“Who made this toy?” asks Haggart, but no one replies.
“Hello, Gart!” says Mariet, smiling. “It is I, your wife, Mariet. Let me untie your hands.”
With a smile, pretending that she does not notice the stains of blood, she unfastens the ropes. All look at her in silence. Haggart also looks at her bent, alarmed head.
“Thank you,” he says, straightening his hands.
“It would be a good thing to untie my hands, too,” said Khorre, but there is no answer.
ABBOT—Haggart, did you kill Philipp?
HAGGART—I.
ABBOT—Do you mean to say—eh, you, Haggart—that you yourself killed him with your own hands? Perhaps you said to the sailor: “Sailor, go and kill Philipp,” and he did it, for he loves you and respects you as his superior? Perhaps it happened that way! Tell me, Haggart. I called you my son, Haggart.
HAGGART—No, I did not order the sailor to do it. I killed Philipp with my own hand.
Silence.