Bucholz and the Detectives

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Thus questioned, Bucholz, without hesitation, at once commenced and
related to his friend the circumstances of the affair, adhering
strictly to the same story which he had told at the inquest, and
which he had religiously repeated ever since.

While they were thus conversing, the jailer came to lock them in
their cells for the night. Brown slipped quietly away, and the two
men, thus so strangely thrown together, shook hands and retired to
their separate apartments, where they spent the night in slumber. But
ah, how pleasant or how fatiguing was that slumber!

CHAPTER XX.

_Bucholz passes a Sleepless Night._--_An Important Discovery._--_The
Finding of the Watch of the Murdered Man._--_Edward Sommers consoles
the Distressed Prisoner._

Our narrative must necessarily deal somewhat largely with the
interior arrangements and experiences of a prison. Not a very
gratifying spectacle certainly, nor one ordinarily calculated to give
occasion for many incidents of a pleasurable character, or for those
glossed with the tints of romance or gallantry.

How many untouched pillows there are as the sable folds of night
gather around the dreary walls of the prison. How many aching hearts
and weary brains are waiting and watching for the dawning of the
day--the coming of the bright rays of the morning, which shall dispel
the gloom and despair of their narrow chamber, and gild with golden
beauty the darkened corners where, in the solemn hours of the night,
lurk the grim specters that were born of their remorse or their
fears.

Bucholz passed a sleepless night after the conversation just had with
his companion, Edward Sommers; the buoyancy of his hopes was shaken,
and between the fitful, restless slumbers, dark dreaming and frowning
visitants came to him in all the forbidding presence of accusing
spirits.

In the morning he arose unrested and unrefreshed, and as he greeted
his friend, the latter detected traces of tears in his eyes, which
were shrouded with the dark lines that gave token of a lack of sleep
and of intense mental distress.

After the usual morning salutations were exchanged, they partook of
their breakfast in silence. Upon the arrival of the hour for the
admission of visitors, Paul Herscher, who had testified in regard to
the money which Bucholz had given him, was announced as desiring to
see the prisoner, and together they went into his cell.

The information which he brought proved to be very important, though
not in the least consoling, and appeared to have an effect upon
Bucholz far from assuring. It appeared that a severe storm of snow
had fallen on the Sunday afternoon following the murder, and which
had remained upon the ground in the fields and woods until this time,
when the March rains and warm sunshine had caused all traces of it to
disappear, leaving the ground uncovered to the bright sunlight of a
Spring morning.

On the morning previous to this visit, a farmer engaged in the fields
adjoining the farm formerly occupied by Henry Schulte, had discovered
a watch lying upon the ground, which had evidently been hidden from
view by the snow. This watch had been immediately identified as
belonging to the murdered man.

It will be remembered that at the inquest it had been discovered that
the watch usually worn by Henry Schulte, had been torn forcibly from
the guard around his neck, and from that time all traces of it had
disappeared, until this unexpected resurrection from under its
covering of snow.

What made this discovery of more importance was the fact that the
watch was found, not far from a fence bordering a road along which
Bucholz was known to have traveled on the night of the murder while
on his way to the village to give the alarm. It verily seemed as
though another link had been forged in the chain of evidence that was
being drawn around him, and Bucholz realizing this felt his heart
sink within him, as he listened to the loquacious visitor who seemed
to be very well pleased in having something to tell.

Maintaining his composure, however, he listened to the recital
without any evidence of emotion, and not one would have imagined that
it had the slightest effect upon him other than that of curiosity,
but after Paul Herscher had departed he threw himself upon his bed
and sobbed bitterly.

In this condition he was found by Edward Sommers a few minutes
afterwards, and almost immediately thereafter he was followed by the
stealthy-moving Brown, who, passing the door of the cell occupied by
Bucholz, and looking in, had discovered the strange proceedings that
were taking place.

Posting himself upon the outside of the cell door Brown endeavored to
listen to what ensued between the two men inside, but to his intense
chagrin and disappointment he discovered that they were talking in
German and he could not understand a word.

Sommers seated himself upon the bed beside his companion, and placing
his hand upon his shoulder endeavored to solace him in his apparent
distress.

