Page:Weird Tales Volume 7 Number 1 (1926-01).djvu/9

reputation of being haunted. Thereafter it was shunned as a thing of the devil—evil.

But Rolf Jaeke returned to the house and lived there, apparently in peace and quiet. No more were howls of animals heard from the place, but whenever a dog disappeared men would say, "The hunchback's got him." Or when a child was particularly bad one sometimes heard, "It's the soul of old Jaeke that's possessing him." You can conjecture from this what an unsavory reputation the man had.

But it was several years later that the hunchback got into trouble again. That was the cause of his big trial.

The body of young Andy Raymond had been found in a bunch of weeds nearly half a mile from the cabin, and at first the death was not associated with the hunchback. Young Andy was a rather worthless character who spent most of his time dreaming. Gradually the warp and woof of the law brought the two together. There was the testimony of the man who had seen the young fellow—who was known to be a student of the occult—in the cabin of the hunchback. The fellow who had heard harsh words between them. Other things. Gradually the finger of suspicion began to point to the hunchback as a mass of circumstantial evidence was woven about him. There came the Indian with his wolf dog who said he could follow any trail ever made. He started from the body and the trail led by a devious, seldom-used route to the back door of the hunchback's cabin. They still had Rolf there under guard. When the wolf approached the prisoner, the bristles rose on his neck. His eyes glared fearfully for a moment; then his tail dropped, his head went down, with a moaning howl he fled the house.

The Indian paused for a moment in alarm. Then he spoke grimly, his voice tinged with fear. "Devil man," he said. "Devil soul. Do not like." He left the house and the town, nor was he seen again.

But on the strength of what they had found the hunchback was taken to trial. He had some money and his lawyers dragged the ordeal out, but presently there was no more to be said and done, and the case went to the jury. I have told you already of their verdict.

Rolf Jaeke thought of all these things as he stood at the judgment bar. He was guilty—he knew that. He was glad of it—and the boy wasn't the first he had killed in his mad struggle for knowledge of the human soul. But his half-crazed brain told him there was no justice in this thing which they called law. He could see nothing righteous in the solemn face of the judge who looked down upon him. He could see no desire for justice in the wildly gesticulating prosecuting attorney. He saw only cold hatred in the faces of the twelve men in the jury box. He hated them—he knew that. And he thought of all these things in that mad second before he answered the judge.

"Have you anything to say?" repeated the judge.

The body of the hunchback stiffened. His head raised as high as was possible from his twisted shoulders. He spoke in a low, terrible voice—so low that only the first rows of spectators might hear him.

"Guilty? Ay, sure I'm guilty. I killed him. And I had a right to kill, for I killed for knowledge. I killed to find out something. And I found out, too. You have no right to sentence me———"

The judge rapped wearily on the desk. The bailiff stepped forward to take the prisoner by the arm, but he jerked loose, screaming.

"Judge, you dare not sentence me! You dare not! If you do, by the liv-