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Title: Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner

Author: The Lamp That Went Out

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</pre>

<h2><br>
 The Case of The Lamp That Went Out</h2>

<p>INTRODUCTION TO JOE MULLER</p>

<p>Joseph Muller, Secret Service detective of the Imperial
Austrian<br>
 police, is one of the great experts in his profession. In<br>
 personality he differs greatly from other famous detectives.
He<br>
 has neither the impressive authority of Sherlock Holmes, nor
the<br>
 keen brilliancy of Monsieur Lecoq. Muller is a small,
slight,<br>
 plain-looking man, of indefinite age, and of much humbleness
of<br>
 mien. A naturally retiring, modest disposition, and two
external<br>
 causes are the reasons for Muller's humbleness of manner,
which<br>
 is his chief characteristic. One cause is the fact that in
early<br>
 youth a miscarriage of justice gave him several years in
prison,<br>
 an experience which cast a stigma on his name and which made
it<br>
 impossible for him, for many years after, to obtain honest<br>
 employment. But the world is richer, and safer, by Muller's<br>
 early misfortune. For it was this experience which threw him<br>
 back on his own peculiar talents for a livelihood, and drove
him<br>
 into the police force. Had he been able to enter any other<br>
 profession, his genius might have been stunted to a mere
pastime,<br>
 instead of being, as now, utilised for the public good.</p>

<p><br>
 Then, the red tape and bureaucratic etiquette which attaches
to<br>
 every governmental department, puts the secret service men of
the<br>
 Imperial police on a par with the lower ranks of the
subordinates.<br>
 Muller's official rank is scarcely much higher than that of
a<br>
 policeman, although kings and councillors consult him and
the<br>
 Police Department realises to the full what a treasure it has
in<br>
 him. But official red tape, and his early misfortune ...
prevent<br>
 the giving of any higher official standing to even such a
genius.<br>
 Born and bred to such conditions, Muller understands them,
and<br>
 his natural modesty of disposition asks for no outward
honours,<br>
 asks for nothing but an income sufficient for his simple
needs,<br>
 and for aid and opportunity to occupy himself in the way he
most<br>
 enjoys.</p>

<p>Joseph Muller's character is a strange mixture. The<br>
 kindest-hearted man in the world, he is a human bloodhound
when<br>
 once the lure of the trail has caught him. He scarcely eats
or<br>
 sleeps when the chase is on, he does not seem to know human<br>
 weakness nor fatigue, in spite of his frail body. Once put
on<br>
 a case his mind delves and delves until it finds a clue,
then<br>
 something awakes within him, a spirit akin to that which
holds<br>
 the bloodhound nose to trail, and he will accomplish the
apparently<br>
 impossible, he will track down his victim when the entire
machinery<br>
 of a great police department seems helpless to discover
anything.<br>
 The high chiefs and commissioners grant a condescending
permission<br>
 when Muller asks, "May I do this? ... or may I handle this
case<br>
 this way?" both parties knowing all the while that it is a
farce,<br>
 and that the department waits helpless until this humble
little<br>
 man saves its honour by solving some problem before which
its<br>
 intricate machinery has stood dazed and puzzled.</p>

<p>This call of the trail is something that is stronger than
anything<br>
 else in Muller's mentality, and now and then it brings him
into<br>
 conflict with the department, ... or with his own better
nature.<br>
 Sometimes his unerring instinct discovers secrets in high
places,<br>
 secrets which the Police Department is bidden to hush up and
leave<br>
 untouched. Muller is then taken off the case, and left idle
for<br>
 a while if he persists in his opinion as to the true facts.
And<br>
 at other times, Muller's own warm heart gets him into trouble.
He<br>
 will track down his victim, driven by the power in his soul
which<br>
 is stronger than all volition; but when he has this victim in
the<br>
 net, he will sometimes discover him to be a much finer, better
man<br>
 than the other individual, whose wrong at this particular
criminal's<br>
 hand set in motion the machinery of justice. Several times
that<br>
 has happened to Muller, and each time his heart got the better
of<br>
 his professional instincts, of his practical common-sense,
too,<br>
 perhaps, ... at least as far as his own advancement was
concerned,<br>
 and he warned the victim, defeating his own work. This
peculiarity<br>
 of Muller's character caused his undoing at last, his
official<br>
 undoing that is, and compelled his retirement from the force.
But<br>
 his advice is often sought unofficially by the Department, and
to<br>
 those who know, Muller's hand can be seen in the unravelling
of<br>
 many a famous case.</p>

<p>The following stories are but a few of the many interesting
cases<br>
 that have come within the experience of this great
detective.<br>
 But they give a fair portrayal of Muller's peculiar method
of<br>
 working, his looking on himself as merely an humble member of
the<br>
 Department, and the comedy of his acting under "official
orders"<br>
 when the Department is in reality following out his
directions.</p>

<h2>THE CASE OF THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT</h2>

<h3>by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner</h3>

<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>

<h3>THE DISCOVERY</h3>

<p><br>
 The radiance of a clear September morning lay over Vienna.
The<br>
 air was so pure that the sky shone in brightest azure even
where<br>
 the city's buildings clustered thickest. On the outskirts of
the<br>
 town the rays of the awakening sun danced in crystalline
ether<br>
 and struck answering gleams from the dew on grass and shrub
in<br>
 the myriad gardens of the suburban streets.</p>

<p><br>
 It was still very early. The old-fashioned steeple clock on
the<br>
 church of the Holy Virgin in Hietzing had boomed out six
slow<br>
 strokes but a short time back. Anna, the pretty blonde girl
who<br>
 carried out the milk for the dwellers in several streets of
this<br>
 aristocratic residential suburb, was just coming around the
corner<br>
 of the main street into a quiet lane. This lane could hardly
be<br>
 dignified by the name of street as yet, it was so very quiet.
It<br>
 had been opened and named scarcely a year back and it was
bordered<br>
 mostly by open gardens or fenced-in building lots. There were
four<br>
 houses in this street, two by two opposite each other, and
another,<br>
 an old-fashioned manor house, lying almost hidden in its
great<br>
 garden. But the quiet street could not presume to ownership
of<br>
 this last house, for the front of it opened on a parallel
street,<br>
 which gave it its number. Only the garden had a gate as
outlet<br>
 onto our quiet lane.</p>

<p>Anna stopped in front of this gate and pulled the bell. She
had<br>
 to wait for some little time until the gardener's wife, who
acted<br>
 as janitress, could open the door. But Anna was not
impatient,<br>
 for she knew that it was quite a distance from the
gardener's<br>
 house in the centre of the great stretch of park to the
little<br>
 gate where she waited. In a few moments, however, the door
was<br>
 opened and a pleasant-faced woman exchanged a friendly
greeting<br>
 with the girl and took the cans from her.</p>

<p>Anna hastened onward with her usual energetic step. The four
houses<br>
 in that street were already served and she was now bound for
the<br>
 homes of customers several squares away. Then her step slowed
just<br>
 a bit. She was a quiet, thoughtful girl and the lovely peace
of<br>
 this bright morning sank into her heart and made her rejoice
in<br>
 its beauty. All around her the foliage was turning gently to
its<br>
 autumn glory of colouring and the dewdrops on the rich-hued
leaves<br>
 sparkled with an unusual radiance. A thrush looked down at
her<br>
 from a bough and began its morning song. Anna smiled up at
the<br>
 little bird and began herself to sing a merry tune.</p>

<p> </p>

<p><br>
 But suddenly her voice died away, the colour faded from her
flushed<br>
 cheeks, her eyes opened wide and she stood as if riveted to
the<br>
 ground. With a deep breath as of unconscious terror she let
the<br>
 burden of the milk cans drop gently from her shoulder to the
ground.<br>
 In following the bird's flight her eyes had wandered to the side
of<br>
 the street, to the edge of one of the vacant lots, there where
a<br>
 shallow ditch separated it from the roadway. An elder-tree,
the<br>
 great size of which attested its age, hung its berry-laden
branches<br>
 over the ditch. And in front of this tree the bird had
stopped<br>
 suddenly, then fluttered off with the quick movement of the
wild<br>
 creature surprised by fright. What the bird had seen was the
same<br>
 vision that halted the song on Anna's lips and arrested her
foot.<br>
 It was the body of a man - a young and well-dressed man, who
lay<br>
 there with his face turned toward the street. And his face was
the<br>
 white frozen face of a corpse.</p>

<p>Anna stood still, looking down at him for a few moments,
in<br>
 wide-eyed terror: then she walked on slowly as if trying to
pull<br>
 herself together again. A few steps and then she turned and
broke<br>
 into a run. When she reached the end of the street,
breathless<br>
 from haste and excitement, she found herself in one of the
main<br>
 arteries of traffic of the suburb, but owing to the early
hour<br>
 this street was almost as quiet as the lane she had just
left.<br>
 Finally the frightened girl's eyes caught sight of the figure
of<br>
 a policeman coming around the next corner. She flew to meet
him<br>
 and recognised him as the officer of that beat.</p>

<p>"Why, what is the matter?" he asked. "Why are you so
excited?"</p>

<p>"Down there-in the lane, there's a dead man," answered the
girl,<br>
 gasping for breath.</p>

<p>"A dead man?" repeated the policeman gravely, looking at the
girl.<br>
 "Are you sure he's dead?"</p>

<p>Anna nodded. "His eyes are all glassy and I saw blood on his
back."</p>

<p>"Well, you're evidently very much frightened, and I suppose
you<br>
 don't want to go down there again. I'll look into the matter,
if<br>
 you will go to the police station and make the announcement.
Will<br>
 you do it?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir."</p>

<p>"All right, then, that will gain time for us. Good-bye, Miss
Anna."</p>

<p>The man walked quickly down the street, while the girl hurried
off<br>
 in the opposite direction, to the nearest police station, where
she<br>
 told what she had seen.</p>

<p>The policeman reached his goal even earlier. The first glance
told<br>
 him that the man lying there by the wayside was indeed
lifeless.<br>
 And the icy stiffness of the hand which he touched showed him
that<br>
 life must have fled many hours back. Anna had been right about
the<br>
 blood also. The dead man lay on the farther side of the ditch,
half<br>
 down into it. His right arm was bent under his body, his left
arm<br>
 was stretched out, and the stiffened fingers ... they were
slender<br>
 white fingers ... had sought for something to break his fall.
All<br>
 they had found was a tall stem of wild aster with its purple
blossoms,<br>
 which they were holding fast in the death grip. On the dead
man's<br>
 back was a small bullet-wound and around the edges of it his
light<br>
 grey coat was stained with blood. His face was distorted in
pain<br>
 and terror. It was a nice face, or would have been, did it not
show<br>
 all too plainly the marks of dissipation in spite of the fact
that<br>
 the man could not have been much past thirty years old. He was
a<br>
 stranger to the policeman, although the latter had been on
this<br>
 beat for over three years.</p>

<p>When the guardian of the law had convinced himself that there
was<br>
 nothing more to do for the man who lay there, he rose from
his<br>
 stooping position and stepped back. His gaze wandered up and
down<br>
 the quiet lane, which was still absolutely empty of human
life.<br>
 He stood there quietly waiting, watching over the ghastly
discovery.<br>
 In about ten minutes the police commissioner and the
coroner,<br>
 followed by two roundsmen with a litter, joined the solitary
watcher,<br>
 and the latter could return to his post.</p>

<p>The policemen set down their litter and waited for orders,
while<br>
 the coroner and the commissioner bent over the corpse. There
was<br>
 nothing for the physician to do but to declare that the
unfortunate<br>
 man had been dead for many hours. The bullet which struck him
in<br>
 the back had killed him at once. The commissioner examined
the<br>
 ground immediately around the corpse, but could find nothing
that<br>
 pointed to a struggle. There remained only to prove whether
there<br>
 had been a robbery as well as a murder.</p>

<p>"Judging from the man's position the bullet must have come
from<br>
 that direction," said the commissioner, pointing towards the<br>
 cottages down the lane.</p>

<p>"People who are killed by bullets may turn several times
before<br>
 they fall," said a gentle voice behind the police officer.
The<br>
 voice seemed to suit the thin little man who stood there
meekly,<br>
 his hat in his hand.</p>

<p>The commissioner turned quickly. "Ah, are you there
already,<br>
 Muller?" he said, as if greatly pleased, while the physician
broke<br>
 in with the remark:</p>

<p>"That's just what I was about to observe. This man did not
die<br>
 so quickly that he could not have made a voluntary or
involuntary<br>
 movement before life fled. The shot that killed him might
have<br>
 come from any direction."</p>

<p>The commissioner nodded thoughtfully and there was silence for
a<br>
 few moments. Muller - for the little thin man was none other<br>
 than the celebrated Joseph Muller, one of the most brilliant<br>
 detectives in the service of the Austrian police - looked down
at<br>
 the corpse carefully.. He took plenty of time to do it and<br>
 nobody hurried him. For nobody ever hurried Muller; his
well-known<br>
 and almost laughable thoroughness and pedantry were too valuable
in<br>
 their results. It was a tradition in the police that Muller was
to<br>
 have all the time he wanted for everything. It paid in the
end,<br>
 for Muller made few mistakes. Therefore, his superior the
police<br>
 commissioner, and the coroner waited quietly while the little
man<br>
 made his inspection of the corpse.</p>

<p>"Thank you," said Muller finally, with a polite bow to the<br>
 commissioner, before he bent to brush away the dust on his
knees.</p>

<p>"Well?" asked Commissioner Holzer.</p>

<p>Muller smiled an embarrassed smile as he replied:</p>

<p>"Well ... I haven't found out anything yet except that he is
dead,<br>
 and that he has been shot in the back. His pockets may tell
us<br>
 something more."</p>

<p>"Yes, we can examine them at once," said the commissioner.
"I<br>
 have been delaying that for I wanted you here; but I had no
idea<br>
 that you would come so soon. I told them to fetch you if you
were<br>
 awake, but doubted you would be, for I know you have had no
sleep<br>
 for forty-eight hours."</p>

<p>"Oh, I can sleep, at least with one eye, when I'm on the
chase,"<br>
 answered the detective. "So it's really only twenty-four
hours,<br>
 you see." Muller had just returned from tracking down an<br>
 aristocratic swindler whom he had found finally in a little
French<br>
 city and had brought back to a Viennese prison. He had
returned<br>
 well along in the past night and Holzer knew that the tired
man<br>
 would need his rest. Still he had sent for Muller, who lived
near<br>
 the police station, for the girl's report had warned him that
this<br>
 was a serious case. And in serious cases the police did not
like<br>
 to do without Muller's help.</p>

<p>And as usual when his work called him, Muller was as wide
awake as<br>
 if he had had a good night's sleep behind him. The interest of
a<br>
 new case robbed him of every trace of fatigue. It was he alone -
at<br>
 his own request - who raised the body and laid it on its back
before<br>
 he stepped aside to make way for the doctor.</p>

<p>The physician opened the dead man's vest to see whether the
bullet<br>
 had passed completely through the body. But it had not; there
was<br>
 not the slightest trace of blood upon the shirt.</p>

<p>"There's nothing more for me to do here, Muller," said the<br>
 physician, as he bowed to the commissioner and left the
place.</p>

<p>Muller examined the pockets of the dead man.</p>

<p>"It's probably a case of robbery, too," remarked the
commissioner.<br>
 "A man as well-dressed as this one is would be likely to have
a<br>
 watch."</p>

<p>"And a purse," added the detective. "But this man has neither
- or<br>
 at least he has them no longer."</p>

<p>In the various pockets of the dead man's clothes Muller found
the<br>
 following articles: a handkerchief, several tramway tickets,
a<br>
 penknife, a tiny mirror, and comb, and a little book, a
cheap<br>
 novel. He wrapped them all in the handkerchief and put them in
his<br>
 own pocket. The dead man's coat had fallen back from his
body<br>
 during the examination, and as Muller turned the stiffened
limbs<br>
 a little he saw the opening of another pocket high up over
the<br>
 right hip of the trousers. The detective passed his hand over
the<br>
 pocket and heard something rattle. Then he put his hand in
the<br>
 pocket and drew out a thin narrow envelope which he handed to
the<br>
 commissioner. Holzer looked at it carefully. It was made of
very<br>
 thin expensive paper and bore no address. But it was sealed,<br>
 although not very carefully, for the gummed edges were open
in<br>
 spots. It must have been hastily closed and was slightly
crushed<br>
 as if it had been carried in a clenched hand. The
commissioner<br>
 cut open the envelope with his penknife. He gave an
exclamation<br>
 of surprise as he showed Muller the contents. In the
envelope<br>
 there were three hundred-gulden notes.</p>

<p>The commissioner looked at Muller without a word, but the
detective<br>
 understood and shook his head. "No," he said calmly, "it may be
a<br>
 case of robbery just the same. This pocket was not very easy
to<br>
 find, and the money in it was safer than the dead man's watch
and<br>
 purse would be. That is, if he had a watch and purse - and he
very<br>
 probably had a watch," he added more quickly.</p>

<p>For Muller had made a little discovery. On the lower hem of
the<br>
 left side of the dead man's waistcoat he saw a little lump,
and<br>
 feeling of it he discovered that it was a watch key which
had<br>
 slipped down out of the torn pocket between the lining and
the<br>
 material of the vest. A sure proof that the dead man had had
a<br>
 watch, which in all probability had been taken from him by
his<br>
 murderer. There was no loose change or small bills to be
found<br>
 in any of the pockets, so that it was more than likely that
the<br>
 dead man had had his money in a purse. It seemed to be a
case<br>
 of murder for the sake of robbery. At least Muller and the<br>
 commissioner believed it to be one, from what they had
discovered<br>
 thus far.</p>

<p>The police officer gave his men orders to raise the body and
to<br>
 take it to the morgue. An hour later the unknown man lay in
the<br>
 bare room in which the only spot of brightness were the rays
of<br>
 the sun that crept through the high barred windows and touched
his<br>
 cold face and stiffened form as with a pitying caress. But
no,<br>
 there was one other little spot of brightness in the silent
place.<br>
 It was the wild aster which the dead man's hand still held
tightly<br>
 clasped. The little purple flowers were quite fresh yet, and
the<br>
 dewdrops clinging to them greeted the kiss of the sun's rays
with<br>
 an answering smile.</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER II</h2>

<h3>THE BROKEN WILLOW TWIG</h3>

<p><br>
 As soon as the corpse had been taken away, the police
commissioner<br>
 returned to the station. But Muller remained there all alone
to<br>
 make a thorough examination of the entire vicinity.</p>

<p>It was not a very attractive spot, this particular part of
the<br>
 street. There must have been a nursery there at one time,
for<br>
 there were still several ordered rows of small trees to be
seen.<br>
 There were traces of flower cultivation as well, for several<br>
 trailing vines and overgrown bushes showed where shrubs had
been<br>
 grown which do not usually grow without man's assistance.<br>
 Immediately back of the old elder tree Muller found several
fine<br>
 examples of rare flowers, or rather he found the shrubs which
his<br>
 experienced eye recognised as having once borne these
unusual<br>
 blossoms. One or two blooms still hung to the bushes and the<br>
 detective, who was a great lover of flowers, picked them and
put<br>
 them in his buttonhole. While he did this, his keen eyes
were<br>
 darting about the place taking in all the details. This
vacant<br>
 lot had evidently been used as an unlicensed dumping ground
for<br>
 some time, for all sorts of odds and ends, old boots, bits
of<br>
 stuff, silk and rags, broken bottles and empty tin cans, lay
about<br>
 between the bushes or half buried in the earth. What had
once<br>
 been an orderly garden was now an untidy receptacle for
waste.<br>
 The pedantically neat detective looked about him in disgust,
then<br>
 suddenly he forgot his displeasure and a gleam shot up in his
eye.<br>
 It was very little, the thing this man had seen, this man who
saw<br>
 so much more than others.</p>

<p><br>
 About ten paces from where he stood a high wooden fence hemmed
in<br>
 the lot. The fence belonged to the neighbouring property, as
the<br>
 lot in which he stood was not protected in any way. To the
back<br>
 it was closed off by a corn field where the tall stalks
rustled<br>
 gently in the faint morning breeze. All this could be seen
by<br>
 anybody and Muller had seen it all at his first glance. But
now<br>
 he had seen something else. Something that excited him
because<br>
 it might possibly have some connection with the newly
discovered<br>
 crime. His keen eyes, in glancing along the wooden fence at
his<br>
 right hand, had caught sight of a little twig which had worked
its<br>
 way through the fence. This twig belonged to a willow tree
which<br>
 grew on the other side, and which spread its grey-green
foliage<br>
 over the fence or through its wide openings. One of the
little<br>
 twigs which had crept in between the planks was broken, and
it<br>
 had been broken very recently, for the leaves were still
fresh<br>
 and the sap was oozing from the crushed stem. Muller walked
over<br>
 to the fence and examined the twig carefully. He soon saw
how<br>
 it came to be broken. The broken part was about the height of
a<br>
 man's knee from the ground. And just at this height there
was<br>
 quite a space between two of the planks of the fence, heavy<br>
 planks which were laid cross-ways and nailed to thick posts.
It<br>
 would have been very easy for anybody to get a foothold in
this<br>
 open space between the planks.</p>

<p>It was very evidently some foot thrust in between the planks
which<br>
 had broken the little willow twig, and its soft rind had left
a<br>
 green mark on the lower plank. "I wonder if that has anything
to<br>
 do with the murder," thought Muller, looking over the fence<br>
 into the lot on the other side.</p>

<p>This neighbouring plot was evidently a neglected garden. It
had<br>
 once worn an aristocratic air, with stone statues and
artistic<br>
 arrangement of flower beds and shrubs. It was still
attractive<br>
 even in its neglected condition. Beyond it, through the
foliage<br>
 of its heavy trees, glass windows caught the sunlight.
Muller<br>
 remembered that there was a handsome old house in this
direction,<br>
 a house with a mansard roof and wide-reaching wings. He did
not<br>
 now know to whom this handsome old house belonged, a house
that<br>
 must have been built in the time of Maria Theresa, ... but he
was<br>
 sure of one thing, and that was that he would soon find out
to<br>
 whom it belonged. At present it was the garden which
interested<br>
 him, and he was anxious to see where it ended. A few
moments'<br>
 further inspection showed him what he wanted to know. The
garden<br>
 extended to the beginning of the park-like grounds which
surrounded<br>
 the old house with the mansard roof. A tall iron railing
separated<br>
 the garden from the park, but this railing did not extend down
as<br>
 far as the quiet lane. Where it ended there was a light,
well-built<br>
 wooden fence. Along the street side of the fence there was a
high<br>
 thick hedge. Muller walked along this hedge until he came to
a<br>
 little gate. Then crossing the street, he saw that the house
whose<br>
 windows glistened in the sunlight was a house which he knew
well<br>
 from its other side, its front facade.</p>

<p>Now he went back to the elder tree and then walked slowly away
from<br>
 this to the spot where he found the broken willow twig. He
examined<br>
 every foot of the ground, but there was nothing to be seen
that<br>
 was of any interest to him-not a footprint, or anything to
prove<br>
 that some one else had passed that way a short time before.
And<br>
 yet it would have been impossible to pass that way without
leaving<br>
 some trace, for the ground was cut up in all directions by
mole<br>
 hills.</p>

<p>Next the detective scrutinised as much of the surroundings as
would<br>
 come into immediate connection with the spot where the corpse
had<br>
 been found. There was nothing to be seen there either, and
Muller<br>
 was obliged to acknowledge that he had discovered nothing
that<br>
 would lead to an understanding of the crime, unless, indeed,
the<br>
 broken willow twig should prove to be a clue. He sprang back<br>
 across the ditch, turned up the edges of his trousers where
they<br>
 had been moistened by the dew and walked slowly along the
dusty<br>
 street. He was no longer alone in the lane. An old man,
accompanied<br>
 by a large dog, came out from one of the new houses and
walked<br>
 towards the detective, he was very evidently going in the
direction<br>
 of the elder-tree, which had already been such a centre of
interest<br>
 that morning. When he met Muller, the old man halted, touched
his<br>
 cap and asked in a confidential tone: "I suppose you've been
to<br>
 see the place already?"</p>

<p>"Which place?" was Muller's reserved answer.</p>

<p>Why, I mean the place where they found the man who was
murdered.<br>
 They found him under that elder-tree. My wife just heard of it
and<br>
 told me. I suppose everybody round here will know it soon."</p>

<p>"Was there a man murdered here?" asked Muller, as if surprised
by<br>
 the news.</p>

<p>"Yes, he was shot last night. Only I don't understand why I
didn't<br>
 hear the shot. I couldn't sleep a wink all night for the pain
in<br>
 my bones."</p>

