Part 76 (1/2)

”Rely upon me,” said Brasig, ”I will hold you,” and he caught him by the coat-collar at once.

”But what was the stick to blame for?” said Habermann, going to pick it up. Something stuck fast to the stick, Kurz had thrust it through, with his working, and thrown it away with the stick; the old man was going to shake it off, but as he looked at it, he stood still. Brasig had been occupied with Kurz, and had not paid attention to his old friend, and he now called.

”Come, Karl, we are going! There is nothing to be made of this business.”

He got no answer, and as he looked at his friend, he saw him standing, with something black in his hand, which he regarded with fixed attention, not turning nor moving.

”Good heavens, Karl, what have you there?” cried Zachary Brasig, going towards him. Still he got no answer, Habermann, pale as death, was looking at that which he held in his hand, and which made his features quiver with agitation.

”Karl, Karl! What have you found, what is the matter?”

And at last the words burst from Habermann's struggling breast: ”That packet! This is that packet!” and he held out to Brasig a piece of waxed cloth.

”What? What sort of a packet?”

”Oh, I have held it in my hand, I have seen it for years, waking and dreaming! See, here is the von Rambow coat of arms, here are the marks on the cloth. It was put together like that, it was of that size! It was put up so, with the two thousand thalers in gold! This is the packet, which Regel was sent to Rostock with.”

AH this came out as disjointedly, anxiously and confusedly, as when one talks in a dream, and the old man seemed to be so overpowered by excitement that Brasig sprang towards him, and held him, but he held the cloth fast, as if it had grown into his heart, and Brasig raised himself, to look at it nearer,--Kurz came up also, without noticing any thing remarkable, for he was not yet over his vexation: ”Well,” he exclaimed, ”now, tell me, isn't it enough to drive me crazy? There lies my manure, there lies my ten thalers, on baker Wredow's field.”

”Thunder and lightning!” cried Brasig, ”do leave your confounded manure in peace! Your talk is as bad as the stuff itself. There is your cane,--we must go home. Come, Karl, recollect yourself.”

And when Habermann had taken a few steps, the color returned to his face, and a restless agitation and a driving haste came over him, he began to ask after this thing and that; of whom Kurz had bought the manure, when it was loaded, how it was loaded, what sort of a man the butcher Krauger was, and then he stood still, and folded the packet together, and looked at the creases in the cloth, and at the seal, while Kurz quite forgot his anger, and wondered what had came over the old inspector, that he should take so much interest in his manure and his ten thalers. At last Brasig told him about the matter, but he made him promise with a fearful oath, that he would not repeat a word of it, to any one; ”For,” said he, ”you are one of the people whose tongues run away with them.”

And then they stood together in the street, and deliberated how the wrapper of the packet could have come into the butcher's yard, and Kurz, as well as Brasig, was of the opinion, that it was impossible the butcher could have anything to do with the business,--he was too respectable a man.

”Yes,” said Habermann, and the old energy and decision and judgment, which he had seemed to lose in his trouble and grief, had quite come back to him, ”yes, but a neighbor might have thrown it over there. Does the butcher live alone in the house?”

He had tenants in the back part of the house, Kurz said, but he did not know who they were.

”I must go to the burgomeister,” said Habermann, and as they came back into the town, he went to his house. Kurz would have gone with him, but Brasig held him back: ”We two have lost nothing.” And as he said farewell to him, at his own door, he added, ”You belied me to-day in the most shameful manner; I have forgiven you, however, the 'riding on a donkey;' but if you breathe a word about Karl Habermann's business, I will wring your neck for you,--you confounded old syrup-prince, you!”

Habermann found the burgomeister at home; he told him about his discovery and laid the waxed cloth together in the previous folds, while the burgomeister grew more and more attentive, and finally said:

”Yes, to be sure, to be sure! I had the packet in my hand, also, when I gave the messenger his pa.s.s; the examination, that followed immediately, fixed it clearly in my memory, and if I were called as a witness, I must testify that it is the same, or one exactly like it.

But, my dear Herr Habermann, the trace is still too indistinct; for example, the butcher certainly can have nothing to do with the business, he is one of our best citizens; it is not to be thought of.”

”But there are other people in the back of the house.”

”That is true, yes! Do you know who lives there? Well, we can soon find out,” and he touched the bell. The waiting-maid came in.

”Fika, who lives in the back part of the house with Krauger the butcher?”

”Eh, Herr, widow Kahlert lives there, and then Schmidt the weaver,”

said Fika.

”Schmidt? Schmidt? Is that the weaver Schmidt, who is divorced from his wife?”

”Yes, Herr, and people say he is going to be married again, to the widow Kahlert.”

”So? so? Do people say that? Well, you may go;” and the burgomeister walked up and down, thinking and thinking, and then stopped before Habermann, and said, ”It is really a remarkable coincidence; that is the divorced husband of the woman, whom we took up once for examination; you know, she claimed to have found the Danish double louis-d'ors.”