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

This appeared to be very gratifying information for Mr. Bollman, who therefore antic.i.p.ated very little trouble in clearing his client and earning his fee.

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

One noticeable feature of their conversation was the evident avoidance by both of them of a discussion of the probable guilt or innocence of the accused man, nor did either declare his belief in his innocence.

Mr. Bollman expressed himself very carefully: "I have followed up the theory of his guilt, and it does not agree with his own statements or those of other people. Then, again, I have taken up the theory of his innocence, and this does not agree with his story either. It is a most extraordinary case, and sometimes it seems to me that it cannot be otherwise but that William Bucholz is the guilty party; and then, again, there are some of his actions that tend positively to show that 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 guilt of the accused man, but that, in despite of that fact, he was willing to help him to the extent of his power.

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

As he stepped from the train upon the platform, he was surprised to see the figure of Thomas Brown standing in the doorway of the station, evidently waiting for the train to bear him away for the time. Upon making inquiries he ascertained that he had been released on bail, and that he had found friends to a.s.sist him. He never saw him again. Whether this individual was an embryo detective, who was desirous of discovering the mystery of the Schulte murder, or whether he was simply a victim of intense curiosity, was never learned.

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

CHAPTER XXV.

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

Upon the return of Edward Sommers to the jail at Bridgeport he was warmly welcomed by his friend, to whom the intervening days had pa.s.sed slowly and wearily.

His greeting was cordial and friendly, and as Sommers related his experiences during his absence, the eyes of William would light up with pleasure. No one to have looked at him now would have imagined for a moment that the face now wreathed with smiles had once been distorted by a murderous pa.s.sion, or grown ashen pale with the fear of the consequences of his action.

Their conversation was long and seemingly interesting, and as Sommers unfolded his plans for the relief of the imprisoned man, all doubt of their success was dissipated from his mind, and visions of prospective safety came thick and fast. He still appeared doubtful of communicating the promised secret of the hiding-place of the old man's money to his companion. He avoided the subject by eager questions upon other topics, and when the time arrived for the departure of Sommers, the confidence was still withheld, and the position of the stolen money was known only to the man who had placed it there.

Sommers had informed him of his visit to Mr. Bollman and of the conversation which had taken place between them relating to the suspicions entertained by him of Sommers, to all of which Bucholz listened with wrapt attention, and when he was again solemnly cautioned about informing his counsel of the relations existing between them, or of their possession of any of the wealth of the murdered man, with a peculiar twinkle in his eye he promised a strict obedience.

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

Sommers began to grow impatient under this continued procrastination and evasion, and he resolved to take such measures as would accomplish the object desired. He had found, during his connection with Bucholz, that he had not the slightest regard for the truth. He would make the most astounding a.s.sertions, unblushingly insisting upon their truthfulness, and even when brought face to face with facts which contradicted his statements, he would stubbornly decline to be convinced or to admit his error or falsehood. All through their intercourse he had evinced this tendency to exaggeration and untruthfulness, and Sommers had grown to be very skeptical with regard to any statement which he would make.

He had promised William to visit the farmhouse where Henry Schulte had resided, and to call upon the family of the Warings, who still continued to reside there, and to carry a message to Sadie.

Accordingly, one morning he started for South Norwalk, and, arriving there in safety, he walked up the main road, and, entering through the gate in front of the house, he knocked at the door.

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

Sommers, by the exercise of a little good nature and that tact which is generally acquired by a man of the world, succeeded in ingratiating 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 soon chatting pleasantly on their way through the fields. Arriving at the strip of woods, they walked along the narrow path and Sadie designated to him the place where the body had been found.

Very different now was the scene presented. The trees, whose branches were then bare, were now covered with their bright and heavy verdure; the ground, that then was hard and frozen, was now carpeted with the luxurious gra.s.s; the birds sang merrily overhead, and the warm sunshine lighted up the wood with a beauty far different than was apparent upon that bleak winter night when Henry Schulte met his death upon the spot where they now were standing.

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

He determined to make this visit the groundwork of a definite attack upon the reticence of William Bucholz. The next morning, upon going to the jail, he informed William of his visit to South Norwalk, and of his meeting with Sadie Waring. After relating the various incidents that had occurred during his visit, and which were listened to with lively interest, he turned suddenly to Bucholz, and lightly said:

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

Bucholz started suddenly, as though the information conveyed an unpleasant surprise.

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

"I can not prevent their moving," replied Sommers. "They will do as they please about that, I guess. Besides, what has their moving got to 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 one of the pocket-books is in the barn."

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

"I will show you how to get it. I will draw a sketch of the barn, and show you just where it is to be found," exclaimed William, hurriedly.

"Oh, my dear Sommers, you do not know how worried I have been. I first threw the money under the straw in the barn, and on the Sunday morning after old Schulte was killed I went out in the barn to get it, and put it in a safe place, when I found that the straw had been taken away. I stood there as if I was petrified, but I looked further, and there, under the loose straw upon the ground, I saw the pocket-book lying all safe. The man who had taken the straw away had not been smart enough to see it. I felt as though a bright gleam of sunshine had come over me, and I picked it up and hid it away in a safe place. My G.o.d! My G.o.d! What a fool I was."

"I should think so," replied Sommers.

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

It was with great difficulty that Summers retained his composure as he received this information, but he succeeded in controlling his emotions, and took the paper from the hands of his companion with a calmness which displayed the wonderful control which he exercised over 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. Schulte put upon them, but," he added, confidently, "I will soon fix that, a little acid will take that all out and n.o.body will know anything about it."

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

"Ah, Sommers, you are a devil of a fellow! and I can trust your skill in anything."

He then informed Sommers that he did not know how much money was in the pocketbook; that he had taken some fifty and one-hundred-dollar bills out of it, but that fearing to have so much money about him he had replaced a large portion of what he had previously taken.

The time was now approaching for visitors to leave the prison, and Sommers arose to go. Bucholz arose also, as if some new idea had occurred 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--high up."

Sommers felt confident that his companion was withholding something from him, and he was resolved that before he had finished, he would arrive at the whole of the mystery, but he had gained enough for one day and he was compelled to be satisfied.

Before leaving Bucholz for that day he informed him that he would take the money to New York and endeavor to get the marks out of the bills; 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 upon the trial.

Bucholz caught greedily at this suggestion, and laughed loudly at the prospect of blinding the eyes of justice by the operation of this clever trick.

Leaving him in this excellent good humor, Sommers took his departure from the jail, and, in a jubilant frame of mind, returned to the town.