Bucholz and the Detectives Part 9

Henry Schulte was at this time an old man--the sixty years of his life had pa.s.sed away slowly, but eventfully to him, and his whitened hair and wrinkled face betokened that age had left its indelible mark upon the once stalwart form of the Henry Schulte of days gone by. His head was generally bowed as though in deep thought, whether at home or abroad, and the broad shoulders seemed to have yielded to the weight of trouble which had come upon him in those early days. He was never seen to smile, and the hard, set lines about the mouth never relaxed, however mirthful was the scene before him, or however pleasurable the a.s.sociation in which he might accidentally find himself placed. His violin was his only companion during the long evening hours, and almost every night the harmonious strains of the music which he evoked from that instrument could be heard by those who journeyed upon the lonely road which pa.s.sed in front of his house.

In the early fall of 1877, an incident occurred, which, in the disordered state of his mind, rendered it impossible for him to remain any longer in fancied peace and security.

One morning about daybreak a party of gunners, who were in search of game, were pa.s.sing the premises occupied by Henry Schulte, when one of their number, a nephew of the old man, being the son of his elder brother, knowing his weakness in regard to being a.s.sa.s.sinated, and from a spirit of mischief which prompted him, took careful aim and fired directly through the window of the sleeping apartment of his uncle, and then quickly and laughingly pa.s.sed on. The old gentleman, suddenly aroused from his slumbers, jumped up in affright, calling loudly in the excess of his terror:

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_The old man jumped from his bed in affright, calling loudly for help._"]

"Help! Help! The villains have attempted to murder me again!"

Frank Bruner, his servant, being thus awakened, ran to the window and saw the party rapidly disappearing around a bend in the road. He recognized Bartolf Schulte as being one of the party, and informed his master of the fact.

"Mein Gott! Mein Gott!" exclaimed the old man. "My own brother's son try to take my life--this is horrible. He wants my money and he tries to kill me."

It was a long time before his violence subsided, but when at length Frank succeeded in calming his excitement and restoring him to reason, one idea seemed to have taken possession of him, and that was that he must leave his home for his own safety, and that the sooner this was accomplished the better it would be for him and for his peace of mind.

No inducement that could be offered was sufficient to disturb his resolution upon this point. No argument that could be suggested, but what was urged against this seemingly insane notion, but all to no avail. His mind was fully made up, and nothing could overcome the settled determination which he had arrived at, to get away at once from the place which threatened so much danger to his person, and in which he was in constant dread and fear.

He therefore immediately began his preparations for departure, and placing his property in the hands of a careful attorney at Hagen, he lost no time in converting his available securities into money and decided to take pa.s.sage for America--a land of which he had heard so much, and which promised a rest for his over-wrought mind.

He journeyed to Hamburg, and from thence in a few days, accompanied by his servant, he took pa.s.sage in a steamer, arriving in New York City, "a stranger in a strange land," in the month of August in the same year.

CHAPTER XIV.

_The Arrival in New York._--_Frank Bruner determines to leave the Service of his Master._--_The meeting of Frank Bruner and William Bucholz._

The vagaries of the human mind under all circ.u.mstances are frequently inscrutable, but under no other influence, perhaps, is the mind so susceptible of impressions of a governing character from unimportant causes as it is when controlled by the fear of personal safety.

It would readily be imagined that Henry Schulte, whose mind was filled with vague but distressing apprehensions for his life, could have found refuge, safe and una.s.sailable, within the broad domain of his own native land, and that he might have considered himself free from impending danger if he could have placed even a short distance between himself and those whom he believed to be his mortal enemies.

This, however, he found it impossible to do and rest contented; so, resisting all the arguments that were urged by his faithful but overtaxed servant and companion, and believing that his only safety lay in his getting away from his native land, he persisted in coming to America, where he felt a.s.sured he would be free from persecution, and where, in the quiet and repose of rural retirement, his peace of mind would be undisturbed.

That these fears must have been deeply-grounded there can be no doubt, for this old man, in leaving the home of his childhood and the many scenes which were endeared to him by the close a.s.sociation of early friendship and experience, turned his back upon the spot where he had first seen the light of day, and where he had grown from youth to manhood. Here, too, the joy and sorrow of his life had come to him, and in the little churchyard of the village, beneath the waving trees, reposed all that was mortal of the one great love of his life.

Stolid and seemingly indifferent, so far as outward evidence gave any demonstration, of the many tender a.s.sociations surrounding him, he left his native village and set off upon the long journey that was to end in his death. Speeding away from the imagined a.s.sa.s.sin, he journeyed directly to the presence and companionship of the man who was to slay him.

Taking pa.s.sage upon a steamer bound for America, they were soon riding upon the broad bosom of the Atlantic, and after an uneventful voyage landed safely in New York.

Not one of the many pa.s.sengers of the vessel, or among the crowd that stood upon the pier and watched their disembarking, would for a moment have supposed that this old man, whose face gave evidence of the years through which he had pa.s.sed, whose clothing showed too plainly the marks of long and hard usage, and whose general appearance resembled that of a beggar, was the possessor of wealth enough to render any of them independent of the world. Nor would they have thought that the worn and frequently-patched coat he wore concealed a sum of money equalling nearly a hundred thousand dollars.

Yet such was the fact; for upon his person he carried fully this amount of money, most of which was in German mark bills, easily convertible into American money; and which, should the fact become known, would have been sufficient to excite the cupidity of many of them, who would not hesitate to attempt the operation of relieving him of his h.o.a.rded wealth, and who might, perhaps, scarcely consider an old man's life of sufficient importance to successfully interfere with their possessing themselves of his money.

