Meanwhile Karl was contemplating two particular rooms in the upper story with a knowing eye. "These take my fancy more than any of the others," said he to the landlord; "they have plastered walls, floors, stoves--nay, even windows. To be sure, the panes are a good deal broken, but, till we can get better glass, paper is not to be despised. We will settle ourselves here. Could you get me somebody who knows how to handle a broom and scrubbing-cloth? Good, you can; and now listen: try to bring me a few sheets of paper; I have got glue with me; we will first get some wood, then I will heat the stove, melt my glue, and paper up broken panes. But, above all, help me to carry up our luggage from the yard--and let us be quick about it." His zeal communicated itself to the landlord; the luggage was got up stairs; Karl unpacked a case full of tools of every kind, and the host ran to call his maid from the public house. Meanwhile horses' hoofs rang on the court-yard, and some well-dressed men stopped before the late steward's dwelling, and knocked loudly at the closed door. At a call from Anton, Karl hurried up to them. "Good-morning," said one, in rather labored German; "is the steward at home?" "Where is the steward? where is Bratzky?" cried the others, impatient as their prancing horses. "If you mean the former steward," replied Karl, dryly, "he will not run away from you though you do not find him here." "What do you mean?" inquired the nearest horseman; "I beg that you will explain yourself." "If you wish to speak to Mr. Bratzky, you must take the trouble of riding to the town. He is in custody." The horses reared, and their riders closed round Karl, while Polish ejaculations were heard on all sides. "In custody! On what account?" "Ask my master," replied Karl, pointing to the doorway in the tower, where Anton stood. "Have I the pleasure of speaking to the new proprietor?" inquired one of the party, taking off his hat. Anton looked down in amazement. The voice and face reminded him of a white-gloved gentleman whom he had met once before in a critical hour. "I am the Baron Rothsattel's agent," replied he. The horse was pulled back, and the rider spoke a few words to his companions, upon which an older man with a fox-like face cried, "We are anxious to speak on private business with the late steward. We hear that he is in custody, and beg you will tell us why." "He tried to evade by flight the surrender of the property to me, and he is suspected of dishonest dealings." "Are his effects confiscated?" inquired one of the riders. "Why do you inquire?" returned Anton. "I beg your pardon," said the other, "but the man happens accidentally to have some papers that belong to me in his house, and it might embarrass me if I could not get possession of them."