“If you continue to gaze with such intensity through the telescope your face will become distorted.”
Marie laughed. “If I had a crooked mouth, and kept one eye shut, people would say, ‘There goes that ugly little Marie!’ Then I should not have to wear a veil any more.”
She distorted her face as she had described, and turned it toward Ludwig, who said hastily: “Don’t—don’t do that, Marie.”
“Is it not all the same to you whether I am ugly or pretty?” she retorted. Then, as if to soften the harshness of her words, she added: “Even if I were ugly, would you love me—as the fakir loves his Brahma?”
Ludwig continued his correspondence with the learned Herr Mercatoris. He always dictated his letters to Marie. No one in the neighborhood had yet seen his own writing. Therefore, it would have been impossible for him to ask the pastor anything relating to the baroness without Marie knowing it. In one of his letters, however, he inquired how the mother of the lad he had once had in his care was conducting herself at the manor, and was informed that the woman had disappeared—and without leaving any explanation for her conduct—a few days after the eclipse of the moon. The baroness had been greatly troubled by the woman’s going, but would not consent to having a search made for her, as she had taken nothing from the manor.
This incident made Count Vavel believe that the woman had secretly joined the band of robbers, and that there would be another attempt made sometime to break into the manor.
From that time the count slept more frequently in his observatory than he did in his bedchamber, where an entire arsenal of muskets and other firearms were always kept in readiness.
One evening, when he approached the door of his room, he was surprised to see a light through the keyhole; some one was in the room.
He entered hastily. On the table was a lighted candle, and standing with his back toward the table was a strange man, clad in a costume unlike that worn by the dwellers in that neighborhood.
For an instant Count Vavel surveyed the stranger, who was standing between him and his weapons; then he demanded imperiously:
“Who are you? How came you here, and what do you want?”
“I am Satan Laczi,” coolly replied the man.
On hearing the name, Count Vavel sprang suddenly toward the robber, and seized him by the arms. The fellow’s arms were like the legs of a vulture—nothing but bone and sinew. Count Vavel was an athletic man, strong and powerful; but had the room been filled with men as strong and powerful as he, and had they every one hurled themselves upon Satan Laczi, he would have had no difficulty in defending himself. He had performed such a feat more than once. This evening, however, he made no move to defend himself, but looked calmly at his assailant, and said: “The Herr Count can see that I have no weapons; and yet, there are enough here, had I wanted to arm myself against an attack. I am not here for an evil purpose.”
The count released his hold on the man’s arms, and looked at him in surprise.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“First, because I want to tell the Herr Count that it was not I who attempted to rob the baroness, nor were those thieves comrades of mine. I know that the people around here say it was Satan Laczi; but it was n’t, and I came to tell you so. I confess I have robbed churches; but the house which has given shelter and food to my poor little lad is more sacred to me than a church. The people insist that I was guilty of such baseness because I am Satan Laczi; but the Herr Count, who has doubtless read a description of my person, can say whether or no it was I he saw at the manor.”
With these words he turned his face toward the light. It was a very repulsive countenance.
“Do you think there is another face that the description of mine would fit, Herr Count?” he asked, a certain melancholy softening the repulsiveness of his features. “But what is the use of such senseless chatter?” he added hastily. “I am not silly enough to come here seeking honor and respect—though it does vex me when people say that one man with a cudgel put to flight Satan Laczi and three of his comrades. I came here to-night because the Herr Count rescued my poor little lad from the morass, gave him shelter and food, and even condescended to teach him. For all this I owe you, Herr Count, and I am come to return favor for favor. You are thinking: ‘How can this robber repay me what he owes?’ I will tell you: by giving you a robber’s information. I want to prove to the Herr Count that the robber—the true robber who understands his trade—can enter this securely barred castle whenever he is so minded. The locks on the doors, the bolts on the windows, are no hindrance to the man who understands his business, and the way I came in another can come as well. It is said that the Herr Count guards a great treasure here in this castle. I don’t know, and I don’t ask, what this treasure is. If I should find it, I wouldn’t take it from the Herr Count, and if any one else took it I should try to get it back for him. But some one may steal in here, as I did, while the Herr Count is looking at the stars up in the tower, and carry off his carefully guarded treasure.”
Count Vavel gave utterance to a groan of terror; his knees gave way beneath him; a chill shook his entire frame.
“Marie!” he gasped, forgetting himself.
Then, hastily snatching the candle from the table, he rushed frantically toward the young girl’s sleeping-chamber, leaving Satan Laczi alone in his room.
Since he had ceased guarding Marie’s door at night by sleeping on the lounge in her room, he had cautioned her to lock the door before retiring. Now he found the door open.
Breathless with fear, the count sprang toward the alcove and flung back the bed-curtains. The little maid was sleeping peacefully, her face resting against her arm. Her favorite cat was lying at her feet, and on the floor by the bedside lay the two pugs. But the door of the wall-cupboard in which was hidden the steel casket stood wide open, and on the casket was a singular toy—a miniature human figure turning a spinning-wheel.
For an instant Count Vavel’s heart ceased beating. Here was sufficient proof that the maid, together with the steel casket, might have been carried away during his absence.
He took the curious image, which was molded of black bread, and returned to his room.
As he crossed the threshold, Satan Laczi pointed to the toy and said:
“I left it on the casket as a remembrance in exchange for the little stockings some one in this house knit for my little lad. We learn to make such things in prison, where time hangs heavily on one’s hands.”
“But how did you manage to open the door when it was locked and the key inside?” inquired the count.
Satan Laczi showed him the tools which he used to turn keys from the outside.
“Any burglar can open a door from the outside if the key is left in the lock, Herr Count. Only those doors can be securely locked which have no keyholes outside.”
“I have no idea how that could be arranged,” said Count Vavel.
“I am acquainted with a jack of all trades here in the neighborhood who could make such a door for you if I told him how to make it. He is a carpenter, locksmith, and clock-maker, all in one person.”
The count shook his head wonderingly. The robber was to direct the locksmith how to fashion a lock that no one could open!
“Shall I send the man to the castle?” asked Satan Laczi.
“Yes; if the fellow is sensible, and does not chatter.”
“But he is a fool that never knows when to stop talking. But he talks only on one subject, so you need not be afraid to employ him. He understands everything you tell him, will do just as you say, but will not talk about what he is doing for you. There is only one subject on which he will chatter, and that is, how Napoleon might be beaten. He is continually talking about stratagems, infernal machines, and how to win a battle. On this subject he is crazy. He will make doors for the Herr Count that can’t be opened, and tell everybody else only how to make infernal machines, and how to build fortifications.”