“Ah! blood-stains!” cried the lieutenant, whose attention was directed toward those marks by the finger of his man. “Then is the guilty one speedily discovered! Signor!” he added, turning once more toward Wagner, “are those your garments?”
An expression of indescribable horror convulsed the countenance of Fernand; for the question of the officer naturally reminded him of his dreadful fate—the fate of a Wehr-Wolf—although, we should observe, he never remembered, when restored to the form of a man, what he might have done during the long hours that he wore the shape of a ferocious monster.
Still, as he knew that his garments had been soiled, torn and blood-stained in the course of the preceding night, it was no wonder that he shuddered and became convulsed with mental agony when his terrible doom was so forcibly called to his mind.
His emotions were naturally considered to be corroborative evidence of guilt: and the lieutenant laying his hand upon Wagner’s shoulder, said in a stern, solemn manner, “In the name of his highness our prince, I arrest you for the crime of murder!”
“Murder!” repeated Fernand, dashing away the officer’s arm; “you dare not accuse me of such a deed!”
“I accuse you of murder, signor,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “Within a hundred paces of your dwelling a young lady——”
“A young lady!” cried Wagner, thinking of Agnes, whom he had left in the garden.
“Yes, signor, a young lady has been most barbarously murdered!” added the officer in an impressive tone.
“Agnes! Agnes!” almost screamed the unhappy man, as this dreadful announcement fell upon his ears. “Oh! is it possible that thou art no more, my poor Agnes!”
He covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly.