“All in bed! And I—I run through the streets, wretched, crazy, and don’t know what to do. Is everybody in bed?—everybody?”
“I’m going to tell you, Juffrouw Pieterse. Oh, if you only knew how frightened I am!”
Consideration of acoustics now led Walter to put on his other stocking.
“You know, Juffrouw Pieterse, that of late so much stealing has been going on.”
“Yes, but——”
“And burglary and murder! And the police can’t catch anybody. You know the old woman and the servant-girl who were murdered in Lommer Street.”
“But three are already behind the bars for it. What more do you want?”
“That’s all right; the murderers are running around scot-free. They’ve locked up three fellows just to keep the people from thinking too much. They don’t want anybody to ask, ‘What are the police for?’ You see what I mean? I tell you that such a low-down rascal, who commits a murder and steals lots of money, cannot hide his bloody clothes; nor the money, either. He’s not used to having so much money. All the neighbors know his coat and breeches; and such a man hasn’t any trunk where he can hide his things. He doesn’t know how to manage with drafts and notes; and he don’t know enough to get away to a foreign country. As for friends to help him get rid of the stolen things, he hasn’t any. I tell you, Juffrouw Pieterse, a murder or a robbery, when they don’t catch the murderer right away—then some respectable person has done it, who has more clothes and boxes and presses and linen—and he has friends among bankers. A common fellow would stick a hundred thousand florins in the bread-box, and the children would find it when they went to slip a slice of bread and butter. What do you say, Trudie?”
Trudie was not versed in criminal statistics and had never reflected on the matter. At least Walter heard no answer. Curiosity compelled him to draw on his trousers.