Bucholz and the Detectives

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The effect of his presence there was soon made manifest, and only a
short time elapsed before this beautiful residence presented an
appearance of negligence sadly at variance with the thrifty neatness
that was everywhere apparent during the time of its occupancy by the
Baron and his family. The general air of neglect and squalor
surrounding it proclaimed that the habits of the miser had been too
firmly grounded to be easily disturbed, and that the man remained the
same, whether in the castle or the hovel.

Indeed, it seemed that his reserve and isolation became more marked,
and he dressed so shabbily that he scarcely ever appeared in other
than soiled and ragged garments. His heart became harder and more
grasping, and the few people who had known him in his younger days,
and were disposed to be friendly, soon dropped away from him, finding
it impossible to endure his harshness of manner and his penurious
ways.

His household now consisted of a housekeeper and a valet, the former
an elderly woman, who had long been an object of charity to the
people of Hagen, and whose services were procured by him at a mere
nominal price, and the latter was a young, simple-minded fellow, who
performed the multifarious duties of a man-of-all-work, for a
stipulated sum that barely sufficed for his needs, exclusive of the
daily fare which he received from the hands of his economical
employer.

His administration of domestic affairs was in entire accord with his
narrow-minded and contracted heart, and the servants found but little
comfort while in his employ. He took sole charge of his domestic
arrangements himself, and to the patient and uncomplaining Mrs.
Scheller would daily furnish the meager complement of beans and
potatoes which were required for the day's consumption. The balance
of the store would then be religiously kept under lock and key to
prevent any tendency towards extravagance on the part of those who
served him.

In addition to the various other investments possessed by him, he
cultivated a large portion of the land acquired from the Baron, and,
being a practical farmer, thoroughly understanding the advantage of
drainage, he succeeded in redeeming a great amount of land heretofore
deemed worthless, and brought it to a high state of cultivation.

His farming land consisted of several hundred acres, which required
the employment of many men, and the large forests, with their
apparently inexhaustible timber, furnished occupation for a number of
woodmen, all of whom were under the supervision of the master. Here,
too, his parsimony extended, and, while no efforts were spared to
improve the quality of the land, and to increase the crops that were
gathered, in every other respect his miserly nature exerted itself.

The horses and cattle were lean and poorly fed, the buildings were
out of repair, and a general system of rigorous and pinching economy
was observed, all of which tended to the dissatisfaction of those
employed by him, but which in no wise affected the firmly-grounded
avarice of their employer, who every day appeared to grow more harsh
and unfeeling.

He became grinding and pitiless in his dealings with those who were
indebted to him, exacting full and prompt payment of all moneys due
to him, without regard to the straitened circumstances of his
debtors, or the destitution which frequently followed his summary
means of enforcing his collections.

The various cares and anxieties attendant upon the management of his
affairs were often vexatious and annoying, and as time wore on he
became exceedingly captious and irritable. His ebullitions of temper,
which now became quite frequent, were vented upon the innocent heads
of those who labored in his service, and much dissatisfaction was
engendered in consequence. He became suspicious of all who surrounded
him, and imagined that every one with whom he was connected were
seeking to rob him, and finally an idea took possession of his mind,
which completely destroyed his peace and made his existence perfectly
miserable. He imagined that his life was in danger, and that there
was a conspiracy formed to murder him for his money.

So firmly did this conviction cling to him that he became intensely
nervous and restless, and was scarcely able to sleep in his bed at
nights. He would bolt and bar himself in his chamber so securely that
it was a matter of perfect impossibility to effect an entrance, and
then, still doubtful, he would be wakeful and uneasy during the long,
weary hours of the night, until from sheer exhaustion he would fall
into a troubled sleep, which lasted late into the morning.

Nothing occurred of a character to justify his suspicions or to
increase his fears, until one morning he was awakened at a very early
hour by the breaking with a loud crash of one of the windows that
opened into his room. Instantly he was awake, and, springing from his
bed, he rushed frantically to the window, discharged his pistol
several times in succession, at the same time calling loudly for
help.