<p>"You live near here, then?"</p>

<p>"Yes, I live in No.1. Didn't you see me coming out?"</p>

<p>"I didn't notice it. I came across the wet meadows and I
stooped<br>
 to turn up my trousers so that they wouldn't get dusty - it
must<br>
 have been then you came out."</p>

<p>"Why, then you must have been right near the place I was
talking<br>
 about. Do you see that elder tree there? It's the only one
in<br>
 the street, and the girl who brings the milk found the man under
it.<br>
 The police have been here already and have taken him away.
They<br>
 discovered him about six o'clock and now it's just seven."</p>

<p>"And you hadn't any suspicion that this dreadful thing was<br>
 happening so near you?" asked the detective casually.</p>

<p>"I didn't know a thing, sir, not a thing. There couldn't
have<br>
 been a fight or I would have heard it. But I don't know why
I<br>
 didn't hear the shot."</p>

<p>"Why, then you must have been asleep after all, in spite of
your<br>
 pain," said Muller with a smile, as he walked along beside
the<br>
 man back to the place from which he had just come.</p>

<p>The old man shook his head. "No, I tell you I didn't close
an<br>
 eye all night. I went to bed at half-past nine and I smoked
two<br>
 pipes before I put out the light, and then I heard every
hour<br>
 strike all night long and it wasn't until nearly five
o'clock,<br>
 when it was almost dawn, that I dozed off a bit."</p>

<p>"Then it is astonishing that you didn't hear anything!"</p>

<p>"Sure it's astonishing! But it's still more astonishing that
my<br>
 dog Sultan didn't hear anything. Sultan is a famous watchdog,
I'd<br>
 have you know. He'll growl if anybody passes through the
street<br>
 after dark, and I don't see why he didn't notice what was going
on<br>
 over there last night. If a man's attacked, he generally calls
for<br>
 help; it's a queer business all right."</p>

<p>"Well, Sultan, why didn't you make a noise?" asked Muller,
patting<br>
 the dog's broad head. Sultan growled and walked on
indifferently,<br>
 after he had shaken off the strange hand.</p>

<p>"He must have slept more soundly than usual. He went off into
the<br>
 country with me yesterday. We had an errand to do there and on
the<br>
 way back we stopped in for a drink. Sultan takes a drop or
two<br>
 himself occasionally, and that usually makes him sleep. I had
hard<br>
 work to bring him home. We got here just a few minutes
before<br>
 half-past nine and I tell you we were both good and tired."</p>

<p>By this time they had come to the elder-tree and the old
man's<br>
 stream of talk ceased as he stood before the spot where the<br>
 mysterious crime had occurred. He looked down thoughtfully at
the<br>
 grass, now trampled by many feet. "Who could have done it?"
he<br>
 murmured finally, with a sigh that expressed his pity for the
victim.</p>

<p>"Hietzing is known to be one of the safest spots in
Vienna,"<br>
 remarked Muller.</p>

<p>"Indeed it is, sir; indeed it is. As it would well have to be
with<br>
 the royal castles right here in the neighbourhood! Indeed it
would<br>
 have to be safe with the Court coming here all the time."</p>

<p>"Why, yes, you see more police here than anywhere else in the
city."</p>

<p>"Yes, they're always sticking their nose in where they're
not<br>
 necessary," remarked the old man, not realising to whom he
was<br>
 speaking. "They fuss about everything you do or don't do, and
yet<br>
 a man can be shot down right under our very noses here and
the<br>
 police can't help it."</p>

<p>"But, my dear sir, it isn't always possible for the police
to<br>
 prevent a criminal carrying out his evil intention," said
Muller<br>
 good-naturedly.</p>

<p>"Well, why not? if they watch out sharp enough?"</p>

<p>"The police watch out sharper than most people think. But
they<br>
 can't catch a man until he has committed his crime, can
they?"</p>

<p>"No, I suppose not," said the old man, with another glance at
the<br>
 elder-tree. He bowed to Muller and turned and walked away.</p>

<p>Muller followed him slowly, very much pleased with this
meeting, for<br>
 it had given him a new clue. There was no reason to doubt the
old<br>
 man's story. And if this story was true, then the crime had
been<br>
 committed before half-past nine of the evening previous. For
the<br>
 old man - he was evidently the janitor in No.1 - had not heard
the<br>
 shot.</p>

<p>Muller left the scene of the crime and walked towards the
four<br>
 houses. Before he reached them he had to pass the garden
which<br>
 belonged to the house with the mansard roof. Right and left
of<br>
 this garden were vacant lots, as well as on the opposite
side<br>
 of the street. Then came to the right and left the four new
houses<br>
 which stood at the beginning of the quiet lane. Muller passed
them,<br>
 turned up a cross street and then down again, into the
street<br>
 running parallel, to the lane, a quiet aristocratic street
on<br>
 which fronted the house with the mansard roof.</p>

<p>A carriage stood in front of this house, two great trunks
piled<br>
 up on the box beside the driver. A young girl and an old man
in<br>
 livery were placing bags and bundles of rugs inside the
carriage.<br>
 Muller walked slowly toward the carriage. Just as he reached
the<br>
 open gate of the garden he was obliged to halt, to his own
great<br>
 satisfaction. For at this moment a group of people came out
from<br>
 the house, the owners of it evidently, prepared for a journey
and<br>
 surrounded by their servants.</p>

<p>Beside the old man and the young girl, there were two other
women,<br>
 one evidently the housekeeper, the other possibly the cook.
The<br>
 latter was weeping openly and devoutly kissing the hand of
her<br>
 mistress. The housekeeper discovered that a rug was missing
and<br>
 sent the maid back for it, while the old servant helped the
lady<br>
 into the carriage. The door of the carriage was wide open
and<br>
 Muller had a good glimpse of the pale, sweet-faced and<br>
 delicate-looking young women who leaned back in her corner,<br>
 shivering and evidently ill. The servants bustled about,
making<br>
 her comfortable, while her husband superintended the work
with<br>
 anxious tenderness. He was a tall, fine-looking man with
deep-set<br>
 grey eyes and a rich, sympathetic voice. He gave his orders
to<br>
 his servants with calm authority, but he also was evidently<br>
 suffering from the disease of our century - nervousness, for<br>
 Muller saw that the man's hands clenched feverishly and that
his<br>
 lips were trembling under his drooping moustache.</p>

<p>The maid hastened down with the rug and spread it over her<br>
 mistress's knees, as the gentleman exclaimed nervously: "Do<br>
 hurry with that! Do you want us to miss the train?"</p>

<p>The butler closed the door of the carriage, the coachman
gathered<br>
 up the reins and raised his whip. The housekeeper bowed low
and<br>
 murmured a few words in farewell and the other servants
followed<br>
 her example with tears in their eyes. "You'll see us again
in<br>
 six weeks," the lady called out and her husband added: "If
all<br>
 goes well." Then he motioned to the waiting driver and the<br>
 carriage moved off swiftly, turning the corner in a few
moments.</p>

<p>The little group of servants returned to the courtyard behind
the<br>
 high gates. Muller, whom they had not noticed, was about to
resume<br>
 his walk, when he halted again. The courtyard of the house led
back<br>
 through a flagged walk to the park-like garden that surrounded
it<br>
 on the sides and rear. Down this walk came a young woman. She
came<br>
 so quickly that one might almost call it running. She was
evidently<br>
 excited about something. Muller imagined what this something
might<br>
 be, and he remained to hear what she had to say. He was not<br>
 mistaken. The woman, it was Mrs. Schmiedler, the gardener's
wife,<br>
 began her story at once. "Haven't you heard yet?" she said<br>
 breathlessly. "No, you can't have heard it yet or you
wouldn't<br>
 stand there so quietly, Mrs. Bernauer."</p>

<p>"What's the matter?" asked the woman whom Muller took to be
the<br>
 housekeeper.</p>

<p>"They killed a man last night out here! They found his body
just<br>
 now in the lane back of our garden. The janitor from No.1 told
me<br>
 as I was going to the store, so I went right back to look at
the<br>
 place, and I came to tell you, as I didn't think you'd heard it
yet."</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer was evidently a woman of strong constitution and
of<br>
 an equable mind. The other three servants broke out into an<br>
 excited hubbub of talk while she remained quite indifferent
and<br>
 calm. "One more poor fellow who had to leave the world before
he<br>
 was ready," she remarked calmly, with just the natural touch
of<br>
 pity in her voice that would come to any warm-hearted human
being<br>
 upon hearing of such an occurrence. She did not seem at all<br>
 excited or alarmed to think that the scene of the crime had
been<br>
 so near.</p>

<p>The other servants were very much more excited and had
already<br>
 rushed off, under the guidance of the gardener's wife, to look
at<br>
 the dreadful spot. Franz, the butler, had quite forgotten to<br>
 close the front gate in his excitement, and the housekeeper
turned<br>
 to do it now.</p>

<br>
"The fools, see them run," she exclaimed half aloud. "As if<br>
there was anything for them to do there."

<p>The gate closed, Mrs. Bernauer turned and walked slowly to
the<br>
 house. Muller walked on also, going first to the police
station<br>
 to report what he had discovered. Then he went to his own
rooms<br>
 and slept until nearly noon. On his return to the police
station<br>
 he found that notices of the occurrence had already been sent
out<br>
 to the papers.</p>

<p><br>
</p>

<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>

<h3>THE EVENING PAPER</h3>

<p><br>
 The autopsy proved beyond a doubt that the murdered man had
been<br>
 dead for many hours before the discovery of his body. The
bullet<br>
 which had struck him in the back had pierced the trachea and<br>
 death had occurred within a few minutes. The only marks for<br>
 identification of the body were the initials L. W. on his
underwear.<br>
 The evening paper printed an exact description of the man's<br>
 appearance and his clothing.</p>

<p>It was about ten o'clock next morning when Mrs. Klingmayer, a
widow<br>
 living in a quiet street at the opposite end of the city
from<br>
 Hietzing, returned from her morning marketing. It was only a
few<br>
 little bundles that she brought with her and she set about
preparing<br>
 her simple dinner. Her packages were wrapped in newspapers,
which<br>
 she carefully smoothed out and laid on the dresser.</p>

<p><br>
 Mrs. Klingmayer was the widow of a street-car conductor and
the<br>
 little pension which she received from the company, as well as
the<br>
 money she could earn for herself, did not permit of the
indulgence<br>
 in a daily newspaper. And yet the reading of the papers was
the<br>
 one luxury for which the simple woman longed. Her grocer, who
was<br>
 a friend of years, knew this and would wrap up her purchases
in<br>
 papers of recent date, knowing that she could then enjoy them
in<br>
 her few moments of leisure. To-day this leisure came
unexpectedly<br>
 early, for Mrs. Klingmayer had less work than usual to attend
to.</p>

<p>Her little flat consisted of two rooms and a kitchen with a
large<br>
 closet opening out from it. She lived in the kitchen and
rented<br>
 the front rooms. Her tenants were a middle-aged man,
inspector<br>
 in a factory, who had the larger room; and a younger man who
was<br>
 bookkeeper in an importing house in the city. But this young
man<br>
 had not been at home for forty-eight hours, a fact, however,
which<br>
 did not greatly worry his landlady. The gentleman in
question<br>
 lived a rather dissipated life and it was not the first time
that<br>
 he had remained away from home over night. It is true that it
was<br>
 the first time that he had not been home for two successive
nights.<br>
 But as Mrs. Klingmayer thought, everything has to happen the
first<br>
 time sometime. "It's not likely to be the last time," the
worthy<br>
 woman thought.</p>

<p>At all events she was rather glad of it to-day, for she
suffered<br>
 from rheumatism and it was difficult for her to get about.
The<br>
 young man's absence saved her the work of fixing up his room
that<br>
 morning and allowed her to get to her reading earlier than
usual.<br>
 When she had put the pot of soup on the fire, she sat down by
the<br>
 window, adjusted her big spectacles and began to read. To
her<br>
 great delight she discovered that the paper she held in her
hand<br>
 bore the date of the previous afternoon. In spite of the
good<br>
 intentions of her friend the grocer, it was not always that
she<br>
 could get a paper of so recent date, and she began to read
with<br>
 doubled anticipation of pleasure.</p>

<p>She did not waste time on the leading articles, for she
understood<br>
 little about politics. The serial stories were a great delight
to<br>
 her, or would have been, if she had ever been able to follow
them<br>
 consecutively. But her principal joy were the everyday
happenings<br>
 of varied interest which she found in the news columns. To-day
she<br>
 was so absorbed in the reading of them that the soup pot began
to<br>
 boil over and send out rivulets down onto the stove.
Ordinarily<br>
 this would have shocked Mrs. Klingmayer, for the neatness of
her<br>
 pots and pans was the one great care of her life. But now,
strange<br>
 to relate, she paid no attention to the soup, nor to the smell
and<br>
 the smoke that arose from the stove. She had just come upon
a<br>
 notice in the paper which took her entire attention. She read
it<br>
 through three times, and each time with growing excitement.
This<br>
 is what she read:</p>

<p>MURDER IN HIETZING</p>

<p>This morning at six o'clock the body of a man about 30
years<br>
 old was discovered in a lane in Hietzing. The man must have<br>
 been dead many hours. He had been shot from behind. The dead<br>
 man was tall and thin, with brown eyes, brown hair and
moustache.<br>
 The letters L. W. were embroidered in his underwear. There
was<br>
 nothing else discovered on him that could reveal- his
identity.<br>
 His watch and purse were not in his pockets: presumably they
had<br>
 been taken by the murderer. A strange fact is that in one of<br>
 his pockets - a hidden pocket it is true - there was the sum
of<br>
 300 guldens in bills.</p>

<p><br>
 This was the notice which made Mrs. Klingmayer neglect the soup
pot.</p>

<p><br>
 Finally the old woman stood up very slowly, threw a glance at
the<br>
 stove and opened the window mechanically. Then she lifted the
pots<br>
 from the fire and set them on the outer edge of the range.
And<br>
 then she did something that ordinarily would have shocked
her<br>
 economical soul - she poured water on the fire to put it
out.</p>

<p>When she saw that there was not a spark left in the stove, she
went<br>
 into her own little room and prepared to go out. Her
excitement<br>
 caused her to forget her rheumatism entirely. One more look
around<br>
 her little kitchen, then she locked it up and set out for the
centre<br>
 of the city.</p>

<p>She went to the office of the importing house where her
tenant,<br>
 Leopold Winkler, was employed as bookkeeper. The clerk at the
door<br>
 noticed the woman's excitement and asked her kindly what the
trouble<br>
 was.</p>

<p>"I'd like to speak to Mr. Winkler," she said eagerly.</p>

<p>"Mr. Winkler hasn't come in yet," answered the young man.
"Is<br>
 anything the matter? You look so white! Winkler will
probably<br>
 show up soon, he's never very punctual. But it's after
eleven<br>
 o'clock now and he's never been as late as this before."</p>

<p>"I 'don't believe he'll ever come again," said the old
woman,<br>
 sinking down on a bench beside the 'door.</p>

<p>"Why, what do you mean?" asked the clerk. "Why shouldn't he
come<br>
 again?"</p>

<p>"Is the head of the firm here?" asked Mrs. Klingmayer, wiping
her<br>
 forehead with her handkerchief. The clerk nodded and hurried
away<br>
 to tell his employer about the woman with the white face who
came<br>
 to ask for a man who, as she expressed it, "would never come
there<br>
 again."</p>

<p>"I don't think she's quite right in the head," he volunteered.
The<br>
 head of the firm told him to bring the woman into the inner
office.</p>

<p>"Who are you, my good woman?" he asked kindly, softened by
the<br>
 evident agitation of this poorly though neatly dressed
woman.</p>

<p>"I am Mr. Winkler's landlady," she answered.</p>

<p>"Ah! and he wants you to tell me that he's sick? I'm afraid I
can't<br>
 believe all that this gentleman says. I hope he's not asking
your<br>
 help to lie to me. Are you sure that his illness is anything
else<br>
 but a case of being up late?"</p>

<p>"I don't think that he'll ever be sick again - I didn't come
with<br>
 any message from him, sir; please read this, sir." And she
handed<br>
 him the newspaper, showing him the notice. While the gentleman
was<br>
 reading she added: "Mr. Winkler didn't come home last night
either."</p>

<p>Winkler's employer read the few lines, then laid the paper
aside<br>
 with a very serious face. "When did you see him last?" he asked
of<br>
 the woman.</p>

<p>"Day before yesterday in the morning. He went away about
half-past<br>
 eight as he usually does," she replied. And then she added a<br>
 question of her own: "Was he here day before yesterday?"</p>

<p>The merchant nodded and pressed an electric bell. Then he rose
from<br>
 his seat and pulled up a chair for his visitor. "Sit down
here.<br>
 This thing has frightened you and you are no longer young."
When<br>
 the servant entered, the merchant told him to ask the head
bookkeeper<br>
 to come to the inner office.</p>

<p>When this official appeared, his employer inquired:<br>
 "When did Winkler leave here day before yesterday?"</p>

<p>"At six o'clock, sir, as usual."</p>

<p>"He was here all day without interruption?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir, with the exception of the usual luncheon hour."</p>

<p>"Did he have the handling of any money Monday?"</p>

<p>"No, sir."</p>

<p>"Thank you, Mr. Pokorny," said the merchant, handing his
employee<br>
 the evening paper and pointing to the notice which had so
interested<br>
 him.</p>

<p>Pokorny read it, his face, like his employer's, growing more
serious.<br>
 "It looks almost as if it must be Winkler, sir," he said, in a
few<br>
 moments.</p>

<p>"We will soon find that out. I should like to go to the
police<br>
 station myself with this woman; she is Winkler's landlady - but
I<br>
 think it will be better for you to accompany her. They will
ask<br>
 questions about the man which you will be better able to
answer<br>
 than I."</p>

<p>Pokorny bowed and left the room. Mrs. Klingmayer rose and was
about<br>
 to follow, when the merchant asked her to wait a moment and
inquired<br>
 whether Winkler owed her anything. "I am sorry that you should
have<br>
 had this shock and the annoyances and trouble which will come of
it,<br>
 but I don't want you to be out of pocket by it."</p>

<p>"No, he doesn't owe me anything," replied the honest old
woman,<br>
 shaking her head. A few big tears rolled down over her
withered<br>
 cheeks, possibly the only tears that were shed for the dead
man<br>
 under the elder-tree. But even this sympathetic soul could
find<br>
 nothing to say in his praise. She could feel pity for his
dreadful<br>
 death, but she could not assert that the world had lost
anything<br>
 by his going out of it. As if saddened by the impossibility
of<br>
 finding a single good word to say about the dead man, she left
the<br>
 office with drooping head and lagging step.</p>

<p>Pokorny helped her into the cab that was already waiting
before the<br>
 door. The office force had got wind of the fact that
something<br>
 unusual had occurred and were all at the windows to see them
drive<br>
 off. The three clerks who worked in the department to which
Winkler<br>
 belonged gathered together to talk the matter over. They were
none<br>
 of them particularly hit by it, but naturally they were
interested<br>
 in the discovery in Hietzing, and equally naturally, they tried
to<br>
 find a few good words to say about the man whose life had ended
so<br>
 suddenly.</p>

<p>The youngest of them, Fritz Bormann, said some kind words and
was<br>
 about to wax more enthusiastic, when Degenhart, the eldest
clerk,<br>
 cut in with the words: "Oh, don't trouble yourself. Nobody
ever<br>
 liked Winkler here. 'He was not a good man - he was not even
a<br>
 good worker. This is the first time that he has a reasonable
excuse<br>
 for neglecting his duties."</p>

<p>"Oh, come, see here! how can you talk about the poor man that
way<br>
 when he's scarcely cold in death yet," said Fritz
indignantly.</p>

<p>Degenhart laughed harshly.</p>

<p>"Did I ever say anything else about him while he was warm and
alive?<br>
 Death is no reason for changing one's opinion about a man who
was<br>
 good-for-nothing in life. And his death was a stroke of good
luck<br>
 that he scarcely deserved. He died without a moment's pain, with
a<br>
 merry thought in his head, perhaps, while many another better
man<br>
 has to linger in torture for weeks. No, Bormann, the best I
can<br>
 say about Winkler is that his death makes one nonentity the less
on<br>
 earth."</p>

<p>The older man turned to his desk again and the two younger
clerks<br>
 continued the conversation: "Degenhart appears to be a hard
man,"<br>
 said Fritz, "but he's the best and kindest person I know, and
he's<br>
 dead right in what he says. It was simply a case of
conventional<br>
 superstition. I never did like that Winkler."</p>

<p>"No, you're right," said the other. Neither did I and I
don't<br>
 know why, for the matter of that. He seemed just like a
thousand<br>
 others. I never heard of anything particularly wrong that he
did."</p>

<p>"No, no more did I," continued Bormann, "but I never heard
of<br>
 anything good about him either. And don't you think that it's
worse<br>
 for a man to seem to repel people by his very personality,
rather<br>
 than by any particular bad thing that he does?"</p>

<p>"Yes. I don't know how to explain it, but that's just how I
feel<br>
 about it. I had an instinctive feeling that there was
something<br>
 wrong about Winkler, the sort of a creepy, crawly feeling that
a<br>
 snake gives you."</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER IV</h2>

<h3>SPEAK WELL OF THE DEAD</h3>

<p><br>
 Meanwhile Pokomy and Mrs. Klingmayer had reached the police
station<br>
 and were going upstairs to the rooms of the commissioner on
service<br>
 for the day. Like all people of her class, Mrs. Klingmayer
stood<br>
 in great awe and terror of anything connected with the police
or<br>
 the law generally. She crept slowly and tremblingly up the
stairs<br>
 behind the head bookkeeper and was very glad when she was left
alone<br>
 for a few minutes while Pokorny went in to see the
commissioner.<br>
 But as soon as his errand was known, both the bookkeeper and
his<br>
 companion were led into the office of Head Commissioner Dr.
von<br>
 Riedau, who had charge of the Hietzing murder case.</p>

<p><br>
 When Dr. von Riedau heard the reason of their coming, his
interest<br>
 was immediately aroused, and he pulled a chair to his side for
the<br>
 little thin man with whom he had been talking when the two
strangers<br>
 were ushered in.</p>

<p>"Then you believe you could identify the murdered man?" asked
the<br>
 commissioner.</p>

<p>"From the general description and the initials on his linen,
I<br>
 believe it must be Leopold Winkler," answered Pokorny. "Mrs.<br>
 Klingmayer has not seen him since Monday morning, nor has she
had<br>
 any message from him. He left the office Monday afternoon at
6<br>
 o'clock and that was the last time that we saw him. The only
thing<br>
 that makes me doubt his identity is that the paper reports
that<br>
 three hundred gulden were found in his pocket. Winkler never
seemed<br>
 to have money, and I do not understand how he should have been
in<br>
 possession of such a sum."</p>

<p>"The money was found in the dead man's pockets," said the<br>
 commissioner. "And yet it may be Winkler, the man you know.<br>
 Muller, will you order a cab, please?"</p>

<p>I have a cab waiting for me. But it only holds two,"
volunteered<br>
 Pokorny.</p>

<p>"That doesn't matter, I'll sit on the box," answered the
man<br>
 addressed as Muller.</p>

<p>"You are going with us?" asked Pokorny.</p>

<p>"Yes, he will accompany you," replied the commissioner. "This
is<br>
 detective Muller, sir. By a mere chance, he happened to be on
hand<br>
 to take charge of this case and he will remain in charge,
although<br>
 it may be wasting his talents which we need for more
difficult<br>
 problems. If you or any one else have anything to tell us, it
must<br>
 be told only to me or to Muller. And before you leave to look
at<br>
 the body, I would like to know whether the dead man owned a
watch,<br>
 or rather whether he had it with him on the day of the
murder."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir; he did have a watch, a gold watch," answered
Mrs.<br>
 Klingmayer.</p>

<p>Riedau looked at the bookkeeper, who nodded and said: "Yes,
sir;<br>
 Winkler had a watch, a gold watch with a double case. It was
a<br>
 large watch, very thick. I happen to have noticed it by
chance<br>
 and also I happen to know that he had not had the watch for
very<br>
 long."</p>

<p>"Can you tell us anything more about the watch?" asked the<br>
 commissioner of the landlady.</p>

<p>"Yes, sir; there was engraving on the outside cover, initials,
and<br>
 a crown on the other side."</p>

<p>"What were the initials?"</p>

<p>"I don't know that, sir; at least I'm not sure about it.
There<br>
 were so many twists and curves to them that I couldn't make
them<br>
 out. I think one of them was a W though, sir."</p>

