“And you were wrong. You should have tied him, and shut him up here. He is now perhaps with the baron’s cutthroats. Come, Christian, we must find a hiding-place for these papers before attending to anything else!”
“Pshaw! A hiding-place is never of any use.”
“Yes, indeed!”
“Very well then, you find one, Monsieur Goefle, while I make ready my weapons; that is the surest way. Where are these cutthroats?”
“Who knows? I saw Johan and his band go out with Stenson, and I locked the door of the court after them. But they may come from the other side, for the lake is a solid plain now; they may have come already. Do you hear anything?”
“Nothing. And why, in Heaven’s name, should they come and attack us here? Say, Monsieur Goefle, let us reason a little about our situation, and not be alarmed without any cause.”
“You cannot reason about it, Christian, for you have no knowledge to go upon! As for me, I know—or I think I know—that the baron has fully resolved to discover who you are, and, when he is satisfied, who can say what course he will pursue? Possibly they will keep us prisoners here, until he arrives at some decision. They have just arrested Stenson—yes, arrested, that is the word. At first, that scoundrel of a Johan came in and invited him politely enough; but when the terrified old man hesitated, and when I sought to detain him, the other servants showed themselves, and if he had resisted, would have carried him off by force. It was my intention to follow him. I am satisfied that they would not dare injure him before me, and I proposed to go with him into the baron’s presence, and, if necessary, to stir up the latter’s guests against him. In fact I actually did start in advance of them all, but, under cover of the fog, returned, for, on the other hand, to leave you alone—I could not make up my mind what to do! If the baron wants to extort some secret from Stenson, he will begin by wheedling him, and we shall have time enough to go to his rescue—that thought decided me. And now, Christian, let us go—Yet stay!—It is absolutely necessary that we should solve this mystery—that we should know the real facts of the case before acting! Stand sentinel, then, guard the door, they will not dare break it open—the devil! I am at home here; you are right. They will not venture to drag me, as they did that poor old overseer, before their master. What excuse could they offer?”
“None, most surely; so be tranquil, M. Goefle. This great door is solid, that of the bed-room is no less so, and I can answer for the door of the secret chamber; I will guard them. Read, and read quickly. We, at least, have always an excuse for going to the new chateau, since they have not countermanded the comedy of marionettes.”
“Yes, yes, certainly, we must know where we stand, and who we are!” cried M. Goefle, exalted by the spirit of investigation, which is the soul, the inspiration of the lawyer’s profession. “I shall get through with it sooner than you would, Christian, for arranging these fragments, and making out these hieroglyphs, is in the regular course of my business. Five minutes’ patience, I ask no more than that. As for you, Master Nils, talk low with your marionettes.”
As he spoke, M. Goefle, with remarkable promptness, began arranging the letters according to their dates, reading them as he went on, and completing the sense, where it was wanting, with a veritable eagle’s glance. Every trace, every line of this mysterious package of papers he examined carefully, sometimes questioning Christian, and sometimes himself, as if to recall certain facts.