Part 55 (1/2)

”Good G.o.d!” cried the notary; ”can it be that Viola is taken?” And to escape being seen in this questionable place, and at such a time, too, he hastened back to the village.

A few minutes after the notary's departure, Viola broke through the hedge. A parcel of papers was in his hand. One moment he stood still--one moment he cast an anxious and half-desponding look around him. But the man whom he sought was not there. The avenger of blood was at his heels. He leapt down the bank, stepped into a boat which lay hid among the willows; and the l.u.s.ty strokes of his oars were drowned in the shouts of his pursuers.

”Here he is! That's the place he went in! At him, boys!” cried they, as they rushed into the open s.p.a.ce. But here they were at fault. They had lost the track of him they were pursuing. Their clamours roused the old ferryman in his hut. Ferko, the coachman, who led the crowd of servants and peasants from the house, approached, and the ferryman, coming up, asked what was the matter, and whether some one had stolen a horse.

”No, no!” cried the coachman. ”Our attorney has been killed, and we have pursued the murderer to this spot. We saw him a minute ago. He's hid in the bush, here; help us to find him. He must be here!”

”The Lord have mercy on us! What, the attorney killed! Well, after all there's not much harm done. But you are far out if you think to find him here. He is in the village by this time! A few minutes before we heard the row here, a man walked very fast by our house to the village. You heard the footsteps, Andresh, didn't you?”

”That's him! that's him! Quick! Go after him!” shouted the coachman; and, without waiting to hear the young man's reply, he darted off precisely in the same direction which the notary had taken on his way home.

”He is not here! He has made for the village, it's plain enough!” said the ferryman, as he with difficulty hobbled after the party.

As the hounds follow the scent, so the coachman and his companions followed the foot-marks. ”What's this?” exclaimed Ferko, stooping to pick up a stick which lay on the ground. ”It's a stick; a gentleman's walking-stick, too. It's a tshakany[28]; no doubt the robber has stolen it somewhere!”

[Footnote 28: See Note XI.]

They traced the foot-marks up to the hedge of the notary's garden. The coachman walked round it.

”The devil take it!” cried he; ”the foot-marks end here.”

The others s.n.a.t.c.hed the lantern from his hand, and eagerly looked for a continuation of the foot-marks.

It was no use; the track which had continued up to that point was lost.

They were again at fault.

”Surely the earth can't have swallowed him!” said the ferryman.

”Perhaps he's hid on the other side of the hedge,” said the coachman: ”stay here; I'll jump over and see.”

”No, no! don't do that!” cried the ferryman, pulling Ferko back; ”that's the way to get a knock on the head. What does it matter to us if the attorney is killed? For my part, I wished him to the devil last summer; he won't come down upon me now for a hundred and fifty florins a year!”

But the coachman, though not stimulated to follow Viola from any love to Catspaw, paid no attention to this advice, and bounded over the fence.

He returned soon afterwards, declaring that all trace of the robber was lost; and they were just about to return home, when the ferryman's son came running to inform them that he had discovered some fresh foot-marks on the garden path. They all ran to the garden gate, which was open, and found the continuation of the foot-marks which they had so suddenly and mysteriously lost. They were distinctly traced up to the very door of the house.

”He is in the notary's house, or perhaps he is in the shed,” said Ferko, in the tone of a man who, when he has came to a certain point, will hazard all. ”Let us enter.”

”What!” said the ferryman, seizing him by the coat; ”you don't think of looking in Mr. Tengelyi's house for a murderer, do you?”

”And why not?” retorted Ferko.

”Don't you know it would not be the first time robbers have been in this house? It's here young Mr. Akosh was shot at!”

”But you forget,” answered the ferryman, ”that this house is a n.o.bleman's!”

”What do we care for that? We are in search of Viola. Moreover, did we not ransack the house with the justice at our head?”

”That's different,” said the ferryman; ”they were gentlemen,--we are not. They would kick us out of doors.”