"My dear fellow," said he, after Bucholz had told him the cause of
his tears, "do not be so discouraged."

"Ah, how can I help it," replied Bucholz, "when everything seems to
be turning against me?"

"Never mind, Bucholz; you have good lawyers, and they will tell you
what to do," said his companion, soothingly. "Now, tell me, my
friend, how many people ever saw this watch of Mr. Schulte? If he
made no friends, he could not have shown his watch to many people."

"That is so," replied Bucholz, eagerly catching at the suggestion,
and his face brightened at once. "There is only one person who can
identify it--the old man's former servant, Frank Bruner, and he must
be got out of the way."

Sommers gazed at his companion in astonishment. The change in him was
wonderful--the depression of spirits had disappeared entirely, and
this effect had been produced by a proposition to _dispose_ of one
who might prove a damaging witness against him. Rather a strange
suggestion to come from one who was entirely guiltless of crime!

"You are a great fellow, Sommers," continued Bucholz, with glee, "and
after we get out of this we will have a good time together."

"What will we do to have a good time?" asked Sommers, rather
doubtfully.

"We will go to Australia," replied the other, in great good humor,
"and we will enjoy ourselves there, I can tell you."

"Yes, but that will take a great deal of money, and where is that to
come from?"

"Never you mind about the money; I will fix that all right. I do not
intend to work, and you need not do so either."

Sommers looked up at his friend, who smiled in a peculiar manner, and
was about to question him further upon the subject, but at that
moment the conversation for that day was interrupted by the
announcement of a visit from Mr. Bollman, one of the counsel Bucholz
had employed to conduct his case, and who was the only one of the
attorneys who made frequent visits to their client.

Sommers bade his friend good morning, and, as he left the cell, he
ran forcibly against the listening Brown, who had ensconced himself
near the door. The two men glared at each other for a moment, and
then, without speaking, each went their separate ways. Sommers
determined to keep his eye on this fellow, and dispose of him in a
very decisive way should he prove further troublesome.

Thus day by day did the intimacy between Bucholz and Sommers
increase, while the watchfulness of Brown had not diminished in the
least. He seemed to keep his searching eyes upon the pair, and
scarcely any movement was made that escaped his notice.

CHAPTER XXI.

_A Romantic Theory Dissipated._--_The Fair Clara becomes
communicative._--_An Interview with the Barkeeper of "The Crescent
Hotel."_

While these events were transpiring within the jail, I was actively
engaged in the attempt to follow the clue in relation to the two
suspicious individuals who had made their mysterious appearance at
Stamford on the night of the murder of Henry Schulte.

It will be remembered that their actions attracted universal
attention, and that, after inquiring for a train to New York, they
had taken one going in a directly opposite direction.

Judicious inquiries soon brought my officers in personal contact with
several parties who distinctly recollected the two strange persons
above mentioned, and from their descriptions we were enabled to trace
them to their places of residence.

It was ascertained that they were two respectable and peaceably-disposed
Germans who resided at New Haven, and who had come to Stamford on
that evening to attend a frolic at the house of a German farmer who
lived near to that place. They had spent the evening in a jovial
manner, and had left the house under the impression that by hastening
their steps they would be in time to catch the train for their homes.
They had consequently run the greater part of the distance to the
station, which being nearly a mile away, accounted for their
breathless condition upon reaching there. They had then inquired for
a train _from_ New York, and not _to_ that city, and upon being
informed that no further trains from that direction (as they
understood it) would arrive that night, they had indulged in an
extended personal altercation, each accusing the other of being the
cause of their detention. When the train did arrive, contrary to
their expectations, their ill feelings had not sufficiently subsided,
and they sat sullen and apart upon their journey to their places of
abode.

These facts, of course, dissipated the romantic theory that foreign
emissaries had been employed by the relatives of the deceased to put
him out of the way in order to secure his wealth; and so that
glittering edifice of speculation fell to the ground.

I did not have much faith in this story from the outset, but it is a
rule with me to follow every point in an investigation to a definite
and satisfactory conclusion, and this line of inquiry was diligently
pursued to the results mentioned. I therefore dismissed the matter
from further consideration.

