Bucholz and the Detectives

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To the inmates of the house the hours had stretched their weary
lengths along, and sleep came tardily to bring relief to their
overwrought minds. Bucholz, nervous and uneasy, had, without
undressing, thrown himself upon the bed with Sammy Waring, and during
his broken slumbers had frequently started nervously and uttered
moaning exclamations of pain or fear, and in the morning arose
feverish and unrefreshed.

The two girls, who had wept profusely during the night, and before
whose minds there flitted unpleasant anticipations of a public
examination, in which they would no doubt play prominent parts, and
from which they involuntarily shrank, made their appearance at the
table heavy-eyed and sorrowful.

As the morning advanced, hundreds of the villagers, prompted by idle
curiosity and that inherent love of excitement which characterizes
all communities, visited the scene of the murder, and as they gazed
vacantly around, or pointed out the place where the body had been
found, many and varied opinions were expressed as to the manner in
which the deed was committed, and of the individuals who were
concerned in the perpetration of the crime.

A rumor, vague at first, but assuming systematic proportions as the
various points of information were elucidated, passed through the
crowd, and was eagerly accepted as the solution of the seeming
mystery.

It appeared that several loungers around the depot at Stamford, a
town about eight miles distant, on the night previous had observed
two conspicuous-looking foreigners, who had reached the depot at
about ten o'clock. They seemed to be exhausted and out of breath, as
though they had been running a long distance, and in broken English,
scarcely intelligible, had inquired (in an apparently excited
manner), when the next train was to leave for New York. There were
several cabmen and hangers-on who usually make a railroad depot their
headquarters about, and by them the two men were informed that there
were no more trains running to New York that night. This information
seemed to occasion them considerable annoyance and disappointment;
they walked up and down the platform talking and gesticulating
excitedly, and separating ever and anon, when they imagined
themselves noticed by those who happened to be at the station.

Soon after this an eastern-bound train reached the depot, and these
same individuals, instead of going to New York, took passage on this
train. They did not go into the car together, and after entering took
seats quite apart from each other. The conductor, who had mentioned
these circumstances, and who distinctly remembered the parties, as
they had especially attracted his attention by their strange
behavior, recollected that they did not present any tickets, but paid
their fares in money. He also remembered that they were odd-looking
and acted in an awkward manner. They both left the train at New
Haven, and from thence all trace of them was lost for the present.

Upon this slight foundation, a wonderful edifice of speculation was
built by the credulous and imaginative people of South Norwalk. The
romance of their dispositions was stirred to its very depths, and
their enthusiastic minds drew a vivid picture, in which the manner
and cause of Henry Schulte's death was successfully explained and
duly accounted for.

These men were without a doubt the emissaries of some person or
persons in Germany, who were interested in the old gentleman and
would be benefited by his death. As this story coincided so fully
with the mysterious appearance of the old man at South Norwalk; his
recluse habits and avoidance of society, it soon gained many
believers, who were thoroughly convinced of the correctness of the
theory thus advanced.

Meanwhile the coroner had made the necessary arrangements for the
holding of the inquest as required by the law, and his office was
soon crowded to overflowing by the eager citizens of the village, who
pushed and jostled each other in their attempts to effect an entrance
into the room.

The first and most important witness was William Bucholz, the servant
of the old gentleman, and who had accompanied him on that fatal walk
home.

He told his story in a plain, straightforward manner, and without any
show of hesitation or embarrassment. He described his meeting Mr.
Schulte at the depot; their entering the saloon, and their journey
homeward.

