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"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 taken better care of it." Bucholz stopped in his walk, and facing his companion asked in a manner that gave every evidence of insincerity,
After the murder he had visited the hotel in company with the officers who had him then in charge, and had paid his bill and taken his trunk away. The barkeeper shrugged his shoulders and declined to have anything to say when asked about any suspicious actions on the part of Bucholz during his residence in the house or since his engagement with Mr. Schulte.
Entirely undisturbed by the many reports in circulation about him, Henry Schulte pursued the isolated life he seemed to prefer, paying no heed to the curious eyes that were bent upon him, and entirely oblivious to the vast amount of interest which others evinced in his welfare.
Hilda turned, but seemed to be listening from politeness rather than from interest. "We can't pay more than forty," she answered, starting on her way again. "I might let you have it for fifty," Schulte called after her, "if you didn't want any fixing up." "It'd have to be fixed up," said Hilda, halting again. "But I don't care much for the neighborhood. There are too many delicatessens here now."
"I am going down to South Norwalk, in Connecticut, to buy a farm which was advertised for sale there," answered Mr. Schulte. "Where is Frank?" asked Bucholz, as though in ignorance of their separation. "Is he not going with you?" "Frank is no longer in my employ. I have discharged him, and he must now look out for himself." "Don't you want somebody to take his place?" said Bucholz, eagerly.
In the morning he again met Frank Bruner, and the conversation of the night before was continued. Bucholz, without seeming to be anxious upon the subject, adroitly led the unsuspecting servant on in his dislike for his occupation, and he succeeded so well that before the day was passed, Frank had firmly resolved to inform Henry Schulte of his plans and of his intention to leave his service.
The days sped on, and the trial of William Bucholz, for the murder of Henry Schulte, his employer, was fast approaching. Regularly Edward Sommers had visited the imprisoned man, and upon the occasion of each visit had endeavored to assure him of the possibility of escaping from the charge against him. The mind of Bucholz was in a chaotic state of worriment and unrest.
Do you know what happened to the interpreter at the internment camp, who was our go-between, who played us false by cutting the document in half? The English shot him too, on account of what was found in letters that came to him openly through the post? And who settled Schulte? And who settled the other man? Who contrived the traps that sent them to their doom?
It was found to contain the sum of four thousand seven hundred and thirty-seven dollars, in United States money, each note bearing the numbers which had been placed upon them by Henry Schulte and which had also been discovered upon the money which Bucholz had been so lavish in expending after the murder and prior to his arrest.
Bucholz's opportunity had now arrived, and jumping into the coach, he took his seat beside the old gentleman, whose acquaintance he had cultivated 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 of the other.
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