also agreeing to furnish him with somedelicacies for which he had expressed a desire. 

Sommers began to grow impatient under this continued procrastinationand evasion, and he resolved to take such measures as wouldaccomplish the object desired. He had found, during his connectionwith Bucholz, that he had not the slightest regard for the truth. Hewould make the most astounding assertions, unblushingly insistingupon their truthfulness, and even when brought face to face withfacts which contradicted his statements, he would stubbornly declineto be convinced or to admit his error or falsehood. All through theirintercourse he had evinced this tendency to exaggeration anduntruthfulness, and Sommers had grown to be very skeptical withregard to any statement which he would make. 

He had promised William to visit the farmhouse where Henry Schultehad resided, and to call upon the family of the Warings, who stillcontinued to reside there, and to carry a message to Sadie. Accordingly, one morning he started for South Norwalk, and, arrivingthere in safety, he walked up the main road, and, entering throughthe gate in front of the house, he knocked at the door. 

The family were all absent except Sadie, who greeted the new-comer ina friendly manner. He announced himself as a friend of William's, andconveyed to her the affectionate messages which he had been entrustedwith. Sadie appeared to be rejoiced at the information which hebrought, and soon became quite communicative to the young man. Sherelated to him the incidents of the murder, and expressed her beliefin the innocence of Bucholz, and her hopes of his acquittal. 

Sommers, by the exercise of a little good nature and that tact whichis generally acquired by a man of the world, succeeded iningratiating himself into the favor of the young lady, and when, after spending some time in her company, he arose to take his leave, she volunteered to accompany him a short distance upon his journey, and to point out to him the spot where the murder had taken place. 

Her offer was cheerfully accepted by Sommers, and they were soonchatting pleasantly on their way through the fields. Arriving at thestrip of woods, they walked along the narrow path and Sadiedesignated to him the place where the body had been found. 

Very different now was the scene presented. The trees, whose brancheswere then bare, were now covered with their bright and heavy verdure;the ground, that then was hard and frozen, was now carpeted with theluxurious grass; the birds sang merrily overhead, and the warmsunshine lighted up the wood with a beauty far different than wasapparent upon that bleak winter night when Henry Schulte met hisdeath upon the spot where they now were standing. 

They then walked together up the railroad, and meeting the mother andsister returning home, Sommers bade them a pleasant good-bye andpromised to pay them another visit as soon as practicable. 

He determined to make this visit the groundwork of a definite attackupon the reticence of William Bucholz. The next morning, upon goingto the jail, he informed William of his visit to South Norwalk, andof his meeting with Sadie Waring. After relating the variousincidents that had occurred during his visit, and which were listenedto with lively interest, he turned suddenly to Bucholz, and lightlysaid:

"By the way, Bucholz, the Warings are going to move. "

Bucholz started suddenly, as though the information conveyed anunpleasant surprise. 

"You must not let them move, Sommers, " he exclaimed quickly, and withan evidence of fear in his voice. "That will never do. "

"I can not prevent their moving, " replied Sommers. "They will do asthey please about that, I guess. Besides, what has their moving gotto do with us?"

"Oh, everything, everything, " exclaimed Bucholz. 

"Well, they are going at all events. "

"Then the money must be got. Oh, Sommers, do not betray me, but oneof the pocket-books is in the barn. "

"Whereabouts in the barn?" inquired Sommers, almost unable to concealhis satisfaction at the success of his ruse. 

"I will show you how to get it. I will draw a sketch of the barn, andshow you just where it is to be found, " exclaimed William, hurriedly. "Oh, my dear Sommers, you do not know how worried I have been. Ifirst threw the money under the straw in the barn, and on the Sundaymorning after old Schulte was killed I went out in the barn to getit, and put it in a safe place, when I found that the straw had beentaken away. I stood there as if I was petrified, but I lookedfurther, and there, under the loose straw upon the ground, I saw thepocket-book lying all safe. The man who had taken the straw away hadnot been smart enough to see it. I felt as though a bright gleam ofsunshine had come over me, and I picked it up and hid it away in asafe place. My God! My God! What a fool I was. "

"I should think so, " replied Sommers. 

Bucholz then drew a sketch of the barn, and designated thehiding-place of the money as being under the flooring of the firststall that you met on entering. 

It was with great difficulty that Summers retained his composure ashe received this information, but he succeeded in controlling hisemotions, and took the paper from the hands of his companion with acalmness which displayed the wonderful control which he exercisedover himself. 

"There are some marks upon these bills, " said Bucholz with a laugh, "and if Mr. Olmstead was to see them he would know what they mean. "

"Ah, yes, " replied Sommers. "They are the numbers which Mr. Schulteput upon them, but, " he added, confidently, "I will soon fix that, alittle acid will take that all out and nobody will know anythingabout it. "

The prisoner laughed, gleefully, and slapping his companion upon theback, exclaimed:

"Ah, Sommers, you are a devil of a fellow! and I can trust your skillin anything. "

He then informed Sommers that he did not know how much money was inthe pocketbook; that he had taken some fifty and one-hundred-dollarbills out of it, but that fearing to have so much money about him hehad replaced a large portion of what he had previously taken. 

The time was now approaching for visitors to leave the prison, andSommers arose to go. Bucholz arose also, as if some new idea hadoccurred to him, or he had formed some new resolve; he said:

"While you are there you may as well get--" then he stopped abruptly, and changing his mind, he added: "But never mind, that is too--highup. "

Sommers felt confident that his companion was withholding somethingfrom him, and he was resolved that before he had finished, he wouldarrive at the whole of the mystery, but he had gained enough for oneday and he was compelled to be satisfied. 

Before leaving Bucholz for that day he informed him that he wouldtake the money to New York and endeavor to get the marks out of thebills; that he would then throw the empty pocket-book in some place, where it would be found, and that would be a good thing for him uponthe trial. 

Bucholz caught greedily at this suggestion, and laughed loudly at theprospect of blinding the eyes of justice by the operation of thisclever trick. 

Leaving him in this excellent good humor, Sommers took his departurefrom the jail, and, in a jubilant frame of mind, returned to thetown. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

_Edward Sommers as the Detective. _--_A Visit to the Barn, and Part ofthe Money Discovered. _--_The Detective makes Advances to the Counselof the Prisoner. _--_A Further Confidence of an Important Nature. _

The reader is no doubt by this time fully aware of the character ofEdward Sommers. He was a detective, and in my employ. Day by day, ashis intimacy with William Bucholz had increased, I had been dulyinformed of the fact. Step by step, as he had neared the pointdesired, I had received the information and advised the course ofaction. 

Every night before retiring the detective would furnish me with adetailed statement of the proceedings of the day which had passed, and I was perfectly cognizant of the progress he made, and was fullycompetent, by reason of that knowledge, to advise and direct hisfuture movements. 

The manner of his arrest had been planned by me, and successfullycarried out; the money package had been made up in my office, and theforged order was the handiwork of one of my clerks, and the ingeniousmanner of carrying out this matter had completely deluded hisaccusers, by whom the charge was made in perfect good faith. 

During his occupancy of the prison he had so thoroughly won theconfidence of William Bucholz that he had become almost a necessityto him. This guilty man, hugging to himself the knowledge of hiscrime and his ill-gotten gains, had found the burden too heavy tobear. Many times during their intercourse had he been tempted to pourinto the ears of his suddenly-discovered friend the history of hislife, and only the stern and frequently-repeated commands of hiswatchful counsel had prevented the revelation. But the time had comewhen, either through the fear of losing what he had risked so much togain, or from the impelling force of that unseen agency which seeks acompanion or a confidant, he had confided to his fellow-prisoner thehiding-place of the old man's wealth--the money stained with thelife-blood of his master. 

How much he may have been guided to this course by the question ofself-interest is a matter of speculation. He had been cruel enough tostrike this old man down and to rob him of his money. He had beenwary enough to wound himself, and to have feigned a terror which haddeluded many into a belief in his innocence. He had been sufficientlysagacious to keep from his attorneys all knowledge of this money, andhe had repeatedly denied to Sommers, and to every one else, anyparticipation in the dark deed of that winter's night. 

When, however, it appeared to be possible that his fellow-prisonermight be of assistance to him in his approaching trial, and that thisassistance could only be rendered by the release of Sommers fromjail, he had caught at the suggestion and the result had followed. 

I became convinced as matters progressed that whatever knowledgeBucholz had of the crime would never be communicated while Sommersremained a prisoner, and hence, after he had been confined longenough to accomplish the preliminary object in view, I arranged thathis bail should be reduced and that he should be released. 

It is not necessary to relate in detail the daily intercourse ofthese two men during their days of joint imprisonment. How Sommers, by dexterous questioning, had fathomed the mind of the suspectedmurderer, and become so closely identified with his interests, thathe was regarded as the only man upon whom he could rely forassistance. 

The detective had played his part admirably. Although the constantobject of suspicion, he had succeeded in overcoming all doubts thatwere entertained of his true position; and, although Bucholz had beenrepeatedly warned by his counsel against this man in particular, hehad successfully outwitted them, and knew more of their client thanthey had been able to learn. 

After obtaining the information as to the place where William hadsecreted the money which had been taken from the murdered man, Sommers at once telegraphed, in cipher, the fact to my New Yorkagency and requested instructions how to proceed. A trusted operativewas at once sent to act with him, and to accompany him upon his visitto the barn in search of the treasure, and operative John Curtin wasthe man selected for that duty. 

