The Chief Justice: A Novel

by Karl Emil Franzos

The lonely passenger on the deck kept his eyes riveted on the scene, but his thoughts were far away. His recent conversation had powerfully stirred up the memory of his unhappy friend.

Since that last letter he had received no line, no sign or token of any sort from him. Why? he asked himself. From mistrust? Impossible. From caution? That would be exaggerated; the writing on the envelope would not betray to any meddlesome person in what corner of the earth he had buried himself with his child. Besides he had no need to be apprehensive of any inquiry; no one knew of his child, Victorine Lippert's escape from prison had never been cleared up, the investigation had soon after been discontinued without result. The Governor of the Prison had been reprimanded for want of care in searching the cell, the little door in the wall had been bricked up, so that Herr von Werner had never been able to make use of the arrangement which he had thought so "ingenious"--those were the only consequences. Among the prison officials as among the lower classes, the opinion was sometimes expressed that it was Count Riesner-Graskowitz who had liberated his sweetheart, but this was not believed in higher circles; against Sendlingen, however, there was never the slightest breath of suspicion. Sendlingen himself must know this well enough, otherwise he would not have dared to let his book appear, that curious work in which every reader might perceive beneath the stiff, solid legal terminology, the beatings of a deeply-moved heart. He had not put his name to it, but he must have known that his name would rise to the lips of anyone who had carefully read his earlier writings.

If he had not feared this, he might well have ventured upon a letter. If he was none the less silent, it must be because he preferred to be silent. Had he, perhaps, thought Berger, not had the courage to take that second step, had he perhaps renounced the intention and was now ashamed to confess it? That would be superfluous anxiety indeed. Is there a man in the wide world, who would have the heart to blame him for this?

Or was he silent because he could speak no more? The thought had never entered his head before; now in this lonely hour of night it overmastered him. Of course, his brother-in-law was right, he had died a sudden death and now slept his last sleep somewhere in a strange land and under a strange name. And if that were so, would it be cause for complaint? Would not Death have been a deliverer here?

Softly murmuring, the waters of the river glided on, not a sound came from its banks; in deep and solemn stillness, night lay upon the land and waters. The solitary figure on deck alone could find no rest, and the early dawn was trembling in the East over the distant hills of Guelderland, ere he at length went in search of sleep.

He had scarcely rested a couple of hours when the steward knocked at his cabin-door--the passengers were to come on deck, the boat was approaching Lobith, on the Dutch frontier, where the luggage had to be examined.

The two travellers answered to the call. The steamer was already nearing the shore by the landing stage of the village of which the custom-house seemed the only inhabitable building. The Dutch Customs officers in their curious uniforms came on deck.

The were speedily finished with the luggage of the two lawyers, as also with that of the few other passengers. On the other hand four mighty trunks, which the Captain had with him, gave them much trouble. They were full throughout of things liable to duty: new clothes, linen, lace and articles of luxury. They required troublesome measuring, weighing and calculation. Half an hour had passed, and scarcely the half had been gone through.

"We shall miss the train at Arnhem," said Berger turning impatiently to the Captain. "We must be in London to-morrow, you are responsible for the delay."

"I shall make up the time by putting on steam," he reassuringly said in his broad Cologne dialect. "Excuse me, Sir, but I did not imagine that women's finery would take up so much time."