Operatives were also detailed to visit the Crescent Saloon, where the
fair and voluptuous Clara presided and ministered to the bibulous
appetites of her numerous friends and admirers.

They succeeded in making the acquaintance of the young lady, and by a
liberal purchase of drinks, were successful in getting the fair but
frail damsel in a communicative mood. She related her previous
experience with Bucholz and confessed to entertaining at one time a
decided regard for him, which regard was, however, not unmixed with
fear. She also related several incidents, in which Bucholz, after
having gone to South Norwalk, had visited the saloon and had been
very lavish in spending his money.

"He was here," said the girl, "only a few days before the murder, and
he drank a great deal. He appeared to have plenty of money, and spent
more than fifty dollars here at one time. He seemed wild and excited,
and talked about the old man in a manner that frightened me. When I
heard about the murder from the young servant that used to work for
Mr. Schulte, I could not help thinking that Bucholz had something to
do with it. His eyes had a wild, wicked look when he spoke about the
old man's money, and I felt sure that he was robbing him during his
lifetime. When I heard that he was dead and had been murdered, I
could not help it, but I thought at once that Bucholz had done it. I
do not know why I thought so, but I could not get rid of that
impression."

These statements, although furnishing no proofs of Bucholz's guilt,
were of a character to convince me of the possibility of his having
committed the murder. He had evidently been stealing from the old man
before his death, and whether the murder had been committed to hide
his previous robberies or to obtain possession of the great wealth
which he carried about him, was the question I was resolved to
determine.

A visit was also paid to the hotel where Bucholz had boarded and
where he had met Mr. Schulte and engaged in his service. The
cheery-faced landlord was very reticent upon the subject, and but
little was learned from him. His barkeeper, however, was more
disposed to talk, and it was ascertained that when Bucholz had left
the hotel to enter the employ of Mr. Schulte he had left unpaid a
bill for board which had been accumulating for some weeks, and that
his trunk had been detained in consequence. After the murder he had
visited the hotel in company with the officers who had him then in
charge, and had paid his bill and taken his trunk away. The barkeeper
shrugged his shoulders and declined to have anything to say when
asked about any suspicious actions on the part of Bucholz during his
residence in the house or since his engagement with Mr. Schulte.

From this person it was also discovered that a mail package,
evidently containing some money, had been received at the hotel,
addressed to William Bucholz. It purported to come from Germany, but
an examination of the seals disclosed the fact that the package had
been manufactured in the city, and that it had been designed to give
color to the story of Bucholz's, of his having received money from
his relatives who resided in Germany. There were, however, too many
circumstances surrounding this package of a suspicious character to
successfully deceive any one about its having come through the
regular channels, or, in fact, having come from Germany at all. This
package was the subject of discussion in the German paper, whose
comments had produced such a marked effect upon the prisoner when he
read it.

This information I was compelled to receive for what it was worth.
The package had been delivered, and I could only depend upon the
recollections of those who had seen it at the time. Their statements
or opinions would certainly not be received as evidence, nor could
they be used in any legal manner. They only served to strengthen my
belief in William Bucholz's guilty participation in the murder, and
determined me to pursue my present system of investigation vigorously
and unremittingly to a successful conclusion.

CHAPTER XXII.

_Sommers suggests a doubt of Bucholz's Innocence._--_He employs
Bucholz's Counsel to effect his Release._--_A Visit from the State's
Attorney._--_A Difficulty and an Estrangement._

We will now return to the prison at Bridgeport and to the unfortunate
man confined within its walls for the murder of his master.

The intimacy and friendship existing between Sommers and Bucholz
continued to increase as the days passed slowly on. By degrees and in
fragmentary conversations Sommers had learned the story of the murder
from his companion. He had advised him repeatedly about his
deportment in the prison, and as to his manner of conducting himself
upon his approaching trial. He had evinced a deep sympathy for his
unfortunate position, and, by timely suggestions and judicious
warnings, had led the accused man to rely upon him, in a material
degree, for advice and comfort.

During all this long intimacy Bucholz never wavered in his
protestations of innocence, or in his consistent statement of the
knowledge which he professed to have of the murder of Henry Schulte.

