The luggage of one Stolzen, a stagecoach passenger, remained at the tavern uncalled-for, for nearly a year.  No one knew the man, and his disappearance, though a profound mystery, was not an uncommon thing in a new country.  The Hebrew broker in New York received no answers to his letters, though he had carefully preserved the post-office address which Stolzen had given him.  He began to fear lest he should be obliged to fulfil the duty of heirship to the property deposited with him.  To quiet his natural apprehensions in view of this event, he determined to follow Stolzen’s track, as much of it as lay in this world, at least, and find out what had become of him.  Upon arriving in the neighborhood, the Jew had a thorough search made.  The country was scoured, and on the third day there was a discovery.  A man walking on the sandy margin of a river, about two or three miles from Carl’s house, saw a skull before him.  As the steep bluff nearly overhung the spot where he stood, he conjectured that the body to which the skull belonged was to be found above on its verge.  He climbed up, and there saw a headless skeleton.  It was the body of Stolzen, as his memorandum-book and other articles showed.  His pistol was in his pocket, and still loaded; that fact precluded the idea of suicide.  Moreover, upon examining more closely, a bullet-hole was found in his breast-bone, around which the parts were broken outwardly, showing that the ball must have entered from behind.  It was clear that Stolzen had been murdered.

The curse of Frau Proch had been most terribly fulfilled.

Circumstances soon pointed to Carl Proch as the perpetrator.  A stranger, corresponding to the deceased in size and dress, had been seen, about the time of his disappearance, by the neighboring family, walking towards Proch’s house; and on the evening of the same day an Irishman met Carl going at a rapid rate, with a gun on his shoulder, as though in furious pursuit of some one.  A warrant for his arrest was issued, and he was lodged in jail to await his trial.  If now the Hebrew had followed the lex talionis, after the manner of his race in ancient times, it might have fared badly with poor Carl.  But as soon as the broker was satisfied beyond a peradventure that the depositor was actually dead, he hastened back to New York, joyful as a crow over a newly-found carcass, to administer upon the estate, leaving the law to take its own course with regard to the murderer.

Beyond the two facts just mentioned as implicating Carl, nothing was proved at the trial.  Jameson, the lawyer, whom I mentioned at the beginning of this story, was engaged for the defence.  He found Carl singularly uncommunicative; and though the government failed to make out a shadow of a case against his client, he was yet puzzled in his own mind by Carl’s silence, and his real or assumed indifference.  Katrine was in court with her child in her arms, watching the proceedings with the closest attention; though