He left New York on the following morning, and, arriving atBridgeport, had an interview with Edward Sommers, and together theydevised the plan by which they were to get possession of the deadman's money. 

They accordingly boarded the train for South Norwalk, and upon theirarrival they separated and proceeded up the railroad track until theywere out of sight of any curious eyes about the depot, when theyrejoined each other and continued on their way. 

The barn where the money was alleged to be hidden stood between thehouse and the strip of woods through which they had come, and thelarge double doors were upon the side facing them. It was necessarythat every precaution should be taken against being observed, andconsequently it was decided that Sommers should enter the barn, whileCurtin, reclining under one of the trees, would be enabled to keepwatch and to warn his companion, should any one approach the barn andthreaten detection. 

This plan being arranged, Somers walked directly towards the barn, the doors of which were closed and fastened upon the inside by aswinging bar. Inserting his hand through an opening in the wood-work, he pushed the bar from its place, and the doors flew open. 

Hastily entering the building, he found the interior to correspondexactly with the description given him by Bucholz, and a hurriedglance showed him at once the place where the pocket-book was allegedto have been hidden. 

He soon reached the designated spot, and, reaching under the looseflooring near the head of the stairs, his eyes lighted up withsatisfaction as his hand came in contact with the leather book whichhe had half hoped and half doubted to find there. Quickly removing itfrom its place of concealment, he deposited it in the inner pocket ofhis coat and ran from the barn in the direction of the spot where hiscompanion was lying. 

John Curtin was provided with a stout adhesive envelope, andproducing this, the earth-stained wallet was at once enclosed withinit, and in the presence of the other the packet was sealed upsecurely. The two men then walked to the next station, and taking thetrain for New York, came directly to the agency. 

The German Consul was notified, and in a short time he made hisappearance, when the package was placed in his hands, and he wasrequested to open it. 

He did so, and the contents of the book were counted in his presenceand in that of Mr. Bangs and my son Robert. It was found to containthe sum of four thousand seven hundred and thirty-seven dollars, inUnited States money, each note bearing the numbers which had beenplaced upon them by Henry Schulte and which had also been discoveredupon the money which Bucholz had been so lavish in expending afterthe murder and prior to his arrest. 

The gratification of all at the success thus far achieved wasapparent upon their faces. Whatever belief had existed in their mindsprior to this of the innocence of the man accused was swept awaybefore this substantial and convincing proof of his guilt. All feltthat we were upon the right track, and that the course pursued hadbeen the only practical one under the circumstances. 

The money, after being carefully counted, was enclosed in a wrapperof heavy brown paper, to which the German Consul affixed his seal, and the package was placed in the fire-proof at the agency for safekeeping, until a final disposition should be made of it. 

It was evident that the money thus discovered was but a small portionof that which had been taken from the person of Henry Schulte, andEdward Sommers was directed to return to Bridgeport and continue hisvisits to Bucholz and his attempts to obtain further informationregarding the balance. 

Bucholz had previously suggested to Sommers that someone should besent to Germany to endeavor to procure some of the money which he hadinherited from his uncle, in order to enable him to bear the expensesof his trial, and he had requested the detective to undertake thevoyage. Sommers had demurred to this, and had recommended to hiscompanion that Mr. Bollman, who was also a German, be commissionedfor that purpose. This would induce the absence of the attorney andhis cautions, and enable him to work with more freedom upon theprisoner. He therefore had offered to loan to Bucholz the amount ofmoney that would be required to defray the expenses of such visit, and to take the note of his friend for the amount. 

Mr. Bollman cheerfully assented to this proposition, and only awaitedthe furnishing of the loan by Sommers to embark upon his journey tothe home of Bucholz, and to attempt the collection of the money whichhe had inherited. 

Sommers was therefore provided with the sum of three hundred andfifty dollars in money which did not bear any of the marks that hadbeen placed upon the notes belonging to Henry Schulte, and thatevening he returned to Bridgeport. 

He visited William the next day and informed him of the success ofhis visit and of the finding of the money. He also told him that hehad placed the package in a safe place, but that he had not yet beensuccessful in removing the marks, owing to the peculiar nature of theink with which the numbers had been made. 

Bucholz seemed to be both pleased and relieved with the resultsobtained, but seemed anxious that the money should be furnished forMr. Bollman's departure as early as possible. 

Sommers then told him that he had succeeded in borrowing some moneyfrom a friend of his, which he would advance for that purpose, butthat, in order to fully deceive Mr. Bollman, William should give himhis note, in the presence of the attorney, for the amount. Upon thisbeing done, the money would be forthcoming, and Mr. Bollman coulddepart at once. 

The next day Mr. Bollman visited the accused man by appointment, andthe matter was explained to him by Sommers and Bucholz. He announcedhis approval of the loan about to be made. The note was duly drawn, the money counted out, and Bucholz handed the amount to his counsel. 

As Mr. Bollman received the money, he looked up quickly and inquired, in a quiet manner:

"This money is not on the list, is it?"

[Illustration: "_This money is not upon the list, is it?_"]

It was a very adroit question, had the detective not been upon hisguard, but without flinching, he looked doubtfully but steadily intohis face, as he inquired:

"What list? I don't know what you mean. "

"Oh!" replied Mr. Bollman, with a light laugh, "I thought this mightpossibly be some of Schulte's money. "

At this they all laughed, and the mind of the attorney seemed to beset at rest upon the point of Sommers' knowledge of anything inconnection with the wealth of Henry Schulte. 

After Mr. Bollman's departure from the jail, Sommers, turning toBucholz, said, in a quiet, unconcerned manner:

"I heard that the Schulte estate has been sold, and that thenew-comer intends to tear down the buildings at once. He bought it onspeculation, and expects to find Schulte's money. "

Bucholz was visibly affected by this information. His face becamepale, and his lips trembled as with suppressed emotion. 

"They won't find anything there, though, " laughingly continuedSommers, apparently ignoring the excitement of his companion. "Wehave got ahead of them. "

"My God!" exclaimed Bucholz, not heeding the last remark. "This mustnot be done. I will trust you, Sommers, and we must get the _otherpocket-book_. You must go there and get it. "

The excitement and distress of the young man were unmistakable, as heproceeded slowly and tremblingly to inform Sommers where the otherbook was to be found. 

"My dear Sommers, you must get this other money--it is in the barnalso. In one corner there is a bench, and under this bench there is alarge stone--you must dig under this stone and there you will findit. "

Sommers listened intently to the directions given, and promised toperform the duty that was imposed upon him, and, hiding thesatisfaction that he felt, he soon after took his leave from hiscompanion, who now seemed greatly relieved at the prospect of savingthis treasure for which he had sacrificed so much, and which nowseemed in such imminent danger. 

With mingled emotions of pride and satisfaction, Sommers left thejail and proceeded on his way to his lodgings. 

After a long struggle he had been successful. "The falcon, after manyairy circlings, had made its swoop at last, " and its polished talonshad done their work not unsuccessfully. The stricken quarry mightflutter for a while, but the end would be soon and sure. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

_A Midnight Visit to the Barn. _--_The Detective wields a Shovel tosome Advantage. _--_Fifty Thousand Dollars found in the Earth. _--_Agood Night's Work. _

The day following the revelations made in the preceding chapter, Edward Sommers returned to the agency and communicated theinformation which he had received the day before, and awaitedinstructions before proceeding further in the matter. 

My son Robert A. Pinkerton determined to accompany him upon thisvisit to the barn, and he also requested the German Consul todelegate some one from his office to be one of the party. To thisproposition the German Consul at once assented, and Paul Schmoeck, anattache of the Consulate, was selected to accompany them upon theirvisit to the Schulte estate. 

Procuring a dark lantern and a garden spade, the party left New Yorkabout nine o'clock in the evening, and, without accident or delay, arrived at South Norwalk. On leaving the train, they separated, andSommers, being acquainted with the road, walked on in advance. Inorder to avoid attracting attention, they walked up the main streetof the town a short distance, and then, changing their course, theyreached the railroad, along which they traveled until they arrived atthe strip of woods in which Henry Schulte had met his death. Theytraveled along the narrow pathway and reached the stone wall, fromwhich the house and barn stood in full view. 

The evening was beautiful indeed--a bright moon illuminated thelandscape almost with the luminous light of day. The air was still, and not a breath rustled among the leaves of the trees overhead. Asilence profound and impressive reigned over all. From afar therumbling of the train which they had left was borne upon the air. Involuntarily the three men who had come to this place upon a fardifferent errand stood in silent admiration of the natural beautythat was spread before them. 

Fearing that Henry Waring might have remained away from home laterthan was his wont, they waited until they felt reasonably sure of afreedom from interruption in their labor, and then, having finallyconcluded that all was safe, they proceeded quietly to the barn, whose doors were wide open, and offered no bar to their entrance. 

Lighting their lantern, they thoroughly searched the interior, inorder to discover if any tramps had taken refuge under its roof. Allwas quiet as the grave. The moonbeams shone through the open door, lighting up the barn with its rays, and almost revealing the figuresof the men who were within. They were afraid to close the doors, which they had found open, lest some one looking from the windows ofthe farm-house should suspect its being occupied and be tempted tomake an examination. 

The spot designated by Bucholz was easily discovered, but, to thedismay of the visitors, they found that a large quantity of bark hadbeen piled upon that particular corner of the barn, and that upon thetop of this were thrown several sheets of tin, which had evidentlybeen taken from the roof of some building. 

