The good old man was awaiting his niece's arrival with the greatest impatience, and from Herr Delmar, in whom he had implicit confidence, he looked for instant advice. He had constantly assured his Minni that Delmar would know exactly how to compel the waiting-maid to relinquish her booty. His heart was lightened of its load when the party from the castle made their appearance. "Thank God, my dear, that you are come!" he exclaimed, cordially embracing his niece. "What to think of this confounded affair I'm sure I can't tell!"
And Uncle Balthasar went on to tell as well as he could what there was to be told; his good heart rebelled at the thought of the possibility that his dear Guido had run off with a thief, but proof seemed too strong for him; he had with difficulty prevented the postmaster from sending a couple of men on horseback in pursuit of the fugitives; he would not resort to so extreme a measure without consulting his niece and Herr Delmar.
Neither, until this moment, had Eva believed in Bertram's guilt, but now, when the postmaster showed her into Bertram's room where the floor was strewed with linen and articles of clothing, and held up to her the two gilt handles which she recognized as those belonging to her casket; when he related to her and to all that he had found Bertram's door locked, and had opened it with a master-key; that Nanette had driven off in the carriage with Bertram; that he had helped him lift his portmanteau into the vehicle, and had wondered at its weight; that the box, if it were stolen, must have been packed into the portmanteau, or it would have been seen,--all these revelations wellnigh destroyed Eva's confidence.
And there was other ground for suspicion of the fugitives. Nanette had been in Aunt Minni's room just before her departure, and Aunt Minni had left the key in the drawer where she kept her purse. The purse was now gone.
Uncle Balthasar had first suspected from the finding of the metal handles in Bertram's room that the waiting-maid had stolen Eva's casket; he could not believe in Bertram's guilt. What lover would steal his betrothed's money and jewels! Still it was strange that the handles should be found in Bertram's room where his clothes were scattered about. Hansel besides maintained that the box could have left the inn only in Bertram's portmanteau.
There was still however a doubt as to whether the ebony casket were really gone. The door leading from the hall into Eva's room was locked, and Hansel had found, upon trying to open it with his master-key, that it was also bolted inside. He had tried to enter the room from Bertram's apartment, but his key was constructed only for the doors opening upon the hall, and they had not yet been able to inspect the interior of Eva's room.
Neither Hansel nor Uncle Balthasar had thought of sending for the locksmith to force the lock; this simple expedient was now suggested by Delmar, and the village locksmith opened the door without difficulty. The casket was missing, and there was no longer any room for doubt as to who had stolen it; even Uncle Balthasar declared indignantly that his dear Guido was neither more nor less than a common thief.
"Did the casket contain articles of value?" Delmar asked.
"All my jewels and my dear father's last gift to me, with a sum of money, the amount of which I do not precisely know."
"But I can tell you, my pet, that it must have been four thousand thalers, at least," said Uncle Balthasar.