saw the ax that belongs with the other tools lying near
the door. I thought to myself: did he do anything with the ax? And
again I imagined what any one who had crept in there at night might
have done with it. It occurred to me that he might have done something
to the ladders. But I found nothing wrong there. Nor was there
anything wrong with the swinging-seat that still lay there. Then I
began to look at the pulleys and last of all at the tackle. It seemed
as if one of the ropes had been worn a little by rubbing against
something hard. I thought to myself: 'that often happens,' and was
about to lay it down again, but then I thought: 'there is nothing else
wrong, and if somebody crept in here at night he meant to do
something, and if he had the ax then he did something with that.' I
looked a little closer and--merciful Heavens!--the rope had been cut
into in several different places. I threw it over the beam and hung on
it; the cuts gaped open. I believe if the seat were hung on it the
rope would break." The old man had become quite pale. Christiane hung
breathlessly on his every word; she had fallen back in her chair and
could scarcely speak.

"It was not so the evening before," he continued. "Master Apollonius
has an eye for every detail. He would have discovered it. I think the
person who cut the rope watched Master Apollonius as he examined
everything, and thought he would not look them over again before he
used them. That is the reason why he crept in at night."

"Valentine!" cried the young wife, seizing him by the shoulders, half
as if she wanted to compel him to tell the truth, half as if to
support herself, "he did not take it with him? Valentine, tell me!"

"No, not that one," said Valentine. "But the other seat that was
there, and the tackle belonging to it."

"And was that cut too?" she asked with ever increasing fear. He
replied: "I do not know. But the man who did it had no idea which one
Master Apollonius would take with him."

The woman trembled so violently that the old man forgot his fears
concerning Apollonius in his fear concerning her. He had to support
her to prevent her from falling. She pushed him away and half
imploringly, half threateningly, cried: "Oh, save him, Valentine, save
him. Oh God, it is I who have done it!" She prayed to God to save him,
and then moaned that he was dead and that it was her fault. She called
Apollonius by the tenderest names and entreated him not to die.
Valent