"The Count has been selling off the lovely old pieces for the past six
months, sir. Ach, what a sin! They have come here day after day, these
furniture buyers, to take away the most priceless of our treasures,
to sell them to the poor rich at twenty prices. I could weep over the
sacrifices. I have wept, haven't I, Gretel? Eh, Rudolph? Buckets of
tears have I shed, mein herr. Oceans of them. Time after time have I
implored him to deny these rascally curio hunters, these
blood-sucking--"

"But listen to me," I broke in. "Do you mean to say that articles have
been taken away from the castle since I came into possession?"

"Many of them, sir. Always with proper credentials, believe me. Ach,
what a spendthrift he is! And his poor wife! Ach, Gott, how she must
suffer. Nearly all of the grand paintings, the tapestries that came
from France and Italy hundreds of years ago, the wonderful old bedsteads
and tables that were here when the castle was new--all gone! And for
mere songs, mein herr,--the cheapest of songs! I--I--"

"Please don't weep now, Herr Schmick," I made haste to exclaim, seeing
lachrymose symptoms in his blear old eyes. Then I became firm once
more. This knavery must cease, or I'd know the reason why. "The next
man who comes here to cart away so much as a single piece is to be
kicked out. Do you understand? These things belong to me. Kick him
into the river. Or, better still, notify me and I'll do it. Why, if
this goes on we'll soon be deprived of anything to sit on or sleep in
or eat from! Lock the doors, Conrad, and don't admit any one without
first consulting me. By Jove, I'd like to wring that rascal's neck.
A Count! Umph!"