There was no help for it, however; the bark and tin must be removed, and Edward Sommers, throwing off his coat and vest, went to work witha will. Robert held the lantern, while Paul Schmoeck stood by, withhis hands in his pockets, eagerly awaiting developments. 

The rattling of the tin, as it was being removed, was so loud that itwas feared the sleepers in the farm-house would be awakened by thenoise. They stopped and listened. Evidently their slumbers wereprofound, for not a sound came from its enclosing walls. 

The bark was soon disposed of, and then Edward Sommers grasped thespade and struck it into the ground. The clock in the distant townstruck midnight as he commenced the task. Eagerly he worked andeagerly watched the two men beside him. Their eyes seemed to piercethrough the damp mold, and every spadeful of dirt, as it was thrownup, seemed to increase their anxiety. Steadily worked the detective, and the new earth lay piled around him, but as yet no indication ofthe treasure they sought. The perspiration rolled from the face ofthe anxious Sommers, and a doubt began to creep slowly into his mind. Robert, too, partook of the anxiety of his companion, while PaulSchmoeck, who scarcely understood the object of their visit, lookeddoubtfully upon the proceedings and indulged in frequent mutteringsof disappointment. 

Could it be possible that they had been deceived--that they wereseeking for something which had no existence? Could Bucholz haveimposed upon the credulity of Sommers and sent him upon this fool'serrand? Or could the detective have made a mistake in the locationdesignated? One or the other seemed to be the case. But hark! thespade strikes a hard substance; it must be the stone mentioned byBucholz. With redoubled energy the detective wields his implement, and, at last, as he withdraws it from the ground, something glittersin the ray of the lantern. A closer examination disclosed severalbright gold pieces, mingled with the dark lumps of dirt which hadbeen lifted by the spade. 

[Illustration: "_With a joyful cry he exultingly held up a largewallet before his excited companions. _"]

An audible sigh of relief escaped them all as they looked. Roberttook out his pocket-handkerchief, and the coins, dirt and all, weredeposited within it. Surely success was certain now--and soon, bycarefully digging away the surrounding earth, the detective wasenabled to place his hands beneath the stone. Then, with a joyfulcry, he withdrew a large wallet, and held it up exultingly before hisexcited companions. 

Ah, yes, victory was assured now, and, after carefully searchingaround the stone to discover if anything else had been hidden there, the wallet was placed in the handkerchief along with the coins, andthey prepared to leave the place. 

The earth was replaced, the bark and tin were piled upon the top ofit, and after they had finished, nothing in the appearance of thingswould indicate that midnight workers had been there, or that themurdered man's treasure had been discovered and removed. 

The overwrought nerves of the worker and watchers were strengthenedby a long draught of prime "Eau de vie, " which had been brought alongby the considerate Paul, and after making sure that everything was asthey had found it, they left the barn and proceeded toward therailroad. 

It was necessary now to get rid of the lantern and the spade. Toretain them would be hazardous--they might be stopped upon the road, and the possession of a dark lantern and a wallet of money would bestrong evidences of something else than a detective operation, andbesides this, secrecy was all-important at the present time. 

Passing a ravine some distance from the scene of their operations, Robert threw the lantern away, and it dropped to the bottom with anoise that was echoed upon the quiet air; further on, the spade wasdisposed of, and then, disencumbered, the trio walked to Stamford, about eight miles distant, where they boarded a train and returned toNew York, well pleased with the result of their night's work. 

It was six o'clock when they arrived. They proceeded at once to theWindsor Hotel, where the German Consul resided, and, awakening thatgentleman, Robert sent up his card, when they were admitted to hisparlor and the package was exhibited to his astonished gaze. 

To count the contents of this enclosure was now the next duty to beperformed, and in the presence of all the parties the labor was atonce commenced. The gold pieces were found to amount to one hundredmarks--consisting of three twenty-mark and four ten-mark pieces--andit was noticed that one of them had a hole drilled through it. Thewallet next received attention. It was discovered to be a pocket-bookenclosed in a canvas wrapper, securely sewed together and fastenedwith sealing-wax. 

The German Consul removed this outer covering and the black leatherbook was disclosed to view, which gave evidence of containing nosmall amount of money. 

The contents were removed, and upon counting it, were found to amountto two hundred and four thousand marks, in one-thousand-markbills--or nearly fifty thousand dollars. Verily a good night's work, and one to be proud of. 

The murdered man's money had been found, and the man who had stainedhis hands with blood would never reap the benefit of his crime. 

The notes, from their long continuance in the damp ground, were quitemoist and adhered closely together, and the German Consul wastherefore required to lift them carefully with his knife, and greatcare was necessary in handling them. Each of these notes was found tobe numbered in the same manner as those recovered upon the firstvisit, and a complete list was made by which they could afterwards beidentified. 

Besides the money, the package contained some cards, and a foreignpassport in the name of John Henry Schulte, dated in April, 1878. 

After counting the money, it was, together with the articles found, wrapped in stout brown paper and duly labeled. All present thenaffixed their signatures to the wrapper, after which the GermanConsul wrote out a receipt for them, which was taken charge of byRobert. 

They then partook of some refreshments, after which they departed, and feeling completely exhausted after their laborious experience ofthe night before, Robert and Edward Sommers sought their couches, andwere soon wrapt in slumber. 

The German Consul was elated at the success which had crowned ourefforts, and he no longer entertained a single doubt of the guilt ofthe miserable man, in whose behalf he had originally interestedhimself. 

The information of our success was conveyed to Mr. Olmstead, theState's attorney, who received it with evident surprise andsatisfaction. We had succeeded beyond his expectations, and thecorrectness of his original theory had been fully demonstrated. 

He experienced the proud consciousness of being able to successfullyprosecute a criminal who had violated the law, and to convict awretch who had taken a human life in order to possess himself of theblood-stained fruits of his crime. 

While all this was transpiring the guilty man passing the weary hoursindulging in alternate hopes of escape, and oppressed with harrowingfears of punishment. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

_The Detective manufactures Evidence for the Defense. _--_An AnonymousLetter. _--_An important Interview. _--_The Detective triumphs over theAttorney. _

These events occurred during the latter part of May, and the trialwould not take place until early in September. It was necessarytherefore that the utmost secrecy should be observed in reference towhat had transpired, and especially so far as William Bucholz wasconcerned. 

The visits of Edward Sommers to the jail must be continued, and everyeffort must be made to pierce through the dead wall of Bucholz'ssilence and reserve in relation to the murder. 

Hitherto when in their conversations the subject of the murder hadbeen mentioned, and Sommers would quietly hint at his complicity, theother, with a shrug of his shoulders and a peculiar smile, wouldabruptly change the conversation. His strong will and the constantadmonitions of his counsel had prevented him from revealing in anymanner the secret of his crime, and except for certain actions, smallin themselves, but speaking a "confirmation strong as holy writ, " hehad given no sign that he was acquainted with the dreadfulcircumstances, or had any knowledge of the affair other than had beenalready related by him. 

After arriving in Bridgeport, Sommers hastened to the jail and foundBucholz impatiently awaiting his arrival. He was nervous and excited, and his mind was troubled about the success of the enterprise uponwhich Sommers had gone. 

The news which the detective brought reassured him, however, and helaughed gayly as he thought that his money was now safe from thereach of any one but himself and his friend. 

There was something so cold and brutal about this laugh of Bucholzthat caused the detective involuntarily to shudder as he gazed uponhim. Here between the narrow walls of a prison cell he stood face toface with a man who had taken a human life, and who stood almost inthe awful presence of retributive justice, yet his laugh was as clearand ringing, and his face as genial as though no trial awaited himand no judgment was in store. 

The sensitive nature of the detective recoiled from such closecontact with this crime-stained man, but his duty required it and heperformed it manfully and well. 

He related to Bucholz his visit to the barn (omitting, of course, tostate who his companions were) and the finding of the money. As hementioned the discovery of the gold pieces, Bucholz exclaimed:

"Gold pieces! I cannot tell for the world how they got there. I don'tknow anything about them. "

It was evident that he had not examined this package prior to buryingit in the ground, and Sommers suggested the possibility of theirhaving been wrapped in the paper which enclosed the canvas-coveredbook. 

"You were very careless to put the money in such a place, " continuedSommers; "the notes were so rotten, I was almost afraid to handlethem. "

"You mean, " said Bucholz, with a laugh, "that Schulte was careless, not me;" then starting up he walked backward and forward, exclaiming:"My God, how careless I was!"

"Yes, " replied Sommers, "after risking so much, you should have takenbetter care of it. "

Bucholz stopped in his walk, and facing his companion asked in amanner that gave every evidence of insincerity, "Do you think that I killed him?"

"I think you know something about it, " replied Sommers, gazingsteadily into the eyes of his questioner. "Do you think if tramps hadkilled him, they would have left twenty thousand dollars upon hisperson?"

"Well, " said Bucholz, laughing in a bewildered manner, and then, asif taking comfort from the reflection and anxious to change theconversation, "the money is all right, anyhow. "

Yes, the money was, indeed, all right, but not in the sense hedeluded himself by believing. 

They then discussed the various measures that were to be adopted inorder to deceive the officers of the State. 

It was arranged that the two pocket-books should be thrown behind alarge rock that stood by the railroad track, directly opposite thepath which led through the woods and along which the old man andhimself were in the habit of traveling. Bucholz seemed over joyed atthis proposition, and with many flattering expressions complimentedhis companion upon the wisdom of his suggestions. They would havecontinued further, but the time had arrived for closing the jail, andSommers was compelled to take his departure. 

