again. He was often in want of the necessaries of life; his relations would not help him; and he began to despair of ever gaining an honest livelihood. Having once visited Sterbenk’s house, he had quickly realised how easily the counting-house door might be forced. The criminal idea of thus obtaining funds once formed, it grew and gained more mastery, till at length, on the night of the 29th of January, he proceeded to perpetrate the theft. He went to Sterbenk’s, opened the outer door, which he said was unbolted, and silently, and without difficulty, entered the counting-house. Finding the strong-box too heavy to move by himself, he had gone home and awakened his assistant, whom he persuaded to join him. Together they had crept back, lifted the cash-box, and, without interference, carried it home. While Gösser’s wife was out of the way, they opened it and divided the spoil. The box they kept close hidden for a long time, but at last broke it up and threw the pieces bit by bit into the river. After the robbery Gösser confessed to his wife, who, overcome with fear, implored her husband to return the money. But he paid some pressing debts and bought what he needed for his business, and now hoped that he was on the high road to success and competence. Gösser declared that no one had instigated him to the deed, that he alone was responsible, and had had no accomplice beyond Blösel; and the confessions of his wife and Blösel corroborated these statements.
An examination of Gösser’s dwelling also confirmed them, while portions of the strong-box were by-and-bye found in the river. But it was not till after there remained no shadow of doubt of the truth of Gösser’s story that the other prisoners were lightened of their chains, and only by degrees were they informed of the new turn of affairs.
Kirchmeier was arrested on the 4th of November, and feeling ran tremendously strong against him as the original cause of so much cruel injustice. His three confessions were read out to him, and he was asked if he still stood by them. Strange to state, he firmly reiterated them, continuing to do so even when the fragments of the box and the plainly rebutting evidence were laid before him. The only plausible solution of his extraordinary conduct was that he suffered from hallucinations. He had only lately recovered from a bad attack of bilious fever; and it was quite probable that in his convalescent condition the excitement of the robbery working on a disordered mind produced an impression which had all the weight and force of actual tangible fact. Some such view of his conduct was evidently taken by the Court; for, although arraigned for perjury, he was acquitted, and absolved from having falsely sworn from any evil motive. Yet his fellow-townspeople could not readily forgive him, or forget the sufferings he had brought upon the innocent victims of his delusions. He was scouted by his old friends and deserted by his customers; and, to escape universal execration and the starvation that threatened him, he settled in another part of Germany. Gösser and Blösel were, of course, duly punished.
“THE BLUE DRAGOON.”
This case,[6] in which Justice got upon a false scent and narrowly escaped the commission of a tragical blunder, is remarkable for the tortuous course it ran before the truth was at last reached. In a certain Dutch town there lived, towards the close of the last century, an elderly widow lady, Madame Andrecht. She was fairly well-to-do, and possessed some valuable silver, although she lived in a quiet, retired street and in a not very reputable locality. Her neighbours were all of the poorer classes; and the town ditch, which was navigable, flowed at the bottom of her back garden. Hers was a tranquil, uneventful existence; she was served by one elderly female servant, and her only recreation was a yearly visit paid to a married son in the country, when she locked up the house and took the servant away with her.
On the 30th of June, 17—, she returned home, after one of these visits, to find her house broken into and most of her possessions gone. It was clear that the thieves were acquainted with the interior of the house, and had set to work in a systematic fashion, although some of the plunder had escaped them. A window leading from the garden had been forced; the back door was open, and footsteps could be traced down the garden to the hedge at the bottom over the ditch. This pointed to the removal of the booty by boat.
The discovery of this robbery caused a great sensation, and the house was soon surrounded by a gaping crowd, whom the police had some trouble in controlling. One, an irrepressible baker, managed to make his way inside, and his acquaintances awaited with impatience the result of his investigations. But on his return he assumed a great air of mystery, and refused to satisfy their curiosity. Everyone was left to evolve his own theory, and the most voluble of the chatterers was a wool-spinner, Leendert van N——, who talked so pointedly that before evening he was summoned to the town house and called upon for an explanation by the burgomaster. In a hesitating, stammering way, as if dreading to incriminate anyone, he unfolded his suspicions, which were to the following effect:—
At the end of the street stood a small alehouse, kept by an ex-soldier, Nicholas D——, commonly known as the “Blue Dragoon.” Some years previously he had courted and married a servant of Madame Andrecht. The mistress had never liked the match, and had done all she could to prevent the young people from meeting. Nicholas had managed, however, to pay the girl secret visits, stealing at night across Leendert’s back garden and over the hedge. Leendert objected, and begged Nicholas to discontinue these clandestine proceedings. Later on he discovered that the ardent lover used to row along the fosse and enter the garden that way. All this was ancient history, but it was brought back to his mind by the robbery. His suspicion had been emphasised by the fact of his finding a handkerchief on the fosse bank, opposite the garden, only ten days before. This handkerchief proved to be marked with the initials N. D.