This, however, was proven to the contrary, and the fact was that even had there been anything hidden under the ground, Bucholz's defenders were too dilatory in going in search of them.
It was at the visit after the information had reached them of this fruitless search for important testimony, that Bucholz related to Sommers another dream, in which his former prison companion was said to have appeared to him as a detective, and as he finished the recital, he turned to his companion, and said: "If you are a detective, and if you do take the stand against me, it is all over.

I will tell my lawyers to stop the trial--that will be the end of it--and me." Sommers laughed at this and turned the drift of the conversation to the question of the approaching trial and the evidence that would soon be produced against him.
He asked him in a quiet manner, if he had thrown the two old pistols where they had been found on the night of the murder, and Bucholz, with a smile, answered him: "Oh, my dear fellow, you make a mistake; the murderers threw them there." Sommers looked incredulously at him for a moment, and then replied: "I did not ask you whether you killed the old man or not; but you must not think me such a fool as not to know it." Bucholz laughed, a hard, bitter laugh, and the glitter of the serpent's came into the wicked blue eyes, but he made no denial.
"I never thought when I first became acquainted with you," continued Sommers, "that you knew anything about this murder, but rather thought you an innocent, harmless-looking fellow.

Indeed I never imagined that you had nerve enough to do anything like that." Again that diabolical laugh, and Bucholz, holding out his right arm without a tremor of the muscles, replied, ironically: "Oh, no; I have got no nerve at all." The next day they referred again to the finding of the articles hidden in the ground, and Sommers informed his companion that Mr.
Olmstead had secured the axe that was in the barn, and regretted very much that he had not taken it when he was there.
Bucholz looked troubled at this information, but, rousing himself, he inquired: "What kind of an axe did you get ?" "Why, I got one as nearly like that in the barn as I could--about as thick as the iron bars on the door of the cell there." "Yes, that is right," said Bucholz, eagerly, while a glow of satisfaction dashed across his face.
"I don't know about that," replied Sommers.

"How large were the wounds upon the head of Mr.Schulte ?" "One was about three inches long." "Was that the wound that was made by the sharp edge of the axe ?" "Yes! yes!" replied Bucholz, eagerly.
"Well, how large was the other wound ?" "Well," said Bucholz, musingly, and making a circle of his thumb and forefinger, he held it up before the detective; "I should think it was a hole about this large." No tremor of the voice, no shaking of the hand, as he held it up, but, with a cold, unfeeling look, he made this explanation.
"I am afraid that the axe I bought was too large, because the back of it was as broad as the bar upon this door--about two inches." "That is right enough," quickly replied Bucholz, "because if you would take the axe and strike the blow upwards behind the ear, where that wound was, you would strike the head with the edge of the back, and that would crush in the bones of the skull and produce just such a hole as that was in Schulte's head." He illustrated this by starting to his feet and raising his hands as if he was about to strike the blow himself.

The murderous glitter came again into those flashing eyes.