Upon the occasion of his next visit he found a marked change inWilliam Bucholz. He appeared to be silent and depressed in spirits. Horrible dreams had visited his fitful slumbers, and the accusingvoice of the murdered man had rung in his ears during the solemnwatches of the night. The pallid, blood-stained face of Henry Schultehad appeared to him, and his conscience had been an active producerof unrest and terror. Try as he would, that awful presence followedhim, and he found sleep to be an impossibility. Hollow-eyed and sad, he greeted the detective, and as he cordially shook him by the hand, he noticed that a spasm of pain crossed the face of the prisoner. 

"What is the matter, William?" he anxiously inquired. "Have you seena ghost?"

"Oh, no, " replied the other, with a shiver--"it is nothing, only alittle cold, I guess. "

The quick eye of the detective could not be deceived--something hadoccurred of more than usual import, and he was determined toascertain what it was. Pressing him closely, Bucholz admitted, with aforced smile, that on the day before, he had been reading Schiller'splay of "The Robbers, " and that becoming excited by the heroic actionof "Carl von Moor, " he had thoughtlessly plunged his penknife, whichhe had in his hand at the time, into his own side. The blade hadtouched a rib, however, and that prevented the wound from being veryserious. The blood had flowed copiously from the incision thus made, and the wound was even now very painful. 

Sommers, at a glance, saw through this flimsy pretext, and realizedat once what had happened. The miserable man, nervous and excited, had, in the excess of fear, attempted to take his own life. The grimspecters of the night were too horrible to endure, and he had soughtto escape their torments by the act which he had attempted. 

His shirt had been saturated with blood, and he had been compelled todestroy it to prevent detection. 

Sommers lectured him roundly upon this exhibition of weakness, and, after a time spent in friendly advice, he succeeded in reassuringhim. 

Bucholz related to him at this interview a dream which he said he hadthe evening before. He had seen the court assembled--the room wasfilled with people and his trial was going on. Then, stoppingsuddenly in his narration, he gazed wildly at his companion, andexclaimed:

"If you are a detective, you have made a nice catch this time. But, you see I have a steady hand yet, and if you were to take the standagainst me, I would rise in my place and denounce you to the court. Then I would plunge a knife into my heart. "

The detective looked unflinchingly and scornfully into the glaringeyes of the man before him, and laughed lightly at his ravings. Heresolved, however, in order to prevent accidents, that everyprecaution should be taken against the occurrence of such a scene. 

He had no fear that Bucholz would do what he threatened. At heart heknew the man to be a coward. No one who could stealthily creep behindhis unsuspecting victim and deal the deadly blow of an assassincould, in his opinion, possess the moral courage to face a death byhis own hands, and particularly after the failure of this firstattempt. 

He did not communicate this opinion to the prisoner, but he treatedthe subject in a jesting manner, and told him that if he heard anymore of such nonsense he would inform the prison authorities and hisliberty would be curtailed. 

He then proceeded to unfold a plan which he had concocted for therelief of his friend, and to manufacture evidence that would bear animportant part in the coming trial. 

He would procure an old shirt and a pair of pantaloons, which hewould first stain with blood, and would then bury them in the groundnear to the scene of the murder, and would then write an anonymousletter to the State's attorney and to the counsel for Bucholz, informing them of the place where they could be found. 

The prisoner eagerly accepted this suggestion. He seemed to forgethis pain, his fears and his suspicions as he listened, and whenSommers had concluded he laughed heartily, then he added, hurriedly:

"You must get an axe also, and bury that with the clothes; thatwas----"

He stopped abruptly, as though afraid of saying too much, and Sommerslooked inquiringly into his face. 

"How would it do to get the axe from the barn?" he asked; "the onethat had blood on it when it was found. "

"That was chickens' blood, " quickly replied Bucholz, "and it will notdo. No, you must get an old axe from some other place and bury itwith the clothes. "

Sommers promised to comply with all these things, and on leaving theprisoner for that day his frame of mind had considerably improved, and thoughts of a suspicious character were entirely dissipated. 

The anonymous letters were soon prepared, and it was arranged thatthey should be sent to San Francisco, Cal. , and be remailed fromthere to Mr. Olmstead and to the counsel for William Bucholz. 

I experienced no difficulty in arranging this, as I havecorrespondents in almost every town and city in the United States;and the letters were upon the way to that distant Western city in afew days. 

The letter was as follows:

 "FRISCO, AUG. , '79. 

 "I AM NOW OUT OF REACH OF JUSTICE, AND WILL NOT SUFFER THAT A INNOCENT MAN IS HELT FOR THE MURTER OF SCHULTE, AND VILL NOW STADE WERE THE CLOTHES AND BOCKET BOOKS WERE TROWN. U MAY FIND MORE BY SEARGEN THE GROUND, ABOUT TWO HUNDRED YARDS FROM WHERE SCHULTE WAS KILLED THERE IS A STONE FENCE RUNNING N. AND S. AND ONE RUNNING W. , WERE THESE FENCES JOIN THERE IS A TREE CUT DOWN, AND U FIND BETWEEN THE STONES, AND IN THE GROUND SOMETHING THAT WILL SURPRISE U. I HOPE THIS WILL SAVE THE LIFE OF A INNOCENT MAN. 

 "NAMELESS. "

It was printed in capitals and purposely misspelled, in order toconvey the impression that the writer was a foreigner, and perhaps atramp--many of which had infested that neighborhood. 

This letter pleased Bucholz immensely. It was, in his opinion, awonderful production, and must certainly result in deceiving theState's attorney. 

Mr. Bollman had now returned from Germany, and his errand had beenentirely successful. He had seen the relatives of Bucholz, and theyhad promised to aid him financially in his trouble. Further thanthis, they seemed to take no great interest in his welfare. Shortlyafter his arrival a draft was received, which, upon being cashed, placed in the hands of the prisoner sufficient moneys to enable himto secure the services of the additional counsel who had been loathto act energetically in the matter, until the question ofremuneration had been definitely and satisfactorily settled. 

In order to recover the amount loaned to Bucholz for Mr. Bollman'sexpenses, Sommers suggested that in order to avoid any suspicion, hewould demand of him the return of the same, and which he would informMr. Bollman his friend was greatly in need of. 

Mr. Bollman thereupon repaid two hundred and fifty dollars of theamount loaned, and Bucholz executed another due-bill for the sum ofone hundred dollars, payable to Edward Sommers. 

Shortly after this occurrence Bucholz informed Sommers on theoccasion of one of his visits that on the day previous he had beenvisited by two of his attorneys. 

They had labored assiduously to induce him to confess as to therelations existing between himself and Sommers. They told him that ifhe had made any revelations to him it might not yet be too late tocounteract it, but if he refused to tell them the truth in regard tothe matter they could not and would not be answerable for theconsequences. General Smith graphically portrayed to him the effectswhich would follow a failure to confide entirely in his counsel, andBucholz's frame shook perceptibly as he pictured the doom which wouldcertainly follow if his attorneys had been deceived. 

But all their arguments were of no avail. He remained firm, andprotested to the last that Sommers knew nothing about his case. Theiron will upheld him during this ordeal, and the influence which thedetective had gained over him had been of such a character as tooutweigh the solicitations of those to whom he ought to look forrelief on the trial that was now fast approaching. 

How far again the question of self-interest may have induced thisaction cannot be ascertained. Bucholz had been led to believe that ifhe communicated the existence of the money which he had secured, tohis lawyers, and if they should succeed in obtaining control of it, his portion would be very small indeed, after they had paidthemselves therefrom. 

This idea may have been of sufficient weight to compel his silence, but the result--whatever the cause--proved that the detective hadachieved a victory over the attorneys, and that he wielded aninfluence over their guilty client which they could never hope topossess. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

_Bucholz grows Skeptical and Doubtful. _--_A Fruitless Search. _--_TheMurderer Involuntarily Reveals Himself. _

The days sped on, and the trial of William Bucholz, for the murder ofHenry Schulte, his employer, was fast approaching. Regularly EdwardSommers had visited the imprisoned man, and upon the occasion of eachvisit had endeavored to assure him of the possibility of escapingfrom the charge against him. 

The mind of Bucholz was in a chaotic state of worriment and unrest. Between his confidences to Edward Sommers and the repeated warningsof his counsel he scarcely knew what to do or what to say. At timeshe would bitterly regret having informed Sommers of anything abouthimself, and at others he would hug him to his breast as the onlyhuman being upon whom he could rely. 

To Sommers this experience had been a trying one indeed. He had beencompelled to endure the various moods of Bucholz with patience andequanimity and to endeavor to disabuse his mind of frequent-recurringdoubts. Many times during his visits he would be vexed beyondendurance at the doubtful questionings of his companion, which hefrequently found very difficult to parry or explain. Then, too, hebecame extravagant in his demands, and required the choicestdelicacies that could be procured. He wanted new clothing, and evenexpressed a desire that Sommers should procure for him a uniformdress of the regiment of hussars of which he was formerly amember--in fact, became so importunate in his demands and soridiculous in his fancied wants, that Sommers, fearful of affordinggrounds for suspicion in the minds both of the inmates of the prisonand of the counsel for Bucholz, was compelled to emphatically refuseto gratify his wishes. 

These denials of course were productive of differences of opinion andangry altercations. Fresh doubts would be engendered, which wouldrequire the exercise of all the ingenuity of the detective to allay. Bucholz seemed to have no idea that a liberal expenditure of money atthis time would be very injurious to his case, and that as Mr. Bollman had sole charge of the money received from Germany, he wouldnaturally become suspicious of his client should he discover thatSommers was supplying his wants from a source which his counsel wasignorant of. 