<p>"The other was probably an L then."</p>

<p>"That might be, sir."</p>

<p>"The younger clerks in the office may be able to tell
something more<br>
 about the watch," said Pokorny, "for they were quite interested
in<br>
 it for a while. It was a handsome watch and they were envious
of<br>
 Winkler's possession of it. But he was so tactless in his
boasting<br>
 about it that they paid no further attention to him after the
first<br>
 excitement."</p>

<p>"You say he didn't have the watch long?"</p>

<p>"Since spring I think, sir."</p>

<p>"He brought it home on the 19th of March," interrupted
Mrs.<br>
 Klingmayer. "I remember the day because it was my birthday.
I<br>
 pretended that he had brought it home to me for a present."</p>

<p>"Was he in the habit of making you presents?"</p>

<p>"Oh, no, sir; he was very close with his money, sir.</p>

<p>"Well, perhaps he didn't have much money to be generous with.
Now<br>
 tell me about his watch chain. I suppose he had a watch
chain?"</p>

<p>Both the bookkeeper and the landlady nodded and the latter
exclaimed:<br>
 "Oh, yes, sir; I could recognise it in a minute."</p>

<p>"How?"</p>

<p>"It was broken once and Mr. Winkler mended it himself. I lent
him<br>
 my pliers and he bent the two links together with them. It
didn't<br>
 look very nice after that, but it was strong again. You could
see<br>
 the mark of the pliers easily."</p>

<p>"Why didn't he take the chain to the jeweler's to be fixed?"
asked<br>
 the commissioner.</p>

<p>The woman smiled. "It wouldn't have been worth the money, sir;
the<br>
 chain wasn't real gold."</p>

<p>"But the watch was real, wasn't it?"</p>

<p>"Oh, yes, sir; that was real gold. I pawned it once for Mr.
Winkler<br>
 and they gave me 24 gulden for it."</p>

<p>"One question more, did he have a purse? And did he have it
with<br>
 him on the day of the murder?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir; he had a purse, and he must have taken it with
him<br>
 because he didn't leave it in his room."</p>

<p>"What sort of a purse was it?"</p>

<p>"A brown leather purse, sir."</p>

<p>"Was it a new one?"</p>

<p>"Oh, no, sir; it was well worn."</p>

<p>"How big was it? About like mine?" Riedau took out his own<br>
 pocketbook.</p>

<p>"No, sir; it was a little smaller. It had three pockets in
it.<br>
 I mended it for him once, so I know it well. I didn't have
any<br>
 brown thread so I mended it with yellow."</p>

<p>Dr. von Riedau nodded to Muller. The latter had been sitting
at a<br>
 little side-table writing down the questions and answers.
When<br>
 Riedau saw this he did not send for a clerk to do the work,
for<br>
 Muller preferred to attend to such matters himself as much
as<br>
 possible. The facts gained in the examination were impressed
upon<br>
 his mind while he was writing them, and he did not have to
wade<br>
 through pages of manuscript to get at what he needed. Now he
handed<br>
 his superior officer the paper.</p>

<p>"Thank you," said Riedau, "I'll send it out to the other
police<br>
 stations. I will attend to this myself. You go on with these<br>
 people to see. whether they can identify the corpse."</p>

<p>Fifteen minutes later the three stood before the body in the
morgue<br>
 and both the bookkeeper and his companion identified the dead
man<br>
 positively as Leopold Winkler.</p>

<p>When the identification was made, a notice was sent out to
all<br>
 Austrian police stations and to all pawnshops with an exact<br>
 description of the stolen watch and purse.</p>

<p>Muller led his companions back to the commissioner's office
and they<br>
 made their report to Dr. von Riedau. Upon being questioned
further,<br>
 Pokorny stated: "I had very little to do with Winkler. We met
only<br>
 when he had a report to make to me or to show me his books, and
we<br>
 never met outside the office. The clerks who worked in the
same<br>
 room with him, may know him better.. I know only that he was a
very<br>
 reserved man and very little liked."</p>

<p>"Then I do not need to detain you any longer, nor to trouble
you<br>
 further in this affair. I thank you for coming to us so
promptly.<br>
 It has been of great assistance."</p>

<p>The bookkeeper left the station, but Mrs. Klingmayer, who was
now<br>
 quite reassured as to the harmlessness of the police, was asked
to<br>
 remain and to tell what she knew of the private life of the
murdered<br>
 man. Her answers to the various questions put to her proved
that<br>
 she knew very little about her tenant. But this much was
learned<br>
 from her: that he was very close with his money at times, but
that<br>
 again at other times he seemed to have all he wanted to spend.
At<br>
 such times he paid all his debts, and when he stayed home for
supper,<br>
 he would send her out for all sorts of expensive delicacies.
These<br>
 extravagant days seemed to have nothing whatever to do with
Winkler's<br>
 business pay day, but came at odd times.</p>

<p>Mrs. Klingmayer remembered two separate times when he had
received<br>
 a postal money order. But she did not know from whom the
letters<br>
 came, nor even whether they were sent from the city or from
some<br>
 other town. Winkler received other letters now and then, but
his<br>
 landlady was not of the prying kind, and she had paid very
little<br>
 attention to them.</p>

<p><br>
 He seemed to have few friends or even acquaintances. She did
not<br>
 know of any love affair, at least of nothing "regular." He
had<br>
 remained away over night two or three times during the year
that<br>
 he had been her tenant. This was about all that Mrs.
Klingmayer<br>
 could say, and she returned to her home in a cab furnished her
by<br>
 the kind commissioner.</p>

<p>About two hours later, a police attendant announced that a
gentleman<br>
 would like to see Dr. von Riedan on business concerning the
murder in<br>
 Hietzing. "Friedrich Bormann" was the name on the card.</p>

<p>"Ask him to step in here," said the commissioner. "And please
ask<br>
 Mr. Muller to join us."</p>

<p>The good-looking young clerk entered the office bashfully and
Muller<br>
 slipped in behind him, seating himself inconspicuously by the
door.<br>
 At a sign from the commissioner the visitor began. "I am an<br>
 employee of Braun &amp; Co. I have the desk next to Leopold
Winkler,<br>
 during the year that he has been with us - the year and a
quarter to<br>
 be exact -"</p>

<p>"Ah, then you know him rather well?"</p>

<p>"Why, yes. At least we were together all day, although I never
met<br>
 him outside the office."</p>

<p>"Then you cannot tell us much about his private life?"</p>

<p>"No, sir, but there was something happened on Monday, and in
talking<br>
 it over with Mr. Braun, he suggested that I should come to you
and<br>
 tell you about it. It wasn't really very important, and it
doesn't<br>
 seem as if it could have anything to do with this murder and
robbery;<br>
 still it may be of some use."</p>

<p>"Everything that would throw light on the dead man's life
could be<br>
 of use," said Dr. von Riedau. "Please tell us what it is you
know."</p>

<p>Fritz Bormann began: "Winkler came to the office as usual on
Monday<br>
 morning and worked steadily at his desk. But I happened to
notice<br>
 that he spoiled several letters and had to rewrite them,
which<br>
 showed me that his thoughts were not on his work, a frequent<br>
 occurrence with him. However, everything went along as usual
until<br>
 11 o'clock. Then Winkler became very uneasy. He looked
constantly<br>
 toward the door, compared his watch with the office clock,
and<br>
 sprang up impatiently as the special letter carrier, who
usually<br>
 comes about 11 with money orders, finally appeared."</p>

<p>"Then he was expecting money you think?"</p>

<p>"It must have been so. For as the letter carrier passed him,
he<br>
 called out: 'Haven't you anything for me?' and as the man shook
his<br>
 head Winkler seemed greatly disappointed and depressed. Before
he<br>
 left to go to lunch, he wrote a hasty letter, which he put in
his<br>
 pocket.</p>

<p>"He came in half an hour later than the rest of us. He had
often<br>
 been reprimanded for his lack of punctuality, but it seemed to
do<br>
 no good. He was almost always late. Monday was no exception,<br>
 although he was later than usual that day."</p>

<p>"And what sort of a mood was he in when he came back?"</p>

<p>"He was irritable and depressed. He seemed to be awaiting a
message<br>
 which did not come. His excitement hindered him from working,
he<br>
 scarcely did anything the entire afternoon. Finally at five
o'clock<br>
 a messenger boy came with a letter for him. I saw that
Winkler<br>
 turned pale as he took the note in his hand. It seemed to be
only<br>
 a few words written hastily on a card, thrust into an
envelope.<br>
 Winkler's teeth were set as he opened the letter. The messenger
had<br>
 already gone away."</p>

<p>"Did you notice his number?" asked Dr. von Riedau.</p>

<p>"No, I scarcely noticed the man at all. I was looking at
Winkler,<br>
 whose behaviour was so peculiar. When he read the card his
face<br>
 brightened. He read it through once more, then he tore both
card<br>
 and envelope into little bits and threw the pieces out of the
open<br>
 window.</p>

<p>"Then he evidently did not want anybody to see the contents of
this<br>
 note," said a voice from the corner of the room.</p>

<p>Fritz Bormann looked around astonished and rather doubtful at
the<br>
 little man who had risen from his chair and now came
forward.<br>
 Without waiting for an answer from the clerk, the other
continued:<br>
 "Did Winkler have money sent him frequently?"</p>

<p>Bormann looked inquiringly at the commissioner, who replied
with a<br>
 smile: "You may answer. Answer anything that Mr. Muller has to
ask<br>
 of you, as he is in charge of this case."</p>

<p>"As far as I can remember, it happened three times," was
Bormann's<br>
 answer.</p>

<p>"How close together?"</p>

<p>"Why - about once in every three or four months, I think."</p>

<p>"That looks almost like a regular income," exclaimed Riedau.
His<br>
 eyes met Muller's, which were lit up in sudden fire. "Well,
what<br>
 are you thinking of?" asked the commissioner.</p>

<p>"A woman," answered Muller; and continued more as if
thinking<br>
 aloud than as if addressing the others: "Winkler was a
good-looking<br>
 man. Might he not have had a rich love somewhere? Might not
the<br>
 money have come from her, the money that was found in his
pocket?"<br>
 Muller's voice trailed off into indistinctness at the last
words,<br>
 and the fire died out of his eyes. Then he laughed aloud.</p>

<p>The commissioner smiled also, a good-natured smile, such as
one<br>
 would give to a child who has been over-eager. "It doesn't
matter<br>
 to us where the money came from. All that matters here is
where<br>
 the bullet came from - the bullet which prevented his enjoying
this<br>
 money. And it is of more interest to us to find out who robbed
him<br>
 of his life and his property, rather than the source from which
this<br>
 property came.</p>

<p>The commissioner's tone was friendly, but Muller's face
flushed red,<br>
 and his, head dropped. Riedau turned to Bormann and continued:
"And<br>
 because it is of no interest to us where his money came from -
for<br>
 it can have nothing whatever to do with his murder and the
subsequent<br>
 robbery - therefore what you noticed of his behaviour cannot be
of<br>
 any importance or bearing in the case in any way. Unless,
indeed,<br>
 you should find out anything more. But we appreciate the<br>
 thoughtfulness of yourself and your employer and your readiness
to<br>
 help us."</p>

<p>Bormann rose to leave, but the commissioner put out a hand to
stop<br>
 him. "A few moments more, please; you may know of something
else<br>
 that will be of assistance to us. We have heard that Winkler<br>
 boasted of his belongings-did he talk about his private affairs
in<br>
 any way?"</p>

<p>"No, sir, I do not think he did."</p>

<p>"You say that he destroyed the note at once, evidently
realising<br>
 that no one must see it - this note may have been a promise for
the<br>
 money which had not yet come. Did he, however, tell any one
later<br>
 that he expected a certain sum? Do you think he would have
been<br>
 likely to tell any one?"</p>

<p>"No, I do not think that he would tell any one. He never
mentioned<br>
 to any of us that he had received money, or even that he
expected<br>
 to receive it. None of us knew what outside resources he might
have,<br>
 or whence they came. If it had not been that the money was paid
him<br>
 by the carrier in the office two or three times - so, that we
could<br>
 see it - we would none of us have known of this income, except
for<br>
 the fact that he was freer in spending after the money came.
He<br>
 would dine at expensive restaurants, and this fact he would
mention<br>
 to us, whereas at other times he would go to the cheap
cafe."</p>

<p>"Do you know anything about the people he was acquainted
with<br>
 outside the office?"</p>

<p>"No, sir. I seldom met him outside of the office. One evening
it<br>
 did happen that I saw him at Ronacher's. He was there with a<br>
 lady - that is, a so-called 'lady '-and it must have been one
of<br>
 the times that he had money, for they were enjoying an
expensive<br>
 supper. At other times, some of the other clerks met him at
various<br>
 resorts, always with the same sort of woman. But not always
with<br>
 the same woman, for they were different in appearance."</p>

<p>"He was never seen anywhere with other men?"</p>

<p>"No, sir; at least not by any of us."</p>

<p>"He was not liked in the office?"</p>

<p>"No." Bormann's answer was sharp.</p>

<p>"For what reason?"</p>

<p>"I don't know; we just didn't like him. We had very little to
do<br>
 with him at first because of this, and soon we noticed that
he<br>
 seemed just as anxious to avoid us as we were to avoid him."</p>

<p>The commissioner rose and Bormann followed his example. "I am
very<br>
 sorry, sir, if I have taken up your time to no purpose," said
the<br>
 latter modestly, as he took up his hat.</p>

<p>"I am not so sure that what you have said may not be of great
value<br>
 to us," said a voice behind them. Muller stood there, looking
at<br>
 Riedau with a glance almost of defiance. His eyes were again
lit<br>
 up with the strange fire that shone in them when he was on the
trail.<br>
 The commissioner shrugged his shoulders, bowed to the
departing<br>
 visitor, and then turned without an answer to some documents on
his<br>
 desk. There was silence in the room for a few moments. Finally
a<br>
 gentle voice came from Muller's corner again: "Dr. von
Riedau?"</p>

<p>The commissioner raised his head and looked around. "Oh, are
you<br>
 still there?" he asked with a drawl.</p>

<p>Muller knew what this drawl meant. It was the manner adopted
by<br>
 the amiable commissioner when he was in a mood which was not
amiable.<br>
 And Muller knew also the cause of the mood. It was his own
last<br>
 remark, the words he addressed to Bormann. Muller himself
recognised<br>
 the fact that this remark was out of place, that it was almost
an<br>
 impertinence, because it was in direct contradiction to a
statement<br>
 made a few moments before by his superior officer. Also he
realised<br>
 that his remark had been quite unnecessary, because it was a
matter<br>
 of indifference to the young man, who was only obeying his
employer's<br>
 orders in reporting what he had seen, whether his report was
of<br>
 value or not. Muller had simply uttered aloud the thought that
came<br>
 into his mind, a habit of his which years of official training
had<br>
 not yet succeeded in breaking. It was annoying to himself
sometimes,<br>
 for these half-formed thoughts were mere instinct - they were
the<br>
 workings of his own genius that made him catch a suspicion of
the<br>
 truth long before his conscious mind could reason it out or<br>
 appreciate its value. But that sort of thing was not popular
in<br>
 official police life.</p>

<p>"Well," asked the commissioner, as Muller did not continue,
"your<br>
 tongue is not usually so slow - as you have proved just a
few<br>
 moments back - what were you going to say now?"</p>

<p>"I was about to ask your pardon for my interruption. It
was<br>
 unnecessary, I should not have said it."</p>

<p>"Well, I realise that you know better yourself," said Riedau,
now<br>
 quite friendly again, "and now what else have you to say? Do
you<br>
 really think that what the young man has just told us is of
any<br>
 value at all for this case?"</p>

<p>"It seems to me as if it might be of value to us."</p>

<p>"Oh, it seems to you, eh? Your imagination is working
overtime<br>
 again, Muller," said the commissioner with a laugh. But the
laugh<br>
 turned to seriousness as he realised how many times Muller's<br>
 imagination had helped the clumsy official mind to its
proudest<br>
 triumphs. The commissioner was an intelligent man, as far as
his<br>
 lights went, and he was a good-hearted man. He rose from his
chair<br>
 and walked over to where the detective stood. "You needn't look
so<br>
 embarrassed, Muller," he said. "There is no cause for you to
feel<br>
 bad about it. And - I am quite willing to admit that my
remark<br>
 just now was unnecessary. You may give your imagination full
rein,<br>
 we can trust to your intelligence and your devotion to duty to
keep<br>
 it from unnecessary flights. So curbed, I know it will be of
as<br>
 much assistance to us this time as it always has been."</p>

<br>
Muller's quiet face lit up, and his eyes shone in a happiness
that<br>
made him appear ten years younger. That was one of the
strange<br>
things about Joseph Muller. This genius in his profession was
in<br>
all other ways a man of such simplicity of heart and bearing,
that<br>
the slightest word of approval from one of the officials for
whom<br>
he worked could make him as happy as praise from the teacher
will<br>
make a schoolboy. The moments when he was in command of any<br>
difficult case, when these same superiors would wait for a word
from<br>
him, when high officials would take his orders or would be
obliged<br>
to acknowledge that without him they were helpless, these
moments<br>
were forgotten as soon as the problem was solved and Muller
became<br>
again the simple subordinate and the obscure member of the
Imperial<br>
police force.

<p>When Muller left the commissioner's room and walked through
the<br>
 outer office, one of the clerks looked after him and whispered
to<br>
 his companion: "Do you think he's found the Hietzing murderer
yet?"<br>
 The other answered: "I don't think so, but he looks as if he
had<br>
 found a clue. He'll find him sooner or later. He always
does."</p>

<p>Muller did not hear these words, although they also would
have<br>
 pleased him. He walked slowly down the stairs murmuring to
himself:<br>
 "I think I was right just the same. We are following a false
trail."</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER V</h2>

<h3>BY A THREAD</h3>

<p><br>
 It was on Monday, the 27th of September, that Leopold Winkler
was<br>
 murdered and robbed, and early on Tuesday, the 28th, his body
was<br>
 found. That day the evening papers printed the report of the
murder<br>
 and the description of the dead man, and on Wednesday, the
29th,<br>
 Mrs. Klingmayer read the news and went to see Winkler's
employer.<br>
 By noon of that day the body was identified and a description
of<br>
 the stolen purse and watch telegraphed to police headquarters
in<br>
 various cities. A few hours later, these police stations had
sent<br>
 out notices by messenger to all pawnshops and dealers in<br>
 second-hand clothing, and now the machinery of the law sat
waiting<br>
 for some news of an attempt on the part of the
robber-and-murderer<br>
 to get rid of his plunder.</p>

<p>On this same Wednesday, about the twilight hour, David
Goldstamm,<br>
 dealer in second-hand clothing, stood before the door of his
shop<br>
 in a side street of the old Hungarian city of Pressburg and
watched<br>
 his assistant take down the clothes which were hanging outside
and<br>
 carry them into the store. The old man's eyes glanced
carelessly<br>
 up and down the street and caught sight of a man who turned
the<br>
 corner and came hurrying towards him. This man was a very<br>
 seedy-looking individual. An old faded overcoat hung about
his<br>
 thin figure, and a torn and dusty hat fell over his left eye.
He<br>
 seemed also to be much the worse for liquor and very wobbly on
his<br>
 feet. And yet he seemed anxious to hurry onward in spite of
the<br>
 unevenness of his walk.</p>

<p><br>
 Then he slowed up suddenly, glanced across the street to
Goldstamm's<br>
 store, and crossed over.</p>

<p>"Have you any boots for me?" he asked, sticking out his right
foot<br>
 that the dealer might see whether he had anything the requisite
size.</p>

<p>"I think there's something there," answered the old man in
his<br>
 usual businesslike tone, leading the way into the store.</p>

<p>The stranger followed. Goldstamm lit the one light in the
little<br>
 place and groped about in an untidy heap of shoes of all kinds
and<br>
 sizes until he found several pairs that he thought might fit.
These<br>
 he brought out and put them in front of his customer. But in
spite<br>
 of his bleary eyes, the man caught sight of some patches on
the<br>
 uppers of one pair, and pushed them away from him.</p>

<p>"Give me something better than that. I can pay for it. I
don't<br>
 have to wear patched shoes," he grunted.</p>

<p>Goldstamm didn't like the looks of the man, but he felt that
he<br>
 had better be careful and not make him angry. "Have patience,
sir,<br>
 I'll find you something better," he said gently, tossing the
heap<br>
 about again, but now keeping his face turned towards his
customer.</p>

<p>"I want a coat also and a warm pair of trousers," said the
stranger<br>
 in a rough voice. He bent down to loosen the shabby boot from
his<br>
 right foot, and as he did so something fell out of the pocket
of<br>
 his coat. An unconscious motion of his own raised foot
struck<br>
 this small object and tossed it into the middle of the heap
of<br>
 shoes close by Goldstamm's hand. The old man reached out after
it<br>
 and caught it. It was just an ordinary brown leather
pocketbook,<br>
 of medium size, old and shabby, like a thousand others. But
the<br>
 eyes of the little old man widened as if in terror, his face
turned<br>
 pale and his hands trembled. For he had seen, hanging from
one<br>
 side of this worn brown leather pocketbook, the end of a
yellow<br>
 thread, the loosened end of the thread with which one side of
the<br>
 purse was mended. The thread told David Goldstamm who it was
that<br>
 had come into his shop.</p>

<p>He regained his control with a desperate effort of the will.
It<br>
 took him but a few seconds to do so, and, thanks to his
partial<br>
 intoxication, the customer had not noticed the shopkeeper's
start<br>
 of alarm. But he appeared anxious and impatient to regain<br>
 possession of his purse.</p>

<p>"Haven't you found it yet?" he exclaimed.</p>

<p>Goldstamm hastened to give it back. The tramp put the purse in
his<br>
 pocket with a sigh of relief. Goldstamm had regained his calm
and<br>
 his mind was working eagerly. He put several pairs of shoes
before<br>
 his customer, with the remark: "You must try them on. We'll
find<br>
 something to suit you. And meanwhile I will bring in several<br>
 pairs of trousers from those outside. I have some fine coats
to<br>
 show you too."</p>

<p>Goldstamm went out to the door, almost colliding there with
his<br>
 assistant who was coming in with his arm full of garments. The
old<br>
 man motioned to the boy, who retreated until they were both
hidden<br>
 from the view of the man within the store.</p>

<p>"Give me those blue trousers there," said Goldstamm in a loud
voice.<br>
 Then in a whisper he said to the boy: "Run to the police
station.<br>
 The man with the watch and the purse is in there."</p>

<p>The boy understood and set off at once at a fast pace, while
the<br>
 old man returned to his store with a heavy heart. He
wondered<br>
 whether he would be able to keep the murderer there until
the<br>
 police could come. And he also wondered what it might cost
him,<br>
 an old and feeble man, who would be as a weak reed in the hands
of<br>
 the strong tramp in there. But he knew it was his duty to do<br>
 whatever he could to help in the arrest of one who had just
taken<br>
 the life of a fellow creature. The realisation of this gave
the<br>
 old man strength and calmness.</p>

<p>"A nice sort of an eye for size you have," cried the tramp as
the<br>
 old man came up to him. "I suppose you've brought me in a
boy's<br>
 suit? What do you take me for? Any girl could go to a ball in
the<br>
 shoes you brought me to try on here."</p>

<p>"Are they so much too small?" asked the dealer in an innocent
tone.<br>
 "Well, there's plenty more there. And perhaps you had better
be<br>
 trying on this suit behind the curtain here while I'm hunting up
the<br>
 shoes."</p>

<p>This suggestion seemed to please the stranger, as he was
evidently<br>
 in a hurry. He passed in behind the curtain and began to
undress.<br>
 Goldstamm's keen eyes watched him through a crack. There was
not<br>
 much to be seen except that the tramp seemed anxious to keep
his<br>
 overcoat within reach of his hand. He had carefully put the
purse<br>
 in one of its<br>
 pockets.</p>

<p>We'll get the things all together pretty soon," said the
dealer.<br>
 "I've found a pair of boots here, fine boots of good quality,
and<br>
 sure to fit."</p>

<p>"Stop your talk," growled the other, "and come here and help
me<br>
 so that I can get away."</p>

<p>Goldstamm came forward, and though his heart was very heavy
within<br>
 him, he aided this man, this man about whom so many hundreds
were<br>
 now thinking in terror, as calmly as he had aided his other
poor<br>
 but honest customers.</p>

