She stirred slightly, drew one hand across her eyes, then, with a long sigh, turned over on her side.
"Come on out here," I said in a low tone, "and don't disturb her. Sleep's the best thing for her now, if she can get it. Besides, I've something to show you," and picking up the lamp, I led the way to the kitchen and closed the door.
"Somet'ing else to show me?" he repeated, staring about at the walls.
"Yes; come along," and I started down the cellar stairs.
He followed me, breathing heavily. As I glanced over my shoulder I was amused to see that he had drawn his revolver.
"This way," I said, and stepped into the recess. "See there!"
He turned livid as he gazed down into the grave, and his hands and face grew clammy.
"Mein Gott!" he breathed. "Mein Gott!" and he returned his revolver to his pocket, took off his helmet and wiped his forehead with a shaking hand.
He said nothing more until we were back again in the kitchen. Then he looked at me with glassy eyes.
"But who's t'e murderer?" he demanded. "Where's t'e guilty party?"