he dining hall had just been opened to let in the
fresh air, and I heard the following conversation: "Do you recall having
taken part in the murder of Ulmet Elias on the twentieth of this month?"
Some unintelligible words followed. "Close the door, Madoc!" said the
bailiff; "the woman is ill." I heard no more. As I stood with my head
resting against the balusters, a sudden resolution seized me. "I can
save my comrades!" I exclaimed; "God has pointed out to me the means,
and if I fail to do my duty, their blood will be upon my head. My
self-respect and peace of mind will be forever lost, and I shall
consider myself the most cowardly of wretches." It took me some time,
however, to summon up resolution enough. Then I went downstairs and
entered the dining-room.

"Did you ever see this watch before?" the bailiff was saying to Dame
Gredel. "Do your best to remember!" Without waiting for her answer, I
stepped forward and replied firmly: "That watch, bailiff? I have seen it
before in the hands of the murderer himself. I recognize it perfectly,
and if you will only listen to me, I will agree to deliver the man
into your hands this very night." Perfect stillness followed my bold
declaration.

The officials stared at each other, dumfounded; my comrades seemed to
cheer up a bit. "I am the companion of these unfortunate people," I
continued, "and I say it without shame, for every one of them is
honest, even if he is poor, and there is not one among them capable of
committing the crimes imputed to him."

Again silence followed. Dame Bertha began to weep quietly. At last the
bailiff aroused himself. Looking at me sharply, he said: "Where do you
pretend to deliver the assassin into our hands?" "Right here in this
very house! And to convince you of it, I only ask for a moment's private
conversation." "Let us hear what you have to say," he replied, rising.
He motioned Madoc to follow us; the others remained. We left the room. I
went hastily up the stairs, with the others at my heels. Pausing at the
window on the third floor, I showed them the man's footprints in the
snow. "Those are the murderer's tracks!" I said; "he visits this house
every night. Yesterday he came at two in the morning; last night he
returned, and he will undoubtedly be back again this evening."

The bailiff and Madoc examined the footprints without a word. "How
do you know that these are the murderer's tracks?" asked the chief of
police, doubtfully. Thereupon I t