"After we left the saloon," said Bucholz, who was allowed to tell his
story without interruption and without questioning, "Mr. Schulte said
to me, 'Now, William, we will go home;' we walked up the railroad
track and when we reached the stone wall that is built along by the
road, Mr. Schulte told me to take the satchel, and as the path was
narrow, he directed me to walk in advance of him. He was silent, and,
I thought, looked very tired. I had not walked very far into the
woods, when I heard him call from behind me, as though he was hurt or
frightened, 'Bucholz! Bucholz!' I heard no blow struck, nor any sound
of footsteps. I was startled with the suddenness of the cry, and as I
was about to lay down the satchel and go to him, I saw a man on my
right hand about six paces from me; at the same time I heard a noise
on my left, and as I turned in that direction I received a blow upon
my face. This frightened me so that I turned, and leaping over the
wall, I ran as fast as I could towards the house. One of the men, who
was tall and stoutly built, chased me till I got within a short
distance of the barn. He then stopped, and calling out, 'Greenhorn, I
catch you another time,' he went back in the direction of the woods.
He spoke in English, but from his accent I should think he was a
Frenchman. I did not stop running until I reached the house, and
calling for help to Sammy Waring, I opened the door and fell down. I
was exhausted, and the blow I received had hurt me very much." He
then proceeded to detail the incidents which followed, all of which
the reader has already been made aware of.

He told his story in German, and, through one of the citizens
present, who acted as interpreter, it was translated into English.
While he was speaking, a boy hurriedly entered the room, and pushing
his way toward the coroner, who was conducting the examination, he
handed to him a sealed envelope.

Upon reading the meager, but startling, contents of the telegram, for
such it proved to be, Mr. Craw gazed at Bucholz with an expression of
pained surprise, in which sympathy and doubtfulness seemed to contend
for mastery.

The telegram was from the State's Attorney, Mr. Olmstead, who, while
on the train, going from Stamford to Bridgeport, had perused the
account of the murder of the night before, in the daily journal.
Being a man of clear understanding, of quick impulse, and indomitable
will, for him to think was to act. Learning that the investigation
was to be held that morning, immediately upon his arrival at
Bridgeport he entered the telegraph office, and sent the following
dispatch:

"_Arrest the servant._"

It was this message which was received by the coroner, while Bucholz,
all unconscious of the danger which threatened him, was relating the
circumstances that had occurred the night before.

Mr. Craw communicated to no one the contents of the message he had
received, and the investigation was continued as though nothing had
occurred to disturb the regularity of the proceedings thus begun.

Mr. Olmstead, however, determined to allow nothing to interfere with
the proper carrying out of the theory which his mind had formed, and
taking the next train, he returned to South Norwalk, arriving there
before Bucholz had finished his statement.

When he entered the room he found that Bucholz had not been arrested
as yet, and so, instead of having this done, he resolved to place an
officer in charge of him, thus preventing any attempt to escape,
should such be made, and depriving him practically of the services of
legal counsel.

Mr. Olmstead conducted the proceedings before the coroner, and his
questioning of the various witnesses soon developed the theory he had
formed, and those who were present listened with surprise as the
assumption of Bucholz's guilty participation in the murder of his
master was gradually unfolded.

Yet under the searching examination that followed, Bucholz never
flinched; he seemed oblivious of the fact that he was suspected, and
told his story in an emotionless manner, and with an innocent
expression of countenance that was convincing to most of those who
listened to his recital.

No person ever appeared more innocent under such trying circumstances
than did this man, and but for a slight flush that now and then
appeared upon his face, one would have been at a loss to discover any
evidence of feeling upon his part, which would show that he was alive
to the position which he then occupied.

His bearing at the investigation made him many friends who were very
outspoken in their defense of Bucholz, and their belief in his entire
innocence. Mr. Olmstead, however, was resolute, and Bucholz returned
to the house upon the conclusion of the testimony for that day, in
charge of an officer of the law, who was instructed to treat him
kindly, but under no circumstances to allow him out of his sight, and
the further investigation was deferred until the following week.

CHAPTER VI.

_The Miser's Wealth._--_Over Fifty Thousand Dollars Stolen from the
Murdered Man._--_A Strange Financial Transaction._--_A Verdict, and
the Arrest of Bucholz._

Meantime there existed a necessity for some action in regard to the
effects of which Henry Schulte was possessed at the time of his
death, and two reputable gentlemen of South Norwalk were duly
authorized to act as administrators of his estate, and to perform
such necessary duties as were required in the matter.

From an examination of his papers it was discovered that his only
living relatives consisted of a brother and his family, who resided
near Dortmund, Westphalia, in Prussia, and that they too were
apparently wealthy and extensive land-owners in the vicinity of that
place.