<p>With hands that did not tremble, the dealer busied himself
about<br>
 his customer, listening all the while to sounds in the street
in<br>
 the hope that his tete-e-tete with the murderer would soon be
over.<br>
 But in spite of all his natural anxiety, the old man's sharp
eyes<br>
 took cognizance of various things, one of which was that the
man<br>
 whom he was helping to dress in his new clothes did not have
the<br>
 watch which was described in the police notice. This fact,
however,<br>
 did not make the old man's heart any lighter, for the purse
mended<br>
 with yellow thread was too clearly the one stolen from the
murdered<br>
 man found in the quiet street in Hietzing.</p>

<p>"What's the matter with you, you're so slow? I can get
along<br>
 better myself," growled the tramp, pushing the old man away
from<br>
 him. Goldstamm had really begun to tremble now in spite of
his<br>
 control, in the fear that the man would get away from him before
the<br>
 police came.</p>

<p>The tramp was already dressed in the new suit, into a pocket
of<br>
 which he put the old purse.</p>

<p>"There, now the boots and then we're finished," said the
dealer<br>
 with an attempt at a smile. In his heart he prayed that the
pair<br>
 he now held in his hand might not fit, that he might gain a
few<br>
 minutes more. But the shoes did fit. A little pushing and
stamping<br>
 and the man was ready to leave the store. He was evidently in
a<br>
 hurry, for he paid what was asked without any attempt to
bargain.<br>
 Had Goldstamm not known whom he had before him now, he would
have<br>
 been very much astonished at this, and might perhaps have been
sorry<br>
 that he had not named a higher sum. But under the circumstances
he<br>
 understood only too well the man's desire to get away, and
would<br>
 much rather have had some talk as to the payment, anything
that<br>
 would keep his customer a little longer in his store.</p>

<p>"There, now we're ready. I'll pack up your old things for you.
Or<br>
 perhaps we can make a deal for them. I pay the highest prices
in<br>
 the city," said Goldstamm, with an apparent eagerness which he
hoped<br>
 would deceive the customer.</p>

<p>But the man had already turned towards the door, and called
hack<br>
 over his shoulder: "You can keep the old things, I don't want
them."</p>

<p>As he spoke he opened the door of the store and stood face to
face<br>
 with a policeman holding a revolver. He turned, with a curse,
back<br>
 into the room, but the dealer was nowhere to be seen. David<br>
 Goldstamm had done his duty to the public, in spite of his
fear.<br>
 Now, seeing that the police had arrived, he could think of his
duty<br>
 to his family. This duty was plainly to save his own life,
and<br>
 when the tramp turned again to look for him, he had disappeared
out<br>
 of the back door.</p>

<p>"Not a move or I will shoot," cried the policeman, and now
two<br>
 others appeared behind him, and came into the store. But the<br>
 tramp made no attempt to escape. He stood pale and trembling
while<br>
 they put the handcuffs on him, and let them take him away
without<br>
 any resistance. He was put on the evening express for Vienna,
and<br>
 taken to Police Headquarters in that city. He made no protest
nor<br>
 any attempt to escape, but he refused to utter a word on the
entire<br>
 journey.</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER VI</h2>

<h3>ALMOST CONVICTED</h3>

<p><br>
 The evening was already far gone when Muller entered Riedau's
office.</p>

<p>"You're in time, the man isn't here yet. The train is
evidently<br>
 late," said the commissioner. "We're working this case off<br>
 quickly. We will have the murderer here in half an hour at
the<br>
 latest. He did not have much time to enjoy the stolen property.
He<br>
 was here in Vienna this morning, and was arrested in Pressburg
this<br>
 afternoon. Here is the telegram, read it."</p>

<p>Dr. von Riedau handed Muller the message. The commissioner
was<br>
 evidently pleased and excited. The telegram read as follows:
"Man<br>
 arrested here in possession of described purse containing four
ten<br>
 gulden notes and four guldens in silver. Arrested in store
of<br>
 second-hand clothes dealer Goldstamm. Will arrive this evening
in<br>
 Vienna under guard."</p>

<p>The message was signed by the Chief of the Pressburg
police.</p>

<p>Muller laid the paper on the desk without a word. There was a
watch<br>
 on this desk already; it was a heavy gold watch, unusually
thick,<br>
 with the initials L. W. on the cover. Just as Muller laid down
the<br>
 telegram, a door outside was opened and the commissioner covered
the<br>
 watch hastily. There was a loud knock at his own door and an<br>
 attendant entered to announce that the party from Pressburg
had<br>
 arrived He was followed by one of the Pressburg police force,
who<br>
 brought the official report.</p>

<p><br>
 "Did you have any difficulty with him?" asked the
commissioner.</p>

<p>"Oh, no, sir; it was a very easy job. He made no resistance at
all,<br>
 and he seems to be quite sober now. But he hasn't said a word
since<br>
 we arrested him."</p>

<p>Then followed the detailed report of the arrest, and the
delivery of<br>
 the described pocketbook to the commissioner.</p>

<p>"Is that all?" asked Dr. von Riedau.</p>

<p>"Yes, sir."</p>

<p>"Then you may go home now, we will take charge of the
man."</p>

<p>The policeman bowed and left the room. A few moments later
the<br>
 tramp was brought in, guarded by two armed roundsmen. His
guards<br>
 remained at the door, while the prisoner himself walked forward
to<br>
 the middle of the room. Commissioner von Riedau sat at his
desk,<br>
 his clerk beside him ready to take down the evidence. Muller
sat<br>
 near a window with a paper on his lap, looking the least
interested<br>
 of anybody in the proceedings.</p>

<p>For a moment there was complete silence in the room, which
was<br>
 broken in a rather unusual manner. A deep voice, more like a
growl,<br>
 although it had a queer strain of comic good-nature in it, began
the<br>
 proceedings with the remark: "Well now, say, what do you want of
me,<br>
 anyway?"</p>

<p>The commissioner looked at the man in astonishment, then
turned<br>
 aside that the prisoner might not notice his smile. But he
might<br>
 have spared himself the trouble, for Muller, the clerk, and the
two<br>
 policemen at the door were all on a broad grin.</p>

<p>Then the commissioner pulled himself together again, and began
with<br>
 his usual official gravity: "It is I who ask questions here. Is
it<br>
 possible that you do not know this? You look to me as if you
had<br>
 had experience in police courts before." The commissioner gazed
at<br>
 the prisoner with eyes that were not altogether friendly. The
tramp<br>
 seemed to feel this, and his own eyes dropped, while the
good-natured<br>
 impertinence in his bearing disappeared. It was evidently the
last<br>
 remains of his intoxication. He was now quite sober.</p>

<p>"What is your name?" asked the commissioner.</p>

<p>"Johann Knoll."</p>

<p>"Where were you born?"</p>

<p>"Near Brunn."</p>

<p>"Your age?"</p>

<p>"I'm - I'll be forty next Christmas."</p>

<p>"Your religion?"</p>

<p>"Well, you can see I'm no Jew, can't you?"</p>

<p>"You will please answer my questions in a proper manner.
This<br>
 impertinence will not make things easier for you."</p>

<p>"All right, sir," said the tramp humbly. "I am a
Catholic."</p>

<p>"You have been in prison before?" This was scarcely a
question.</p>

<p>"No, sir," said Knoll firmly.</p>

<p>"What is your business?"</p>

<p>"I don't know what to say, sir," answered Knoll, shrugging
his<br>
 shoulders. "I've done a lot of things in my life. I'm a
cattle<br>
 drover and a lumber man, and I -"</p>

<p>"Did you learn any trade?"</p>

<p>"No, sir, I never learned anything."</p>

<p>"Do you mean to tell me that without having learned any trade
you've<br>
 gotten through life thus far honestly?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I've worked hard enough - I've worked good and hard
sometimes."</p>

<p>"The last few days particularly, eh?"</p>

<p>"Why, no, sir, not these last days - I was drover on a
transport of<br>
 pigs; we brought 'em down from Hungary, 200 of 'em, to the
slaughter<br>
 house here."</p>

<p>"When was that?"</p>

<p>"That was - that was Monday."</p>

<p>"This last Monday?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir.</p>

<p>"And then you went to Hietzing?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir, that's right."</p>

<p>"Why did you go to Hietzing?"</p>

<p>"Why, see here, sir, if I had gone to Ottakring, then I
suppose you<br>
 would have asked why did I go to Ottakring. I just went to
Hietzing.<br>
 A fellow has to go somewhere. You don't stay in the same spot
all<br>
 the time, do you?"</p>

<p>Again the commissioner turned his head and another smile
went<br>
 through the room. This Hietzing murderer had a sense of
humour.</p>

<p>"Well, then, we'll go to Hietzing again, in our minds at
least,"<br>
 said the commissioner, turning back to Knoll when he had
controlled<br>
 his merriment. "You went there on Monday, then - and the day
was<br>
 coming to an end. What did you do when you reached
Hietzing?"</p>

<p>"I looked about for a place to sleep."</p>

<p>"Where did you look for a place to sleep?"</p>

<p>"Why, in Hietzing."</p>

<p>"That is not definite enough."</p>

<p>"Well, in a garden."</p>

<p>"You were trespassing, you mean?"</p>

<p>"Why, yes, sir. There wasn't anybody that seemed to want to
invite<br>
 me to dinner or to give me a place to sleep. I just had to
look<br>
 out for myself."</p>

<p>"You evidently know how to look out for yourself at the cost
of<br>
 others, a heavy cost." The commissioner's easy tone had changed
to<br>
 sternness. Knoll felt this, and a sharp gleam shot out from
his<br>
 dull little eyes, while the tone of his voice was gruff and<br>
 impertinent again as he asked: "What do you mean by that?"</p>

<p>"You know well enough. You had better not waste any more time,
but<br>
 tell us at once how you came into possession of this purse."</p>

<p>"It's my purse," Knoll answered with calm impertinence. "I got
it<br>
 the way most people get it. I bought it."</p>

<p>"This purse?" the commissioner emphasised both words
distinctly.</p>

<p>"This purse - yes," answered the tramp with a perfect
imitation of<br>
 Riedau's voice. "Why shouldn't I have bought this purse just
like<br>
 any other?"</p>

<p>"Because you stole this purse from the man whom you -
murdered,"<br>
 was the commissioner's reply.</p>

<p>There was another moment of dead silence in the room. The<br>
 commissioner and Muller watched intently for any change of<br>
 expression in the face of the man who had just had such an<br>
 accusation hurled at him. Even the clerk and the two policemen
at<br>
 the door were interested to see what would happen.</p>

<p>Knoll's calm impertinence vanished, a deadly pallor spread
over his<br>
 face, and he seemed frozen to stone. He attempted to speak, but
was<br>
 not able to control his voice. His hands were clenched and
tremors<br>
 shook his gaunt but strong-muscled frame.</p>

<p>"When did I murder anybody?" he gasped finally in a hoarse
croak.<br>
 "You'll have to prove it to me that I am a murderer."</p>

<p>"That is easily proved. Here is one of the proofs," said
Riedan<br>
 coldly, pointing to the purse. "The purse and the watch of
the<br>
 murdered man are fatal witnesses against you."</p>

<p>"The watch? I haven't any watch. Where should I get a
watch?"</p>

<p>"You didn't have one until Monday, possibly; I can believe
that.<br>
 But you were in possession of a watch between the evening of
Monday,<br>
 the 27th, and the morning of Wednesday, the 29th."</p>

<p>Knoll's eyes dropped again and he did not trust himself to
speak.</p>

<p>"Well, you do not deny this statement?"</p>

<p>"No, I can't," said Knoll, still trying to control his
voice.<br>
 "You must have the watch yourself now, or else you wouldn't be
so<br>
 certain about it."</p>

<p>"Ah, you see, I thought you'd had experience with police
courts<br>
 before," said the commissioner amiably. "Of course I have
the<br>
 watch already. The man whom you sold it to this morning knew
by<br>
 three o'clock this afternoon where this watch came from. He
brought<br>
 it here at once and gave us your description. A very exact<br>
 description. The man will be brought here to identify you
to-morrow.<br>
 We must send for him anyway, to return his money to him. He
paid<br>
 you fifty-two gulden for the watch. And how much money was in
the<br>
 purse that you took from the murdered man?"</p>

<p>"Three gulden eighty-five."</p>

<p>"That was a very small sum for which to commit a murder."</p>

<p>Knoll groaned and bit his lips until they bled.</p>

<p>Commissioner von Riedau raised the paper that covered the
watch and<br>
 continued: "You presumably recognised that the chain on which
this<br>
 watch hung was valueless, also that it could easily be
recognised.<br>
 Did you throw it away, or have you it still?"</p>

<p>"I threw it in the river."</p>

<p>"That will not make any difference. We do not need the chain,
we<br>
 have quite enough evidence without it. The purse, for instance:
you<br>
 thought, I suppose, that it was just a purse like a thousand
others,<br>
 but it is not. This purse is absolutely individual and
easily<br>
 recognised, because it is mended in one spot with yellow
thread.<br>
 The thread has become loosened and hangs down in a very
noticeable<br>
 manner. It was this yellow thread on the purse, which he
happened<br>
 to see by chance, that showed the dealer Goldstamm who it was
that<br>
 had entered his store."</p>

<p>Knoll stood quite silent, staring at the floor. Drops of<br>
 perspiration stood out on his forehead, some of them rolling
like<br>
 tears down his cheek.</p>

<p>The commissioner rose from his seat and walked slowly to where
the<br>
 prisoner stood. He laid one hand on the man's shoulder and said
in<br>
 a voice that was quite gentle and kind again: "Johann Knoll, do
not<br>
 waste your time, or ours, in thinking up useless lies. You
are<br>
 almost convicted of this crime now. You have already
acknowledged<br>
 so much, that there is but little more for you to say. If you
make<br>
 an open confession, it will be greatly to your advantage."</p>

<p>Again the room was quiet while the others waited for what
would<br>
 happen. For a moment the tramp stood silent, with the
commissioner's<br>
 right hand resting on his shoulder. Then there was a sudden
movement,<br>
 a struggle and a shout, and the two policemen had overpowered
the<br>
 prisoner and held him firmly. Muller rose quickly and sprang to
his<br>
 chief's side. Riedau had not even changed colour, and he
said<br>
 calmly: "Oh, never mind, Muller; sit down again. The man had<br>
 handcuffs on and he is quite quiet now. I think he has sense
enough<br>
 to see that he is only harming himself by his violence.</p>

<p>The commissioner returned to his desk and Muller went back to
his<br>
 chair by the window. The prisoner was quiet again, although
his<br>
 face wore a dark flush and the veins on throat and forehead
were<br>
 swollen thick. He trembled noticeably and the heavy drops<br>
 besprinkled his brow.</p>

<p>"I - I have something to say, sir," he began, "but first I
want to<br>
 beg your pardon -"</p>

<p>"Oh, never mind that. I am not angry when a man is fighting
for his<br>
 life, even if he doesn't choose quite the right way," answered
the<br>
 commissioner calmly, playing with a lead pencil.</p>

<p>Knoll's expression was defiant now. He laughed harshly and
began<br>
 again: "What I'm tellin' you now is the truth whether you
believe<br>
 it or not. I didn't kill the man. I took the watch and purse<br>
 from him. I thought he was drunk. If he was killed, I didn't<br>
 do it."</p>

<p>"He was killed by a shot."</p>

<p>"A shot? Why, yes, I heard a shot, but I didn't think any
more<br>
 about it, I didn't think there was anythin' doing, I thought
somebody<br>
 was shootin' a cat, or else-"</p>

<p>"Oh, don't bother to invent things. It was a man who was shot
at,<br>
 the man whom you robbed. But go on, go on. I am anxious to
hear<br>
 what you will tell me."</p>

<p>Knoll's hands, clenched to fists and his eyes glowed in hate
and<br>
 defiance. Then he dropped them to the floor again and began
to<br>
 talk slowly in a monotonous tone that sounded as if he were<br>
 repeating a lesson. His manner was rather unfortunate and did
not<br>
 tend to induce belief in the truth of his story. The gist of
what<br>
 he said was as follows:</p>

<p>He had reached Hietzing on Monday evening about 8 o'clock. He
was<br>
 thirsty, as usual, and had about two gulden in his possession,
his<br>
 wages for the last day's work. He turned into a tavern in
Hietzing<br>
 and ate and drank until his money was all gone, and he had not
even<br>
 enough left to pay for a night's lodging. But Knoll was not
worried<br>
 about that. He was accustomed to sleeping out of doors, and as
this<br>
 was a particularly fine evening, there was nothing in the
prospect<br>
 to alarm him. He set about finding a suitable place where he
would<br>
 not be disturbed by the guardians of the law. His search led
him<br>
 by chance into a newly opened street. This suited him
exactly.<br>
 The fences were easy to climb, and there were several little
summer<br>
 houses in sight which made much more agreeable lodgings than
the<br>
 ground under a bush. And above all, the street was so quiet
and<br>
 deserted that he knew it was just the place for him. He had
never<br>
 been in the street before, and did not know its name. He
passed<br>
 the four houses at the end of the street - he was on the
left<br>
 sidewalk - and then he came to two fenced-in building lots.
These<br>
 interested him. He was very agile, raised himself up on the
fences<br>
 easily and took stock of the situation. One of the lots did
not<br>
 appeal to him particularly, but the second one did. It
bordered<br>
 on a large garden, in the middle of which he could see a
little<br>
 house of some kind. It was after sunset but he could see
things<br>
 quite plainly yet for the air was clear and the moon was
just<br>
 rising. He saw also that in the vacant lot adjoining the
garden,<br>
 a lot which appeared to have been a garden itself once, there
was<br>
 a sort of shed. It looked very much damaged but appeared to
offer<br>
 shelter sufficient for a fine night.</p>

<p>The shed stood on a little raise of the ground near the high
iron<br>
 fence that protected the large garden. Knoll decided that
the<br>
 shed would make a good place to spend the night. He climbed
the<br>
 fence easily and walked across the lot. When he was just
settling<br>
 himself for his nap, he heard the clock on a near-by church
strike<br>
 nine. The various drinks he had had for supper put him in a
mood<br>
 that would not allow him to get to sleep at once. The bench
in<br>
 the old shed was decidedly rickety and very uncomfortable, and
as<br>
 he was tossing about to find a good position, a thought came
into<br>
 his mind which he acknowledged was not a commendable one. It<br>
 occurred to him that if he pursued his investigations in the<br>
 neighbourhood a little further, he might be able to pick up<br>
 something that would be of advantage to him on his
wanderings.<br>
 His eyes and his thoughts were directed towards the handsome
house<br>
 which he could see beyond the trees of the old garden.</p>

<p>The moon was now well up in the sky and it shone brightly on
the<br>
 mansard roof of the fine old mansion. The windows of the
long<br>
 wing which stretched out towards the garden glistened in the<br>
 moonbeams, and the light coloured wall of the house made a
bright<br>
 background for the dark mask of trees waving gently in the
night<br>
 breeze. Knoll's little shed was sufficiently raised on its<br>
 hillock for him to have a good view of the garden. There was
no<br>
 door to the shed and he could see the neighbouring property
clearly<br>
 from where he lay on his bench. While he lay there watching,
he<br>
 saw a woman walking through the garden. He could see her
only<br>
 when she passed back of or between the lower shrubs and bushes.
As<br>
 far as he could see, she came from the main building and was
walking<br>
 towards a pretty little house which lay in the centre of the
garden.<br>
 Knoll had imagined this house to be the gardener's dwelling and
as<br>
 it lay quite dark he supposed the inmates were either asleep or
out<br>
 for the evening. It had been this house which he was intending
to<br>
 honour by a visit. But seeing the woman walking towards it,
he<br>
 decided it would not be safe to carry out his plan just yet
awhile.</p>

<br>
A few moments later he was certain that this last decision had
been<br>
a wise one, for he saw a man come from the main building and
walk<br>
along the path the woman had taken. "No, nothing doing
there,"<br>
thought Knoll, and concluded he had better go to sleep. He
could<br>
not remember just how long he may have dozed but it seemed to
him<br>
that during that time he had heard a shot. It did not interest
him<br>
much. He supposed some one was shooting at a thieving cat or
at<br>
some small night animal. He did not even remember whether he
had<br>
been really sound asleep, before he was aroused by the
breaking<br>
down of the bench on which he lay. The noise of it more than
the<br>
shock of the short fall, awoke him and he sprang tip in alarm
and<br>
listened intently to hear whether any one had been attracted by
it.<br>
His first glance was towards the building behind the garden.
There<br>
was no sound nor no light in the garden house but there was a
light<br>
in the main building. While the tramp was wondering what hour
it<br>
might be, the church clock answered him by ten loud strokes.

<p>His head was already aching from the wine and he did not
feel<br>
 comfortable in the drafty old building. He came out from it,
crept<br>
 along to the spot where he had climbed the fence before, and
after<br>
 listening carefully and hearing nothing on either side, he
climbed<br>
 back to the road. The Street lay silent and empty, which was
just<br>
 what he was hoping for. He held carefully to the shadow thrown
by<br>
 the high board fence over which he had climbed until he came to
its<br>
 end. Then he remembered that he hadn't done anything wrong
and<br>
 stepped out boldly into the moonlight. The moon was well up
now<br>
 and the street was almost as light as day. Knoll was attracted
by<br>
 the queer shadows thrown by a big elder tree, waving its
long<br>
 branches in the wind. As he came nearer he saw that part of
the<br>
 shadow was no shadow at all but was the body of a man lying
in<br>
 the street near the bush. "I thought sure he was drunk" was
the<br>
 way Knoll described it. "I've been like that myself often
until<br>
 somebody came along and found me."</p>

<p>When he came to this spot in his story, he halted and drew a
long<br>
 breath. Commissioner von Riedau had begun to make some figures
on<br>
 the paper in front of him, then changed the lines until the
head<br>
 of a pretty woman in a fur hat took shape under his fingers.</p>

<p>"Well, go on," he said, looking with interest at his drawing
and<br>
 improving it with several quick strokes.</p>

<p>Johann Knoll continued:</p>

<p>"Then the devil came over me and I thought I better take this
good<br>
 opportunity - well - I did. The man was lying on his back and
I<br>
 saw a watch chain on his dark vest. I bent over him and took
his<br>
 watch and chain. Then I felt around in his pocket and found
his<br>
 purse. And then - well then I felt sorry for him lying out in
the<br>
 open road like that, and I thought I'd lift him up and put
him<br>
 somewhere where he could sleep it off more convenient. But I
didn't<br>
 see there was a little ditch there and I stumbled over it
and<br>
 dropped him. 'It's a good thing he's so drunk that even this
don't<br>
 wake him up,' I thought, and ran off. Then I thought I heard<br>
 something moving and I was scared stiff, but there was nothing
in<br>
 the street at all. I thought I had better take to the fields
though<br>
 and I crossed through some corn and then out onto another
street.<br>
 Finally I walked into the city, stayed there till this morning,
sold<br>
 the watch, then went to Pressburg."</p>

<p>"So that was the way it was," said the commissioner, pushing
his<br>
 drawing away from him and motioning to the policemen at the
door.<br>
 "You may take this man away now," he added in a voice of
cool<br>
 indifference, without looking at the prisoner.</p>

<p>Knoll's head drooped and he walked out quietly between his
two<br>
 guards. The clock on the office wall struck eleven.</p>

<p>"Dear me! what a lot of time the man wasted," said the
commissioner,<br>
 putting the report of the proceedings, the watch and the purse
in a<br>
 drawer of his desk. "When anybody has been almost convicted of
a<br>
 crime, it's really quite unnecessary to invent such a long
story.</p>

<p>A few minutes later, the room was empty and Muller, as the
last of<br>
 the group, walked slowly down the stairs. He was in such a
brown<br>
 study that he scarcely heard the commissioner's friendly
"goodnight,"<br>
 nor did he notice that he was walking down the quiet street
under a<br>
 star-gilded sky. "Almost convicted - almost. Almost?"
Muller's<br>
 lips murmured while his head was full of a chaotic rush of
thought,<br>
 dim pictures that came and went, something that seemed to be on
the<br>
 point of bringing light into the darkness, then vanishing
again.<br>
 "Almost - but not quite. There is something here I must find
out<br>
 first. What is it? I must know -"</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER VII</h2>

<h3>THE FACE AT THE GATE</h3>

<p><br>
 The second examination of the prisoner brought nothing new.
Johann<br>
 Knoll refused to speak at all, or else simply repeated what he
had<br>
 said before. This second examination took place early the
next<br>
 morning, but Muller was not present. He was taking a walk in<br>
 Hietzing.</p>

