It is believed that in all these eighteen years that have elapsed since
the institution of the corpse-watch, no shrouded occupant of the Bavarian
dead-houses has ever rung its bell. Well, it is a harmless belief.
Let it stand at that.
The chill of that death-room had penetrated my bones.
It revived and fastened upon me the disease which had been
afflicting me, but which, up to that night, had been
steadily disappearing. That man murdered my wife and my child;
and in three days hence he will have added me to his list.
No matter–God! how delicious the memory of it!–I caught him
escaping from his grave, and thrust him back into it.
After that night, I was confined to my bed for a week;
but as soon as I could get about, I went to the dead-house
books and got the number of the house which Adler had died in.
A wretched lodging-house, it was. It was my idea that he would
naturally have gotten hold of Kruger’s effects, being his cousin;
and I wanted to get Kruger’s watch, if I could. But while I was sick,
Adler’s things had been sold and scattered, all except a few old letters,
and some odds and ends of no value. However, through those letters,
I traced out a son of Kruger’s, the only relative left.
He is a man of thirty now, a shoemaker by trade, and living at
No. 14 Konigstrasse, Mannheim–widower, with several small children.
Without explaining to him why, I have furnished two-thirds of
his support, ever since.
Now, as to that watch–see how strangely things happen!
I traced it around and about Germany for more than a year,
at considerable cost in money and vexation; and at last I got it.
Got it, and was unspeakably glad; opened it, and found nothing
in it! Why, I might have known that that bit of paper was not
going to stay there all this time. Of course I gave up that ten
thousand dollars then; gave it up, and dropped it out of my mind:
and most sorrowfully, for I had wanted it for Kruger’s son.
Last night, when I consented at last that I must die, I began to
make ready. I proceeded to burn all useless papers; and sure enough,
from a batch of Adler’s, not previously examined with thoroughness,
out dropped that long-desired scrap! I recognized it in a moment.
Here it is–I will translate it:
‘Brick livery stable, stone foundation, middle of town, corner of Orleans
and Market. Corner toward Court-house. Third stone, fourth row.
Stick notice there, saying how many are to come.’
There–take it, and preserve it. Kruger explained that that stone
was removable; and that it was in the north wall of the foundation,
fourth row from the top, and third stone from the west.
The money is secreted behind it. He said the closing sentence was
a blind, to mislead in case the paper should fall into wrong hands.
It probably performed that office for Adler.
Now I want to beg that when you make your intended journey down the river,
you will hunt out that hidden money, and send it to Adam Kruger, care of
the Mannheim address which I have mentioned. It will make a rich man of him,
and I shall sleep the sounder in my grave for knowing that I have done
what I could for the son of the man who tried to save my wife and child–
albeit my hand ignorantly struck him down, whereas the impulse of my heart
would have been to shield and serve him.
Chapter 32
The Disposal of a Bonanza
‘SUCH was Ritter’s narrative,’ said I to my two friends.
There was a profound and impressive silence, which lasted
a considerable time; then both men broke into a fusillade
of exciting and admiring ejaculations over the strange incidents
of the tale; and this, along with a rattling fire of questions,
was kept up until all hands were about out of breath.
Then my friends began to cool down, and draw off,
under shelter of occasional volleys, into silence and
abysmal reverie. For ten minutes now, there was stillness.
Then Rogers said dreamily–