He thirsted also for a glance at the money which had been found, especially the gold-piece with a hole in it, and besought Sommers tobring it with him, so that he might feast his eyes upon the wealththat was soon to be his. So frequent and imperious became thesedemands that Sommers had the greatest difficulty in convincing him ofthe danger to both of them which would be attendant upon any suchproceeding. 

He had informed Bucholz that the money had been securely placed inthe vaults of a safe deposit company in New York City, but he did nottell him that the German Consul carried the key. 

Upon the occasion of almost every visit he would be compelled towrestle with this doubtfulness of his companion before he couldinduce him to converse upon the matters that would naturally beconsidered of the utmost importance to him, but after long andarduous labor, he usually left him more cheerful and hopeful than hefound him. 

The time drew near for the anonymous letters to arrive from SanFrancisco, and Sommers went to South Norwalk, and, locating the spotmentioned in the letter, he dug up the solid earth in such a manneras to convince whoever came to look for the hidden articles mentionedin the communication, that some one else had anticipated them, andthat the articles had been removed. 

The letters were duly received, and Mr. Olmstead, who, of course, hadbeen informed of their manufacture, upon receiving his paid noattention to the important information it was supposed to convey. Theattorneys for Bucholz, however, visited the spot, and to their dismayand disappointment they found the earth broken, and every indicationthat the articles, if any existed, had been removed in advance oftheir arrival. 

When Bucholz heard of the disappointment of his counsel, he was muchchagrined, and accused Sommers of having arranged it so that Mr. Olmstead received his before the other was delivered. This, however, was proven to the contrary, and the fact was that even had there beenanything hidden under the ground, Bucholz's defenders were toodilatory in going in search of them. 

It was at the visit after the information had reached them of thisfruitless search for important testimony, that Bucholz related toSommers another dream, in which his former prison companion was saidto have appeared to him as a detective, and as he finished therecital, he turned to his companion, and said:

"If you are a detective, and if you do take the stand against me, itis all over. I will tell my lawyers to stop the trial--that will bethe end of it--and me. "

Sommers laughed at this and turned the drift of the conversation tothe question of the approaching trial and the evidence that wouldsoon be produced against him. 

He asked him in a quiet manner, if he had thrown the two old pistolswhere they had been found on the night of the murder, and Bucholz, with a smile, answered him:

"Oh, my dear fellow, you make a mistake; the murderers threw themthere. "

Sommers looked incredulously at him for a moment, and then replied:

"I did not ask you whether you killed the old man or not; but youmust not think me such a fool as not to know it. "

Bucholz laughed, a hard, bitter laugh, and the glitter of theserpent's came into the wicked blue eyes, but he made no denial. 

"I never thought when I first became acquainted with you, " continuedSommers, "that you knew anything about this murder, but ratherthought you an innocent, harmless-looking fellow. Indeed I neverimagined that you had nerve enough to do anything like that. "

Again that diabolical laugh, and Bucholz, holding out his right armwithout a tremor of the muscles, replied, ironically:

"Oh, no; I have got no nerve at all. "

The next day they referred again to the finding of the articleshidden in the ground, and Sommers informed his companion that Mr. Olmstead had secured the axe that was in the barn, and regretted verymuch that he had not taken it when he was there. 

Bucholz looked troubled at this information, but, rousing himself, heinquired:

"What kind of an axe did you get?"

"Why, I got one as nearly like that in the barn as I could--about asthick as the iron bars on the door of the cell there. "

"Yes, that is right, " said Bucholz, eagerly, while a glow ofsatisfaction dashed across his face. 

"I don't know about that, " replied Sommers. "How large were thewounds upon the head of Mr. Schulte?"

"One was about three inches long. "

"Was that the wound that was made by the sharp edge of the axe?"

"Yes! yes!" replied Bucholz, eagerly. 

"Well, how large was the other wound?"

"Well, " said Bucholz, musingly, and making a circle of his thumb andforefinger, he held it up before the detective; "I should think itwas a hole about this large. "

No tremor of the voice, no shaking of the hand, as he held it up, but, with a cold, unfeeling look, he made this explanation. 

"I am afraid that the axe I bought was too large, because the back ofit was as broad as the bar upon this door--about two inches. "

"That is right enough, " quickly replied Bucholz, "because if youwould take the axe and strike the blow upwards behind the ear, wherethat wound was, you would strike the head with the edge of the back, and that would crush in the bones of the skull and produce just sucha hole as that was in Schulte's head. "

He illustrated this by starting to his feet and raising his hands asif he was about to strike the blow himself. The murderous glittercame again into those flashing eyes. His words came thick andfast--the demon smile was upon his lips. He was acting again thescene of that dreadful night, and, oblivious of his listener, or theimpressions he was creating, he lived again that frightful momentwhen he had inflicted the blows that laid the old man dead at hisfeet. 

There was a realism about his manner that was awfully impressive, andthe detective involuntarily shuddered as he looked into thosegleaming eyes, in which murder was clearly reflected. All doubts wereremoved from his mind--the murderer of Henry Schulte stood beforehim--and if the judges and the jury that were to hear his case in afew days could have witnessed this scene, conviction would have beencarried to the minds of the most skeptical. 

No confession seemed necessary now. If ever murder was depicted upona human face it was expressed in every lineament of the face of theman who stood before the detective in that prison cell. 

The wicked gleam had not died out from his eyes, as, unconscious ofthe effect his manner had produced, he resumed his position, andadded, in a tone of entire satisfaction:

"Yes, yes, that axe is all right!"

Edward Sommers shuddered as he gazed at the man before him--the manwho had become as putty in his hands, and yet who possessed a heartso black as to be capable of the damning deed for which he was sosoon to be tried for committing. 

He thought of the tears this man had shed in the darkness of thelonely nights; of the accusing voices that had rung in his earsduring his uneasy slumbers; of the conscience that would not down atthe command of the resolute will--and then of the incidents of thisafternoon, when the murderer stood revealed before him in all thehideous deformity of his brutal passion and his self confessed crime. 

Of a truth events and not men are alone worthy of consideration inthe life of a detective. 

THE JUDGMENT. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

_The Trial. _--_An unexpected Witness. _--_A convincing Story. _--_Anable, but fruitless Defense. _--_A verdict of Guilty. _--_The triumphof Justice. _

The trial of William Bucholz for the murder of Henry Schulte began inthe old Court House at Bridgeport on the ninth day of September, anda ripple of excitement pervaded the city. The interest attaching tothis case had extended beyond the locality in which it had occurred, and the reporter's table was crowded with representatives of thevarious metropolitan journals who designed giving publicity to theproceedings of the trial. 

The judges, solemn and dignified, were upon the bench. The lawyers, bustling among their books and papers, were actively engaged inpreparing for the scenes that were to follow, while the State'sattorney, quiet and calm, but with a confident look of determinationupon his face, awaited the production of the prisoner and the formalopening of the case. 

Bucholz had engaged the services of three lawyers--General Smith, whohad acquired considerable fame as an attorney; Mr. Bollman, who hadbeen connected with the case from its inception, and Mr. Alfred E. Austin, a young member of the bar, who resided at Norwalk. 

The sheriff entered with his prisoner, and placed him in the dock, toplead to the indictment that was to be read to him, and upon which hewas to be placed upon trial for his life. 

He entered with the same careless, jaunty air which had marked hisfirst appearance at South Norwalk, and except for a certainnervousness in his manner and a restless wandering of the eagerglance which he cast around him, no one would have imagined that hestood upon the eve of a trying ordeal that was to result either insending him to the gallows or in striking from his wrists theshackles that encircled them, and sending him out into the world afree man. 

He was dressed with scrupulous neatness, and had evidently takengreat care in preparing himself for the trial. He wore a new suit ofclothes, of neat pattern and of modern style, and his linen was ofspotless whiteness and carefully arranged. As he entered and took hisseat a suppressed murmur of surprise, not unmixed with sympathy, pervaded the court-room. 

The hall was crowded, and a large number of ladies, attracted, perhaps, by that element of curiosity which is inherent in the sex, and perhaps by that quality of sympathy for which they areremarkable, were present, and Bucholz at once became the focus of alleyes and the subject of universal comment and conversation. 

From the nature of the charge against him many had expected to seesome ferocious-looking ruffian, whose countenance would portray theevidence of his crime, and whose appearance would indicate thecertainty of his guilt. Their surprise was therefore unbounded, when, instead of the monster their imaginations had conjured up, theybeheld the young, well-dressed and good-looking German who appearedbefore them, and a strong feeling of sympathy for the unfortunate manwas manifested by a majority of those present. 

Considerable difficulty was experienced in securing a jury, but atlength the requisite number were obtained, and Bucholz was directedto stand up and listen to the charge that had been preferred againsthim. 

A profound silence pervaded the court-room as the indictment wasbeing read. The prisoner paid the strictest attention as the wordswere pronounced:--

"How say you, prisoner at the bar; are you guilty or not guilty?" andhe answered in a firm voice: "Not guilty!"

The attorneys eagerly scanned the faces of the "twelve good men andtrue, " into whose hands was soon to be confided the fate of the manwho stood before them; but their impassive countenances gave noindication of the thoughts which occupied their minds. They had beenchosen for the performance of a solemn duty, and were evidentlyprepared to perform it without fear or favor. 

