“He is most unhappily drowned,” he said.
“Drowned?”
“They found his body in the river this evening near the Powder Mills. They say his mother, poor lady, is——”
“But D’Urban was a swimmer,” Szalay cried.
“He could swim well,” Von Lindheim said gloomily. “But of what avail was that——”
“True, mein Herr,” Pabst chimed in. “He has an ugly blow on his head. They say he must have been carried over the Tollert Fall, struck against a rock or pile, and so been stunned.”
“His turn has come first,” Von Lindheim observed grimly when the old servant had left the room. He seemed to be growing reckless now from the very hopelessness of his situation. “What are we to do?” he laughed.
“One thing is settled,” I said. “You and Herr Szalay are going to face this danger, if it exists, and will not give up your lives without a struggle. Surely, Lindheim, there is some law, some authority to which you can appeal for protection.”
He shook his head. “None.”
“But in these days of civilization men are not butchered in cold blood without an appeal to law and justice.”