Part 92 (1/2)

Perhaps the naked soul of one on the way to h.e.l.l?

The horrible figure thundered continuously at the door and cried:

”Let me in! Give me to drink! I am burning! Bathe me in oil! Help me to undress! I am dying! I am in h.e.l.l! Help! Drag me out of it!”

All through the street they could hear his cries.

Then the d.a.m.ned soul began to curse, and beat the door with his fist, because they would not open to him.

”A plague upon you, cursed accomplice. You shut me out and won't let me in? Thrust me into the tanpit of h.e.l.l and leave me there? My skin is peeling off! I am going blind! An ulcer upon your soul!”

The writhing figure tore off his clothes, which burned his limbs like a s.h.i.+rt of Nessus, and while so doing the hidden silver coins he had received from Sarvolgyi fell to the ground.

”Devil take you, money and all!” he shouted, das.h.i.+ng the coins against the door. ”Here's your cursed money! Pick it up!”

Then he staggered on, leaning against the railing and howling in pain:

”Help! Help! A fortune for a gla.s.s of water! Only let me live until I can drag that fellow with me! Help, man, help!”

A deathly numbness possessed Sarvolgyi. If that figure of horror were no ”spirit,” he must hasten to make him so. He would betray all. That was the greatest danger. He must not live.

He could not see him from the window. Perhaps if he opened the shutters, he could fire at him. He was a highwayman: who could call Sarvolgyi to account for shooting him? He had done it in self-defence.

If only his hands would not tremble so! It was impossible to hit him with a pistol except by placing the barrel to his forehead.

Should he go out to him?

Who would dare to go out to meet that demon face to face? Could the spider leave its web?

While he hesitated, while he struggled to measure the distance from door to window and back, a new sound was heard in the street:--three hors.e.m.e.n came trotting up from the end of the village, and in them Sarvolgyi recognized, from their uniforms, the country police.

Then the bell began to ring, and the peasants came out of their doors, armed with pitchforks and clubs: noisy crowds collected. In their midst were one or two bound figures whom they drove forward with blows: they had seized the robbers.

The battle was irremediably lost. The chief criminal saw the toils closing in on him but had no time to make his escape.

CHAPTER x.x.x

I BELIEVE....!

Day was dawning.

Topandy had not left Czipra since she had been wounded. He sat alone beside her bed.

Servants and domestics had other things to do now: they were standing before the magistrate, face to face with the captured robbers. The magisterial inquiry demanded the presence of them all.

Topandy was alone with the wounded girl.

”Where is Lorand?” whispered Czipra.