To this brother the information was immediately telegraphed of the
old gentleman's death, and the inquiry was made as to the disposition
of the body. To this inquiry the following reply was received:

"TO THE MAYOR OF SOUTH NORWALK:

"I beg of you to see that the body of my brother is properly
forwarded to Barop, near Dortmund, so as to insure its safe
arrival. I further request that you inform me at once whether his
effects have been secured, and how much has been found of the
large amount of specie which he took with him from here? Have
they found the murderer of my brother?

Signed, "FREDRICK W. SCHULTE."

Had those who knew the previous history of Henry Schulte expected to
have received any expression of sorrow for the death of the old
gentleman, they were doomed to be disappointed, and the telegram
itself fully dissipated any such idea. The man was dead, and the
heirs were claiming their inheritance--that was all.

Shortly after this a representative of the German Consul at New York
arrived, and, presenting his authority, at once proceeded to take
charge of the remains, and to make the arrangements necessary towards
having them sent to Europe.

The iron box which had proved such an object of interest to the
residents of South Norwalk, was opened at the bank, and to the
surprise of many, was found to contain valuable securities and
investments which represented nearly a quarter of a million of
dollars.

It was at first supposed that the murderers had been foiled in their
attempt to rob as well as to murder, or that they had been frightened
off before they had accomplished their purpose of plunder. The
finding of twenty thousand dollars upon his person seemed to be
convincing proof that no robbery had been committed, and the friends
of Bucholz, who were numerous, pointed to this fact as significantly
establishing his innocence.

Indeed, many people wondered at the action of the State's attorney,
and doubtfully shook their heads as they thought of the meager
evidence that existed to connect Bucholz with the crime. A further
examination of the accounts of the murdered man, however, disclosed
the startling fact that a sum of money aggregating to over fifty
thousand dollars had disappeared, and, as he was supposed to have
carried this amount upon his person, it must have been taken from him
on the night of the murder.

Here, then, was food for speculation. The man had been killed, and
robbery had undoubtedly been the incentive. Who could have committed
the deed and so successfully have escaped suspicion and detection?

Could it have been William Bucholz?

Of a certainty the opportunity had been afforded him, and he could
have struck the old man down with no one near to tell the story. But
if, in the silence of that lonely evening, his hand had dealt the
fatal blow, where was the instrument with which the deed was
committed? If he had rifled the dead man's pockets and had taken from
him his greedily hoarded wealth, where was it now secured, or what
disposition had he made of it?

From the time that he had fallen fainting upon the floor of the
farm-house kitchen, until the present, he was not known to have been
alone.

Tearful in his grief for the death of his master, his voice had been
the first that suggested the necessity for going in search of him. He
was seen to go to the place where he usually kept his pistol, and
prepare himself for defense in accompanying Samuel Waring.

He had stood sorrowfully beside that prostrate form as the hand of
the neighbor had been laid upon the stilled and silent heart, and
life had been pronounced extinct. He had journeyed with Sammy Waring
to the village to give the alarm and to notify the coroner, and on
his return his arms had assisted in carrying the unconscious burden
to the house. Could a murderer, fresh from his bloody work, have done
this?

From that evening officers had been in charge of the premises.
Bucholz, nervous, and physically worn out, had retired with Sammy
Waring, and had not left the house during the evening. If he had
committed this deed he must have the money, but the house was
thoroughly searched, and no trace of this money was discovered.

His bearing upon the inquest had been such that scarcely any one
present was disposed to believe in his guilty participation in the
foul crime, or that he had any knowledge of the circumstances, save
such as he had previously related.

Where then was this large sum of money which had so mysteriously
disappeared?

A stack of straw that stood beside the barn--the barn had been
thoroughly searched before--was purchased by an enterprising and
ambitious officer in charge of Bucholz, and although he did not own a
horse, he had the stack removed, the ground surrounding it diligently
searched, in the vague hope that something would be discovered hidden
beneath it.

