My tablemates were all in their places when I went down for breakfast next morning. Blankenhagen looked as if he hadn’t slept.

“How is Herr Schmidt?” I asked.

“Still critical.” The doctor looked from me to George to Tony, and it was obvious he wouldn’t have given ten Pfennige for the lot of us. “There will be no visitors. None.”

“Then you ought to take yourself off the case,” said George, answering the implication rather than the words.

Blankenhagen thought it over.

“You are right. It is correct. I will give orders that I may not be admitted.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“Cut it out,” I said. “I’m sure Schmidt is safe from you.”

Blankenhagen eyed me with moderate approval. Apparently he took my comment as a personal compliment, which was not how I meant it. I meant he was too smart to harm Schmidt under such carefully guarded conditions when he was already under suspicion. However, seeing the doctor’s rare and attractive smile, I decided not to explain myself.

“He hasn’t said anything?” George asked carelessly.

“He cannot be questioned. The criminal—if there is a criminal—is safe for the time being.”

“Aren’t you being rather melodramatic?” I asked. “With an attack so severe, Schmidt must have experienced great pain. He might well scream, or cry out. Everything indicates he was alone in the room.”

My reasoning did not convince anyone. George laughed and Tony shook his head. Blankenhagen’s face assumed its normal scowl.

“I would accept that idea willingly were it not for the other strange events which have happened here. Have you heard of what transpired at the church last night? It is all over the town this morning.”

“No, what?” I asked, spilling coffee into Tony’s lap. It was still fairly hot; anguish replaced the guilt written on Tony’s ingenuous countenance. I handed him my napkin and said to Blankenhagen, “Something happened at the church?”

“Hurrumph,” said Blankenhagen, eyeing Tony suspiciously. “In the churchyard, to be precise. Desecration of graves.”

“Graves?” said Tony.

I was out of coffee, so I interrupted him before he could go on to explain that he thought only one grave had been damaged.

“What do you mean, desecrated? Dirty words written on the tombstones?”

“That, yes. Stones and crosses overturned, one grave opened.” He gave us a critical stare, but by now we were all registering proper shock and surprise. “Interesting, is it not, that the opened grave should be that of the steward?”

He left the table, stamping a little. George looked from me to Tony and started to speak. Tony stood up.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“It’s raining,” said George.

“I didn’t mean you.”