“You murdered Ruth.”
Silence.
“It was you who lured her into that house and into that cellar, and killed her there.”
Silence.
“And you made an accomplice of that poor simpleton, Joachim Heinzen, and by a well-devised plan filled him so full of fear and anguish that he deemed himself alone to be the murderer, and did not venture even to utter your name. How did that come about?”
Silence.
“And how did it come about that Ruth found no mercy in your soul? Ruth! Of all creatures! And that the knife ... that the knife in your hand obeyed you ... and that thereafter you could go and speak and drink, and decide on actions and go from one house to another. With that image and with that deed within you? How is that possible?”
Silence.
Christian’s voice had nothing of its old coolness and reserve. It was hoarse and passionate and naked. “What did you want of her? What was your ultimate desire? Why did Ruth have to die? Why? What could she give you by her death? What did you gain through murdering her?”
Suddenly Niels Heinrich’s voice uttered a scream and a roar: “Her virginity, man!”