The probabilities now were, that Fräulein Asta von Winterstein was still alive. Horribly shocked as I was by what I had seen, it was yet with a feeling of almost relief that, when the ghastly work was over, and the men had gone, I got down from my place of observation and went back to the inn.
One thing greatly annoyed me. That was the thought of the opportunity I had missed, while the men were engaged in the wood, of slipping into their boat and trying whether they had not left the little door unfastened. What I could have done towards rescuing the imprisoned girl, even had I gained entrance into the building, was very doubtful; still, had I imagined that it was not her body they were going to bury I should certainly have made the attempt. After all my life was in no greater danger than that of a soldier’s in action, with, personally, a far more imperative reason for risking it. The relation of the night’s deed had a bad effect on Von Lindheim, although he manfully strove to hide it.
“I am the only man left now,” he said bitterly, “who saw that affair. Is it likely that I shall be allowed to live?”
I did my best to give him courage, making most of the Chancellor’s assurance, and pointing out how different his case was from that of the priest who had actually performed the ceremony. But in the unstrung of his nerves my arguments made little impression, and, though he affected to take a hopeful view, I fear he went to bed in a miserable frame of mind.
Next morning Strode came over, and we prepared to go out shooting with him. There was a certain breeziness about my fellow-countryman that acted as a nerve tonic. I had been worrying about Von Lindheim during the night, and had come to the conclusion that the only thing for him was to slip away out of the country and put, if possible, a continent between himself and the ruthless Chancellor. The opportunity was apt, since, so far as we could tell, our whereabouts was not known. Still, any hour might bring us evidence of the contrary, and it seemed to me that the sooner my friend was on his way the better.
At breakfast I told him my idea, and was glad to notice that it seemed to jump with his own inclination.
“The only question is the detail,” I said. “I am sorry that I cannot come with you, but I am bound to stay here, at any rate till I know the worst, and perhaps, after all, you will have a better chance by yourself, since, if Rallenstein’s people are on the look-out, it will naturally be for us both together.”
Strode’s appearance at the inn put an idea into my head, which I thought out and communicated to him later in the day.
“I want your advice and your help, if you’ll give it me,” I said. We had walked some two or three miles from the Geierthal on to high ground along which ran a chain of woods well stocked with game. Von Lindheim was some little way from us, and I had shortened the regulation interval between Strode and myself to speaking distance.
He answered eagerly, rather surprised, it seemed, that any one should be found to ask help of him.