"Follow me," cried Veitel, leading him along the gallery, and then down the covered staircase.
The old man tottered down the steps, firmly holding the coat of his guide, who had almost to carry him. In this way they came down step after step till they reached the last one, over which water was rushing. Veitel went first, and unconcernedly stepped up to his knee in the stream, only intent upon leading the old man after him.
As soon as Hippus felt the cold on his boot, he stood still and cried out, "Water!"
"Hush!" angrily whispered Veitel; "not a word."
"Water!" screamed the old man. "Help! he will murder me!"
Veitel seized him and put his hand on his mouth; but the fear of death had again roused the lawyer's energies, and, placing his foot on the next step, he clung as firmly as he could to the banisters, and again screamed out, "Help!"
"Accursed wretch!" muttered Veitel, gnashing his teeth with rage at this determined resistance; then, forcing his hat over his face, he took him by the neckcloth with all his strength, and hurled him into the water. There was a splash—a heavy fall—a hollow gurgling—and all was still.
Beneath the leaden clouds that overhung the river, a dark mass might be seen rolling along with the current. Soon it disappeared; the mist concealed it; the stream rushed on; the water broke wailingly over the steps and palings, and the night-wind kept howling out its monotonous complaint.
The murderer stood for a few moments motionless in the darkness, leaning against the staircase railings. Then he slowly went up the steps. While doing so he felt his trowsers to see how high up they were wet. He thought to himself that he must dry them at the stove this very night, and saw in fancy the fire in the stove, and himself sitting before it in his dressing-gown, as he was accustomed to do when thinking over his business. If he had ever in his life known comfortable repose, it had been when, weary of the cares of the day, he sat before his stove-fire and watched it till his heavy eyelids drooped. He realized how tired he was now, and what good it would do him to go to sleep before a warm fire. Lost in the thought, he stood for a moment like one overcome with drowsiness, when suddenly he felt a strange pressure within him—something that made it difficult to breathe, and bound his breast as with iron bars. Then he thought of the bundle that he had just thrown into the river; he saw it cleave the flood; he heard the rush of water, and remembered that the hat which he had forced over the man's face had been the last thing visible on the surface—a round, strange-looking thing. He saw the hat quite plainly before him—battered, the rim half off, and two grease-spots on the crown. It had been a very shabby hat. Thinking of it, it occurred to him that he could smile now if he chose. But he did not smile. Meanwhile he had got up the steps. As he opened the staircase door, he glanced along the dark gallery through which two had passed a few minutes before, and only one returned. He looked down at the gray surface of the stream, and again he was sensible of that singular pressure. He rapidly crept through the large room and down the steps, and on the ground floor ran up against one of the lodgers in the caravansera. Both hastened away in different directions without exchanging a word.
This meeting turned his thoughts into another direction. Was he safe? The fog still lay thick on the street. No one had seen him go in with Hippus, no one had recognized him as he went out. The investigation would only begin when they found the old man in the river. Would he be safe then?