Who can fathom the mind of the prisoner or conceive the myriad ofvexing thoughts with which his brain is teeming? He exhibits nofear--he displays no excitement--but calmly and quietly and withwatchful eyes he gazes around upon the scene before him--a scene inwhich he is an important actor, and in which his fate is beingdetermined. 

Without the formality of an opening address, the State's attorneycalls the first witness--Mrs. Waring. This lady details theoccurrences of the afternoon and evening of the murder--the facts ofwhich are already known to the reader. She also testified to thefriendly relations existing between the murdered man and theprisoner, except upon one occasion, when, shortly before the death ofMr. Schulte, she had heard angry words in their apartments. Noimportance was attached to this, as the disagreement was of shortduration, and their pleasant intercourse was speedily resumed. 

The evidence of the two daughters and the son of Mrs. Waring wastaken, but they simply confirmed the story as related by the mother. The various persons who were present at the finding of the body--thephysicians who had made the post mortem examination, were examined asto their knowledge of the murder, and the circumstances incidentthereto. 

The officers who had charge of Bucholz testified to his extravagancesduring the time that intervened between the murder and the formalarrest of the prisoner, and to the fact of the money which he hadexpended bearing the peculiar marks which had been noticed upon it. 

Frank Bruner had been found by my operatives, and he identified thewatch that had been found as belonging to Henry Schulte. He alsotestified to the conversations which took place between himself andBucholz before he had left the service of Mr. Schulte, and also thatthe old gentleman had called upon him on the morning of that fatalday, and had informed him of his intention to dispense with theservices of Bucholz on the 15th day of the succeeding month, andrequested Frank to again enter his service; which he had promised toconsider before deciding finally upon. 

The examination of these various witnesses had occupied two days, andnothing very serious or convincing, except of a circumstantialnature, had been proven. Bucholz appeared jubilant and hopeful--hiscounsel were sanguine of acquittal, and even the jurors looked lesssternly as their eyes fell upon the prisoner. 

The countenance of the State's attorney was an enigma to the lawyersfor the defense. Confident and self-reliant, he had marshaled hisarray of witnesses, and their testimony was a consistent recital ofthe events relating to the murder and the various circumstancesrelating thereto. Nothing definite or convincing had as yet beenproven, and the attorneys wondered at the undismayed demeanor of theprosecuting officer. 

On the afternoon of the third day, after the examination of twounimportant witnesses, Mr. Olmstead arose, and, addressing thesheriff, said:

"Call Ernest Stark. "

There was nothing unusual in the name, and but little attention waspaid to the order thus given. The prisoner and the attorneys hadnever heard the name before, and no uneasiness was manifested upontheir faces, but when, in answer to that call, Edward Sommers enteredfrom the ante-room, and stepping upon the witness stand, confrontedthe court, a change came over the faces of the accused and hiscounsel, wonderful to behold. 

Bucholz staggered to his feet with a smothered expression of physicalagony and stood for an instant pressing his hand convulsively uponhis brow, his eyes, full of savage but impotent fury, were fixed uponthe detective; but this emotion soon passed away and yielded to avague, bewildered expression, as he sank back into his seat, overcomeby the feelings which oppressed him. 

[Illustration: "_His eyes full of savage but impotent fury were fixedupon the detective. _"]

The attorneys, stolid and immovable, gazed at this unexpectedapparition, but long practice in their profession had enabled them toconceal their emotions, however powerful the influence, and, exceptthe first start of surprise, no outward indication was given of theirastonishment at the appearance of the detective or their chagrin atthe duplicity of their client. 

The detective, calm and imperturbable, and apparently unconscious ofthe important part he was playing in this sad drama, stood thereimmovable, the perfect immobility of his face undisturbed by theconsternation of counsel or the confusion of the prisoner. 

Under the examination of the State's attorney, he told his story in afirm, deliberate manner, that carried conviction to the minds of all. He detailed the various experiences of his prison life and of hisintercourse with the prisoner. He related the admissions whichBucholz had made to him, and testified to the influence which he hadgradually acquired over the mind of the accused man. 

He graphically described their several interviews, and finally hedetailed at length the finding of the money of the murdered man, hidden in the places to which Bucholz had directed him. 

The silence in the court-room was most impressive. The crowdedaudience who had at first been amazed at the appearance of thedetective, now leaned eagerly forward in their intense desire to heareach word that was spoken. The judges listened intently as thewell-chosen sentences, fraught with so much importance to the causeof justice, fell from his lips. 

The eager, exulting ring of the voice of the State's attorney as heconducted the examination, and the low, modulated tones of thewitness as he gave the damaging answers, seemed to affect allpresent, and, with their eyes riveted alternately upon the witnessand the prisoner, they listened breathlessly as he related hisconvincing story. 

William Bucholz, after the first exhibition of his emotions, satsilent and apparently stunned during the whole of the rendering ofthis testimony. His eyes were fastened upon the detective witness, but no movement of the muscles of his face betrayed the despairingthoughts within. Silently he sat there--his arms folded across hischest, with cheeks blanched and eyes staring straight forward towardthe witness-stand. 

Already he sees the hand of impending fate, and as this unexpectedweb of circumstantial and positive evidence is being slowly andsystematically woven about him, the shadow of the gallows falls uponhim, and yet he makes no sign. The resolute will and inflexiblenature sustain him firmly under this trying ordeal. 

As Ernest Stark related the finding of the hidden wealth of themurdered man which he had secured, an involuntary exclamation ofsurprise burst from the assembled listeners, and when he had finishedhis story a sigh of apparent relief escaped them. 

The testimony of the detective had occupied a day and a half in itsrendition, and upon the opening of the court upon the succeeding day, the haggard look of the prisoner told unmistakably of the sleeplessvigil of the night before. His lips remained sealed, however, and noone knew of the agony of his mind. 

Upon the conclusion of the detective's testimony, the money which hadbeen found in the old barn was exhibited in evidence, and, as theearth-soiled pocket-books and the great roll of notes were displayed, eager eyes watched their production. It was the price of a humanlife, and another life hung trembling in the balance because of it. 

Robert A. Pinkerton was called, and confirmed the statement of ErnestStark with regard to the midnight visit to the barn and the findingof the money. 

Paul Schmoeck and another attache of the German Consulate identifiedthe notes produced, and also testified as to its safe-keeping sinceit had been so miraculously unearthed. 

Two important witnesses were now introduced, who proved beyond adoubt that this money was upon the person of Henry Schulte upon thenight of the murder. This evidence was necessary, because thesagacious attorneys for the prisoner had already invented a plan ofdefense, at once ingenious and able. There had existed hitherto noproof that this money which had been found in the barn was in thepossession of the murdered man at the time of the tragedy, andBucholz might only be the thief who had robbed his master during hisabsence, and not the criminal who had imbrued his hands in his blood. 

Henry Bischoff and his son, prominent German bankers, and dealers inforeign exchange, distinctly remembered the visit of Henry Schulte totheir banking house upon the day on which the murder was committed. The father identified some of the notes which had been found in thefirst package as those which had been given him in exchange for markbills, and the son identified the gold pieces which had beenunearthed with the second package as those which he had given to Mr. Schulte upon that day. Both pocket-books must therefore have beenupon the person of Henry Schulte as he walked home upon that winter'snight accompanied by his trusted servant who had robbed and murderedhim. 

The clothing of the accused man, which he had worn upon that night, and which had been secured immediately after the occurrence of thetragedy and legally retained, were also introduced and identified. The shirt contained spots of blood, and the pantaloons also displayedevidences of the same crimson fluid. 

The prosecution then closed their case, and the defense began. 

Undismayed by the convincing character of the testimony which hadbeen given, the attorneys for Bucholz labored diligently and ably toexplain away the damaging proofs which had been adduced. 

Their cross-examination of the witness who had been known to them asEdward Sommers had been very light; they had not attempted to impeachhis veracity or to question the truthfulness of his relations, andwhile this was a matter of surprise to many at the time, the wisdomof such a course soon became evident. 

The principal witness for the State was to be used as a reliableinstrument in the hands of the defense, and the testimony of EdwardSommers was to be relied upon to substantiate the theory by which theattorneys for Bucholz hoped to delude the jury and to save theirclient. 

The finding of the money was admitted as the result of revelationsmade by Bucholz to the detective, but they endeavored to prove thatthough he might have robbed the old man, it was impossible for him tohave killed him. 

It was contended upon the part of Bucholz, that the money was takenfrom the pockets of the murdered man while Bucholz was assisting incarrying the body to the house, and that he was enabled to do thisthe more easily, because he alone knew where the old gentleman placedthe money which he carried about his person. 

This theory was ingeniously suggested and ably argued, and severalminor points of evidence were adduced in support of it. Theblood-stains upon the clothing were also sought to be explained. Those upon the shirt were alleged to have been produced from thebleeding of the face of the prisoner who was wounded upon the sameevening, and the pantaloons, it was claimed, had received the stainsupon them from the blood which had dropped while Bucholz wasassisting the bearers to carry the corpse to the house after thepreliminary investigation by the coroner. 

With rare skill were these theories presented, and with desperateenergy these able attorneys led the forlorn hope against the strongfortress of conviction which seemed to enclose their unfortunateclient. The audience, the judges and the jury were profoundlyimpressed, but they were not convinced. 

The judge charged the jury, and before the force of his sound, legalutterances, the airy castles which had been so ingeniously buildedfell to the ground, and the hopes of the prisoner and his friendswere buried in their ruins. 