But thus far, speculation, search and inquiry had availed nothing,
and as the crowd gathered at the station, and the sealed casket that
contained the body of the murdered man was placed upon the train to
begin its journey to the far distant home which he had left but a
short time before, many thought that with its departure there had
also disappeared all possibility of discovering his assassin, and
penetrating into the deep mystery which surrounded his death.

An important discovery was, however, made at this time, which changed
the current of affairs, and seemed for a time to react against the
innocence of the man against whom suspicion attached.

In the village there resided an individual named Paul Herscher, who
was the proprietor of the saloon in which the deceased and his
servant had taken their drink of beer, after leaving the train upon
the night of the murder.

During the residence of Mr. Schulte at Roton Hill, Bucholz and Paul
Herscher had become intimate acquaintances, and Bucholz had stated
upon his examination that during the month of the previous October he
had loaned to Paul the sum of two hundred dollars. That the servant
of so parsimonious a man should have been possessed of such a sum of
money seemed very doubtful, and inquiries were started with the view
of ascertaining the facts of the case.

The investigation was still going on, and Paul was called as a
witness. His story went far towards disturbing the implicit
confidence in Bucholz's innocence, and caused a reaction of feeling
in the minds of many, which, while it did not confirm them in a
belief in his guilt, at least made them doubtful of his entire
ignorance of the crime.

Paul Herscher stated that on the morning after the murder Bucholz had
entered his saloon, and calling him into an adjoining room, had
placed in his hands a roll of bills, saying at the same time, in
German:

"Here is two hundred dollars of my money. I want you to keep it until
I make my report to the coroner. _If anybody asks you about it, tell
them I gave it to you some time ago._"

Here was an attempt to deceive somebody, and, although Paul had
retained this money for several days, without mentioning the fact of
its existence, his revelation had its effect. Upon comparing the
notes, all of which were marked with a peculiar arrangement of
numbers, and by the hand of the deceased, they were found to
correspond with a list found among the papers of Henry Schulte, and
then in the custody of his administrators.

To this charge, however, Bucholz gave a free, full and, so far as
outward demeanor was concerned, truthful explanation, which, while it
failed to fully satisfy the minds of those who heard it, served to
make them less confident of his duplicity or his guilt.

He acknowledged the statements made by Paul Herscher to be true, but
stated in explanation that he received the money from Mr. Schulte on
their way home on the evening of the murder, in payment of a debt due
him, and that, fearing he might be suspected, he had gone to Paul,
and handing him the money, had requested him, if inquiries were
instituted, to confirm the statement which he had then made.

That this statement seemed of a doubtful character was recognized by
every one, and that a full examination into the truthfulness of his
assertions was required was admitted by all; and, after other
testimony, not, however, of a character implicating him in the
murder, was heard, the State's attorney pressed for such a verdict as
would result in holding Bucholz over for a trial.

After a long deliberation, in which every portion of the evidence was
considered by the jury, which had listened intently to its relation,
they returned the following verdict:

"That John Henry Schulte came to his death from wounds inflicted with
some unknown instrument, in the hands of some person or persons known
to William Bucholz, and we do find that said William Bucholz has a
guilty knowledge of said crime."

This announcement occasioned great surprise among the people
assembled; but to none, perhaps, was the result more unexpected than
to William Bucholz himself. He stood in a dazed, uncertain manner for
a few moments, and then, uttering a smothered groan, sank heavily in
his seat.

The officers of the law advanced and laid their hands upon his
shoulder; and, scarcely knowing what he did, and without uttering a
word, he arose and followed them from the building. He was placed
upon the train to Bridgeport, and before nightfall the iron doors of
a prison closed upon him, and he found himself a prisoner to be
placed on trial for his life."

[Illustration: "_The officers of the law advanced and laid their
hands upon his shoulders_"--]

CHAPTER VII.

_Bucholz in Prison._--_Extravagant Habits and Suspicious
Expenditures._--_The German Consul Interests Himself._--_Bucholz
committed._

Sorrowful looks followed the young man as he was conducted away, and
frequent words of sympathy and hope were expressed as he passed
through the throng on his way to the depot, but he heeded them not. A
dull, heavy pain was gnawing at his heart, and a stupor seemed to
have settled over his senses. The figures around him appeared like
the moving specters in a horrible dream, while a black cloud of
despair seemed to envelop him.