His cries alarmed his valet, who slept in a room communicating with
that of his master, and who hastened at once to his assistance. It
was too dark to discover anything of the cause of the breaking of the
glass, and as no further demonstration occurred, he succeeded in
quieting the fears of his master, and restoring him to tranquillity.
As soon as it was daylight, he made an investigation into the cause
of this seeming attack, and an examination of the outside of the
premises disclosed the fact that the alarm had been occasioned by the
falling of the branch of an old tree that stood near to the house,
and on which some of the limbs were withered and dead.

This discovery, however, by no means allayed his fears or dissipated
his suspicions, but, on the contrary, he became so fixed in the
insane idea that he would be assassinated, that his life in the old
home became a burden to him, and he longed for a change of scene that
would ensure ease for his mind, and safety for his body.

Henry Schulte was at this time an old man--the sixty years of his
life had passed away slowly, but eventfully to him, and his whitened
hair and wrinkled face betokened that age had left its indelible mark
upon the once stalwart form of the Henry Schulte of days gone by. His
head was generally bowed as though in deep thought, whether at home
or abroad, and the broad shoulders seemed to have yielded to the
weight of trouble which had come upon him in those early days. He was
never seen to smile, and the hard, set lines about the mouth never
relaxed, however mirthful was the scene before him, or however
pleasurable the association in which he might accidentally find
himself placed. His violin was his only companion during the long
evening hours, and almost every night the harmonious strains of the
music which he evoked from that instrument could be heard by those
who journeyed upon the lonely road which passed in front of his
house.

In the early fall of 1877, an incident occurred, which, in the
disordered state of his mind, rendered it impossible for him to
remain any longer in fancied peace and security.

One morning about daybreak a party of gunners, who were in search of
game, were passing the premises occupied by Henry Schulte, when one
of their number, a nephew of the old man, being the son of his elder
brother, knowing his weakness in regard to being assassinated, and
from a spirit of mischief which prompted him, took careful aim and
fired directly through the window of the sleeping apartment of his
uncle, and then quickly and laughingly passed on. The old gentleman,
suddenly aroused from his slumbers, jumped up in affright, calling
loudly in the excess of his terror:

[Illustration: "_The old man jumped from his bed in affright,
calling loudly for help._"]

"Help! Help! The villains have attempted to murder me again!"

Frank Bruner, his servant, being thus awakened, ran to the window and
saw the party rapidly disappearing around a bend in the road. He
recognized Bartolf Schulte as being one of the party, and informed
his master of the fact.

"Mein Gott! Mein Gott!" exclaimed the old man. "My own brother's son
try to take my life--this is horrible. He wants my money and he tries
to kill me."

It was a long time before his violence subsided, but when at length
Frank succeeded in calming his excitement and restoring him to
reason, one idea seemed to have taken possession of him, and that was
that he must leave his home for his own safety, and that the sooner
this was accomplished the better it would be for him and for his
peace of mind.

No inducement that could be offered was sufficient to disturb his
resolution upon this point. No argument that could be suggested, but
what was urged against this seemingly insane notion, but all to no
avail. His mind was fully made up, and nothing could overcome the
settled determination which he had arrived at, to get away at once
from the place which threatened so much danger to his person, and in
which he was in constant dread and fear.

He therefore immediately began his preparations for departure, and
placing his property in the hands of a careful attorney at Hagen, he
lost no time in converting his available securities into money and
decided to take passage for America--a land of which he had heard so
much, and which promised a rest for his over-wrought mind.

He journeyed to Hamburg, and from thence in a few days, accompanied
by his servant, he took passage in a steamer, arriving in New York
City, "a stranger in a strange land," in the month of August in the
same year.

CHAPTER XIV.

_The Arrival in New York._--_Frank Bruner determines to leave the
Service of his Master._--_The meeting of Frank Bruner and William
Bucholz._

The vagaries of the human mind under all circumstances are frequently
inscrutable, but under no other influence, perhaps, is the mind so
susceptible of impressions of a governing character from unimportant
causes as it is when controlled by the fear of personal safety.

