As the discussions went on, some of the foremen explained that Zapora had not murdered Ferdinand, but that there had been a fight, and Ferdinand had been the first to shoot. It even transpired that the cause had been a quarrel about the workpeople--that Ferdinand had been killed because he spent the money which had been got by wronging the people. God had punished Adler; their curses had been heard. Thus within a few hours a legend was formed round the incident. The voice of human blood had gone up to the throne of the Almighty, and a miracle had been worked. They were filled with awe. What would happen now? Would their employer cease to wrong them? Someone suggested that the machinery should be stopped under these unusual circumstances, but the old book-keeper fell upon him. Stop the machinery and irritate the boss even more, when he is not quite in his right mind? He himself had felt quite odd when the machinery had been stopped before, and they had all gone up to the house. When there is the clatter it makes one feel easier, and one thinks nothing has happened. The others agreed. In the evening Adler returned, and entered the office like a ghost. Nobody knew when he had come. He was covered with mud, as if he had been rolling on the ground. His eyes were bloodshot, and his short flaxen hair stood on end: he was gasping for breath. Hurriedly he ran through the offices, snapping his fingers. The frightened clerks pretended to go on with their work. A young man was reading a wire. Adler went up to him, and asked in a quiet though changed voice: "What is that?" "Cotton is still going up," the clerk replied. "To-day we have made six thousand----" He did not finish. Adler had torn the message from his hands and thrown it in his face. "You low vermin!" he shouted. "How dare you tell me such a thing! The very dogs run away from my grief with their tails between their legs, and you talk to me of six thousand roubles!... Can you bring back a day--even half a day--to me?" Boehme came running into the office. "Gottlieb," he cried, "the carriage is waiting; come to my house with me." The mill-owner drew himself up to his full height and put both his hands in his pockets. "Oh, you are there, St. Martin!" he said ironically. "No, I will not go with you to your house! I will say even more. Not a single farthing shall I leave to you or your Józio! Do you hear? I dare say you are a servant of the Lord, and His wisdom speaks through your tongue, but not a farthing will you get from me. My fortune belongs to my son." "What are you talking about, Gottlieb?" the pastor said, shocked. "I am talking plainly. This is a plot to put your son in here to order the factory people about.... You have killed my son, and you would like to kill me; but I am not one of those fools who want to spend their money on the salvation of their souls...." "Gottlieb, you suspect me--_me_?" Adler seized his hands and looked into his eyes with hatred.