<p>When they took Johann Knoll in the police wagon to the City
Prison,<br>
 Muller was just sauntering slowly through the street where
the<br>
 murder had been committed. And as the door of the cell shut<br>
 clangingly behind the man whose face was distorted in impotent
rage<br>
 and despair, Joseph Muller was standing in deep thought before
the<br>
 broken willow twig, which now hung brown and dry across the
planks<br>
 of the fence. He looked at it for a long time. That is, he
seemed<br>
 to be looking at it, but in reality his eyes were looking out
and<br>
 beyond the willow twig, out into the unknown, where the
unknown<br>
 murderer was still at large. Leopold Winkler's body had
already<br>
 been committed to the earth. How long will it be before his
death<br>
 is avenged? Or perhaps how long may it even be before it is<br>
 discovered from what motive this murder was committed. Was it
a<br>
 murder for robbery, or a murder for personal revenge perhaps?
Were<br>
 the two crimes committed here by one and the same person, or
were<br>
 there two people concerned? And if two, did they work as<br>
 accomplices? Or is it possible that Knoll's story was true?
Did<br>
 he really only rob the body, not realising that it was a dead
man<br>
 and not merely an intoxicated sleeper as he had supposed?
These<br>
 and many more thoughts rushed tumultuously through Muller's
brain<br>
 until he sighed despairingly under the pressure. Then he
smiled<br>
 in amusement at the wish that had crossed his brain, the wish
that<br>
 this case might seem as simple to him as it apparently did to
the<br>
 commissioner. It would certainly have saved him a lot of work
and<br>
 trouble if he could believe the obvious as most people did.
What<br>
 was this devil that rode him and spurred him on to delve into
the<br>
 hidden facts concerning matters that seemed so simple on the<br>
 surface? The devil that spurred him on to understand that
there<br>
 always was some hidden side to every case? Then the sigh and
the<br>
 smile passed, and Muller raised his head in one of the rare
moments<br>
 of pride in his own gifts that this shy unassuming little man
ever<br>
 allowed himself. This was the work that he was intended by<br>
 Providence to do or he wouldn't have been fitted for it, and it
was<br>
 work for the common good, for the public safety. Thinking back
over<br>
 the troubles of his early youth, Muller's heart rejoiced and
he<br>
 was glad in his own genius. Then the moment of unwonted
elation<br>
 passed and he bent his mind again to the problem before him.</p>

<p> </p>

<p><br>
 He sauntered slowly through the quiet street in the direction
of<br>
 the four houses. To reach them he passed the fence that
enclosed<br>
 this end of the Thorne property. Muller had already known,
for<br>
 the last twenty-four hours at least, that the owner of the
fine<br>
 old estate was an artist by the name of Herbert Thorne. His
own<br>
 landlady had informed him of this. He himself was new to the<br>
 neighbourhood, having moved out there recently, and he had
verified<br>
 her statements by the city directory. As he was now passing
the<br>
 Thorne property, in his slow, sauntering walk, he had just
come<br>
 within a dozen paces of the little wooden gate in the fence
when<br>
 this gate opened. Muller's naturally soft tread was made
still<br>
 more noiseless by the fact that he wore wide soft shoes.
Years<br>
 before he had acquired a bad case of chilblains, in fact had
been<br>
 in imminent danger of having his feet frozen by standing for
five<br>
 hours in the snow in front of a house, to intercept several<br>
 aristocratic gentlemen who sooner or later would be obliged
to<br>
 leave that house. The police had long suspected the existence
of<br>
 this high-class gambling den; but it was not until they had
put<br>
 Muller in charge of the case, that there were any results
attained.<br>
 The arrests were made at the risk of permanent injury to the<br>
 celebrated detective. Since then, Muller's step was more
noiseless<br>
 than usual, and now the woman who opened the gate and peered
out<br>
 cautiously did not hear his approach nor did she see him
standing<br>
 in the shadow of the fence. She looked towards the other end
of<br>
 the street, then turned and spoke to somebody behind her.
"There's<br>
 nobody coming from that direction," he said. Then she turned
her<br>
 head the other way and saw Muller. She looked at him for a
moment<br>
 and slammed the gate shut, disappearing behind it. Muller
heard<br>
 the lock click and heard the beat of running feet hastening
rapidly<br>
 over the gravel path through the garden.</p>

<p>The detective stood immediately in front of the gate, shaking
his<br>
 head. "What was the matter with the woman? What was it that
she<br>
 wanted to see or do in the street? Why should she run away
when<br>
 she saw me?" These were his thoughts. But he didn't waste
time<br>
 in merely thinking. Muller never did. Action followed
thought<br>
 with him very quickly. He saw a knot-hole in the fence just<br>
 beside the gate and he applied his eyes to this knot-hole.
And<br>
 through the knot-hole he saw something that interested and<br>
 surprised him.</p>

<p>The woman whose face had appeared so suddenly at the gate,
and<br>
 disappeared still more suddenly, was the same woman whom he
had<br>
 seen bidding farewell to Mr. Thorne and his wife on the
Tuesday<br>
 morning previous, the woman whom he took to be the
housekeeper.<br>
 The old butler stood beside her. It was undoubtedly the same
man,<br>
 although he had worn a livery then and was now dressed in a<br>
 comfortable old house coat. He stood beside the woman,
shaking<br>
 his head and asking her just the questions that Muller was
asking<br>
 himself at the moment.</p>

<p>"Why, what is the matter with you, Mrs. Bernaner? You're
so<br>
 nervous since yesterday. Are you ill? Everything seems to<br>
 frighten you? Why did you run away from that gate so suddenly?
I<br>
 thought you wanted me to show you the place?"</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer raised her head and Muller saw that her face
looked<br>
 pale and haggard and that her eyes shone with an uneasy
feverish<br>
 light. She did not answer the old man's questions, but made
a<br>
 gesture of farewell and then turned and walked slowly towards
the<br>
 house. She realised, apparently, and feared, perhaps, that
the<br>
 man who was passing the gate might have, noticed her sudden
change<br>
 of demeanour and that he was listening to what she might say.
She<br>
 did not think of the knot-hole in the board fence, or she
might<br>
 have been more careful in hiding her distraught face from
possible<br>
 observers.</p>

<p>Muller stood watching through this knot-hole for some little
time.<br>
 He took a careful observation of the garden, and from his point
of<br>
 vantage he could easily see the little house which was
apparently<br>
 the dwelling of the gardener, as well as the mansard roof of
the<br>
 main building. There was considerable distance between the
two<br>
 houses. The detective decided that it might interest him to
know<br>
 something more about this garden, this house and the people
who<br>
 lived there. And when Muller made such a decision it was
usually<br>
 not very long before he carried it out.</p>

<p>The other street, upon which the main front of the mansard
house<br>
 opened, contained a few isolated dwellings surrounded by
gardens<br>
 and a number of newly built apartment houses. On the ground
floor<br>
 of these latter houses were a number of stores and
immediately<br>
 opposite the Thorne mansion was a little cafe. This suited
Muller<br>
 exactly, for he had been there before and he remembered that
from<br>
 one of the windows there was an excellent view of the gate and
the<br>
 front entrance of the mansion opposite. It was a very modest
little<br>
 cafe, but there was a fairly good wine to be had there and
the<br>
 detective made it an excuse to sit down by the window, as if<br>
 enjoying his bottle while admiring the changing colours of
the<br>
 foliage in the gardens opposite.</p>

<p>Another rather good chance, he discovered, was the fact that
the<br>
 landlord belonged to the talkative sort, and believed that
the<br>
 refreshments he had to sell were rendered doubly agreeable
when<br>
 spiced by conversation. In this case the good man was not
mistaken.<br>
 It was scarcely ten o'clock in the forenoon and there were
very<br>
 few people in the cafe. The landlord was quite at leisure to<br>
 devote himself to this stranger in the window seat, whom he did
not<br>
 remember to have seen before, and who was therefore doubly<br>
 interesting to him. Several subjects of conversation usual in
such<br>
 cases, such as politics and the weather, seemed to arouse no<br>
 particular enthusiasm in his patron's manner. Finally the
portly<br>
 landlord decided that he would touch upon the theme which was
still<br>
 absorbing all Hietzing.</p>

<p>"Oh, by the way, sir, do you know that you are in the
immediate<br>
 vicinity of the place where the murder of Monday evening was<br>
 committed? People are still talking about it around here. And
I<br>
 see by the papers that the murderer was arrested in
Pressburg<br>
 yesterday and brought to Vienna last night."</p>

<p>"Indeed, is that so? I haven't seen a paper to-day,"
replied<br>
 Muller, awakening from his apparent indifference.</p>

<p>The landlord was flattered by the success of the new subject,
and<br>
 stood ready to unloose the floodgates of his eloquence. His
customer<br>
 sat up and asked the question for which the landlord was
waiting.</p>

<p>"So it was around here that the man was shot?"</p>

<p>"Yes. His name was Leopold Winkler, that was in the papers
to-day<br>
 too. You see that pretty house opposite? Well, right behind
this<br>
 house is the garden that belongs to it and back of that, an
old<br>
 garden which has been neglected for some time. It was at the
end<br>
 of this garden where it touches the other street, that they
found<br>
 the man under a big elder-tree, early Tuesday morning, day
before<br>
 yesterday."</p>

<p>"Oh, indeed!" said. Muller, greatly interested, as if this
was<br>
 the first he had heard of it. The landlord took a deep breath
and<br>
 was about to begin again when his customer, who decided to keep
the<br>
 talkative man to a certain phase of the subject, now took
command<br>
 of the conversation himself.</p>

<p>"I should think that the people opposite, who live so near
the<br>
 place where the murder was committed, wouldn't be very much
pleased,"<br>
 he said. "I shouldn't care to look out on such a spot every
time<br>
 I went to my window."</p>

<p>"There aren't any windows there," exclaimed the landlord,
"for<br>
 there aren't any houses there. There's only the old garden,
and<br>
 then the large garden and the park belonging to Mr. Thorne's
house,<br>
 that fine old house you see just opposite here. It's a good
thing<br>
 that Mr. Thorne and his wife went away before the murder
became<br>
 known. The lady hasn't been well for some weeks, she's very
nervous<br>
 and frail, and it probably would have frightened her to think
that<br>
 such things were happening right close to her home."</p>

<p>"The lady is sick? What's the matter with her?"</p>

<p>"Goodness knows, nerves, heart trouble, something like that.
The<br>
 things these fine ladies are always having. But she wasn't
always<br>
 that way, not until about a year ago. She was fresh and
blooming<br>
 and very pretty to look at before that."</p>

<p>"She is a young lady then?"</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed, sir; she's very young still and very pretty. It
makes<br>
 you feel sorry to see her so miserable, and you feel sorry for
her<br>
 husband. Now there's a young couple with everything in the
world<br>
 to make them happy and so fond of each other, and the poor
little<br>
 lady has to be so sick."</p>

<p>"They are very happy, you say?" asked Muller carelessly. He
had<br>
 no particular set purpose in following up this inquiry, none
but<br>
 his usual understanding of the fact that a man in his business
can<br>
 never amass too much knowledge, and that it will sometimes
happen<br>
 that a chance bit of information comes in very handy.</p>

<p>The landlord was pleased at the encouragement and continued:
"Indeed<br>
 they are very happy. They've only been married two years. The
lady<br>
 comes from a distance, from Graz. Her father is an army officer
I<br>
 believe, and I don't think she was over-rich. But she's a
very<br>
 sweet-looking lady and her rich husband is very fond of her, any
one<br>
 can see that."</p>

<p>"You said just now that they had gone away, where have they
gone to?"</p>

<p>"They've gone to Italy, sir. Mrs. Thorne was one of the few
people<br>
 who do not know Venice. Franz, that's the butler, sir, told
me<br>
 yesterday evening that he had received a telegram saying that
the<br>
 lady and gentleman had arrived safely and were very
comfortably<br>
 fixed in the Hotel Danieli. You know Danieli's?"</p>

<p>"Yes, I do. I also was one of the few people who did not
know<br>
 Venice, that is I was until two years ago. Then, however, I
had<br>
 the pleasure of riding over the Bridge of Mestre," answered
Muller.<br>
 He did not add that he was not alone at the time, but had
ridden<br>
 across the long bridge in company with a pale haggard-faced man
who<br>
 did not dare to look to the right or to the left because of
the<br>
 revolver which he knew was held in the detective's hand under
his<br>
 loose overcoat. Muller's visit to Venice, like most of his<br>
 journeyings, had been one of business. This time to capture
and<br>
 bring home a notorious and long sought embezzler. He did not<br>
 volunteer any of this information, however, but merely asked in
a<br>
 politely interested manner whether the landlord himself had
been<br>
 to Venice.</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed," replied the latter proudly. "I was head waiter
at<br>
 Baner's for two years."</p>

<p>"Then you must make me some Italian dishes soon," said
Muller.<br>
 Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Franz,
the<br>
 old butler of the house opposite.</p>

<p>"Excuse me, sir; I must get him his glass of wine," said
the<br>
 landlord, hurrying away to the bar. He returned in a moment
with<br>
 a small bottle and a glass and set it down on Muller's
table.</p>

<p>"You don't mind, sir, if he sits down here?" he asked. "He
usually<br>
 sits here at this table because then he can see if he is needed
over<br>
 at the house."</p>

<p>"Oh, please let him come here. He has prior rights to this
table<br>
 undoubtedly," said the stranger politely. The old butler sat
down<br>
 with an embarrassed murmur, as the voluble landlord explained
that<br>
 the stranger had no objection. Then the boniface hurried off
to<br>
 attend to some newly entered customers and the detective,
greatly<br>
 pleased at the prospect, found himself alone with the old
servant.</p>

<p>"You come here frequently?" he began, to open the
conversation.</p>

<p>"Yes, sir, since my master and myself have settled down here -
we<br>
 travelled most of the time until several years ago - I find
this<br>
 place very convenient. It's a cosy little room, the wine is
good<br>
 and not expensive, I'm near home and yet I can see some new
faces<br>
 occasionally."</p>

<p>"I hope the faces that you see about you at home are not
so<br>
 unpleasant that you are glad to get away from them?" asked
Muller<br>
 with a smile.</p>

<p>The old man gave a start of alarm. "Oh, dear, no, sir," he<br>
 exclaimed eagerly; "that wasn't what I meant. Indeed I'm fond
of<br>
 everybody in the house from our dear lady down to the poor
little<br>
 dog."</p>

<p>Here Muller gained another little bit of knowledge, the fact
that<br>
 the lady of the house was the favourite of her servants, or
that<br>
 she seemed to them even more an object of adoration than the
master.</p>

<p>"Then you evidently have a very good place, since you seem so
fond<br>
 of every one."</p>

<p>"Indeed I have a good place, sir."</p>

<p>"You've had this place a long time?"</p>

<p>"More than twenty years. My master was only eleven years old
when<br>
 I took service with the family."</p>

<p>"Ah, indeed! then you must be a person of importance in the
house<br>
 if you have been there so long?"</p>

<p>"Well more or less I might say I am," the old man smiled
and<br>
 looked flattered, then added: "But the housekeeper, Mrs.
Bernaner,<br>
 is even more important than I am, to tell you the truth. She
was<br>
 nurse to our present young master, and she's been in the house
ever<br>
 since. When his parents died, it's some years ago now, she
took<br>
 entire charge of the housekeeping. She was a fine active
woman<br>
 then, and now the young master and mistress couldn't get
along<br>
 without her. They treat her as if she was one of the
family."</p>

<p>"And she is ill also? I say also," explained Muller, "because
the<br>
 landlord has just been telling me that your mistress is
ill."</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed, more's the pity! our poor dear young lady has
been<br>
 miserable for nearly a year now. It's a shame to see such a
sweet<br>
 angel as she is suffer like that and the master's quite
heart-broken<br>
 over it. But there's nothing the matter with Mrs. Bernaner.
How<br>
 did you come to think that she was sick?"</p>

<p>Muller did not intend to explain that the change in the
housekeeper's<br>
 appearance, a change which had come about between Tuesday
morning<br>
 and Thursday morning, might easily have made any one think that
she<br>
 was ill. He gave as excuse for his question the old man's own
words:<br>
 "Why, I thought that she might be ill also because you said
yourself<br>
 that the housekeeper - what did you say her name was?"</p>

<p>"Bernauer, Mrs. Adele Bernauer. She was a widow when she came
to<br>
 take care of the master. Her husband was a sergeant of
artillery."</p>

<p>"Well, I mean," continued Muller, "you said yourself that when
the<br>
 gentleman's parents died, Mrs. Bernauer was a fine active
woman,<br>
 therefore I supposed she was no longer so."</p>

<p>Franz thought the matter over for a while. "I don't know just
why<br>
 I put it that way. Indeed she's still as active as ever and
always<br>
 fresh and well. It's true that for the last two or three days
she's<br>
 been very nervous and since yesterday it is as if she was a
changed<br>
 woman. She must be ill, I don't know how to explain it
otherwise."</p>

<p>"What seems to be the matter with her?" asked Muller and then
to<br>
 explain his interest in the housekeeper's health, he fabricated
a<br>
 story: "I studied medicine at one time and although I didn't
finish<br>
 my course or get a diploma, I've always had a great interest in
such<br>
 things, and every now and then I'll take a case,
particularly<br>
 nervous diseases. That was my specialty." Muller took up his
glass<br>
 and turned away from the window, for be felt a slow flush
rising<br>
 to his cheeks. It was another of Muller's peculiarities that
he<br>
 always felt an inward embarrassment at the lies he was obliged
to<br>
 tell in his profession.</p>

<p>The butler did not seem to have noticed it however, and
appeared<br>
 eager to tell of what concerned him in the housekeeper's
appearance<br>
 and demeanour. "Why, yesterday at dinner time was the first
that<br>
 we began to notice anything wrong with Mrs. Bernauer. The rest
of<br>
 us, that is, Lizzie the upstairs girl, the cook and myself.
She<br>
 began to eat her dinner with a good appetite, then suddenly,
when<br>
 we got as far as the pudding, she let her fork fall and
turned<br>
 deathly white. She got up without saying a word and left the
room.<br>
 Lizzie ran after her to ask if anything was the matter, but
she<br>
 said no, it was nothing of importance. After dinner, she went
right<br>
 out, saying she was doing some errands. She brought in a lot
of<br>
 newspapers, which was quite unusual, for she sometimes does not
look<br>
 at a newspaper once a week even. I wouldn't have noticed it
but<br>
 Lizzie's the kind that sees and hears everything and she told
us<br>
 about it." Franz stopped to take a drink, and Muller said<br>
 indifferently, "I suppose Mrs. Bernauer was interested in the
murder<br>
 case. The whole neighbourhood seems to be aroused about it."</p>

<p>"No, I don't think that was it," answered the old servant,
"because<br>
 then she would have sent for a paper this morning too."</p>

<p>"And she didn't do that?"</p>

<p>"No, unless she might have gone out for it herself. There's a
news<br>
 stand right next door here. But I don't think she did because
I<br>
 would have seen the paper around the house then."</p>

<p>"And is that all that's the matter with her?" asked Muller in
a<br>
 tone of disappointment. "Why, I thought you'd have something
really<br>
 interesting to tell me."</p>

<p>"Oh, no, that isn't all, sir," exclaimed the old man
eagerly.</p>

<p>Muller leaned forward, really interested now, while Franz
continued:<br>
 "She was uneasy all the afternoon yesterday. She walked up and
down<br>
 stairs and through the halls - I remember Lizzie making some
joke<br>
 about it - and then in the evening to our surprise she suddenly
began<br>
 a great rummaging in the first story."</p>

<p>"Is that where she lives ?"</p>

<p>"Oh, no; her room is in the wing out towards the garden. The
rooms<br>
 on the first floor all belong to the master and mistress.
This<br>
 morning we found out that Mrs. Bernauer's cleaning up of the
evening<br>
 before had been done because she remembered that the master
wanted<br>
 to take some papers with him but couldn't find them and had
asked<br>
 her to look for them and send them right on."</p>

<p>"Well, I shouldn't call that a sign of any particular
nervousness,<br>
 but rather an evidence of Mrs. Bernaner's devotion to her
duty."</p>

<p>"Oh, yes, sir - but it certainly is queer that she should go
into<br>
 the garden at four o'clock this morning and appear to be
looking<br>
 for something along the paths and under the bushes. Even if a
few<br>
 of the papers blew out of the window, or blew away from the
summer<br>
 house, where the master writes sometimes, they couldn't have<br>
 scattered all over the garden like that."</p>

<p>Muller didn't follow up this subject any longer. There might
come<br>
 a time when he would be interested in finding out the reason
for<br>
 the housekeeper's search in the garden, but just at present
he<br>
 wanted something else. He remembered some remark of the old
man's<br>
 about the "poor little dog," and on this he built his plan.</p>

<p>"Oh, well," he said carelessly, "almost everybody is nervous
and<br>
 impatient now-a-days. I suppose Mrs. Bernauer felt uneasy
because<br>
 she couldn't find the paper right away. There's nothing
particularly<br>
 interesting or noticeable about that. Anyway, I've been
occupying<br>
 myself much more these last years with sick animals rather than
with<br>
 sick people. I've had some very successful cures there."</p>

<p>"No, really, have you? Then you could do us a great
favour,"<br>
 exclaimed Franz in apparent eagerness. Muller's heart rejoiced.
He<br>
 had apparently hit it right this time. He knew that in a house
like<br>
 that "a poor dog" could only mean a "sick dog." But his voice
was<br>
 quite calm as he asked: "How can I do you a favour?"</p>

<p>"Why, you see, sir, we've got a little terrier," explained the
old<br>
 man, who had quite forgotten the fact that he had mentioned the
dog<br>
 before. "And there's been something the matter with the poor
little<br>
 chap for several days. He won't eat or drink, he bites at the
grass<br>
 and rolls around on his stomach and cries - it's a pity to see
him.<br>
 If you're fond of animals and know how to take care of them, you
may<br>
 be able to help us there."</p>

<p>"You want me to look at the little dog? Why, yes, I suppose I
can."</p>

<p>"We'll appreciate it," said the old man with an embarrassed
smile.<br>
 But Muller shook his head and continued: "No, never mind the
payment,<br>
 I wouldn't take any money for it. But I'll tell you what you
can<br>
 do for me. I'm very fond of flowers. If you think you can take
the responsibility of letting me<br>
 walk around in the garden for a little<br>
 while, and pick a rose or two, I will be greatly pleased."</p>

<p>"Why, of course you may," said Franz. "Take any of the roses
you<br>
 see there that please you. They're nearly over for the season
now<br>
 and it's better they should be picked rather than left to fade
on<br>
 the bush. We don't use so many flowers in the house now when
the<br>
 family are not there."</p>

<p>"All right, then, it's a bargain," laughed Muller, signalling
to<br>
 the landlord. "Are you, going already?" asked the old
servant.</p>

<p>"Yes, I must be going if I am to spend any time with the
little dog."</p>

<p>"I suppose I ought to be at home myself," said Franz.
"Something's<br>
 the matter with the electric wiring in our place. The bell in
the<br>
 master's room keeps ringing. I wrote to Siemens &amp; Halske to
send us<br>
 a man out to fix it. He's likely to come any minute now." The
two<br>
 men rose, paid their checks, and went out together. Outside
the<br>
 cafe Muller hesitated a moment. "You go on ahead," he said to
Franz.<br>
 "I want to go in here and get a cigar."</p>

<p>While buying his cigar and lighting it, he asked for
several<br>
 newspapers, choosing those which his quick eye had told him were
no<br>
 longer among the piles on the counter. "I'm very sorry, sir,"
said<br>
 the clerk; "we have only a few of those papers, just two or
three<br>
 more than we need for our regular customers, and this morning
they<br>
 are all sold. The housekeeper from the Thorne mansion took the
very<br>
 last ones."</p>

<p>This was exactly what Muller wanted to know. He left the store
and<br>
 caught up with the old butler as the latter was opening the
handsome<br>
 iron gate that led from the Thorne property out onto the
street.</p>

<p><br>
 "Well, where's our little patient?" asked the detective as
he<br>
 walked through the courtyard with Franz.</p>

<p>"You'll see him in a minute," answered the old servant. He
led<br>
 the way through a light roomy corridor furnished with handsome
old<br>
 pieces in empire style, and opened a door at its further
end.</p>

<p>"This is my room."</p>

<p>It was a large light room with two windows opening on the
garden.<br>
 Muller was not at all pleased that the journey through the hall
had<br>
 been such a short one. However he was in the house, that was<br>
 something, and he could afford to trust to chance for the
rest.<br>
 Meanwhile he would look at the dog. The little terrier lay in
a<br>
 corner by the stove and it did not take Muller more than two
or<br>
 three minutes to discover that there was nothing the matter
with<br>
 the small patient but a simple case of over-eating. But he put
on<br>
 a very wise expression as he handled the little dog and looking
up,<br>
 asked if he could get some chamomile tea.</p>

<p>"I'll go for it, I think there's some in the house. Do you
want it<br>
 made fresh?" said Franz.</p>

<p>"Yes, that will be better, about a cupful will do," was
Muller's<br>
 answer. He knew that this harmless remedy would be likely to
do<br>
 the dog good and at the present moment he wanted to be left
alone<br>
 in the room. As soon as Franz had gone, the detective hastened
to<br>
 the window, placing himself behind the curtain so that he
could<br>
 not be seen from outside. He himself could see first a wide<br>
 courtyard lying between the two wings of the house, then beyond
it<br>
 the garden, an immense square plot of ground beautifully
cultivated.<br>
 The left wing of the house was about six windows longer than
the<br>
 other, and from the first story of it it would be quite easy to
look<br>
 out over the vacant lot where the old shed stood which had
served<br>
 as a night's lodging for Johann Knoll.</p>

<p>There was not the slightest doubt in Muller's mind that this
part<br>
 of the tramp's story was true, for by a natural process of<br>
 elimination he knew there was nothing to be gained by inventing
any<br>
 such tale. Besides which the detective himself had been to look
at<br>
 the shed. His well-known pedantic thoroughness would not
permit<br>
 him to take any one's word for anything that he might find out
for<br>
 himself, In his investigations on Tuesday morning he had
already<br>
 seen the half-ruined shed, now he knew that it contained a
broken<br>
 bench.</p>

<p>Thus far, therefore, Knoll's story was proved to be true-but
there<br>
 was something that didn't quite hitch in another way. The tramp
had<br>
 said that he had seen first a woman and then a man come from the
main<br>
 house and go in the direction of the smaller house which he took
to<br>
 be the gardener's dwelling. This Muller discovered now was
quite<br>
 impossible. A tall hedge, fully seven or eight feet high and
very<br>
 thick, stretched from the courtyard far down into the garden
past<br>
 the gardener's little house. There was a broad path on the
right<br>
 and the left of this green wall. From his position in the
shed,<br>
 Knoll could have seen people passing only when they were on
the<br>
 right side of the hedge. But to reach the gardener's house
from<br>
 the main dwelling, the shortest way would be on the left side
of<br>
 the hedge. This much Muller saw, then he heard the butler's
steps<br>
 along the hall and he went back to the corner where the dog
lay.</p>

<p>Franz was not alone. There was some one else with him, the<br>
 housekeeper, Mrs. Bernauer. Just as they opened the door,
Muller<br>
 heard her say: "If the gentleman is a veterinary, then we'd
better<br>
 ask him about the parrot- "</p>

<p>The sentence was never finished. Muller never found out what
was<br>
 the matter with the parrot, for as he looked up with a polite
smile<br>
 of interest, he looked into a pale face, into a pair of eyes
that<br>
 opened wide in terror, and heard trembling lips frame the
words:<br>
 "There he is again!"</p>

<p>A moment later Mrs. Bernauer would have been glad to have
recalled<br>
 her exclamation, but it was too late.</p>

<p>Muller bowed before her and asked: "'There he is again,' you
said;<br>
 have you ever seen me before?"</p>

<p>The woman looked at him as if hypnotised and answered almost
in a<br>
 whisper: "I saw you Tuesday morning for the first time,
Tuesday<br>
 morning when the family were going away. Then I saw you pass<br>
 through our street twice again that same day. This morning you
went<br>
 past the garden gate and now I find you here. What-what is it
you<br>
 want of us?"</p>

<p>"I will tell you what I want, Mrs. Bernauer, but first I want
to<br>
 speak to you alone. Mr. Franz doesn't mind leaving us for a
while,<br>
 does he?"</p>

<p>"But why?" said the old man hesitatingly. He didn't
understand<br>
 at all what was going on and he would much rather have
remained.</p>

<p>"Because I came here for the special purpose of speaking to
Mrs.<br>
 Bernauer," replied Muller calmly.</p>

<p>"Then you didn't come on account of the dog?"</p>

<p>"No, I didn't come on account of the dog."</p>

<p>"Then you - you lied to me?"</p>

<p>"Partly."</p>

<p>"And you're no veterinary?"</p>

<p>"No - I can help your dog, but I am not a veterinary and never
have<br>
 been."</p>

<p>"What are you then?"</p>

<p>"I will tell Mrs. Bernauer who and what I am when you are
outside<br>
 - outside in the courtyard there. You can walk about in the
garden<br>
 if you want to, or else go and get some simple purgative for
this<br>
 dog. That is all he needs; he has been over-fed."</p>

<p>Franz was quite bewildered. These new developments promised to
be<br>
 interesting and he was torn between his desire to know more,
and<br>
 his doubts as to the propriety of leaving the housekeeper with
this<br>
 queer stranger. He hesitated until the woman herself motioned
to<br>
 him to go. He went out into the hall, then into the
courtyard,<br>
 watched by the two in the room who stood silently in the
window<br>
 until they saw the butler pass down into the garden. Then
they<br>
 looked at each other.</p>

<p>"You belong to the police?" asked Adele Bernauer finally with
a<br>
 deep sigh.</p>

<p>"That was a good guess," replied Muller with an ironic
smile,<br>
 adding: "All who have any reason to fear us are very quick
in<br>
 recognising us."</p>

<p>"What do you mean by that?" she exclaimed with a start.
"What<br>
 are you thinking of?"</p>

<p>"I am thinking about the same thing that you are thinking of -
that<br>
 I have proved you are thinking of - the same thing that drove
you<br>
 out into the street yesterday and this morning to buy the
papers.<br>
 These papers print news which is interesting many people just
now,<br>
 and some people a great deals. I am thinking of the same
thing<br>
 that was evidently in your thoughts as you peered out of the
garden<br>
 gate this morning, although you would not come out into the
street.<br>
 I know that you do not read even one newspaper regularly. I
know<br>
 also that yesterday and today you bought a great many
papers,<br>
 apparently to get every possible detail about a certain
subject.<br>
 Do you deny this?"</p>

<p>She did not deny it, she did not answer at all. She sank down
on<br>
 a chair, her wide staring eyes looking straight ahead of her,
and<br>
 trembling so that the old chair cracked underneath her weight.
But<br>
 this condition did not last long. The woman had herself well
under<br>
 control. Muller's coming, or something else, perhaps, may
have<br>
 overwhelmed her for a moment, but she soon regained her
usual<br>
 self-possession.</p>

<p>"Still you have not told me what you want here," she began
coldly,<br>
 and as he did not answer she continued: "I have a feeling that
you<br>
 are watching us. I had this feeling when I saw you the first
time<br>
 and noticed then - pardon my frankness - that you stared at
us<br>
 sharply while we were saying goodbye to our master and
mistress.<br>
 Then I saw you pass twice again through the street and look up
at<br>
 our windows. This morning I find you at our garden gate and<br>
 now - you will pardon me if I tell the exact truth - now you
have<br>
 wormed yourself in here under false pretenses because you have
no<br>
 right whatever to force an entrance into this house. And I
ask<br>
 you again, what do you want here?"</p>

<p>Muller was embarrassed. That did not happen very often. Also
it<br>
 did not happen very often that he was in the wrong as he was
now.<br>
 The woman was absolutely right. He had wormed himself into
the<br>
 house under false pretenses to follow up the new clue which
almost<br>
 unconsciously as yet was leading him on with a stronger and
stronger<br>
 attraction. He could not have explained it and he certainly was
not<br>
 ready to say anything about it at police headquarters, even at
the<br>
 risk of being obliged to continue to enter this mysterious
house<br>
 under false pretenses and to be told that he was doing so.
Of<br>
 course this sort of thing was necessary in his business, it
was<br>
 the only way in which he could follow up the criminals.</p>

<p>But there was something in this woman's words that cut into
a<br>
 sensitive spot and drove the blood to his cheeks. There was<br>
 something in the bearing and manner of this one-time nurse
that<br>
 impressed him, although he was not a man to be lightly
impressed.<br>
 He had a feeling that be had made a fool of himself and it
bothered<br>
 him. For a moment he did not know what he should say to this
woman<br>
 who stood before him with so much quiet energy in her bearing.
But<br>
 the something in his brain, the something that made him what he
was,<br>
 whispered to him that he had done right, and that he must
follow<br>
 up the trail he had found. That gave him back his usual
calm.</p>

<p>He took up his hat, and standing before the pale-faced
woman,<br>
 looking her firmly in the eyes, he said: "It is true that I
have<br>
 no right as yet to force my way into your house, therefore I
have<br>
 been obliged to enter it as best I could. I have done this
often<br>
 in my work, but I do it for the safety of society. And those
who<br>
 reproach me for doing it are generally those whom I have
been<br>
 obliged to persecute in the name of the law. Mrs. Bernauer,
I<br>
 will confess that there are moments in which I feel ashamed that
I<br>
 have chosen this profession that compels me to hunt down
human<br>
 beings. But I do not believe that this is one of those
moments.<br>
 You have read this morning's papers; you must know, therefore,
that<br>
 a man has been arrested and accused of the murder which
interests<br>
 you so much; you must be able to realise the terror and
anxiety<br>
 which are now filling this man's heart. For to-day's papers -
I<br>
 have read them myself - expressed the public sentiment that
the<br>
 police may succeed in convicting this man of the crime, that
the<br>
 death may be avenged and justice have her due. Several of
these<br>
 papers, the papers I know you have bought and presumably read,
do<br>
 not doubt that Johann Knoll is the murderer of Leopold
Winkler.</p>

<p>"Now there are at least two people who do not believe that
Knoll is<br>
 the murderer. I am one of them, and you, Mrs. Bernauer, you
are<br>
 the other. I am going now and when I come again, as I
doubtless<br>
 will come again, I will come with full right to enter this
house.<br>
 I acknowledge frankly that I have no justification in causing
your<br>
 arrest as yet, but you are quite clever enough to know that if
I<br>
 had the faintest justification I would not leave here alone.
And<br>
 one thing more I have to say. You may not know that I have had
the<br>
 most extraordinary luck in my profession, that in more than
a<br>
 hundred cases there have been but two where the criminal I
was<br>
 hunting escaped me. And now, Mrs. Bernauer, I will bid you
good<br>
 day."</p>

<p>Muller stepped towards the window and motioned to Franz, who
was<br>
 walking up and down outside. The old man ran to the door and
met<br>
 the detective in the hall.</p>

<p>"You'd better go in and look after Mrs. Bernauer," said
the<br>
 latter, "I can find my way out alone."</p>

<p>Franz looked after him, shaking his head in bewilderment and
then<br>
 entered his own room. "Merciful God!" he exclaimed, bending
down<br>
 in terror over the housekeeper, who lay on the floor. In his
shock<br>
 and bewilderment he imagined that she too had been murdered,
until<br>
 he realised that it was only a swoon from which she recovered
in<br>
 a moment. He helped her regain her feet and she looked about
as<br>
 if still dazed, stammering: "Has he gone?"</p>

<p>"The strange man? ... Yes, he went some time ago. But what<br>
 happened to you? Did he give you something to make you faint?
Do<br>
 you think he was a thief?"</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer shook her head and murmured: "Oh, no, quite
the<br>
 contrary." A remark which did not enlighten Franz
particularly<br>
 as to the status of the man who had just left them. There was
a<br>
 note of fear in the housekeepers s voice and she added
hastily:<br>
 "Does any one besides ourselves know that he was here?"</p>

<p>No. Lizzie and the cook are in the kitchen talking about
the<br>
 murder."</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer shivered again and went slowly out of the room
and<br>
 up the stairs.</p>

<p>If Franz believed that the stranger had left the house by
the<br>
 front entrance he was very much mistaken. When Muller found<br>
 himself alone in the corridor he turned quickly and hurried
out<br>
 into the garden. None of the servants had seen him. Lizzie
and<br>
 the cook were engaged in an earnest conversation in the
kitchen<br>
 and Franz was fully occupied with Mrs. Bernauer. The
gardener<br>
 was away and his wife busy at her wash tubs. No one was
aware,<br>
 therefore, that Muller spent about ten minutes wandering about
the<br>
 garden, and ten minutes were quite sufficient for him to become
so<br>
 well acquainted with the place that he could have drawn a map
of<br>
 it. He left the garden through the rear gate, the latch of
which<br>
 he was obliged to leave open. The gardener's wife found it
that<br>
 way several hours later and was rather surprised thereat.
Muller<br>
 walked down the street rapidly and caught a passing tramway.
His<br>
 mood was not of the best, for he could not make up his mind
whether<br>
 or no this morning had been a lost one. His mind sorted and<br>
 rearranged all that he knew or could imagine concerning Mrs.<br>
 Bernaner. But there was hardly enough of these facts to
reassure<br>
 him that he was not on a false trail, that he had not
allowed<br>
 himself to waste precious hours all because he had seen a
woman's<br>
 haggard face appear for a moment at the little gate in the quiet
street.</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER VIII</h2>

<h3>JOHANN KNOLL REMEMBERS SOMETHING ELSE</h3>

<p><br>
 Muller's goal was the prison where Johann Knoll was awaiting
his<br>
 fate. The detective had permission to see the man as often
as<br>
 he wished to. Knoll had been proven a thief, but the
accusation<br>
 of murder against him had not been strengthened by anything
but<br>
 the most superficial circumstantial evidence, therefore it
was<br>
 necessary that Muller should talk with him in the hope of<br>
 discovering something more definite.</p>

<p>Knoll lay asleep on his cot as the detective and the warder
entered<br>
 the cell. Muller motioned the attendant to leave him alone
with<br>
 the prisoner and he stood beside the cot looking down at the
man.<br>
 The face on the hard pillow was not a very pleasant one to look
at.<br>
 The skin was roughened and swollen and had that brown-purple
tinge<br>
 which comes from being constantly in the open air, and from
habitual<br>
 drinking. The weather-beaten look may be seen often in the faces
of<br>
 men whose honest work keeps them out of doors; but this man had
not<br>
 earned his colouring honestly, for he was one of the sort who
worked<br>
 only from time to time when it was absolutely necessary and
there<br>
 was no other way of getting a penny. His hands proved this,
for<br>
 although soiled and grimy they had soft, slender fingers
which<br>
 showed no signs of a life of toil. But even a man who has
spent<br>
 forty years in useless idling need not be all bad. There must
have<br>
 been some good left in this man or he could not have lain there
so<br>
 quietly, breathing easily, wrapped in a slumber as undisturbed
as<br>
 that of a child. It did not seem possible that any man could
lie<br>
 there like that with the guilt of murder on his conscience, or
even<br>
 with the knowledge in his soul that he had plundered a
corpse.</p>

<p> </p>

<p><br>
 Muller had never believed the first to be the case, but he
had<br>
 thought it possible that Knoll knew perfectly well that it was
a<br>
 lifeless body he was robbing. He had believed it at least
until<br>
 the moment when he stood looking down at the sleeping tramp.
Now,<br>
 with the deep knowledge of the human heart which was his by<br>
 instinct and which his profession had increased a
thousand-fold,<br>
 Muller knew that this man before him had no heavy crime upon
his<br>
 conscience - that it was really as he had said - that he had
taken<br>
 the watch and purse from one whom he believed to be
intoxicated<br>
 only. Of course it was not a very commendable deed for which
the<br>
 tramp was now in prison, but it was slight in comparison to
the<br>
 crimes of which he was suspected.</p>

<p>Muller bent lower over the unconscious form and was surprised
to<br>
 see a gentle smile spread over the face before him. It
brightened<br>
 and changed the coarse rough face and gave it for a moment a
look<br>
 of almost child-like innocence. Somewhere within the
coarsened<br>
 soul there must be a spot of brightness from which such a
smile<br>
 could come.</p>

<p>But the face grew ugly again as Knoll opened his eyes and
looked<br>
 up. He shook off the clouds of slumber as he felt Muller's
hand<br>
 on his shoulder and raised himself to a sitting position,
grumbling:<br>
 "Can't I have any rest? Are they going to question me again?
I'm<br>
 getting tired of this. I've said everything I know anyhow."</p>

<p>"Perhaps not everything. Perhaps you will answer a few of
my<br>
 questions when I tell you that I believe the story you told
us<br>
 yesterday, and that I want to be your friend and help you."</p>

<p>Knoll's little eyes glanced up without embarrassment at the
man<br>
 who spoke to him. They were sharp eyes and had a certain spark
of<br>
 intelligence in them. Muller had noticed that yesterday, and
he<br>
 saw it again now. But he saw also the gleam of distrust in
these<br>
 eyes, a distrust which found expression in Knoll's next
words.<br>
 "You think you can catch me with your good words, but you're
makin'<br>
 a mistake. I've got nothin' new to say. And you needn't
think<br>
 that you can blind me, I know you're one of the police, and
I'm<br>
 not going to say anything at all."</p>

<p>"Just as you like. I was trying to help you, I believe I
really<br>
 could help you. I have just come from Hietzing - but of course
if<br>
 you don't want to talk to me - " Muller shrugged his shoulders
and<br>
 turned toward the door.</p>

<p>But before he reached it Knoll stood at his side. "You really
mean<br>
 to help me?" he gasped.</p>

<p>"I do," said the detective calmly.</p>

<p>"Then swear, on your mother's soul - or is your mother still
alive?"</p>

<p>"No, she has been dead some time."</p>

<p>"Well, then, will you swear it?"</p>

<p>"Would you believe an oath like that?"</p>

<p>"Why shouldn't I?"</p>

<p>"With the life you've been leading?"</p>

<p>"My life's no worse than a lot of others. Stealing those
things on<br>
 Monday was the worst thing I've done yet. Will you swear?"</p>

<p>"Is it something so very important you have to tell me?"</p>

<p>"No, I ain't got nothin' at all new to tell you. But I'd just
like<br>
 to know - in this black hole I've got into - I'd just like to
know<br>
 that there's one human being who means well with me - I'd like
to<br>
 know that there's one man in the world who don't think I'm
quite<br>
 good-for-nothin'."</p>

<p>The tramp covered his face with his hands and gave a
heart-rending<br>
 sob. Deep pity moved the detective's breast. He led Knoll back
to<br>
 his cot, and put both hands on his shoulders, saying gravely:
"I<br>
 believe that this theft was the worst thing you have done. By
my<br>
 mother's salvation, Knoll, I believe your words and I will try
to<br>
 help you."</p>

<p>Knoll raised his head, looking up at Muller with a glance
of<br>
 unspeakable gratitude. With trembling lips he kissed the
hand<br>
 which a moment before had pressed kindly on his shoulder,
clinging<br>
 fast to it as if he could not bear to let it go. Muller was
almost<br>
 embarrassed. "Oh, come now, Knoll, don't be foolish. Pull
yourself<br>
 together and answer my questions carefully, for I am asking
you<br>
 these questions more for your own sake than for anything
else."</p>

<p>The tramp nodded and wiped the tears from his face. He
looked<br>
 almost happy again, and there was a softness in his eyes
that<br>
 showed there was something in the man which might be saved
and<br>
 which was worth saving.</p>

<p>Muller sat beside him on the cot and began: "There was one
mistake<br>
 in your story yesterday. I want you to think it over
carefully.<br>
 You said that you saw first a woman and then a man going
through<br>
 the neighbouring garden. I believe that one or both of these<br>
 people is the criminal for whom we are looking. Therefore, I
want<br>
 you to try and remember everything that you can connect with
them,<br>
 every slightest detail. Anything that you can tell us may be
of<br>
 the greatest importance. Therefore, think very carefully."</p>

<p>Knoll sat still a few moments, evidently trying hard to put
his<br>
 hazy recollections into useful form and shape. But it was
also<br>
 evident that orderly thinking was an unusual work for him, and
he<br>
 found it almost too difficult. "I guess you 'better ask me<br>
 questions, maybe that'll go," he said after a pause.</p>

<p>Then Muller began to question. With his usual thoroughness
he<br>
 began at the very beginning: "When was it that you climbed
the<br>
 fence to get into the shed?"</p>

<p>"It just struck nine o'clock when I put my foot on the lowest
bar."</p>

<p>"Are you sure of that?"</p>

<p>"Quite sure. I counted every stroke. You see, I wanted to
know<br>
 how long the night was going to be, seein' I'd have to sleep
in<br>
 that shed. I was in the garden just exactly an hour. I came
out<br>
 of the shed as it struck ten and it wasn't but a few minutes
before<br>
 I was in the street again."</p>

<p>"And when was it that you saw the woman in the garden next
door?"</p>

<p>"H'm, I don't just know when that was. I'd been in on the
bench<br>
 quite a while."</p>

<p>"And the man? When did you see the man?"</p>

<p>"He came past a few minutes after the woman had gone towards
the<br>
 little house in the garden."</p>

<p>"Ah! there you see, that's where you made your mistake. It
is<br>
 more than likely that these two did not go to the little house,
but<br>
 that they went somewhere else. Did they walk slowly and
quietly?"</p>

<p>"Not a bit of it. They ran almost ... Went past as quick as a
bat<br>
 in the night."</p>

<p>"Then they both appeared to be in a hurry?"</p>

<p>"Yes indeed they did."</p>

<p>"Ah, ha, you see! Now when any one's in a hurry he doesn't go
the<br>
 longest way round, as a rule. And it would have been the
longest<br>
 way round for these two people to go from the big house to
the<br>
 gardener's cottage - for the little house you saw was the
gardener's<br>
 cottage. There is tall thick hedge that starts from the main<br>
 building and goes right down through the garden, quite a
distance<br>
 past the gardener's cottage. The vegetable garden is on the
left<br>
 side of this hedge and in the middle of the vegetable garden is
the<br>
 gardener's cottage. But you could have seen the man and the
woman<br>
 only because they passed down the right side of the hedge, and
this<br>
 would have given them a detour of fifty paces or more to
reach<br>
 the gardener's house. Nov do you think that two people who
were<br>
 very much in a hurry would have gone down the right side of
the<br>
 hedge, to reach a place which they could have gotten to much
quicker<br>
 on the left side?"</p>

<p>"No, that would have been a fool thing to do."</p>

<p>"And you are quite sure that these people were in a
hurry?"</p>

<p>"That's dead sure. I scarcely saw them before they'd gone
again."</p>

<p>"And you didn't see them come back?"</p>

<p>"No, at least I didn't pay any further attention to them. When
I<br>
 thought it wouldn't be any good to look about in there I
turned<br>
 around and dozed off."</p>

<p>"And it was during this dozing that you thought you heard the
shot?"</p>

<p>Yes, sir, that's right."</p>

<p>"And you didn't notice anything else? You didn't hear
anything<br>
 else."</p>

<p>"No, nothin' at all, there was so much noise anyway. There was
a<br>
 high wind that night and the trees were rattling and
creaking."</p>

<p>"And you didn't see anything else, anything that attracted
your<br>
 attention?"</p>

<p>"No, nothing - " Knoll did not finish his sentence, but
began<br>
 another instead. He had suddenly remembered something which
had<br>
 seemed to him of no importance before. "There was a light
that<br>
 went out suddenly."</p>

<p>"Where?"</p>

<p>"In the side of the house that I could see from my place.
There<br>
 was a lamp in the last window of the second story, a lamp with
a<br>
 red shade. That lamp went out all at once."</p>

<p>"Was the window open?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"There was a strong wind that night, might not the wind have
blown<br>
 the lamp out?"</p>

<p>"No, that wasn't it," said Knoll, rising hastily.</p>

<p>"Well, how was it?" asked Muller calmly.</p>

<p>"A hand put out the lamp."</p>

<p>"Whose hand?"</p>

<p>"I couldn't see that. The light was so low on account of the
shade<br>
 that I couldn't see the person who stood there."</p>

<p>"And you don't know whether it was a man or a woman?"</p>

<p>"No, I just saw a hand, more like a shadow it was."</p>

<p>"Well, it doesn't matter much anyway. It was after nine
o'clock<br>
 and many people go to bed about that time," said Muller, who
did<br>
 not see much value in this incident.</p>

<p>But Knoll shook his head. "The person who put out that light
didn't<br>
 go to bed, at least not right away," he said eagerly. "I
looked<br>
 over after a while to the place where the red light was and I
saw<br>
 something else."</p>

<p>"Well, what was it you saw?"</p>

<p>"The window had been closed."</p>

<p>"Who closed it? Didn't you see the person that time? The
moonlight<br>
 lay full on the house."</p>

<p>"Yes, when there weren't any clouds. But there was a heavy
cloud<br>
 over the moon just then and when it came out again the window
was<br>
 shut and there was a white curtain drawn in front of it."</p>

