Obliged to repeat her song and the dance which filled the gap between two verses, the charmer held the spectators in a spell even more firm than that she had first imposed.

No one was conscious at the first that down the central aisle had come a little party odd enough in its components and awe-inspiring in what might be called its rear-guard to break even enchantment more potent.

An old woman, wearing over sordid garments an old furred Polish pelisse, was the guide—­the herald, so to say, to a gentleman in gold spectacles and a black suit and silk hat, an inspector of police, a sergeant of the watch, while behind this formidable official nucleus marched a serried body of civil and of military police.  After them all, wringing his fat hands, trotted the proprietor, with a terrified expression too great not to be assumed.  Waiters completed the retinue, wearing faces much whiter than the napkins slung on their arms.

As the orchestra faced the audience, they perceived this inroad before the latter and, as by a signal, ceased playing.  The startled dancer, for all her aristocratic self-command, stopped immediately for explanation, and, riveting her glances on the female head of the intruders, whom she recognized—­that was clear—­stood stupor-stricken.

Claudius, following her hint, turned to the center and had no difficulty in recognizing in the woman arrayed in the Polish pelisse, the chief of the beggars, Baboushka.  He recalled the remark of the Jew, that she befriended this debutante, and he was averse to believing it.  That delicious creature and this hideous one in ties of communion! ridiculous, monstrous!

Spite of his concern for himself, Claudius noticed that twenty or thirty of the spectators, apparently perplexed at the rare conjunction of their leader and the authorities in friendly communication, would not wait for the elucidation but began to make a rush for the outlets.

The voice of the town inspector, rotund and sonorous, froze them with terror, although not personal.

“Gentlemen—­(the ladies were apparently here only on sufferance, and the stage-performer was of no consideration in the authorities’ eyes)—­Gentlemen, a murder has been committed and we seek the culprit here in your midst!”

“Murder!” and the audience rose to their feet like one man.

“Stand up here,” said the functionary, pointing to a place on a bench which a timid spectator had vacated, and pushing Baboushka roughly, “and point out the man who has made away with the honorable Major von Sendlingen.”

“Major von Sendlingen!” repeated the audience, shocked, as the officer had been seen but the night previously among them in lusty life, and death is a spectre most terrible in a saloon of mirth and carousal.

After that general exclamation, a silence ensued; one that meant acquiescence in the proceedings of the police.

“I must have killed him,” thought the student.  “This is a black prospect!  I had better have quitted the hall and profited by the invitation of refuge which Herr Daniels offered me.”