We required no second command, and in a few minutes members of the Ebberfeld household were scampering in every direction. But it was fruitless, for, although the city police were aroused and made every search, no clue could be obtained of the depredators, nor, alas! of Marie; and to add to the mystery, even the Chinese whom we had so tightly bound, and from whom we might have obtained some information, managed to escape. In a sentence, it was a clever robbery—so clever, that it marked an epoch in the minds of the Dutch colonists of Batavia.
The authorities, however, did not let the matter rest there, for so great was the consternation of the inhabitants of the upper town, at the abduction of so considerable a personage as the heiress of their late respected councilor Van Black, that early the next morning they sent a party of police to explore the neighboring mountains, as the most likely place for the robbers to have taken refuge. With this party went Mynheer Ebberfeld, clamorously declaring that if it cost him his fortune and life he would rescue his stolen ward. Both Martin and I begged permission to accompany him, but the affectionate man replied that he and his wife had already suffered so great a loss that they would not risk a still greater; “for who knows,” he said, “whether we may not have to encounter an armed band?”
“Well, and suppose we do; don’t you think we can fight for Marie?” said Martin. But he was only snubbed for his forwardness.
Five anxious days and sleepless nights were we kept in suspense as to the fate of our cousin, and, to do our aunt justice, she at least seemed to share our grief. Imagine, therefore, our sensations when, on the morning of the sixth, we heard Ebberfeld’s berlin rattling across the courtyard. In an instant we ran to my lady’s sitting-room, knowing that he would at once go there. Mynheer was standing, sadly, gloomily, with his hand resting upon the back of the sofa, upon which his wife was sitting, and looking as dismal as himself, for he had hastily imparted to her the gist of his news.
“Our cousin, have you news of her, Mynheer?” we asked.
“Alas! yes.”
“Why alas? Is it bad? What is it?” exclaimed Martin.
“My dear lads,” he said, in his most oily tone, and with the mock sorrow of a hired mute upon his countenance, “you will never see poor Marie again; she is in heaven.”
We stood as if dumb with amazement.
“The villains,” he continued, “it is supposed, finding themselves pursued, and fearing that the incumbrance of their prisoner would insure their capture, slew the poor, dear girl, and threw her body into the nearest stream.”