<p>"How could you see that?"</p>

<p>"I could see it when the lamp was lit again."</p>

<p>"Then the lamp was lit again?"</p>

<p>"Yes, I could see the red light behind the curtain."</p>

<p>"And what happened then?"</p>

<p>"Nothing more then, except that the man went through the
garden."</p>

<p>Muller rose now and took up his hat. He was evidently excited
and<br>
 Knoll looked at him uneasily. "You're goin' already?" he
asked.</p>

<p>"Yes, I have a great deal to do to-day," replied the detective
and<br>
 nodded to the prisoner as he knocked on the door. "I am glad
you<br>
 remembered that," he added, "it will be of use to us, I
think."</p>

<p>The warder opened the door, let Muller out, and the heavy
iron<br>
 portal clanged again between Knoll and freedom.</p>

<p>Muller was quite satisfied with the result of his visit to
the<br>
 accused. He hurried to the nearest cab stand and entered one
of<br>
 the carriages waiting there. He gave the driver Mrs.
Klingmayer's<br>
 address. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon now and
Muller<br>
 had had nothing to eat yet. But he was quite unaware of the
fact<br>
 as his mind was so busy that no mere physical sensation
could<br>
 divert his attention for a moment. Muller never seemed to
need<br>
 sleep or food when he was on the trail, particularly not in
the<br>
 fascinating first stages of the case when it was his
imagination<br>
 alone, catching at trifles unnoticed by others, combining them
in<br>
 masterly fashion to an ordered whole, that first led the
seekers<br>
 to the truth. Now he went over once more all the little
apparently<br>
 trivial incidents that had caused him first to watch the
Thorne<br>
 household and then had drawn his attention, and his
suspicion,<br>
 to Adele Bernauer. It was the broken willow twig that had
first<br>
 drawn his attention to the old garden next the Thorne
property.<br>
 This twig, this garden, and perhaps some one who could reach
his<br>
 home again, unseen and unendangered through this garden -
might<br>
 not this have something to do with the murder?</p>

<p>The breaking of the twig was already explained. It was
Johann<br>
 Knoll who had stepped on it. But he had not climbed the wall
at<br>
 all, had only crept along it looking for a night's shelter.
And<br>
 there was no connection between Knoll and the people who
lived<br>
 in the Thorne house. Muller had not the slightest doubt that
the<br>
 tramp had told the entire truth that day and the day
preceding.</p>

<p><br>
 Then the detective's mind went back to the happenings of
Tuesday<br>
 morning. The little twig had first drawn his attention to
the<br>
 Thorne estate and the people who lived there. He had seen
the<br>
 departure of the young couple and had passed the house again
that<br>
 afternoon and the following day, drawn to it as if by a
magnet.<br>
 He had not been able then to explain what it was that
attracted<br>
 him; there had been nothing definite in his mind as he
strolled<br>
 past the old mansion. But his repeated appearance had been
noticed<br>
 by some one - by one person only - the housekeeper. Why should
she<br>
 have noticed it? Had she any reason for believing that she
might<br>
 be watched? People with an uneasy conscience are very apt to<br>
 connect even perfectly natural trivial circumstances with their
own<br>
 doings. Adele Bernauer had evidently connected Muller's
repeated<br>
 passing with something that concerned herself even before
the<br>
 detective had thought of her at all.</p>

<p>Muller had not noticed her until he had seen her peculiar
conduct<br>
 that very morning. When he heard Franz's words and saw how<br>
 disturbed the woman was, he asked himself: "Why did this
woman<br>
 want to be shown the spot of the murder? Didn't she know
that<br>
 place, living so near it, as well as any of the many who
stood<br>
 there staring in morbid curiosity? Did she ask to have it
shown<br>
 her that the others might believe she had nothing whatever to
do<br>
 with the occurrences that had happened there? Or was she
drawn<br>
 thither by that queer attraction that brings the criminal back
to<br>
 the scene of his crime?"</p>

<p>The sudden vision of Mrs. Bernauer's head at the garden gate,
and<br>
 its equally sudden disappearance had attracted Muller's
attention<br>
 and his thoughts to the woman. What he had been able to
learn<br>
 about her had increased his suspicions and her involuntary<br>
 exclamation when she met him face to face in the house had
proved<br>
 beyond a doubt that there was something on her mind. His
open<br>
 accusation, her demeanour, and finally her swoon, were all links
in<br>
 the chain of evidence that this woman knew something about
the<br>
 murder in the quiet lane.</p>

<p>With this suspicion in his mind what Muller had learned from
Knoll<br>
 was of great value to him, at all events of great interest.
Was<br>
 it the housekeeper who had put out the light? For now Muller
did<br>
 not doubt for a moment that this sudden extinguishing of the
lamp<br>
 was a signal. He believed that Knoll had seen clearly and that
he<br>
 had told truly what he had seen. A lamp that is blown out by
the<br>
 wind flickers uneasily before going out. A sudden extinguishing
of<br>
 the light means human agency. And the lamp was lit again a
few<br>
 moments afterward and burned on steadily as before. A short
time<br>
 after the lamp had been put out the man had been seen going
through<br>
 the garden. And it could not have been much later before the
shot<br>
 was heard. This shot had been fired between the hours of nine
and<br>
 ten, for it was during this hour only that Knoll was in the
garden<br>
 house and heard the shot. But it was not necessary to depend
upon<br>
 the tramp's evidence alone to determine the exact hour of the
shot.<br>
 It must have been before half past nine, or otherwise the
janitor<br>
 of No.1, who came home at that hour and lay awake so long,
would<br>
 undoubtedly have heard a shot fired so near his domicile, in
spite<br>
 of the noise occasioned by the high wind. There would have
been<br>
 sufficient time for Mrs. Bernauer to have reached the place of
the<br>
 murder between the putting out of the lamp and the firing of
the<br>
 shot. But perhaps she may have rested quietly in her room;
she<br>
 may have been only the inciter or the accomplice of the deed.
But<br>
 at all events, she knew something about it, she was in some
way<br>
 connected with it.</p>

<p>Muller drew a deep breath. He felt much easier now that he
had<br>
 arranged his thoughts and marshalled in orderly array all the
facts<br>
 he had already gathered. There was nothing to do now but to
follow<br>
 up a given path step by step and he could no longer reproach
himself<br>
 that he might have cast suspicion on an innocent soul. No,
his<br>
 bearing towards Mrs. Bernauer had not been sheer brutality.
His<br>
 instinct, which had led him so unerringly so many times, had
again<br>
 shown him the right way when he had thrust the accusation in
her<br>
 face.</p>

<p>Now that his mind was easier he realised that he was very
hungry.<br>
 He drove to a restaurant and ordered a hasty meal.</p>

<p>"Beer, sir?' asked the waiter for the third time.</p>

<p>"No," answered Muller, also for the third time.</p>

<p>"Then you'll take wine, sir?" asked the insistent
Ganymede.</p>

<p>"Oh, go to the devil! When I want anything I'll ask for
it,"<br>
 growled the detective, this time effectively scaring the
waiter.<br>
 It did not often happen that a customer refused drinks, but
then<br>
 there were not many customers who needed as clear, a head as<br>
 Muller knew he would have to have to-day. Always a light
drinker,<br>
 it was one of his rules never to touch a drop of liquor
during<br>
 this first stage of the mental working out of any new
problem<br>
 which presented itself. But soft-hearted as he was, he
repented<br>
 of his irritation a moment later and soothed the waiter's
wounded<br>
 feelings by a rich tip. The boy ran out to open the cab door
for<br>
 his strange customer and looked after him, wondering whether
the<br>
 man was a cranky millionaire or merely a poet. For Joseph<br>
 Muller, by name and by reputation one of the best known men
in<br>
 Vienna, was by sight unknown to all except the few with whom
he<br>
 had to do on the police force. His appearance, in every way<br>
 inconspicuous, and the fact that he never sought acquaintance
with<br>
 any one, was indeed of the greatest possible assistance to him
in<br>
 his work. Many of those who saw him several times in a day
would<br>
 pass him or look him full in the face without recognising him.
It<br>
 was only, as in the case of Mrs. Bernauer, the guilty
conscience<br>
 that remembered face and figure of this quiet-looking man who
was<br>
 one of the most-feared servants of the law in Austria.</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER IX</h2>

<h3>THE ELECTRICIAN</h3>

<p><br>
 When Muller reached the house where Mrs. Klingmayer lived he
ordered<br>
 the cabman to wait and hurried up to the widow's little
apartment.<br>
 He had the key to Leopold Winkler's room in his own pocket,
for<br>
 Mrs. Klingmayer had given this key to Commissioner von Riedau
at<br>
 the latter's request and the commissioner had given it to
Muller.<br>
 The detective told the good woman not to bother about him as
he<br>
 wanted to make an examination of the place alone. Left to
himself<br>
 in the little room, Muller made a thorough search of it,
opening<br>
 the cupboard, the bureau drawers, every possible receptacle
where<br>
 any article could be kept or hidden. What he wanted to find
was<br>
 some letter, some bit of paper, some memoranda perhaps,
anything<br>
 that would show any connection existing between the murdered
man<br>
 and Mrs. Bernauer, who lived so near the place where this man
had<br>
 died and who was so greatly interested in his murder.</p>

<p><br>
 The detective's search was not quite in vain, although he could
not<br>
 tell yet whether what he had found would be of any value.
Leopold<br>
 Winkler had had very little correspondence, or else he had had
no<br>
 reason to keep the letters he received. Muller found only about
a<br>
 half dozen letters in all. Three of them were from women of
the<br>
 half-world, giving dates for meetings. Another was written by
a<br>
 man and signed "Theo." This "Theo" appeared to be the same
sort<br>
 of a cheap rounder that Winkler was. And he seemed to have
sunk<br>
 one grade deeper than the dead man, in spite of the latter's
bad<br>
 reputation. For this other addressed Winkler as his "Dear
Friend"<br>
 and pleaded with him for "greater discretion," alluding
evidently<br>
 to something which made this discretion necessary.</p>

<p>"I wonder what rascality it was that made these two
friends?"<br>
 murmured Muller, putting "Theo's letter with the three he
had<br>
 already read. But before he slipped it in his pocket he glanced
at<br>
 the postmark. The letters of the three women had all been
posted<br>
 from different quarters of the city some months ago. Theo's
letter<br>
 was postmarked "Marburg," and dated on the 1st of September
of<br>
 the present year.</p>

<p>Then Muller looked at the postmark of the two remaining
letters<br>
 which he had not yet read, and whistled softly to himself.
Both<br>
 these letters were posted from a certain station in Hietzing,
the<br>
 station which was nearest his own lodgings and also nearest
the<br>
 Thorne house. He looked at the postmark more sharply. They
both<br>
 bore the dates of the present year, one of them being stamped
"March<br>
 17th," the other "September 24th." This last letter
interested<br>
 the detective most.</p>

<p>Muller was not of a nervous disposition, but his hand
trembled<br>
 slightly as he took the letter from its envelope. It was
clear<br>
 that this letter had been torn open hastily, for the edges of
the<br>
 opening were jagged and uneven.</p>

<p>When the detective had read the letter - it contained but a
few<br>
 lines and bore neither address nor signature - he glanced
over<br>
 it once more as if to memorise the words. They were as
follows:<br>
 "Do not come again. In a day or two I will be able to do what
I<br>
 have to do. I will send you later news to your office.
Impatience<br>
 will not help you." - These words were written hastily on a
piece<br>
 of paper that looked as if it had been torn from a pad. In
spite<br>
 of the haste the writer had been at some pains to disguise
the<br>
 handwriting. But it was a clumsy disguise, done by one not<br>
 accustomed to such tricks, and it was evidently done by a
woman.<br>
 All she had known how to do to disguise her writing had been
to<br>
 twist and turn the paper while writing, so that every letter
had<br>
 a different position. The letters were also made unusually
long.<br>
 This peculiarity of the writing was seen on both letters and
both<br>
 envelopes. The earlier letter was still shorter and seemed to
have<br>
 been written with the same haste, and with the same disgust,
or<br>
 perhaps even hatred, for the man to whom it was written.</p>

<p>"Come to-morrow, but not before eight o'clock. He has gone
away.<br>
 God forgive him and you." This was the contents of the letter
of<br>
 the 17th of March. That is, the writer had penned the letter
this<br>
 way. But the last two words, "and you," had evidently not
come<br>
 from her heart, for she had annulled them by a heavy stroke of
the<br>
 pen. A stroke that seemed like a knife thrust, so full of
rage<br>
 and hate it was.</p>

<p>"So he was called to a rendezvous in Hietzing, too,"
murmured<br>
 Muller, then he added after a few moments: "But this rendezvous
had<br>
 nothing whatever to do with love."</p>

<p>There was nothing else in Winkler's room which could be of any
value<br>
 to Muller in the problem that was now before him. And yet he
was<br>
 very well satisfied with the result of his errand.</p>

<p>He entered his cab again, ordering the driver to take him
to<br>
 Hietzing. Just before he had reached the corner where he had
told<br>
 the man to stop, another cab passed them, a coupe, in which was
a<br>
 solitary woman. Muller had just time enough to recognise this
woman<br>
 as Adele Bernauer, and to see that she looked even more haggard
and<br>
 miserable than she had that morning. She did not look up as
the<br>
 other cab passed her carriage, therefore she did not see
Muller.<br>
 The detective looked at his watch and saw that it was almost<br>
 half-past four. The unexpected meeting changed, his plans for
the<br>
 afternoon. He had decided that he must enter the Thorne
mansion<br>
 again that very day, for he must find out the meaning of the<br>
 red-shaded lamp. And now that the housekeeper was away it
would<br>
 be easier for him to get into the house, therefore it must be
done<br>
 at once. His excuse was all ready, for he had been weighing<br>
 possibilities. He dismissed his cab a block from his own home
and<br>
 entered his house cautiously.</p>

<p>Muller's lodgings consisted of two large rooms, really much
too<br>
 large for a lone man who was at home so little. But Muller
had<br>
 engaged them at first sight, for the apartment possessed one<br>
 qualification which was absolutely necessary for him. Its<br>
 situation and the arrangement of its doors made it possible
for<br>
 him to enter and leave his rooms without being seen either by
his<br>
 own landlady or by the other lodgers in the house. The
little<br>
 apartment was on the ground floor, and Muller's own rooms had
a<br>
 separate entrance opening on to the main corridor almost
immediately<br>
 behind the door. Nine times out of ten, he could come and go<br>
 without being seen by any one in the house. To-day was the
first<br>
 time, however, that Muller had had occasion to try this
particular<br>
 qualification of his new lodgings.</p>

<p>He opened the street door and slipped into his own room
without<br>
 having seen or been seen by any one.</p>

<p>Fifteen minutes later he left the apartment again, but left
it<br>
 such a changed man that nobody who had seen him go in would
have<br>
 recognised him. Before he came out, however, he looked about<br>
 carefully to see whether there was any one in sight He came
out<br>
 unseen and was just closing the main door behind him, when he
met<br>
 the janitress.</p>

<p>"Were you looking for anybody in the house?" said the
woman,<br>
 glancing sharply at the stranger, who answered in a slightly
veiled<br>
 voice: "No, I made a mistake in the number. The place I am
looking<br>
 for is two houses further down."</p>

<p>He walked down the street and the woman looked after him until
she<br>
 saw him turn into the doorway of the second house. Then she
went<br>
 into her own rooms. The house Muller entered happened to be
a<br>
 corner house with an entrance on the other street, through
which<br>
 the detective passed and went on his way. He was quite
satisfied<br>
 with the security of his disguise, for the woman who knew him
well<br>
 had not recognised him at all. If his own janitress did not
know<br>
 him, the people in the Thorne house would never imagine it was
he.</p>

<p>And indeed Muller was entirely changed. In actuality small
and<br>
 thin, with sparse brown hair and smooth shaven face, he was now
an<br>
 inch or two taller and very much stouter. He wore thick curly
blond<br>
 hair, a little pointed blond beard and moustache. His eyes
were<br>
 hidden by heavy-rimmed spectacles.</p>

<p>It was just half-past five when he rang the bell at the
entrance<br>
 gate to the Thorne property. He had spent the intervening time
in<br>
 the cafe, as he was in no hurry to enter the house. Franz came
down<br>
 the path and opened the door. "'What do you want?" he asked.</p>

<p>"I come from Siemens &amp; Halske; I was to ask whether the
other man - "</p>

<p>"Has been here already?" interrupted Franz, adding in an
irritated<br>
 tone, "No, he hasn't been here at all."</p>

<p>"Well, I guess he didn't get through at the other place in
time.<br>
 I'll see what the trouble is," said the stranger, whom Franz<br>
 naturally supposed to be the electrician, lie opened the gate
and<br>
 asked the other to come in, leading him into the house. Under
a<br>
 cloudy sky the day was fading rapidly. Muller knew that it
would<br>
 not occur to the real electrician to begin any work as late as
this,<br>
 and that he was perfectly safe in the examination he wanted to
make.</p>

<p>"Well, what's the trouble here? Why did you write to our
firm?"<br>
 asked the supposed electrician.</p>

<p>"The wires must cross somewhere, or there's something wrong
with<br>
 the bells. When the housekeeper touches the button in her room
to<br>
 ring for the cook or the upstairs girl, the bell rings in Mr.
Thorne's<br>
 room. It starts ringing and it keeps up with a deuce of a
noise.<br>
 Fortunately the family are away."</p>

<p>"Well, we'll fix it all right for you. First of all I want to
look<br>
 at the button in the housekeeper's room."</p>

<p>"I'll take you up there," said Franz.</p>

<p>They walked through the wide corridor, then turned into a
shorter,<br>
 darker hall and went up a narrow winding stairway. Franz
halted<br>
 before a door in the second story. It was the last of the
three<br>
 doors in the hall." Muller took off his hat as the door
opened<br>
 and murmured a "good-evening."</p>

<p>"There's no one there; Mrs. Bernaner's out."</p>

<p>"Has she gone away, too?" asked the electrician hastily.</p>

<p>Franz did not notice that there was a slight change in the
stranger's<br>
 voice at this question, and he answered calmly as ever: "Oh,
no;<br>
 she's just driven to town. I think she went to see the doctor
who<br>
 lives quite a distance away. She hasn't been feeling at all
well.<br>
 She took a cab to-day. I told her she ought to, as she wasn't
well<br>
 enough to go by the tram. She ought to be home any moment
now."</p>

<p>"Well, I'll hurry up with the job so that I'll be out of the
way<br>
 when the lady comes," said Muller, as Franz led him to the<br>
 misbehaving bell.</p>

<p>It was in the wall immediately above a large table which
filled the<br>
 window niche so completely that there was but scant space left
for<br>
 the comfortable armchair that stood in front of it. The window
was<br>
 open and Muller leaned out, looking down at the garden
below.</p>

<p>"What a fine old garden!" he exclaimed aloud. To himself he
said:<br>
 "This is the last window in the left wing. It is the window
where<br>
 Johann Knoll saw the red light."</p>

<p>And when he turned back into the room again he found the
source of<br>
 this light right at his hand on the handsome old table at which
Mrs.<br>
 Bernauer evidently spent many of her hours. A row of books
stood<br>
 against the wall, framing the back of the table. Well-worn
volumes<br>
 of the classics among them gave proof that the one-time nurse
was a<br>
 woman of education. A sewing basket and neat piles of house
linen,<br>
 awaiting repairs, covered a large part of the table-top, and
beside<br>
 them stood a gracefully shaped lamp, covered by a shade of soft
red<br>
 silk.</p>

<p>It took Muller but a few seconds to see all this. Then he set
about<br>
 his investigation of the electric button. He unscrewed the
plate<br>
 and examined the wires meeting under it. While doing so he
cast<br>
 another glance at the table and saw a letter lying there, an
open<br>
 letter half out of its envelope. This envelope was of unusual
shape,<br>
 long and narrow, and the paper was heavy and high-glossed.</p>

<p>"Your housekeeper evidently has no secrets from the rest of
you,"<br>
 Muller remarked with a laugh, still busy at the wires, "or
she<br>
 wouldn't leave her letters lying about like that."</p>

<p>"Oh, we've all heard what's in that letter," replied Franz.
"She<br>
 read it to us when it came this morning. It's from the Madam.
She<br>
 sent messages to all of us and orders, so Mrs. Bernauer read us
the<br>
 whole letter. There's no secrets in that."</p>

<p>"The button has been pressed in too far and caught down. That
seems<br>
 to be the main trouble," said Muller, readjusting the little
knob.<br>
 "I'd like a candle here if I may have one."</p>

<p>"I'll get you a light at once," said Franz. But his
intentions,<br>
 however excellent, seemed difficult of fulfilment. It was
rapidly<br>
 growing dark, and the old butler peered about uncertainly.
"Stupid,"<br>
 he muttered. "I don't know where she keeps the matches. I
can't<br>
 find them anywhere. I'm not a smoker, so I haven't any in my
pocket."</p>

<p>"Nor I," said Muller calmly, letting his hand close
protectingly<br>
 over a new full box of them in his own pocket.</p>

<p>"I'll get you some from my own room," and Franz hurried away,
his<br>
 loose slippers clattering down the stairs. He was no sooner
well<br>
 out of the room than Muller had the letter in his hand and
was<br>
 standing close by the window to catch the fading light. But on
the<br>
 old servant's return the supposed electrician stood calmly
awaiting<br>
 the coming of the light, and the letter was back on the table
half<br>
 hidden by a piece of linen. Franz did not notice that the
envelope<br>
 was missing. And the housekeeper, whose mind was so upset by
the<br>
 events of the day, and whose thoughts were on other more
absorbing<br>
 matters, would hardly be likely to remember whether she had
returned<br>
 this quite unimportant letter to its envelope or not.</p>

<p>Franz brought a lighted candle with him, and Muller, who
really did<br>
 possess a creditable knowledge of electricity, saw that the
wires<br>
 in the room were all in good condition. As he had seen at
first,<br>
 there was really nothing the matter except with the position
of<br>
 the button. But it did not suit his purpose to enlighten Franz
on<br>
 the matter just yet.</p>

<p>"Now I'd better look at the wires in the gentleman's room,"
he<br>
 said, when he had returned plate and button to their place.</p>

<p>"Just as you say," replied Franz, taking up his candle and
leading<br>
 the way out into the hail and down the winding stair. They
crossed<br>
 the lower corridor, mounted another staircase and entered a
large,<br>
 handsomely furnished room, half studio, half library. The wall
was<br>
 covered with pictures and sketches, several easels stood piled
up<br>
 in the corner, and a broad table beside them held paint
boxes,<br>
 colour tubes, brushes, all the paraphernalia of the painter,
now<br>
 carefully ordered and covered for a term of idleness. Great<br>
 bookcases towered to the ceiling, and a huge flat top desk,
a<br>
 costly piece of furniture, was covered with books and papers.
It<br>
 was the room of a man of brains and breeding, a man of talent
and<br>
 ability, possessing, furthermore, the means to indulge his
tastes<br>
 freely. Even now, with its master absent, the handsome
apartment<br>
 bore the impress of his personality. The detective's quick<br>
 imagination called up the attractive, sympathetic figure of
the<br>
 man he had seen at the gate, as his quick eye took in the
details<br>
 of the room. All the charm of Herbert Thorne's personality,
which<br>
 the keen-sensed Muller had felt so strongly even in that
fleeting<br>
 glimpse of him, came back again here in the room which was his
own<br>
 little kingdom and the expression of his mentality.</p>

<p>"Well, what's the trouble here? Where are the wires?" asked
the<br>
 detective, after the momentary pause which had followed his
entrance<br>
 into the room. Franz led him to a spot on the wall hidden by
a<br>
 marquetry cabinet. "Here's the bell, it rings for several
minutes<br>
 before it stops."</p>

<p>The light of the candle which the butler held fell upon a
portrait<br>
 hanging above the cabinet. It was a sketch in water-colours,
the<br>
 life-sized head of a man who may have been about thirty years
old,<br>
 perhaps, but who had none of the freshness and vigour of
youth.<br>
 The scanty hair, the sunken temples, and the faded skin,
emphasised<br>
 the look of dissipation given by the lines about the sensual
mouth<br>
 and the shifty eyes.</p>

<p>"Well, say, can't your master find anything better to paint
than a<br>
 face like that?" Muller asked with a laugh.</p>

<p>"Goodness me! you mustn't say such things!" exclaimed Franz
in<br>
 alarm; "that's the Madam's brother. He's an officer, I'd have
you<br>
 know. It's true, he doesn't look like much there, but that's<br>
 because he's not in uniform. It makes such a difference."</p>

<p>"Is the lady anything like her brother?" asked the
detective<br>
 indifferently, bending to examine the wiring.</p>

