Lucy and Mr. Olderglough were kept busy all that day and into the late afternoon, assisting the guests with their packing, and transporting their baggage to the station. The Count was acting the infant, but was clearly relishing being the center of sympathetic attentions. Lucy was made uncomfortable by the man, fearful he would suddenly recall how he had come to be injured; but he only looked to Lucy as another body to lean upon and moan at. Lucy and Mr. Olderglough escorted the Count onto his train; when this pulled away, Mr. Olderglough said, “It looks like we’ll have a quieter time, boy, and I daresay we’ve earned it.” Lucy noticed he was smiling but trying to hide it.
“What is it, sir?”
Mr. Olderglough cleared his throat. “Well, I find myself wondering what exactly happened to the Count last night. You wouldn’t have any idea, would you?”
“Ah, it seems he fell, sir.”
“That is the theory, yes. Must have been a nasty fall, eh?”
“It must have been.”
“If it was indeed a fall, that is.”
“Yes.”
Mr. Olderglough paused to ponder. “And I wonder, too,” he continued, “just what happened to Agnes’s pestle?”
“Her pestle, sir?”
“Her pestle, yes. Didn’t you know that she found it this morning, split in two?”
“Is that right?”
Mr. Olderglough nodded.
Lucy shook his head. “That’s a shame.”
Mr. Olderglough nodded. “Lastly,” he said, “I am curious as to what happened with young Klara’s uniform.”
“Her uniform, sir?”
“Agnes tells me it was ripped at the neck and sleeve. I hope she hasn’t come to any harm?”
“No, sir, she hasn’t.”
“She got home safe, then?”
“Safe and sound.”
“Thank goodness for that. She seems a very nice girl.”
“She is, sir. And thank you for saying so.”
They walked for a time in silence. They were both smiling, now. Mr. Olderglough said, “Would you agree that the most appealing thing about a mystery is the fact of its mysteriousness?”
Lucy considered this. “Perhaps I would, sir.”
“But also the most frustrating, wouldn’t you say?”
“Perhaps it is. But as is not unrarely the case, sir, I must admit to not knowing quite what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, no matter.” He looked away. “You may take the night off, if you wish.”
“I would like that very much, sir, and thank you.”
“Yes, boy. Off you go, now.”
Lucy walked toward the village then, listening to the chirring of crickets in the dusky air. He found himself drawn once again to the sight of the smoke spilling from Klara’s chimney. He wished he might live forever in that wonderful hovel.
As he came nearer the village he noticed a crowd had assembled outside the shanty. Stepping to the front of the pack, now he saw the focus of their attentions: Adolphus stood before Klara’s door, famished and decrepit, in filth and bloodied rags, held up on either side by two of his comrades. One of these men knocked, and Klara answered, standing in silence and stillness, regarding Adolphus as though he were a specter. When she took him in her arms, a burst of jubilation came up among the villagers. She led him inside, and the crowd dispersed, all except for Lucy. When he recognized it was not possible for him to enter the shanty, he turned and walked away.