It would readily be imagined that Henry Schulte, whose mind was
filled with vague but distressing apprehensions for his life, could
have found refuge, safe and unassailable, within the broad domain of
his own native land, and that he might have considered himself free
from impending danger if he could have placed even a short distance
between himself and those whom he believed to be his mortal enemies.
This, however, he found it impossible to do and rest contented; so,
resisting all the arguments that were urged by his faithful but
overtaxed servant and companion, and believing that his only safety
lay in his getting away from his native land, he persisted in coming
to America, where he felt assured he would be free from persecution,
and where, in the quiet and repose of rural retirement, his peace of
mind would be undisturbed.

That these fears must have been deeply-grounded there can be no
doubt, for this old man, in leaving the home of his childhood and the
many scenes which were endeared to him by the close association of
early friendship and experience, turned his back upon the spot where
he had first seen the light of day, and where he had grown from youth
to manhood. Here, too, the joy and sorrow of his life had come to
him, and in the little churchyard of the village, beneath the waving
trees, reposed all that was mortal of the one great love of his life.

Stolid and seemingly indifferent, so far as outward evidence gave any
demonstration, of the many tender associations surrounding him, he
left his native village and set off upon the long journey that was to
end in his death. Speeding away from the imagined assassin, he
journeyed directly to the presence and companionship of the man who
was to slay him.

Taking passage upon a steamer bound for America, they were soon
riding upon the broad bosom of the Atlantic, and after an uneventful
voyage landed safely in New York.

Not one of the many passengers of the vessel, or among the crowd that
stood upon the pier and watched their disembarking, would for a
moment have supposed that this old man, whose face gave evidence of
the years through which he had passed, whose clothing showed too
plainly the marks of long and hard usage, and whose general
appearance resembled that of a beggar, was the possessor of wealth
enough to render any of them independent of the world. Nor would they
have thought that the worn and frequently-patched coat he wore
concealed a sum of money equalling nearly a hundred thousand dollars.
Yet such was the fact; for upon his person he carried fully this
amount of money, most of which was in German mark bills, easily
convertible into American money; and which, should the fact become
known, would have been sufficient to excite the cupidity of many of
them, who would not hesitate to attempt the operation of relieving
him of his hoarded wealth, and who might, perhaps, scarcely consider
an old man's life of sufficient importance to successfully interfere
with their possessing themselves of his money.

He had jealously guarded his secret and his treasure, and although
his sleep was frequently disturbed by startling visions of robbery
and murder, not one of the many who surrounded him suspected for an
instant the wealth that he possessed.

To his servant he was generally reticent, but not so excessively
secretive, for Frank Bruner was well-informed of the extent of his
master's treasures, although he was not fully aware of the amount he
had brought with him.

Poor Frank led a miserable existence on that passage to New York, and
many times after he had settled himself in his berth for a
comfortable night's sleep he would be rudely awakened by his nervous
and suspicious master, who was continually imagining that somebody
was forcing an entrance into his state-room. He would start up with
affright, and nothing would allay his fears but a rigid examination
of the premises, which invariably resulted in finding nothing of a
suspicious or fear-inspiring nature.

Many times, upon remonstrating with his master about the
groundlessness of his fears, he would be made to feel the heaviness
of his hand, and chastisements were the reward of his devotion so
frequently that his usually submissive spirit began to rebel, and
Frank resolved to leave the service of so peculiar and so thankless a
master upon the first favorable opportunity that presented itself.

The journey, as we have said, was made in safety, and Henry Schulte,
with his wealth intact, arrived in New York, and, seeking a quiet,
comfortable hotel, he was directed to "THE CRESCENT," where he soon
wended his way, and to which he directed his servant to have his
trunks conveyed without delay.

The hotel which he had selected was a German boarding-house, of
modest dimensions and of unpretentious appearance. Over its doorway
swung the faded sign of the Crescent, and over its destinies presided
the portly, good-natured landlord, who dispensed the creature
comforts to the limited number of guests who lodged beneath his roof.

Henry Schulte entered the little room of the hotel which was used as
a bar-room, and, paying no attention to the other occupants, he
seated himself at one of the tables, ordered a bottle of wine, which
he proceeded to drink slowly until nearly finished, after which he
pushed the bottle and glass towards his thirsty and longing servant
and bade him consume the balance.

Seated around the room in various attitudes, but all engaged in the
occupation of smoking and drinking, were a number of men, all inmates
of the hotel, and all Germans, to whom the old man's appearance
naturally gave occasion for considerable curiosity.

Several attempts were made to cultivate his acquaintance and to
interrogate him upon the incidents of his passage over, but all of no
avail. He maintained a reserve that was impossible to overcome; his
answers were given in monosyllables, and, as but little encouragement
was given to friendly converse, he was finally left alone to enjoy
his musings.

At an early hour of the evening he signified his intention of
retiring, and, accompanied by his servant, he left the room and
shortly afterwards went to bed.

After attending to the requirements of the old gentleman, Frank
Bruner returned to the bar-room and joined the group sitting around
the table. His mind was fixed upon leaving a service that was
distasteful to him, and in which he was made to feel the hand of the
master too frequently and too heavily to be borne longer with
submission or silence. He was anxious, therefore, to make some
inquiries in regard to a change of position from those whom he
supposed would be acquainted with the facts he was desirous of
learning.

While they were thus conversing, a young man entered, and after
saluting those present in a careless, off-hand manner, he seated
himself among them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young German,
with blonde hair and smoothly-shaven face; his eyes were large and of
a light blue color. His cheek-bones were rather prominent, and when
he laughed he displayed his teeth, which, being somewhat decayed,
gave a rather unpleasant expression to the countenance, otherwise he
was what might have ordinarily been considered a good-looking fellow.

Upon seating himself, he was jocularly questioned by one of the
number, in reference to some young lady, who was evidently known to
them all.

"Ah, William, how did you find the lovely Clara this evening?"
inquired his friend, in German.

William Bucholz, for that was the name of the new-comer, shrugged his
shoulders, and with an amused expression upon his face, answered:

"Oh, as well as usual, and quite as charming."

And then, perceiving the presence of Frank, he looked inquiringly at
his friends, and added: "Whom have we here?"

"A young man who has just arrived from Germany," was the reply.

Bucholz immediately arose, cordially shook hands with the stranger,
and engaged him in conversation.

CHAPTER XV.

_The History of William Bucholz._--_An Abused Aunt who Disappoints
His Hopes._--_A Change of Fortune._--_The Soldier becomes a
Farmer._--_The Voyage to New York._

William Bucholz had been an inmate of the hotel for several weeks
prior to this time, having arrived from Germany in the latter part of
July. He was somewhat of a favorite with the people with whom he
associated, and being of a free and jovial disposition had made many
friends during his limited residence in the city. As he is to bear an
interesting part in the sequence of this narrative a few words may
not be out of place in regard to his antecedents.

The father of Bucholz, who was a veterinary surgeon of some
prominence in Schweigert, had reared his children in comparative
comfort, and had provided them with a liberal education.

The early years of young Bucholz had been spent with an uncle, who
was very fond of him, and delighted to have him near his person. This
uncle was a brother of his father, and very late in life had married
a lady of large fortune, but whose appearance was not at all
prepossessing. As William grew into manhood he entered the army and
became connected with the "Brunswick Hussars."

Here he distinguished himself principally by leading a life of
dissipation and extravagance, which made him an object of remark in
his regiment. There were many wild spirits among his comrades, but
none who displayed such an irrepressible and reckless disposition as
William Bucholz. His uncle, loving him as a son, and whose union had
been blessed with no children, forgave his follies and liquidated his
debts without a murmur, but shook his head frequently in a doubtful
manner, as rumors reached him of some new exploit in which William
had been a leading spirit, or some fresh scandal in which he was a
prominent participant.