The case was handed to the twelve men, and many scrutinizing glanceswere directed toward them as they slowly retired to deliberate upontheir verdict. Faint hopes were entertained of a disagreement, butall felt that conviction would be but a natural result. 

Slowly the crowd of spectators dispersed, as it became apparent thatno report would be received that evening, and many ladies, moved bythat latent sympathy which is usually manifested for great criminals, approached the prisoner, and, together with their condolences, bestowed upon him their offerings of flowers and fruits. 

At twelve o'clock the next day--during a recess of the court--a loudknock was heard upon the door which led to the jury-room. Instantlyevery voice was hushed and every eye was strained to watch thecountenances of these arbiters of fate who slowly entered and tooktheir seats. 

Bucholz was laughing gayly with some acquaintances, but he becameinstantly serious--the smile died away from his lips, and heanxiously awaited the announcement that was to convey to him theblessing of life or the doom of death. 

Slowly the jurors arose and faced the court. 

"Gentlemen of the jury, have you determined upon your verdict?"

Breathlessly they all listened. 

"We have. "

These words fell like a thunderbolt upon the assembly. The prisoner'sface grew pale; he grasped the railing in front of him and gazedwistfully at the jurors who stood beside him. 

"Prisoner at the bar, stand up, " said the clerk; and Bucholz aroseimmediately, turning his pallid face toward the jury-box. 

The gray-haired foreman, whose elbow almost touched the prisoner, looked at him with a glance in which was depicted a sympathy, which, while it was heartfelt and sincere, was not of sufficient force tooutweigh a conscientious discharge of duty. 

"Gentlemen of the jury, how say you? Is the prisoner at the barguilty or not guilty?"

With trembling voice the venerable foreman said, slowly:

"Guilty of murder in the first degree!"

The guilty man fell back in his seat, as though he had been struck aheavy blow, and bowing his head upon the railing, he sobbed wildly. 

The trial was over. Justice had triumphed, and this crime-stainedman, who was now the object of so much attention, was decreed to paythe penalty of his misdeeds. 

The mystery of the murder of Henry Schulte had been judiciouslysolved, and the detective had triumphed over the assassin. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

_Another Chance for Life. _--_A Third Trial. _--_A Final Verdict. _--_anda Just Punishment. _

Immediately upon the rendering of the verdict, the attorneys forBucholz moved for an arrest of judgment and filed their reasons for anew trial. 

After a delay of some weeks, an argument was had thereon. It wascontended among other things that one of the jurymen, during thetrial, and while they had not been confined, had spoken of the caseupon which he was engaged, and had expressed an opinion in regard tothe matter which he had been selected to determine. 

Upon this fact being shown to the satisfaction of the judges, a newtrial was ordered, and the month of the succeeding February was fixedas the time for the hearing of the same. 

The second trial was had, and although the evidence adduced was thesame as upon the preceding occasion, or if anything stronger and moreconvincing, the jury disagreed and were finally discharged. 

A remarkable feature of this disagreement was the fact that upon thefinal polling of the jury that was taken, the vote given was: Formurder in the first degree, nine; for murder in the second degree, two; and for _absolute acquittal_, one. 

Grave doubts were entertained of the influence which induced thatsingle vote, but in the absence of any proof to the contrary it mustbe regarded as an honest opinion conscientiously given. 

Another respite was thus afforded the unhappy prisoner, and the thirdtrial--now just completed--was fixed for the thirteenth day of Aprilin the present year. 

Again the court has been convened, and the formality of a trial hasbeen gone through with. The jury have been sworn, the witnesses havebeen examined and arguments have been made. Still, despite thevigorous and persistent attacks that have been attempted, truthprevails in the courts of law, and justice is triumphant. 

After a laborious trial, lasting over three weeks, the jury haverendered a verdict of "Guilty of murder in the second degree, " andthe prisoner, standing tremblingly before the bar of justice, hasbeen condemned to "_imprisonment for life_. "

After exhausting all the technicalities that could be devised, themurderer of Henry Schulte will suffer the penalties of the law. 

 * * * * *

Again we will visit the prison and look within the narrow cell whereWilliam Bucholz is confined. After a long struggle, fate has overtakenhim. The dark shadows of night have gathered over the gloomy walls ofthe structure, and William Bucholz is now alone--the pale, thin faceand the sunken eyes tell the agonizing story of unending anxiety andthose sleepless vigils attendant upon the terrible state of uncertaintythrough which he has passed, and the doom which he is now to suffer. 

His hair is disordered and he wildly pushes it away from his temples, as though its trifling weight added to the burden already restingupon his brain. The veins stand out upon his temples--now almostbursting with the intensity of the thoughts that have been crowdingupon him--and still they come, vivid and terrible. 

Vainly he tries to seek that rest that will bring Nepenthe to hisdreams, but the specter of that murdered old man will arise beforehis vision, and rest is impossible. Ah, how many long, weary days andnights, fraught with terror and remorse, will come to thisunfortunate man ere he finds a final release and a bed of earth!

The miser of Hagen is avenged--and the murderer will suffer for hiscrime. 

THE END. 

 * * * * *

1882. 1882. 

G. W. CARLETON & CO. 

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Pickwick, and Catalogue $1 50Dombey and Son 1 50Bleak House 1 50Martin Chuzzlewit 1 50Barnaby Rudge--Edwin Drood 1 50Child's England--Miscellaneous 1 50Christmas Books--Two Cities 1 50David Copperfield 1 50Nicholas Nickleby 1 50Little Dorrit 1 50Our Mutual Friend 1 50Curiosity Shop--Miscellaneous 1 50Sketches by Boz--Hard Times 1 50Great Expectations--Italy 1 50Oliver Twist--Uncommercial 1 50

Sets of Dickens' Complete Works, in 15vols. --[elegant half calf bindings] 50 00

Augusta J. Evans' Novels. 

Beulah $1 75Macaria 1 75Inez 1 75St. Elmo 2 00Vashti 2 00Infelice (New) 2 00

May Agnes Fleming's Novels. 

Guy Earlscourt's Wife $1 50A Terrible Secret 1 50Norine's Revenge 1 50Silent and True 1 50Heir of Charlton 1 50Lost for a Woman--New 1 50A Wonderful Woman 1 50A Mad Marriage 1 50One Night's Mystery 1 50Kate Danton 1 50Carried by Storm 1 50A Wife's Tragedy (New) 1 50

The Game of Whist. 

Pole on Whist--The English standard work. With the "Portland Rules. " 75

Miriam Coles Harris. 

Rutledge $1 50Frank Warrington 1 50Louie's Last Term, St. Mary's 1 50A Perfect Adonis 1 50Missy--New 1 50The Sutherlands 1 50St. Philips 1 50Round Hearts for Children 1 50Richard Vandermarck 1 50Happy-Go-Lucky (New) 1 50

Mrs. Hill's Cook Book. 

Mrs. A. P. Hill's New Southern Cookery Book, and domestic receipts $2 00

Julie P. Smith's Novels. 

Widow Goldsmith's Daughter $1 50Chris and Otho 1 50Ten Old Maids 1 50His Young Wife 1 50Lucy--New 1 50The Widower 1 50The Married Belle 1 50Courting and Farming 1 50Kiss and be Friends 1 50

Victor Hugo. 

Les Miserables--Translated from the French. The only complete edition $1 50

Captain Mayne Reid. 

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A. S. Roe's Select Stories. 

True to the Last $1 50The Star and the Cloud 1 50How Could He Help it? 1 50A Long Look Ahead 1 50I've Been Thinking 1 50To Love and to be Loved 1 50

Charles Dickens. 

Child's History of England--Carleton's New"_School Edition_" Illustrated $1 00

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The Habits of Good Society--The nice points of taste and good manners $1 00The Art of Conversation--for those who wish to be agreeable talkers 1 00The Arts of Writing, Reading and Speaking--For Self-Improvement 1 00New Diamond Edition--Elegantly bound, 3 volumes in a box 3 00

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Carleton's New Hand-Book--Familiar Quotations, with their Authorship $1 50

Famous Books--Carleton's Edition. 

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His Complete Writings--With Biography, Steel Portrait, and 100 Illustrations $2 50Old Probability--Ten Comic Alminax, 1870 to 1879. Bound in one volume 1 50

Allan Pinkerton. 

Model Town and Detectives $1 50Strikers, Communists, etc 1 50Criminal Reminiscences, etc 1 50Gypsies and Detectives 1 50A New Book 1 50Spiritualists and Detectives 1 50Mollie Maguires and Detectives 1 50Mississippi Outlaws, etc 1 50Bucholz and Detectives 1 50R. R. Forger and Detectives 1 50

Celia E. Gardner's Novels. 

Stolen Waters. (In verse) $1 50Broken Dreams. (In verse) 1 50Compensation. (In verse) 1 50Terrace Roses 1 50Tested 1 50Rich Medway's Two Loves 1 50A Woman's Wiles 1 50A Twisted Skein. (In verse) 1 50

G. W. CARLETON & CO. 'S PUBLICATIONS. 

"New York Weekly" Series. 

Thrown on the World $1 50A Bitter Atonement 1 50Love Works Wonders 1 50Evelyn's Folly 1 50Lady Damer's Secret 1 50A Woman's Temptation 1 50Repented at Leisure 1 50Between Two Loves 1 50Peerless Cathleen 1 50Brownie's Triumph 1 50The Forsaken Bride 1 50His Other Wife 1 50Nick Whiffles 1 50Lady Leonore 1 50The Grinder Papers 1 50Faithful Margaret 1 50Curse of Everleigh 1 50

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Complete Comic Writings--With Biography, Portrait, and 50 illustrations $1 50

Charles Dickens. 