One day they were sitting together in the cell of Sommers. Bucholz
was in a very pleasant humor, owing to some event that had
occurred--a visit from some ladies of the village--and turning to
Sommers, he laughingly said:

"Ah, Sommers, it seems very strange that you and I should be in
prison, while others are free and enjoying the brightness and
pleasures of liberty."

"Yes," replied his companion, "but if we had both behaved ourselves
better, we would not be here."

Bucholz's manner changed instantly. He became livid in the face, his
lips trembled, and casting a searching look at his companion, he
said:

"But I did not do this thing that I am accused of."

Quietly and calmly his companion returned his glance, and then he
laughingly said:

"Oh, I know all about that. You can't fool me."

Bucholz did not reply. In a few moments he turned away and left the
cell, and the subject was not mentioned between them for several
days.

A short time after this, Sommers complained of the length of his
confinement, and wished that he might have his bail reduced, in order
to effect his deliverance. He also suggested that if he could once
get out of the jail he could work for his friend--in whose welfare he
was warmly interested--in a manner that would greatly benefit him.

Bucholz, apparently ignoring this proposition, seemed anxious to
revert to their previous conversation, and began by referring to his
friendly relations with Henry Schulte during his lifetime, and
complained of the absurdity of placing him in jail upon the charge of
murdering him.

"Why," said he, "he promised to take me with him to Germany and make
me inspector of his estates there, and I should probably have been
heir to many thousands of dollars at his death. Would I not be a fool
to kill him?"

Sommers listened patiently to the long recital, which he knew did not
contain a particle of truth, and upon its conclusion he remarked, in
a light, careless way:

"Now, William, between you and I, I actually believe that you had
something to do with this murder."

Again that deathly pallor overspread his face; he became confused and
scarcely able to speak--but at length, recovering himself with an
effort, he declared his innocence, and said that he could not sit
upon the bed enjoying health if he had done this deed, or knew the
parties who had.

"Why," continued he, "I would not have gone to Norwalk that night and
reported the murder if I had done it. Ah, my dear Sommers, you will
learn when you go to Norwalk yourself from everybody there that all
my actions have been those of an innocent man."

Sommers looked doubtfully at his friend, and when he had finished
speaking, he said:

"Well, Bucholz, it is none of my business. I hate to see you in this
difficulty, and no matter whether you had anything to do with it or
not, I will do all that I can to get you out of it. I feel almost as
badly about it as you do."

"Ah, Sommers, I tremble at the thought of a verdict of guilty! I
think I should die upon the spot if I should hear that word."

Sommers comforted him as well as he was able to do; promised him
whatever assistance that was in his power to render him, and by
repeated assurances, he succeeded in quieting his fears and restoring
his tranquillity.

It was finally agreed between them that Sommers should make a decided
effort to be admitted to bail, and then securing his liberty, he
should devote himself to the interests of his friend Bucholz, but
during all their after conferences he never asserted his innocence to
Edward Sommers again.

The ubiquitous Brown had not been idle; he still watched these men
with ceaseless and jealous vigilance, and whenever they were together
he would endeavor to approach them as closely as possible. He saw
many things that excited his curiosity, but their conversations he
could not understand. These two men were the only prisoners who spoke
German, and on that account they were as secure from interruption as
though no prying eyes were watching them or no suspicions were
entertained in regard to their intimacy.

One day an incident occurred, however, which threatened to mar the
serenity of the intercourse of these two men, who had been so
strangely thrown together, but which eventually resulted in cementing
their union more closely.

Sommers had retained Mr. Bollman, the attorney for Bucholz, for the
purpose of having his bail reduced in order to effect his release
from imprisonment. This course was deemed necessary for two
reasons--his health had been considerably impaired by his long
confinement, and, besides that, it was decided that he could work
more successfully in the interests of Bucholz, could he be freed from
the restraint of the prison.

Mr. Bollman had met Mr. Olmstead upon the train and had broached the
matter to him. Mr. Olmstead had demurred to the reduction, for
reasons which seemed sufficient for his action, and had informed Mr.
Bollman that he would visit the jail, have an interview with Sommers,
and ascertain the full particulars of his case.

In accordance with that suggestion, he had called at the jail, and
Sommers had been notified of the desire of the State's attorney to
see him.

He was conversing with Bucholz in their usual friendly manner when
the notice was conveyed to him, and as Bucholz heard the name of the
visitor and the nature of the communication, he became confused and
apparently much frightened. He looked beseechingly at Sommers as he
turned to obey the summons, and tears came into his eyes as his
friend left the cell.

A hundred thoughts came crowding through his brain as Sommers
departed. What object could the State's attorney have in sending for
his friend? Could it be that their intimacy had been noticed and
reported, and that Mr. Olmstead would attempt to force him to divulge
their secrets? Would he offer such inducements to Sommers as would
outweigh his proffered friendship and induce him to betray the
confidence that had been reposed in him? He could not tell, and with
bitter, anxious and doubtful thoughts pressing upon his mind, he left
his cell and walked in the direction of the little room where he knew
the conference was being held.

No sound of the conversation reached his ears, and with aching heart,
his mind filled with perplexing and agonizing doubts, he returned to
his cell, and throwing himself upon the bed, he gave himself up to
the dreadful thoughts that possessed him.

At length he heard the opening and closing of the door, and soon the
returning footsteps of Sommers sounded along the passage.

Bucholz hastened out, and at once communicated his fears to his
friend--that he had betrayed him.

Sommers received this outburst with dignified calmness of demeanor,
and finally turning upon his companion with a show of anger, he said:

"I did not think that you had such a small opinion of me. I have been
a friend to you all along, and it is not probable that I should
change my position towards you now, but if you think so, I cannot
help it."

Saying which, and with an injured air, Sommers left his friend, and
going at once to his own cell he shut the door forcibly behind him.

[Illustration: _The quarrel between William Bucholz and Edward
Sommers._]

This was the commencement of an estrangement which lasted several
days. These two men, formerly so intimate and friendly, avoided each
other so pointedly that it was observed by all the inmates of the
prison, and to none did it afford more gratification than to the
curious and suspicious Brown, whose black eyes now glittered with a
wicked satisfaction as he noticed the coolness that existed between
the two men whose previous friendliness had occasioned him so much
concern.

He immediately began to make advances toward Bucholz, with, however,
but little success. William repelled his attempts at friendliness,
and seemed to be sorrowful and despondent. He missed the
companionship of Sommers. He felt convinced that he had accused him
unjustly, and the only man he cared for among the many by whom he was
surrounded held himself aloof from him, and he had no disposition to
make new friends.

Three days elapsed, during which no communication took place between
them, and this continued silence proved too much for William Bucholz.
He missed the companionship that had whiled away so many weary hours,
and unable to endure any longer the anger of his friend, he sat down
and indited a letter to Sommers, apologizing for his actions and
proffering a renewal of his friendship.

This message was duly received by Sommers, who, in addition to their
estrangement, appeared to be distressed about his own affairs, but
who, nevertheless, welcomed the repentant Bucholz with all the
cordiality of his disposition, and the coldness of the past few days
was forgotten in this renewal of their friendship.

CHAPTER XXIII.

_The Reconciliation._--_Bucholz makes an Important Revelation._--_Sommers
obtains His Liberty and leaves the Jail._

It is a truism almost as old as Time itself, that true love is never
fully known until after the lovers have once quarreled and made their
peace. The kiss of reconciliation after a temporary estrangement is
frequently more potent than the first declaration of affection.

Nor was the rule disproved in the present case, and as the two men
clasped hands upon the renewal of their seeming friendship, the
crisis of their intercourse was reached. The separation of the past
few days had shown Bucholz the necessity of a friendly voice and a
friendly hand. The guilty secret which he had been keeping so long in
his heart must find utterance--it had become heavy to bear. From this
day forth all the concealment which he had practiced upon Sommers
were to be swept away before the tide of this reconciling influence.
Hereafter they were to stand face to face, acknowledged criminals,
whose joint interest was to secure their liberty; whose only object
was to effect their escape from the meshes of the law they had
outraged, and which now seemed to envelop them so completely.

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