“But when I tell you that he did?”
“But I tell you, sir, that Gyuri did not do it. The man who did it—he has yellowish hands—I saw them—I saw big yellowish hands. Gyuri’s hands are big, but they are brown.”
“Janci, you are right. I was only trying to test you. Gyuri did not do it; that is, he did not do it with his own hands. The man who held the knife that struck down the pastor was Varna, the crazy mechanician.”
Janci beat his forehead. “Oh, I am a foolish and useless dreamer!” he exclaimed; “of course it was Varna’s hands that I saw. I have seen them a hundred times when he came down into the village, and yet when I saw them in the vision I did not recognise them.”
“We’re all dreamers, Janci—and our dreams are very useless generally.”
“Yours are not useless, sir,” said the shepherd. “If I had as much brains as you have, my dreams might be of some good.”
Muller smiled. “And if I had your visions, Janci, it would be a powerful aid to me in my profession.”
“I don’t think you need them, sir. You can find out the hidden things without them. You are going to leave us?”
“Yes, Janci, I must go back to Budapest, and from there to Vienna. They need me on another case.”
“It’s a sad work, this bringing people to the gallows, isn’t it?”