Dickens' Parlor Table Album of Illustrations--with descriptive text $2 50

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Sense. A serious book $1 50Gold Dust. Do. 1 50Our Saturday Nights 1 50Nonsense. (A comic book) 1 50Brick-dust. Do. 1 50Home Harmonies 1 50

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The Children's Fairy Geography--With hundreds of beautiful illustrations $2 50Hawk-eyes--A comic book by "The Burlington Hawkeye Man. " Illustrated 1 50Among the Thorns--A new novel by Mrs. Mary Lowe Dickinson 1 50Our Daughters--A talk with mothers, by Marion Harland, author of "Alone. " 50Redbirds Christmas Story--An illustrated Juvenile. By Mary J. Holmes 50Carleton's Popular Readings--Edited by Mrs. Anna Randall-Diehl 1 50The Culprit Fay--Joseph Rodman Drake's Poem. With 100 illustrations 2 00L'Assommoir--English Translation from Zola's famous French novel 1 00Parlor Amusements--Games, Tricks, and Home Amusements, by F. Bellew 1 00Love [L'Amour]--Translation from Michelet's famous French work 1 50Woman [La Femme]. Do. Do. Do 1 50Verdant Green--A racy English college Story. With 200 comic illustrations 1 00Solid for Mulhooly--The Sharpest Political Satire of the Day 1 00A Northern Governess at the Sunny South--By Professor J. H. Ingraham 1 50Laus Veneris, and other Poems--By Algernon Charles Swinburne 1 50Birds of a Feather Flock Together--By Edward A. Sothern, the actor 1 00Beatrice Cenci--from the Italian novel, with Guido's celebrated portrait 1 50Morning Glories--A charming collection of Children's stories. By Louisa Alcot 1 00Some Women of To-day--A novel by Mrs. Dr. Wm. H. White 1 50From New York to San Francisco--By Mrs. Frank Leslie. Illustrated 1 50Why Wife and I Quarreled--A Poem by author "Betsey and I are out. " 1 00West India Pickles--A yacht Cruise in the Tropics. By W. P. Talboys 1 00Threading My Way--The Autobiograpy of Robert Dale Owen 1 50Debatable Land between this Word and Next--Robert Dale Owen 2 00Lights and Shadows of Spiritualism--By D. D. Home, the Medium 2 00Yachtman's Primer--Instructions for Amateur Sailors. By Warren 50The Fall of Man--A Darwinian Satire, by author of "New Gospel of Peace. " 50The Chronicles of Gotham--A New York Satire. Do. Do. 25Tales from the Operas--A collection of stories based upon the Opera plots 1 00Ladies and Gentlemen's Etiquette Book of the best Fashionable Society 1 00Self Culture in Conversation, Letter-Writing, and Oratory 1 00Love and Marriage--A book for young people. By Frederick Saunders 1 00Under the Rose--A Capital book, by the author of "East Lynne. " 1 00So Dear a Dream--A novel by Miss Grant, author of "The Sun Maid" 1 00Give me thine Heart--A Capital new Love Story by Roe 1 00Meeting Her Fate--A charming novel by the author of "Aurora Floyd" 1 00The New York Cook-Book--Book of Domestic Receipts. By Mrs. Astor 1 00

G. W. CARLETON & CO. 'S PUBLICATIONS. 

Miscellaneous Works. 

Dawn to Noon--By Violet Fane $1 50Constance's Fate. Do. 1 50How to Win in Wall Street 1 00Poems--By Mrs. Bloomfield Moore 1 50A Bad Boy's First Reader 10John Swinton's Travels 25Sarah Bernhardt--Her Life 25Arctic Travel--Isaac I. Hayes 1 50College Tramps--F. A. Stokes 1 50H. M. S. Pinafore--The Play 10A Steamer Book--W. T. Helmuth 1 00Lion Jack--By P. T. Barnum 1 50Jack in the Jungle. Do 1 50Gospels in Poetry--E. H. Kimball 1 50Southern Woman Story--Pember 75Madame Le Vert's--Souvenirs 2 00He and I--Sarah B. Stebbins 50Annals of a Baby. Do 50Victor Hugo--Autobiography 1 50Orpheus C. Kerr--4 vols. In one 2 00Fanny Fern Memorials 2 00Parodies--C. H. Webb (John Paul) 1 50My Vacation. Do. Do. 1 50Sandwiches--Artemus Ward 25Watchman of the Night 1 50Nonsense Rhymes--W. H. Beckett 1 00Lord Bateman--Cruikshank's Ill 25Northern Ballads--E. L. Anderson 1 00Beldazzle Bachelor Poems 1 00Me--Mrs. Spencer W. Coe 50Little Guzzy--John Habberton 1 00Offenbach in America 1 50About Lawyers--Jeffreson 1 50About Doctors. Do. 1 50Widow Spriggins--Widow Bedott 1 50How to Make Money--Davies 1 50

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MRS. MARY J. HOLMES' WORKS. 

TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. ENGLISH ORPHANS. HOMESTEAD ON HILLSIDE. 'LENA RIVERS. MEADOW BROOK. DORA DEANE. COUSIN MAUDE. MARIAN GREY. EDITH LYLE. DAISY THORNTON. (_New_). DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. HUGH WORTHINGTON. CAMERON PRIDE. ROSE MATHER. ETHELYN'S MISTAKE. MILLBANK. EDNA BROWNING. WEST LAWN. MILDRED. FORREST HOUSE. (_New_). 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

"Mrs. Holmes' stories are universally read. Her admirers are numberless. She is in many respects without a rival in the world of fiction. Hercharacters are always life-like, and she makes them talk and act likehuman beings, subject to the same emotions, swayed by the samepassions, and actuated by the same motives which are common among menand women of every day existence. Mrs. Holmes is very happy inportraying domestic life. Old and young peruse her stories with greatdelight, for she writes in a style that all can comprehend. "--_NewYork Weekly. _

The North American Review, vol. 81, page 557, says of Mrs. Mary J. Holmes' novel, "English Orphans":--"With this novel of Mrs. Holmes'we have been charmed, and so have a pretty numerous circle ofdiscriminating readers to whom we have lent it. The characterizationis exquisite, especially so far as concerns rural and village life, of which there are some pictures that deserve to be hung up inperpetual memory of types of humanity fast becoming extinct. Thedialogues are generally brief, pointed, and appropriate. The plotseems simple, so easily and naturally is it developed andconsummated. Moreover, the story thus gracefully constructed andwritten, inculcates without obtruding, not only pure Christianmorality in general, but, with especial point and power, thedependence of true success on character, and of true respectabilityon merit. "

"Mrs. Holmes' stories are all of a domestic character, and theirinterest, therefore, is not so intense as if they were more highlyseasoned with sensationalism, but it is of a healthy and abidingcharacter. Almost any new book which her publisher might choose toannounce from her pen would get an immediate and general reading. Theinterest in her tales begins at once, and is maintained to the close. Her sentiments are so sound, her sympathies so warm and ready, andher knowledge of manners, character, and the varied incidents ofordinary life is so thorough, that she would find it difficult towrite any other than an excellent tale if she were to tryit. "--_Boston Banner. _

The volumes are all handsomely printed and bound in cloth, soldeverywhere, and sent by mail, _postage free_, on receipt of price[$1. 50 each], by

G. W. CARLETON & CO. , Publishers, _Madison Square, New York. _

CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS. 

A NEW EDITION. 

Among the many editions of the works of this greatest of EnglishNovelists, there has not been until _now_ one that entirely satisfiesthe public demand. --Without exception, they each have some strongdistinctive objection, --either the form and dimensions of the volumesare unhandy--or, the type is small and indistinct--or, the illustrationsare unsatisfactory--or, the binding is poor--or, the price is too high. 

An entirely new edition is _now_, however, published by G. W. Carleton& Co. , of New York, which, in every respect, completely satisfies thepopular demand. --It is known as

"Carleton's New Illustrated Edition. "

COMPLETE IN 15 VOLUMES. 

The size and form is most convenient for holding, --the type isentirely new, and of a clear and open character that has received theapproval of the reading community in other works. 

The illustrations are by the original artists chosen by CharlesDickens himself--and the paper, printing, and binding are of anattractive and substantial character. 

This beautiful new edition is complete in 15 volumes--at theextremely reasonable price of $1. 50 per volume, as follows:--

 1. --PICKWICK PAPERS AND CATALOGUE. 2. --OLIVER TWIST. --UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER. 3. --DAVID COPPERFIELD. 4. --GREAT EXPECTATIONS. --ITALY AND AMERICA. 5. --DOMBEY AND SON. 6. --BARNABY RUDGE AND EDWIN DROOD. 7. --NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 8. --CURIOSITY SHOP AND MISCELLANEOUS. 9. --BLEAK HOUSE. 10. --LITTLE DORRIT. 11. --MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 12. --OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 13. --CHRISTMAS BOOKS. --TALE OF TWO CITIES. 14. --SKETCHES BY BOZ AND HARD TIMES. 15. --CHILD'S ENGLAND AND MISCELLANEOUS. 

The first volume--Pickwick Papers--contains an alphabetical catalogueof all of Charles Dickens' writings, with their exact positions inthe volumes. 

This edition is sold by Booksellers, everywhere--and single specimencopies will be forwarded by mail, _postage free_, on receipt ofprice, $1. 50, by

G. W. CARLETON & CO. , Publishers, Madison Square, New York.