“What did you say?” he cried. “Von Schlegel attack Strauss!--the two dearest friends in the college! I slay my old master! It is magic, I say; it is a charm! There is a spell upon us! It is--Ah, I have it! It is that hatchet--that thrice accursed hatchet!” and he pointed convulsively at the weapon which Inspector Baumgarten still held in his hand. The inspector smiled contemptuously. “Restrain yourself, mein herr,” he said. “You do but make your case worse by such wild excuses for the wicked deed you confess to. Magic and charms are not known in the legal vocabulary, as my friend Winkel will assure you.” “I know not,” remarked his sub-inspector, shrugging his broad shoulders. “There are many strange things in the world. Who knows but that----” “What!” roared Inspector Baumgarten, furiously. “You would undertake to contradict me! You would set up your opinion! You would be the champion of these accursed murderers! Fool, miserable fool, your hour has come!” and rushing at the astounded Winkel, he dealt a blow at him with the silver hatchet which would certainly have justified his last assertion had it not been that, in his fury, he overlooked the lowness of the rafters above his head. The blade of the hatchet struck one of these, and remained there quivering, while the handle was splintered into a thousand pieces. “What have I done?” gasped Baumgarten, falling back into his chair. “What have I done?” “You have proved Herr Schlessinger’s words to be correct,” said Von Schlegel, stepping forward, for the astonished policemen had let go their grasp of him. “That is what you have done. Against reason, science, and everything else though it be, there is a charm at work. There must be! Strauss, old boy, you know I would not, in my right senses, hurt one hair of your head. And you, Schlessinger, we both know you loved the old man who is dead. And you, Inspector Baumgarten, you would not willingly have struck your friend the sub-inspector?” “Not for the whole world,” groaned the inspector, covering his face with his hands. “Then is it not clear? But now, thank Heaven, the accursed thing is broken, and can never do harm again. But see, what is that?” Right in the centre of the room was lying a thin brown cylinder of parchment. One glance at the fragments of the handle of the weapon showed that it had been hollow. This roll of paper had apparently been hidden away inside the metal case thus formed, having been introduced through a small hole, which had been afterward soldered up. Von Schlegel opened the document. The writing upon it was almost illegible from age; but as far as they could make out it stood thus, in mediæval German: