Once the door of my cell opened, and they brought in a trunk and a violin-case and placed them on the floor at the foot of my cot.
I recognized these for my own property. Mechanically I took out my violin and drew forth one long, clear note. That note was like a sudden flash of light. For a single instant the desolation to which my world had been reduced became visible in all its ghastliness. For a single instant I realized my position, realized that Veronika was dead, and the rest. The truth pierced my consciousness like an arrow and made my body quake with pain. But immediately the darkness settled over me again, the stupor returned.
Slowly, however, this stupor was changing its character. By degrees, so far as my mere thinking faculties were involved, it began to be dissipated. By degrees my mind struggled out of it. I began to notice and to understand things, and was able to converse and to appreciate what was said. But over my feelings it retained its sway. Although I was quite competent now to follow the explanations of my lawyer—how Veronika had been murdered and how and why I was suspected as the murderer—still I had no feeling of any sort about the matter. I might have been a log of wood.
My lawyer had presented himself one day and volunteered his services. I had accepted them without even inquiring his name.
I looked at his face but could not recall having seen it before.
“My name is Epstein,” he said. “We went to school together.”
Regularly each day he came and reported the progress of affairs.
“They are building up a strong case against you,” he said. “Our only hope lies in an alibi.”
He explained; and continued, “Of course the prosecution won’t tell me what tack they mean to pursue, but from several little things that have leaked out I infer that they have a pretty strong case. Now, at what hour did you leave Miss Pathzuol that night?”
“After entering your house did you meet any of the other occupants? any of your fellow-lodgers?”
“But you must make an effort to remember. Try.”
“I tell you, I don’t remember,” I repeated. His persistence irritated me.
“You appear to take as little interest in this case as though it were the life of a dog hanging in the scales instead of your own,” he said, and that was the truth.