“Or why does he go to an inn?”
“You are right, Lindheim; it is suspicious. Shall we keep watch?”
There was a smaller inn nearly opposite to that in which we had lunched. We went in, called for coffee, and took up our position at the window commanding the street. For a long while we saw nothing of the priest, but at length, just as we were wondering whether we were not perhaps losing our time, a closed carriage rumbled along the street and drew up at some distance below our inn. A man alighted and appeared to give some directions to the coachman, who turned his horses and drove off the way he had come. The man walked up the street towards us; not a prepossessing fellow by any means, with his long nose, stubby black moustache, swarthy complexion, and restless way of looking about him. Something told me instinctively that he was making for the hotel opposite us. Such was the case; he went in, returning in a few minutes, as we felt certain he would, with the priest carrying his valise. They went down the street in the direction the carriage had taken. When they had gone a safe distance we went out and followed them. The man who had fetched the priest kept looking round; he was a fellow who, though far from being the salt of the earth, would have been turned into a good imitation thereof in the days of Lot. A suspicious curiosity was with him evidently second nature. However, we kept too far behind for him to be able to distinguish what manner of men we were, and we were careful to adopt a pantomime calculated to disarm suspicion.
On they went till they reached the outskirts of the town, and there, just beyond the bridge where the road crossed the river, we saw the carriage waiting. They got in, the priest first, his companion following after a good look round, which, however, we took care should not fall on us. Then they drove quickly off, the road they took being that which led to the Geierthal.
“What does it mean?” Von Lindheim asked.
“I can’t tell. Except that I am certain they have gone to the Hostel. Who knows? Perhaps those butchers are methodical enough in their trade to give their victims Christian burial. Ah! it’s horrible. Let us get back. I must see the end of it.”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE MIDNIGHT BURIAL
Darkness had barely fallen when I was back again in the Monastery wood. Von Lindheim had offered to accompany me, but I had thought it better not to bring him. In the first place I anticipated little to be done except watching, and one pair of eyes would be as good there as two. Then if he came with me the chances of being discovered would be increased, since two men are easier seen than one. Beyond these there was a stronger reason for leaving him behind. I was convinced that pluckily as he fought against it, his nerve was seriously shaken. He had brightened up considerably since leaving Schönvalhof, still it is no joke—although, brave fellow that he was, he tried hard to treat it as one—it is no joke to go for weeks in hourly fear of secret assassination. It was manifest that he felt his utter helplessness to escape ultimately from Rallenstein’s long arm, and indeed all the police in Europe cannot safeguard a man from foes who, cost what it may, are resolved on his death. Von Lindheim’s nerves were hardly equal to his spirit, and certainly his life since the day he fled from Buyda had been depressing enough. So I dissuaded him from coming with me; his help might have been useful, even indispensable, but I thought the chances were rather the other way. So I left him with some literature we had brought from Carlzig and set off alone. The Monastery was as dark and silent as ever. Indeed, the strange character of the place was its utter absence of any indication of life within. All the same, I could not but imagine it under that silent exterior to be full of active villainy. Yet the dark stillness of the place seemed to chill the nerves, and I felt glad Von Lindheim was not with me.