I knew that in the days when he had dealt his dastardly injury on my family he had a wife, whom he had married secretly, living in Thuringia. I was almost alone in the knowledge, which I had gained by accident, and my purpose now was to ascertain if she was still alive.
Fortune favored my investigation. The wife was still in the town, living in a humble way as a shop-keeper, and still ignorant of the real position and character of her husband. I had no difficulty in finding her, and using part of my knowledge of years before. I had some conversation with her and her two children, eliciting the fact that she had not seen von Nauheim for years, did not know whether he was alive or dead, and did not care. She was earning her own living and educating her children, and prayed only that she might be troubled by the man no more.
It was not my cue to stir muddy waters. All I needed was to know where to put my hand upon her at any moment that it might be necessary to spoil the scoundrel's schemes.
The villain meant to deceive Minna von Gramberg as he had deceived my sister years before, and my thoughts about him were bitter and black and wrathful as the train whirled me back through the summer night to Munich. But I was jubilant too; for I held the knowledge that must inevitably frustrate his scheme, and I resolved that I would use it at the forthcoming meeting, if no other cause suggested itself, to refuse to go forward any farther. It was, of course, an ample reason for such refusal; and as I had the proofs so fresh in my hands, there was not a man of honor in the affair who would not say I was doing right. But events were to happen destined to change all this current of my thoughts.
When I reached Munich it was late, but a mild, soft night, and I loitered through the deserted streets on my way to von Nauheim's house, enjoying the walk. I had to pass through one of the outlying parts of the city, and I was walking very slowly, thinking and smoking, when I was startled by a loud and sudden cry for help that came from some distance ahead of me. I am a swift runner, and I set off at my fastest pace, the cry, which was repeated, being my guide. I passed two or three streets, crossed a broad, dark square, and then I heard the cry for the third time, and with it the sound of men struggling and fighting, and the clash of steel. I had no weapon with me save a stout oak stick; but I gave no thought to my own danger as I rushed on, and set up an answering shout to let it be known that I was at hand. As I reached the other side of the square I came suddenly in full view of the disturbance.
Four men, two armed with swords and two having knives, were attacking one man, who, with his back to the wall, was fighting for his life like a demon, parrying, lunging, and thrusting with amazing dexterity and skill. He had been wounded, however, I could tell, and although he had wounded more than one of his assailants, he was in a very fair way of coming badly out of the fight.
Fired by the infernal cowardice of the four men in setting on one, I let out an oath, and, grasping my stick with both hands, I clenched my teeth, and rushed upon the villains from behind. I brought the heavy knob of my stick down with crushing force upon the arm of the man nearest me, making the arm drop nerveless by his side, and sending his sword clattering down on the stones; and then I turned and smashed it with all my force right into the face of a second man who made as if to attack me. At the same instant he who had been assailed in the first instance drove his sword through a third; and, seeing this unexpected turn given to matters, the fourth ran away—an example which the rest followed.
