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, but an examination of the seals disclosed the fact that the package had been manufactured in the city, and that it had been designed to give color to the story of Bucholz's, of his having received money from his relatives who resided in Germany. There were, however, too many circ.u.mstances surrounding this package of a suspicious character to successfully deceive any one about its having come through the regular channels, or, in fact, having come from Germany at all. This package was the subject of discussion in the German paper, whose comments had produced such a marked effect upon the prisoner when he read it.

This information I was compelled to receive for what it was worth.

The package had been delivered, and I could only depend upon the recollections of those who had seen it at the time. Their statements or opinions would certainly not be received as evidence, nor could they be used in any legal manner. They only served to strengthen my belief in William Bucholz's guilty partic.i.p.ation in the murder, and determined me to pursue my present system of investigation vigorously and unremittingly to a successful conclusion.

CHAPTER XXII.

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

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

The intimacy and friendship existing between Sommers and Bucholz continued to increase as the days pa.s.sed slowly on. By degrees and in fragmentary conversations Sommers had learned the story of the murder from his companion. He had advised him repeatedly about his deportment in the prison, and as to his manner of conducting himself upon his approaching trial. He had evinced a deep sympathy for his unfortunate position, and, by timely suggestions and judicious warnings, had led the accused man to rely upon him, in a material degree, for advice and comfort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quietly and calmly his companion returned his glance, and then he laughingly 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 the cell, and the subject was not mentioned between them for several days.

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

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

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

Sommers listened patiently to the long recital, which he knew did not contain a particle of truth, and upon its conclusion he remarked, in a light, careless way:

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

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

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

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

"Well, Bucholz, it is none of my business. I hate to see you in this difficulty, and no matter whether you had anything to do with it or not, I will do all that I can to get you out of it. I feel almost as badly about it as you do."

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

Sommers comforted him as well as he was able to do; promised him whatever a.s.sistance that was in his power to render him, and by repeated a.s.surances, he succeeded in quieting his fears and restoring his tranquillity.

It was finally agreed between them that Sommers should make a decided effort to be admitted to bail, and then securing his liberty, he should devote himself to the interests of his friend Bucholz, but during all their after conferences he never a.s.serted his innocence to Edward Sommers again.

The ubiquitous Brown had not been idle; he still watched these men with ceaseless and jealous vigilance, and whenever they were together he would endeavor to approach them as closely as possible. He saw many things that excited his curiosity, but their conversations he could not understand. These two men were the only prisoners who spoke German, and on that account they were as secure from interruption as though no prying eyes were watching them or no suspicions were entertained in regard to their intimacy.

One day an incident occurred, however, which threatened to mar the serenity of the intercourse of these two men, who had been so strangely thrown together, but which eventually resulted in cementing their union more closely.

Sommers had retained Mr. Bollman, the attorney for Bucholz, for the purpose of having his bail reduced in order to effect his release from imprisonment. This course was deemed necessary for two reasons--his health had been considerably impaired by his long confinement, and, besides that, it was decided that he could work more successfully in the interests of Bucholz, could he be freed from the restraint of the prison.

Mr. Bollman had met Mr. Olmstead upon the train and had broached the matter to him. Mr. Olmstead had demurred to the reduction, for reasons 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, and Sommers had been notified of the desire of the State's attorney to see him.

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

A hundred thoughts came crowding through his brain as Sommers departed. What object could the State's attorney have in sending for his friend? Could it be that their intimacy had been noticed and reported, and that Mr. Olmstead would attempt to force him to divulge their secrets? Would he offer such inducements to Sommers as would outweigh his proffered friendship and induce him to betray the confidence that had been reposed in him? He could not tell, and with bitter, anxious and doubtful thoughts pressing upon his mind, he left his cell and walked in the direction of the little room where he knew the 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 to his cell, and throwing himself upon the bed, he gave himself up to the dreadful thoughts that possessed him.

At length he heard the opening and closing of the door, and soon the returning footsteps of Sommers sounded along the pa.s.sage.

Bucholz hastened out, and at once communicated his fears to his friend--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 been a friend to you all along, and it is not probable that I should change my position towards you now, but if you think so, I cannot help it."

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The quarrel between William Bucholz and Edward Sommers._]

This was the commencement of an estrangement which lasted several days. These two men, formerly so intimate and friendly, avoided each other so pointedly that it was observed by all the inmates of the prison, and to none did it afford more gratification than to the curious and suspicious Brown, whose black eyes now glittered with a wicked satisfaction as he noticed the coolness that existed between the two men whose previous friendliness had occasioned him so much concern.

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 the companionship of Sommers. He felt convinced that he had accused him unjustly, and the only man he cared for among the many by whom he was surrounded held himself aloof from him, and he had no disposition to make new friends.

Three days elapsed, during which no communication took place between them, 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 down and indited a letter to Sommers, apologizing for his actions and proffering a renewal of his friendship.

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