Then some of the men went to the door of the house to enter and
call Herr Arne; but when the first man came to the threshold he
turned aside and made way for him who came next.

The second man took a step forward, but as he was about to grasp
the door-handle he turned away and made room for those who stood
behind him.

It seemed a ghastly door to open, for a broad stream of blood
trickled over the threshold and the handle was besmeared with
blood.

Then the door opened in their faces and Herr Arne's curate came
out. He staggered toward the men with a deep wound in his head,
and he was drenched with blood. For an instant he stood upright
and raised his hand to command silence. Whereupon he spoke with
the death rattle in his voice: "This night Herr Arne and all his
household have been murdered by three men who climbed down through
the smoke-hole in the roof and were clad in rough skins. They
threw themselves upon us like wild beasts and slew us."

He could utter no more. He fell down at the men's feet and was
dead.

They then entered the room and found all as the curate had said.

The great oaken chest in which Herr Arne kept his money was gone,
and Herr Arne's horse had been taken from the stable and his
sledge from the shed.