g of Niels Bruus's
disappearance, but the evening of the following day), and was passing
the rectory garden on the easterly side by the usual footpath. From
the garden he heard a noise as of some one digging in the earth. He
was frightened at first for it was very late, but the moon shone
brightly and he thought he would see who it was that was at work in
the garden at that hour. He put off his wooden shoes and pushed aside
the twigs of the hedge until he had made a peep hole. In the garden he
saw the rector in his usual house coat, a white woolen nightcap on his
head. He was busily smoothing down the earth with the flat of his
spade. There was nothing else to be seen. Just then the rector had
started and partly turned toward the hedge, and the witness, fearing
he might be discovered, slipped down and ran home hastily.

Although I was rather surprised that the rector should be working in
his garden at so late an hour, I still saw nothing in this statement
that could arouse suspicion of murder. I gave the complainant a solemn
warning and advised him not only to let fall his accusation, but to
put an end to the talk in the parish. He replied, "Not until I see
what it is that the rector buried in his garden."

"That will be too late," I said. "You are playing a dangerous game.
Dangerous to your own honor and welfare."

"I owe it to my brother," he replied, "and I demand that the
authorities shall not refuse me assistance."

My office compelled me to accede to his demands. Accompanied by the
accuser and his witnesses I took my way to Veilbye. My heart was very
heavy, not so much because of any fear that we might find the missing
man buried in the garden, but because of the surprise and distress I
must cause the rector and my beloved. As we went on our way I thought
over how severely the law would allow me to punish the calumniators.
But alas, Merciful Heavens! What a terrible discovery was in store for
me!

I had wished to have a moment alone with the rector to prepare him for
what was coming. But as I drove through the gate Morten Bruus spurred
his horse past me and galloped up to the very door of the house just
as the rector opened it. Bruus cried out in his very face, "People say
that you have killed my brother and buried him in your garden. I am
come with the district judge to seek for him."

The poor rector was so shocked and astounded that he could not find a
word to answer. I sprang from my wagon and addressed