The Case of the Pool of Blood in the Pastors Study | Page 3

given by the people of the village, more
as a term of endearment than anything else, to the generally loved and
respected physician who was the head of the insane asylum. He had
become general mentor and oracle of all the village and was known and
loved by man, woman and child.
"It's possible," answered Janci.
"His Reverence didn't look very well yesterday, or maybe the old
housekeeper has the gout again."
Janci gave a grunt which might have meant anything. The shepherd
was a silent man. Being alone so much had taught him to find his own
thoughts sufficient company. Ten minutes passed in silence since
Margit's last question, then some one went past the window. There
were two people this time, Liska and the old doctor. They were walking
very fast, running almost. Margit sprang up and hurried to the door to

look after them.
Janci sat still in his place, but he had laid aside his spoon and with wide
eyes was staring ahead of him, murmuring, "It's the pastor this time; I
saw him--just as I did the others."
"Shepherd, the inn-keeper wants to see you, there's something the
matter with his cow." Count ---- a young man, coming from the other
direction and pushing in at the door past Margit, who stood there
staring up the road.
Janci was so deep in his own thoughts that he apparently did not hear
the boy's words. At all events he did not answer them, but himself
asked an unexpected question--a question that was not addressed to the
others in the room, but to something out and beyond them. It was a
strange question and it came from the lips of a man whose mind was
not with his body at that moment--whose mind saw what others did not
see.
"Who will be the next to go? And who will be our pastor now?"
These were Janci's words.
"What are you talking about, shepherd? Is it another one of your
visions?" exclaimed the young fellow who stood there before him.
Janci rubbed his hands over his eyes and seemed to come down to earth
with a start.
"Oh, is that you, Ferenz? What do you want of me?"
The boy gave his message again, and Janci nodded good-humouredly
and followed him out of the house. But both he and his young
companion were very thoughtful as they plodded along the way. The
boy did not dare to ask any questions, for he knew that the shepherd
was not likely to answer. There was a silent understanding among the
villagers that no one should annoy Janci in any way, for they stood in a
strange awe of him, although he was the most good-natured mortal
under the sun.

While the shepherd and the boy walked toward the inn, the old doctor
and Liska had hurried onward to the rectory. They were met at the door
by the aged housekeeper, who staggered down the path wringing her
hands, unable to give voice to anything but inarticulate expressions of
grief and terror. The rest of the household and the farm hands were
gathered in a frightened group in the great courtyard of the stately
rectory which had once been a convent building. The physician hurried
up the stairs into the pastor's apartments. These were high sunny and
airy rooms with arched ceilings, deep window seats, great heavy doors
and handsomely ornamented stoves. The simple modern furniture
appeared still more plain and common-place by contrast with the huge
spaces of the building.
In one of the rooms a gendarme was standing beside the window. The
man saluted the physician, then shrugged his shoulders with an
expression of hopelessness. The doctor returned a silent greeting and
passed through into the next apartment. The old man was paler than
usual and his face bore an expression of pain and surprise, the same
expression that showed in the faces of those gathered downstairs. The
room he now entered was large like the others, the walls handsomely
decorated, and every corner of it was flooded with sunshine. There
were two men in this room, the village magistrate and the notary. Their
expression, as they held out their hands to the doctor, showed that his
coming brought great relief. And there was something else in the room,
something that drew the eyes of all three of the men immediately after
their silent greeting.
This was a great pool of blood which lay as a hideous stain on the
otherwise clean yellow-painted floor. The blood must have flowed
from a dreadful wound, from a severed artery even, the doctor thought,
there was such a quantity of it. It had already dried and darkened,
making its terrifying ugliness the more apparent.
"This is the third murder in two years," said the