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Page 6
"Shepherd, the inn-keeper wants to see you, there's something the
matter with his cow." Count ---- a young man, coming from the other
direction and pushing in at the door past Margit, who stood there
staring up the road.
Janci was so deep in his own thoughts that he apparently did not
hear the boy's words. At all events he did not answer them, but
himself asked an unexpected question--a question that was not
addressed to the others in the room, but to something out and
beyond them. It was a strange question and it came from the lips
of a man whose mind was not with his body at that moment--whose
mind saw what others did not see.
"Who will be the next to go? And who will be our pastor now?"
These were Janci's words.
"What are you talking about, shepherd? Is it another one of your
visions?" exclaimed the young fellow who stood there before him.
Janci rubbed his hands over his eyes and seemed to come down to
earth with a start.
"Oh, is that you, Ferenz? What do you want of me?"
The boy gave his message again, and Janci nodded good-humouredly
and followed him out of the house. But both he and his young
companion were very thoughtful as they plodded along the way. The
boy did not dare to ask any questions, for he knew that the shepherd
was not likely to answer. There was a silent understanding among
the villagers that no one should annoy Janci in any way, for they
stood in a strange awe of him, although he was the most
good-natured mortal under the sun.
While the shepherd and the boy walked toward the inn, the old
doctor and Liska had hurried onward to the rectory. They were met
at the door by the aged housekeeper, who staggered down the path
wringing her hands, unable to give voice to anything but
inarticulate expressions of grief and terror. The rest of the
household and the farm hands were gathered in a frightened group
in the great courtyard of the stately rectory which had once been
a convent building. The physician hurried up the stairs into the
pastor's apartments. These were high sunny and airy rooms with
arched ceilings, deep window seats, great heavy doors and
handsomely ornamented stoves. The simple modern furniture appeared
still more plain and common-place by contrast with the huge spaces
of the building.
In one of the rooms a gendarme was standing beside the window. The
man saluted the physician, then shrugged his shoulders with an
expression of hopelessness. The doctor returned a silent greeting
and passed through into the next apartment. The old man was paler
than usual and his face bore an expression of pain and surprise,
the same expression that showed in the faces of those gathered
downstairs. The room he now entered was large like the others, the
walls handsomely decorated, and every corner of it was flooded with
sunshine. There were two men in this room, the village magistrate
and the notary. Their expression, as they held out their hands
to the doctor, showed that his coming brought great relief. And
there was something else in the room, something that drew the eyes
of all three of the men immediately after their silent greeting.
This was a great pool of blood which lay as a hideous stain on the
otherwise clean yellow-painted floor. The blood must have flowed
from a dreadful wound, from a severed artery even, the doctor
thought, there was such a quantity of it. It had already dried and
darkened, making its terrifying ugliness the more apparent.
"This is the third murder in two years," said the magistrate in a
low voice.
"And the most mysterious of all of them," added the clerk.
"Yes, it is," said the doctor. "And there is not a trace of the
body, you say?--or a clue as to where they might have taken the
dead--or dying man?"
With these words he looked carefully around the room, but there
was no more blood to be seen anywhere. Any spot would have been
clearly visible on the light-coloured floor. There was nothing
else to tell of the horrible crime that had been committed here,
nothing but the great, hideous, brown-red spot in the middle of
the room.
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