He had jealously guarded his secret and his treasure, and although his sleep was frequently disturbed by startling visions of robbery and murder, not one of the many who surrounded him suspected for an instant the wealth that he possessed.

To his servant he was generally reticent, but not so excessively secretive, for Frank Bruner was well-informed of the extent of his master's treasures, although he was not fully aware of the amount he had brought with him.

Poor Frank led a miserable existence on that pa.s.sage to New York, and many times after he had settled himself in his berth for a comfortable night's sleep he would be rudely awakened by his nervous and suspicious master, who was continually imagining that somebody was forcing an entrance into his state-room. He would start up with affright, and nothing would allay his fears but a rigid examination of the premises, which invariably resulted in finding nothing of a suspicious or fear-inspiring nature.

Many times, upon remonstrating with his master about the groundlessness of his fears, he would be made to feel the heaviness of his hand, and chastis.e.m.e.nts were the reward of his devotion so frequently that his usually submissive spirit began to rebel, and Frank resolved to leave the service of so peculiar and so thankless a master upon the first favorable opportunity that presented itself.

The journey, as we have said, was made in safety, and Henry Schulte, with his wealth intact, arrived in New York, and, seeking a quiet, comfortable hotel, he was directed to "THE CRESCENT," where he soon wended his way, and to which he directed his servant to have his trunks conveyed without delay.

The hotel which he had selected was a German boarding-house, of modest dimensions and of unpretentious appearance. Over its doorway swung the faded sign of the Crescent, and over its destinies presided the portly, good-natured landlord, who dispensed the creature comforts to the limited number of guests who lodged beneath his roof.

Henry Schulte entered the little room of the hotel which was used as a bar-room, and, paying no attention to the other occupants, he seated himself at one of the tables, ordered a bottle of wine, which he proceeded to drink slowly until nearly finished, after which he pushed the bottle and gla.s.s towards his thirsty and longing servant and bade him consume the balance.

Seated around the room in various att.i.tudes, but all engaged in the occupation of smoking and drinking, were a number of men, all inmates of the hotel, and all Germans, to whom the old man's appearance naturally gave occasion for considerable curiosity.

Several attempts were made to cultivate his acquaintance and to interrogate him upon the incidents of his pa.s.sage over, but all of no avail. He maintained a reserve that was impossible to overcome; his answers were given in monosyllables, and, as but little encouragement was given to friendly converse, he was finally left alone to enjoy his musings.

At an early hour of the evening he signified his intention of retiring, and, accompanied by his servant, he left the room and shortly afterwards went to bed.

After attending to the requirements of the old gentleman, Frank Bruner returned to the bar-room and joined the group sitting around the table. His mind was fixed upon leaving a service that was distasteful to him, and in which he was made to feel the hand of the master too frequently and too heavily to be borne longer with submission or silence. He was anxious, therefore, to make some inquiries in regard to a change of position from those whom he supposed would be acquainted with the facts he was desirous of learning.

While they were thus conversing, a young man entered, and after saluting those present in a careless, off-hand manner, he seated himself among them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young German, with blonde hair and smoothly-shaven face; his eyes were large and of a light blue color. His cheek-bones were rather prominent, and when he laughed he displayed his teeth, which, being somewhat decayed, gave a rather unpleasant expression to the countenance, otherwise he was what might have ordinarily been considered a good-looking fellow.

Upon seating himself, he was jocularly questioned by one of the number, in reference to some young lady, who was evidently known to them all.

"Ah, William, how did you find the lovely Clara this evening?"

inquired his friend, in German.

William Bucholz, for that was the name of the new-comer, shrugged his shoulders, and with an amused expression upon his face, answered:

"Oh, as well as usual, and quite as charming."

And then, perceiving the presence of Frank, he looked inquiringly at his friends, and added: "Whom have we here?"

"A young man who has just arrived from Germany," was the reply.

Bucholz immediately arose, cordially shook hands with the stranger, and engaged him in conversation.

CHAPTER XV.

_The History of William Bucholz._--_An Abused Aunt who Disappoints His Hopes._--_A Change of Fortune._--_The Soldier becomes a Farmer._--_The Voyage to New York._

William Bucholz had been an inmate of the hotel for several weeks prior to this time, having arrived from Germany in the latter part of July. He was somewhat of a favorite with the people with whom he a.s.sociated, and being of a free and jovial disposition had made many friends during his limited residence in the city. As he is to bear an interesting part in the sequence of this narrative a few words may not be out of place in regard to his antecedents.

The father of Bucholz, who was a veterinary surgeon of some prominence in Schweigert, had reared his children in comparative comfort, and had provided them with a liberal education.

The early years of young Bucholz had been spent with an uncle, who was very fond of him, and delighted to have him near his person. This uncle was a brother of his father, and very late in life had married a lady of large fortune, but whose appearance was not at all prepossessing. As William grew into manhood he entered the army and became connected with the "Brunswick Hussars."

Here he distinguished himself princ.i.p.ally by leading a life of dissipation and extravagance, which made him an object of remark in his regiment. There were many wild spirits among his comrades, but none who displayed such an irrepressible and reckless disposition as William Bucholz. His uncle, loving him as a son, and whose union had been blessed with no children, forgave his follies and liquidated his debts without a murmur, but shook his head frequently in a doubtful manner, as rumors reached him of some new exploit in which William had been a leading spirit, or some fresh scandal in which he was a prominent partic.i.p.ant.

The family of Bucholz, with that weakness which sometimes characterizes the relative of the wealthy, soon began to display a coolness and dislike toward the wife of the uncle, and as no children were born to them, they looked forward with certainty to inheriting the vast wealth of their childless relative, without seeming to regard the rights or interests of the wife, who, in Germany as well as in America, frequently exercises a potent influence in the disposition of her husband's affairs.