"This may become a matter for the Baron's personal attention," continued the steward. He looked sharply at Gerda. "How long have you been in the Baron's service?"
"Why, you know that, sir. Ten years, ever since I——"
"Yes, yes, I remember. And you know how hopeless it is to try to deceive the Baron?"
"Yes, sir." Gerda swallowed painfully.
"But you still insist you had nothing to do with the disappearance of this money?"
Gerda spread his hands. "I can't understand it, sir. But I had nothing to do with it myself. As I told you, we collected it, listed it, counted it, and I put it in the chest and locked it up." He shook his head again. "It's witchcraft, sir."
The steward leaned back, a slight smile playing about his lips.
"Witchcraft is good enough for serfs," he said smoothly, "but you and I are intelligent men. We have had collection money disappear before, many times. Almost always, there has been the cry, 'It's witchcraft!' And always there has been a more simple, worldly explanation." He snapped his lingers and a page hurried forward.
"A cup of wine," ordered the steward. "This questioning is thirsty work." He faced back to Gerda.
"Always," he repeated, "some explanation has been forthcoming. Usually, I have discovered the errant one—with the help of my guards, of course. And the criminal has been duly punished. But there have been some few occasions when the malefactor was so clever as to force the Baron's intervention." He paused, leaning forward a little.