He followed the officers meekly, and obeyed their orders in a
mechanical manner, that showed too plainly that his mind was
wandering from the scenes about him. He looked helplessly around, and
did not appear to realize the situation in which he was so suddenly
and unexpectedly placed.

He experienced the pangs of hunger, and felt as though food was
necessary to stop the dreadful pain which had taken possession of
him, but he made no sign, and from the jury-room to the prison he
uttered not a word.

It was only when he found himself in the presence of the officials of
the prison, whose gloomy walls now surrounded him, that he recovered
his equanimity, and when he was ordered to surrender the contents of
his clothing, or submit to a search, his eyes flashed with
indignation, and the tears that welled up into them dropped upon his
pallid cheek.

With a Herculean effort, however, he recovered his strong calmness,
and drawing up his erect figure he submitted in silence to the
necessary preparations for his being conducted to a cell.

But as the door of the cell clanged to, shutting him in, and the
noise reverberated through the dimly-lighted corridors, he clutched
wildly at the bars, and with a paroxysm of frenzy seemed as though he
would rend them from their fastenings; then, realizing how fruitless
were his efforts, he sank upon the narrow bed in a state of
stupefying despair.

The pangs of hunger were forgotten now, he could not have partaken of
the choicest viands that could have been placed before him, and alone
and friendless he fed upon the bitterness of his own thoughts.

In vain did he attempt to close his eyes to the dreadful
surroundings, and to clear his confused mind of the horrible visions
that appalled him. The dark cloud gathered about him, and he could
discover no avenue of escape.

The night was long and terrible, and the throbbing of his brain
seemed to measure the minutes as they slowly dragged on, relieved
only at intervals by the steady tramp of the keepers, as they went
their customary rounds. The lamp from the corridor glowed with an
unearthly light upon his haggard face and burning eyes, while his
mind restlessly flitted from thought to thought, in the vain attempt
of seeking some faint relief from the shadows that surrounded him.

All through the weary watches of the night he walked his narrow cell,
miserable and sleepless. Hour after hour went by, but there came no
drooping of the heavy lids, betokening the long-looked-for approach
of sleep. At length, when the darkness of the night began to flee
away and the gray dawn was breaking without, but ere any ray had
penetrated the gloom of his comfortless apartment, he threw himself
upon the bed, weary, worn and heart-sick--there stole over his senses
forgetfulness of his surroundings, and he slept.

The body, worn and insensible, lay upon the narrow couch, but the
mind, that wonderful and mysterious agency, was still busy--he
dreamed and muttered in his dreaming thoughts.

Oh, for the power to look within, and to know through what scenes he
is passing now!

Leaving the young man in the distressing position of a suspected
criminal, and deprived of his liberty, let us retrace our steps, and
gather up some links in the chain of the testimony against him, which
were procured during the days that intervened between the night of
the murder and the day of his commitment.

It will be remembered that he had been placed in charge of two
officers of South Norwalk, who, without restraining him of his
liberty, accompanied him wherever he went, and watched his every
movement.

Bucholz soon developed a talent for spending money, which had never
been noticed in him before. He became exceedingly extravagant in his
habits, purchased clothing for which he had apparently no use, and
seemed to have an abundance of funds with which to gratify his
tastes. At each place he went and offered a large note in payment of
the purchases which he had made, the note was secured by the
officers, and was invariably found to contain the peculiar marks
which designated that it had once belonged to the murdered man. He
displayed a disposition for dissipation, and would drink to excess,
smoking inordinately, and indulging in carriage-rides, always in
company with the officers, whose watchful eyes never left him and
whose vigilance was unrelaxed.

The State's attorney was indefatigable in his efforts to force upon
Bucholz the responsibility of the murder, and no means were left
untried to accomplish that purpose. As yet the only evidence was his
possession of a moderate amount of money, which bore the marks made
upon it by the man who had been slain, and which might or might not
have come to him in a legitimate manner and for legitimate services.

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