The family of Bucholz, with that weakness which sometimes
characterizes the relative of the wealthy, soon began to display a
coolness and dislike toward the wife of the uncle, and as no children
were born to them, they looked forward with certainty to inheriting
the vast wealth of their childless relative, without seeming to
regard the rights or interests of the wife, who, in Germany as well
as in America, frequently exercises a potent influence in the
disposition of her husband's affairs.

That this conduct was displeasing to the woman who had brought so
much wealth into the family may readily be imagined, and being
possessed of sufficient spirit to resent the affronts put upon her,
she did not tamely submit to be thus ignored by the supercilious
relatives of her husband, but determined to be revenged upon them in
a manner which she knew would be complete and satisfactory to
herself.

Among her numerous friends was the widow of a captain of hussars, who
had been in the same regiment with Bucholz, but who had died a short
time before, leaving his sorrow-stricken wife without sufficient
income for her support, and with the care of an only son who had been
born to them in their brief married life. To this lady William's aunt
immediately offered her house as a home, and promised to take care of
her child's education and provide for its future. This offer was
gratefully accepted by the bereaved and impecunious widow, who, with
her child, soon became domiciled beneath the roof of the uncle and
the socially abused aunt.

As the boy grew into years he displayed so many traits of a noble,
manly character and of a fond and loving disposition, that the hearts
of the aged couple instinctively warmed towards him with an abiding
affection, and the mother dying soon after, he was formally adopted
by them.

The uncle continued, however, to supply the wants of his prodigal and
degenerate nephew, but they increased so enormously that he was
forced to remonstrate with the young man upon the recklessness of his
conduct. His remonstrances were met with a spirit of impertinence and
defiance that angered the old gentleman to such an extent that he
declined at once to pay any further debts of his nephew's
contracting, and limited his allowance to a sum which, while
sufficiently large to provide for his actual needs, afforded no
opportunities for lavish outlays or indiscreet dissipations.

This action excited the ire of William and his family, who did not
hesitate to ascribe it to the promptings of the wife, whom they had
so consistently ignored, and whose feelings they had so frequently
outraged.

The relations between the brothers ceased to be friendly, and an
estrangement took place which was increased by the family of Bucholz,
who spoke every where in the most disrespectful terms of the wife of
the brother.

While matters were in this position the uncle was suddenly attacked
with a malady which resulted in his death. After the funeral the will
was opened, and it was found, to the mortification and disappointment
of his relatives, that instead of leaving to them the bulk of his
large fortune, he had bequeathed the major portion to his adopted
son, and had only left the sum of twenty thousand dollars to be
divided equally among the six children of his brother.

If the widow had desired to be revenged, she had succeeded admirably
in her wishes, and the solemn countenances of the disappointed
Bucholzes, as they wended their way homeward after the reading of the
will, from which they had hoped so much, would have been full
satisfaction for the years of insult she had been compelled to endure
from them during the life of her husband.

This disposition of the estate of the uncle was a severe blow to
those who had so confidently expected to have been enriched by his
death, and produced a marked change in their manner of living. The
bright, airy castles which they had builded, faded away--their hopes
of prospective wealth were rudely dissipated, and the necessity for
facing the actual position of affairs stared them in the face.
William could no longer be permitted to lead the idle life of a
soldier, and one and all would be compelled to labor for themselves.
It was a bitter awakening from a bright dream, but the man of their
hopes was dead, and their regrets were unavailing.

Bucholz, therefore, obtained an extended leave of absence, and in a
short time entered into an engagement with an extensive farmer to
learn the science of agriculture, and became domiciled beneath the
roof of his employer and instructor. The dull routine of a farmer's
life was, however, illy suited to his impulsive disposition, and
although he had no manual labor to perform, he soon grew tired of the
monotony of his existence and longed for a change.

He had read of the wonderful success which attended the efforts of
some of his countrymen who had emigrated to Australia, that arcadia
of the agriculturist, and burning with a desire to seek his fortune
in the new land of promise, he began to make inquiries of the place,
its products, and of the possibilities of successful operations while
there.

All the information which he gleaned was of such a character as to
fill his mind with ambitious projects, and a desire to make his
fortune in that far-off country, and he resolved to undertake the
journey.

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