Another runs that every hundred years a child with a dog’s face is born in the Orzo family and that this little monster has to perish in the tower-room, so as to hide the disgrace of the family.

Another conjecture was that once the notorious Menyhart Orzo, who was supreme under King Rudolph in the castle, played a game of checkers with his neighbor, Boldizsar Zomolnoky.  They commenced to play on a Monday and continued the game and drank all week until Sunday morning dawned upon them.  Then Menyhart Orzo’s confessor came and pleaded with the gamblers.  He begged them to stop the game on the holy day of Sunday, when all true Christians are in church praising the Lord.  But Menyhart, bringing his fist down on the table in such rage that all the wine glasses and bottles danced, cried:  “And if we have to sit here till the world comes to an end, we won’t stop till we have finished this game!”

Scarcely had he uttered his vow when, somewhere from the earth, or from the wall, a thundering voice was heard promising to take him at his word—­that they would continue playing till the end of the world.  And ever since, the checkers are heard rattling, and the two damned souls are still playing the game in the tower-room.

When we were boys, the secret did not give us any rest, and we were always discussing and plotting as to how we could discover it.  We made at least a hundred various plans, but all failed.  It was an impossibility to get into the tower, because of a heavy iron-barred oaken door.  The windows were too high to be reached.  We had to satisfy ourselves with throwing a well-aimed stone, which hit the room through the window.  Such an achievement was somewhat of a success, for oftentimes we drove out an alarmed flock of birds.

One day I decided that the best way would be to find out the secret of the tower from Balint’s father himself.  “He is the head of the family,” I thought, “and if any light is to be had on the mystery, it is through him.”  But Balint didn’t like the idea of approaching the old man; he knew his father’s temper.

However, once he ventured the question, but he was sorry for it afterwards, for the older Orzo flew into a passion, and scolded and raged, ending by telling him that he must not listen to such nursery-tales; that the tower was moldering and decaying with age; that the floor timbers and staircase were so infirm that it would fall to pieces should anyone approach it; and that this was why no one could gain admittance.

For a long time afterwards neither of us spoke of it.

But curiosity was incessantly working within us, and one evening Balint solemnly vowed to me that as soon as he became of age and had looked into the room, he would call for me, should I be even at the end of the world, and would let me into the secret.  In order to make it more solemn, we called this a “blood-contract.”

With this vow we parted.  My parents sent me to college; Balint had a private tutor and was kept at home in the castle.  After that we only met at vacation time.