“There is not even a chair misplaced. His Bible is there on the desk, he may have been preparing for to-day’s sermon.”
“Yes, that is the case; because see, here are some notes in his handwriting.”
The Count and Judge von Kormendy spoke these sentences at intervals as they made their examination of the room. The local magistrate was able to answer one or two simpler questions, but for the most part he could only shrug his shoulders in helplessness. Nothing had been seen or heard that was at all unusual during the night in the rectory. When the old housekeeper was called up she could say nothing more than this. Indeed, it was almost impossible for the old woman to say anything, her voice choked with sobs at every second word. None of the household force had noticed anything unusual, or could remember anything at all that would throw light on this mystery.
“Well, then, sir, we might just as well sit down and wait for the detective’s arrival,” said the judge.
“You are waiting for some one besides the doctor?” asked the local magistrate timidly.
“Yes, His Grace telegraphed to Budapest,” answered the district judge, looking at his watch. “And if the train is on time, the man we are waiting for ought to be here in an hour. You sent the carriage to the station, didn’t you? Is the driver reliable?”
“Yes, sir, he is a dependable man,” said the old housekeeper.
Dr. Orszay entered the room just then and the Count introduced him to the district judge, who was still a stranger to him.
“I fear, Count, that our eyes will serve but little in discovering the truth of this mystery,” said the doctor.
The nobleman nodded. “I agree with you,” he replied. “And I have sent for sharper eyes than either yours or mine.”