“Carlos Conrad,” she repeated, with a curious smile of satisfaction, mingled with tenderness, “the young man who was suspected of murdering Colonel William Conrad. You have heard that he escaped?”
“Yes,” replied Karl, through whose brain had rushed a torrent of wild thoughts, and who had quickly and resolutely reduced himself to a state of calmness. “Yes,” he said, “but vat care I for that?”
The Teutonic twang was very decided and broad now.
“Perhaps you care nothing for it,” she replied, dreamily, “but he was innocent, I believe, and was to be pitied for all that he endured. On the night of the murder he stopped at our house. He had lost his way, and was wet and cold. He was determined to go on in the darkness; the night was very dark, for there had just been a terrible rain-storm; but we prevailed on him to stay, and made him dry and warm. How I pitied him! He looked so sad and desperate. I can never forget his face.”
Karl thought there was a tinge of significancy in thetone of this last remark, but he maintained a stolid exterior.
“He left us at daybreak,” continued Kate, “and was arrested as soon as he reached Dalton. There was strong evidence against him, but I never believed him guilty. At the examination it was decided to send him to the jail at Hillsdale to be tried in court. But they never got him to the jail.”
“I haf understand all dat,” said Karl. “De young man shump from de car window, or somet’ings?”
“No, the young man did not jump from the car window,” replied Kate, calmly. “He would be a fool to do that, when other and easier means of escape were offered him.”
“Other means!” echoed Karl, in dull wonderment at the girl’s recital.
“Yes; a New York detective——”