<p>"Oh, dear, no, not a bit; they're as different as day and
night.<br>
 He's only her half-brother anyway. She was the daughter of
the<br>
 Colonel's second wife. Our Madam is the sweetest, gentlest
lady<br>
 you can imagine, an angel of goodness. But the Lieutenant
here<br>
 has always been a care to his family, they say. I guess he's<br>
 quieted down a bit now, for his father - he's Colonel
Leining,<br>
 retired - made him get exchanged from the city to a small
garrison<br>
 town. There's nothing much to do in Marburg, I dare say -
well!<br>
 you are a merry sort, aren't you?" These last words, spoken in
a<br>
 tone of surprise, were called forth by a sudden sharp whistle
from<br>
 the detective, a whistle which went off into a few merry
bars.</p>

<p>A sudden whistle like that from Muller's lips was something
that<br>
 made the Imperial Police Force sit up and take notice, for it
meant<br>
 that things were happening, and that the happenings were likely
to<br>
 become exciting. It was a habit he could control only by the<br>
 severest effort of the will, an effort which he kept for
occasions<br>
 when it was absolutely necessary. Here, alone with the
harmless<br>
 old man, he was not so much on his guard, and the sudden
vibrating<br>
 of every nerve at the word "Marburg," found vent in the
whistle<br>
 which surprised old Franz. One young police commissioner with
a<br>
 fancy for metaphor had likened this sudden involuntary whistle
of<br>
 Muller's to the bay of the hound when he strikes the trail;
which<br>
 was about what it was.</p>

<p>"Yes, I am merry sometimes," he said with a laugh. "It's a
habit<br>
 I have. Something occurred to me just then, something I had<br>
 forgotten. Hope you don't mind."</p>

<p>"Oh, no, there's no one here now, whistle all you like."</p>

<p>But Muller's whistle was not a continuous performance, and he
had<br>
 now completely mastered the excitation of his nerves which
had<br>
 called it forth. He threw another sharp look at the picture of
the<br>
 man who lived in Marburg, and then asked: "And now where is
the<br>
 button?"</p>

<p>"By the window there, beside the desk." Franz led the way
with<br>
 his candle.</p>

<p>"Why, how funny! What are those mirrors there for?" asked
the<br>
 electrician in a tone of surprise, pointing to two small
mirrors<br>
 hanging in the window niche. They were placed at a height and
at<br>
 such a peculiar angle that no one could possibly see his
face<br>
 in them.</p>

<p>"Something the master is experimenting with, I guess. He's
always<br>
 making queer experiments; he knows a lot about scientific
things."</p>

<p>Muller shook his head as if in wonderment, and bent to
investigate<br>
 the button which was fastened into the wall beneath the window
sill.<br>
 His quick ear heard a carriage stopping in front of the house,
and<br>
 heard the closing of the front door a moment later. To
facilitate<br>
 his examination of the button, the detective had seated himself
in<br>
 the armchair which stood beside the desk. He half raised
himself<br>
 now to let the light of the candle fall more clearly on the
wiring<br>
 - then he started up altogether and threw a hasty glance at
the<br>
 mirrors above his head. A ray of light had suddenly flashed
down<br>
 upon him - a ray of red light, and it came reflected from
the<br>
 mirrors. Muller bit his lips to keep back the betraying
whistle.</p>

<p><br>
 "What's the matter?" asked the butler. "Did you drop
anything?"</p>

<p>"Yes, the wooden rim of the button," replied Muller, telling
the<br>
 truth this time. For he had held the little wooden circlet in
his<br>
 hands at the moment when the red light, reflected down from
the<br>
 mirrors, struck full upon his eyes. He had dropped it in his<br>
 surprise and excitement. Franz found the little ring in the
centre<br>
 of the room where it had rolled, and the supposed
electrician<br>
 replaced it and rose to his feet, saying: "There, I've finished
now."</p>

<p>Franz did not recognise the double meaning in the words. "Yes,
it's<br>
 all right! I've finished here now," Muller repeated to
himself.<br>
 For now he knew beyond a doubt that the red light was a signal -
and<br>
 he knew also for whom this signal was intended. It was a signal
for<br>
 Herbert Thorne! - Herbert Thorne, whom no single thought or
suspicion<br>
 of Muller's had yet connected with the murder of Leopold
Winkler.</p>

<p>The detective was very much surprised and greatly excited.
But<br>
 Franz did not notice it, and indeed a far keener observer than
the<br>
 slow-witted old butler might have failed to see the sudden
gleam<br>
 which shot up in the grey eyes behind the heavy spectacles,
might<br>
 have failed to notice the tightening of the lips beneath the
blond<br>
 moustache, or the tenseness of the slight frame under the
assumed<br>
 embonpoint. Muller's every nerve was tingling, but he had
himself<br>
 completely in hand.</p>

<p>"What do we owe you?" asked Franz.</p>

<p>"They'll send you a bill from the office. It won't amount to
much.<br>
 I must be getting on now."</p>

<p>Muller hastened out of the door and down the street to the
nearest<br>
 cab stand. There were not very many cab stands in this
vicinity,<br>
 and the detective reasoned that Mrs. Bernauer would naturally
have<br>
 taken her cab from the nearest station. He had heard her return
in<br>
 her carriage, presumably the same in which she had started
out.</p>

<p>There was but one cab at the stand. Muller walked to it and
laid<br>
 his hand on the door.</p>

<p>"Oh, Jimmy! must I go out again?" asked the driver
hoarsely.<br>
 "Can't you see the poor beast is all wet from the last ride?
We've<br>
 just come in." He pointed with his whip to the tired-looking
animal<br>
 under his blanket.</p>

<p>"Why, he does look warm. You must have been making a tour out
into<br>
 the country," said the blond gentleman in a friendly tone.</p>

<p>"No, sir, not quite so far as that. I've just taken a woman to
the<br>
 main telegraph office in the city and back again. But she was in
a<br>
 hurry and he's not a young horse, sir."</p>

<p>"Well, never mind, then; I can get another cab across the
bridge,"<br>
 replied the stout blond man, turning away and strolling off
leisurely<br>
 in the direction of the bridge. It was now quite dark, and a
few<br>
 steps further on Muller could safely turn and take the road to
his<br>
 own lodging. No one saw him go in, and in a few moments the
real<br>
 Muller, slight, smooth-shaven, sat down at his desk, looking at
the<br>
 papers that lay before him. They were three letters and an
empty<br>
 envelope.</p>

<p>He took up the last, and compared it carefully with the
envelope of<br>
 one of the letters found in Winkler's room - the unsigned
letter<br>
 postmarked Hietzing, September 24th. The two envelopes were
exactly<br>
 alike. They were of the same size and shape, made of the
same<br>
 cream-tinted, heavy, glossy paper, and the address was written
by<br>
 the same hand. This any keen observer, who need not necessarily
be<br>
 an expert, could see. The same hand which had addressed the<br>
 envelope to Mrs. Adele Bernauer on the letter which was
postmarked<br>
 "Venice," about thirty-six hours previous - this hand had, in
an<br>
 awkward and childish attempt at disguise, written Winkler's
address<br>
 on the envelope which bore the date of September 24th.</p>

<p>The writer of the harmless letter to Mrs. Bernauer, a letter
which<br>
 chatted of household topics and touched lightly on the beauties
of<br>
 Venice, was Mrs. Thorne. It was Mrs. Thorne, therefore, who,<br>
 reluctantly and in anger and distaste, had called Leopold
Winkler<br>
 to Hietzing, to his death.</p>

<p>And whose hand had fired the shot that caused his death?
The<br>
 question, at this stage in Muller's meditation, could hardly
be<br>
 called a question any more. It was all too sadly clear to him
now.<br>
 Winkler met his death at the hand of the husband, who,
discovering<br>
 the planned rendezvous, had misunderstood its motive.</p>

<p>For truly this had been no lovers' meeting. It had been a
meeting<br>
 to which the woman was driven by fear and hate; the man by greed
of<br>
 gain. This was clearly proved by the 300 guldens found in the
dead<br>
 man's pocket, money enclosed in a delicate little envelope,
sealed<br>
 hastily, and crumpled as if it had been carried in a hot and<br>
 trembling hand.</p>

<p>It was already known that Winkler never had any money except
at<br>
 certain irregular intervals, when he appeared to have come
into<br>
 possession of considerable sums. During these days he indulged
in<br>
 extravagant pleasures and spent his money with a recklessness
which<br>
 proved that he had not earned it by honest work.</p>

<p>Leopold Winkler was a blackmailer.</p>

<p>Colonel Leining, retired, the father of two such widely
different<br>
 children, was doubtless a man of stern principles, and an
army<br>
 officer as well, therefore a man with a doubly sensitive code
of<br>
 honour and a social position to maintain; and this man,
morbidly<br>
 sensitive probably, had a daughter who had inherited his<br>
 sensitiveness and his high ideals of honour, a daughter married
to<br>
 a rich husband. But he had another child, a son without any
sense<br>
 of honour at all, who, although also an officer, failed to live
in<br>
 a manner worthy his position. This son was now in Marburg,
where<br>
 there were no expensive pleasures, no all-night cafes and
gambling<br>
 dens, for a man to lose his time in, his money, and his honour
also.</p>

<p>For such must have been the case with Colonel Leining's son
before<br>
 his exile to Marburg. The old butler had hinted at the truth.
The<br>
 portrait drawn by Herbert Thorne, a picture of such
technical<br>
 excellence that it was doubtless a good likeness also, had given
an<br>
 ugly illustration to Franz's remarks. And there was something
even<br>
 more tangible to prove it: "Theo's" letter from Marburg
pleading<br>
 with Winkler for "discretion and silence," not knowing ("let
us<br>
 hope he did not know!" murmured Muller between set teeth) that
the<br>
 man who held him in his power because of some rascality, was
being<br>
 paid for his silence by the Lieutenant's sister.</p>

<p>It is easy to frighten a sensitive woman, so easy to make
her<br>
 believe the worst! And there is little such a tender-hearted
woman<br>
 will not do to save her aging father from pain and sorrow,
perhaps<br>
 even disgrace!</p>

<p>It must have been in this way that Mrs. Thorne came into the
power<br>
 of the scoundrel who paid with his life for his last attempt
at<br>
 blackmail.</p>

<p>When Muller reached this point in his chain of thought, he
closed<br>
 his eyes and covered his face with his hands, letting two
pictures<br>
 stand out clear before his mental vision.</p>

<p>He saw the little anxious group around the carriage in front
of the<br>
 Thorne mansion. He saw the pale, frail woman leaning back on
the<br>
 cushions, and the husband bending over her in tender care.
And<br>
 then he saw Johann Knoll in his cell, a man with little manhood
left<br>
 in him, a man sunk to the level of the brutes, a man who had
already<br>
 committed one crime against society, and who could never rise to
the<br>
 mental or spiritual standard of even the most mediocre of
decent<br>
 citizens.</p>

<p>If Herbert Thorne were to suffer the just punishment for his
deed<br>
 of doubly blind jealousy, then it was not only his own life, a
life<br>
 full of gracious promise, that would be ruined, but the
happiness of<br>
 his delicate, sweet-faced wife, who was doubtless still in
blessed<br>
 ignorance of what had happened. And still one other would be
dragged<br>
 down by this tragedy; a respected, upright man would bow his
white<br>
 hairs in disgrace. Thorne's father-in-law could not escape
the<br>
 scandal and his own share in the responsibility for it. And to
a<br>
 veteran officer, bred in the exaggerated social ethics of
his<br>
 profession. such a disgrace means ruin, sometimes even
voluntary<br>
 death.</p>

<p>"Oh, dear, if it had only been Knoll who did it," said Muller
with<br>
 a sigh that was almost a groan.</p>

<p>Then he rose slowly and heavily, and slowly and heavily, as if
borne<br>
 down by the weight of great weariness, he reached for his hat
and<br>
 coat and left the house.</p>

<p>Whether he wished it or not, he knew it was his duty to go on
to the<br>
 bitter end on this trail he had followed up all day from the
moment<br>
 that he caught that fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Bernauer's haggard
face<br>
 at the garden gate. He was almost angry with the woman, because
she<br>
 chanced to look out of the gate at just that moment, showing him
her<br>
 face distorted with anxiety. For it was her face that had
drawn<br>
 Muller to the trail, a trail at the end of which misery awaited
those<br>
 for whom this woman had worked for years, those whom she loved
and<br>
 who treated her as one of the family.</p>

<p>Muller knew now that the one-time nurse was in league with
her<br>
 former charge; that Thorne and Adele Bernauer were in each
other's<br>
 confidence; that the man sat waiting for the signal which she
was<br>
 to give him, a signal bringing so much disgrace and sorrow in
its<br>
 train.</p>

<p>If the woman had not spied upon and betrayed her mistress,
this<br>
 terrible event, which now weighed upon her own soul, would not
have<br>
 happened.</p>

<p>"A faithful servant, indeed," said Muller, with a harsh
laugh.</p>

<p>Then maturer consideration came and forced him to acknowledge
that<br>
 it was indeed devotion that had swayed Adele Bernauer, devotion
to<br>
 her master more than to her mistress. This was hardly to be<br>
 wondered at. But she had not thought what might come from
her<br>
 revelations, what had come of them. For now her pet, the baby
who<br>
 had once lain in her arms, the handsome, gifted man whom she
adored<br>
 with more than the love of many a mother for the child of her
own<br>
 blood, was under the shadow of hideous disgrace and doom, was
the<br>
 just prey of the law for open trial and condemnation as a
murderer.</p>

<p>Muller sighed deeply once more and then came one of those
moments<br>
 which he had spoken of to the unhappy woman that very day. He
felt<br>
 like cursing the fatal gift that was his, the gift to see what
was<br>
 hidden from others, this something within him that forced
him<br>
 relentlessly onward until he had uncovered the truth, and
brought<br>
 misery to many.</p>

<p>Muller need not do anything, he need simply do nothing. Not a
soul<br>
 besides himself suspected the dwellers in the Thorne mansion of
any<br>
 connection with the murder. If he were silent, nothing could
be<br>
 proven against Knoll after all, except the robbery which he
himself<br>
 had confessed. Then the memory of the terror in the tramp's
little<br>
 reddened eyes came back to the detective's mind.</p>

<p>"A human soul after all, and a soul trembling in the shadow of
a<br>
 great fear. And even he's a better man than the blackmailer
who<br>
 was killed. A miscarriage of justice will often make a
criminal<br>
 of a poor fellow whose worst fault is idleness." Muller's
face<br>
 darkened as the things of the past, shut down in the depths of
his<br>
 own soul, rose up again. "No; that's why I took up this
work.<br>
 Justice must be done - but it's bitter hard sometimes. I
could<br>
 almost wish now that I hadn't seen that face at the gate."</p>

<p><br>
</p>

<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>

<h3>MULLER RETURNS TO THE THORNE MANSION</h3>

<p><br>
 It was striking eight as Muller came out of a cafe in the heart
of<br>
 the city. He had been in there but a few moments, for his
purpose<br>
 was merely to look through the Army lists of the current year.
The<br>
 result of his search proved the correctness of his
conclusions.</p>

<p>There was a Lieutenant Theobald Leining in the single
infantry<br>
 regiment stationed at Marburg.</p>

<p>Muller took a cab and drove to the main telegraph office. He
asked<br>
 for the original of the telegram which had been sent that
afternoon<br>
 to the address; "Herbert Thorne, Hotel Danieli, Venice."
This<br>
 closed the circle of the chain.</p>

<p><br>
 The detective re-entered his waiting cab and drove back to
Hietzing.<br>
 He told the driver to halt at the corner of the street on
which<br>
 fronted the Thorne mansion and to wait for him there. He
himself<br>
 walked slowly down the quiet Street and rang the bell at the
iron<br>
 gate.</p>

<p>"You come to this house again?" asked Franz, starting back
in<br>
 alarm when he saw who it was that had called him to the
door.</p>

<p>"Yes, my good friend; I want to get into this house again. But
not<br>
 on false pretenses this time. And before you let me in you can
go<br>
 upstairs and ask Mrs. Bernauer if she will receive me in her
own<br>
 room - in her own room, mind. But make haste; I am in a
hurry."<br>
 The detective's tone was calm and he strolled slowly up and down
in<br>
 front of the gate when he had finished speaking.</p>

<p>The old butler hesitated a moment, then walked into the
house.<br>
 When he returned, rather more quickly, he looked alarmed and
his<br>
 tone was very humble as he asked Muller to follow him.</p>

<p>When the detective entered Mrs. Bernauer's room the
housekeeper<br>
 rose slowly from the large armchair in front of her table. She
was<br>
 very pale and her eyes were full of terror. She made no move
to<br>
 speak, so Muller began the conversation. He put down his
hat,<br>
 brought up a chair and placed it near the window at which
the<br>
 housekeeper had been sitting. Then he sat down and motioned
to<br>
 her to do the same.</p>

<p>"You are a faithful servant, all too faithful," he began.
"But<br>
 you are faithful only to your master. You have no devotion
for<br>
 his wife."</p>

<p>"You are mistaken," replied the woman in a low tone.</p>

<p>"Perhaps, but I do not think so. One does not betray the
people<br>
 to whom one is devoted."</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer looked up in surprise. "What - what do you
know?"<br>
 she stammered.</p>

<p>Muller did not answer the question directly, but continued:
"Mrs.<br>
 Thorne had a meeting recently with a strange man. It was not
their<br>
 first meeting, and somehow you discovered it. But before this
last<br>
 meeting occurred you spoke to the lady's husband about it, and
it<br>
 was arranged between you that you should give him a signal
which<br>
 would mean to him, 'Your wife is going to the meeting.' Mrs.
Thorne<br>
 did go to the meeting. This happened on Monday evening at
about<br>
 quarter past nine. Some one, who was in the neighbourhood by<br>
 chance, saw a woman's figure hurrying through the garden, down
to<br>
 the other street, and a moment after this, the light of this
lamp<br>
 in your window was seen to go out. A hand had turned down
the<br>
 wick - it was your hand.</p>

<p>"This was the signal to Mr. Thorne. The mirrors over his
desk<br>
 reflected in his eyes the light he could not otherwise have
seen<br>
 as he sat by his own window. The signal, therefore, told him
that<br>
 the time had come to act. This same chance watcher, who had
seen<br>
 the woman going through the garden, had seen the lamp go out,
and<br>
 now saw a man's figure hurrying down the path the woman had
taken.<br>
 The man as well as the woman came from this house and went in
the<br>
 direction of the lower end of the garden.</p>

<p>"A little while later a shot was heard, and the next morning
Leopold<br>
 Winkler was found with a bullet in his back. The crime was<br>
 generally taken to be a murder for the sake of robbery. But you
and<br>
 I, and Mr. Herbert Thorne, know very well that it was not.</p>

<p>"You know this since Wednesday noon. Then it was that the
idea<br>
 suddenly came to you, falling like a heavy weight on your soul,
the<br>
 idea that Winkler might not have been killed for the sake of
robbery,<br>
 but because of the hatred that some one bore him. Then it was
that<br>
 you lost your appetite suddenly, that you drove into the city
with<br>
 the excuse of errands to do, in order to read the papers
without<br>
 being seen by any one who knew you. When you came home you
searched<br>
 everywhere in your master's room: you made an excuse for this
search,<br>
 but what you wanted to find out was whether he had left
anything<br>
 that could betray him. Your fright had already confused your
mind.<br>
 You were searching probably for the weapon from which he had
fired<br>
 the bullet. You did not realise that he would naturally have
taken<br>
 it with him and thrown it somewhere into a ravine or river
beside<br>
 the railway track between here and Venice. How could you think
for<br>
 a moment that he would leave it behind him, here in his room,
or<br>
 dropped in the garden? But this was doubtless due to the
confusion<br>
 owing to your sudden alarm and anxiety - a confusion which
prevented<br>
 you from realising the danger of the two peculiarly hung mirrors
in<br>
 Mr. Thorne's room. These should have been taken away at once.
This<br>
 morning my sudden appearance at the garden gate prevented you
from<br>
 making an examination of the place of the murder. Your swoon,
after<br>
 I had spoken to you in the butler's room, showed me that you
were<br>
 carrying a burden too heavy for your strength. Finally, this<br>
 afternoon, you drove to the main telegraph office in the city,
as<br>
 you thought that it would be safer to telegraph Mr. Thorne
from<br>
 there. Your telegram was very cleverly written. But you might
have<br>
 spared the last sentence, the request that Mr. Thorne should get
the<br>
 Viennese papers of these last days. Believe me, he has already
read<br>
 these papers. Who could be more interested in what they have to
tell<br>
 than he?"</p>

<p>The housekeeper had sat as if frozen to stone during Muller's
long<br>
 speech. Her face was ashen and her eyes wild with horror. When
the<br>
 detective ceased speaking, there was dead silence in the room
for<br>
 some time. Finally Muller asked: "Is this what happened?" His
voice<br>
 was cutting and the glance of his eyes keen and sharp.</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer trembled. Her head sank on her breast. Muller
waited<br>
 a moment more and then he said quietly: "Then it is true."</p>

<p>"Yes, it is true," came the answer in a low hoarse tone.</p>

<p>Again there was silence for an appreciable interval.</p>

<p>"If you had been faithful to your mistress as well, if you had
not<br>
 spied upon her and betrayed her to her husband, all this might
not<br>
 have happened," continued the detective pitilessly, adding with
a<br>
 bitter smile: "And it was not even a case of sinful love.
Your<br>
 mistress had no such relations with this Winkler as you - I
say<br>
 this to excuse you - seemed to believe."</p>

<p>Adele Bernauer sprang up. "I do not need this excuse," she
cried,<br>
 trembling in excitement. "I do not need any excuse. What I
have<br>
 done I did after due consideration and in the realisation that
it<br>
 was absolutely necessary to do it. Never for one moment did
I<br>
 believe that my mistress was untrue to her husband. Never for
one<br>
 moment could I believe such an evil thing of her, for I knew her
to<br>
 be an angel of goodness. A woman who is deceiving her husband
is<br>
 not as unhappy as this poor lady has been for months. A woman
does<br>
 not write to a successful lover with so much sorrow, with so
many<br>
 tears. I had long suspected these meetings before I
discovered<br>
 them, but I knew that these meetings had nothing whatever to
do<br>
 with love. Because I knew this, and only because I knew it, did
I<br>
 tell my master about them. I wanted him to protect his wife,
to<br>
 free her from the wretch who had obtained some power over her,
I<br>
 knew not how."</p>

<p>"Ah! then that was it?" exclaimed Muller, and his eyes
softened<br>
 as he looked at the sobbing woman who had sunk back into her
chair.<br>
 He laid his hand on her cold fingers and continued gently:
"Then<br>
 you have really done right, you have done only what was your
duty.<br>
 I pity you deeply that you - "</p>

<p>"That I have brought suspicion upon my master by my own
foolishness?"<br>
 she finished the sentence with a pitifully sad smile. "If I
could<br>
 have controlled myself, could have kept calm, nobody would have
had<br>
 a thought or a suspicion that he - my pet, my darling - that it
was<br>
 he who was forced, through some terrible circumstance of which I
do<br>
 not know, to free his wife, in this manner, from the wretch
who<br>
 persecuted her."</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer wrung her hands and gazed with despairing eyes
at the<br>
 man who sat before her, himself deeply moved.</p>

<p>Again there was a long silence. Muller could not find a word
to<br>
 comfort the weeping woman. There was no longer anger in his
heart,<br>
 nothing but the deepest pity. He took out his handkerchief
and<br>
 wiped away the drops that were dimming his own eyes.</p>

<p>"You know that I will have to go to Venice?" he asked.</p>

<p>Mrs. Bernauer sprang up. "Officially?" she gasped, pale to
her<br>
 lips.</p>

<p>He nodded. "Yes, officially of course. I must make a report
at<br>
 once to headquarters about what I have learned. You can
imagine<br>
 yourself what the next steps will be."</p>

<p>Her deep sigh showed him that she knew as well as he. In the
same<br>
 second, however, a thought shot through her brain, changing
her<br>
 whole king. Her pale face glowed, her dulled eyes shot fire,
and<br>
 the fingers with which she held Muller's hand tightly clasped,
were<br>
 suddenly feverishly hot.</p>

<p>"And you - you are still the only person who knows the truth?"
she<br>
 gasped in his ear.</p>

<p>The detective nodded. "And you thought you might silence me?"
he<br>
 asked calmly. "That will not be easy - for you can imagine that
I<br>
 did not come unarmed."</p>

<p>Adele Bernauer smiled sadly. "I would take even this way to
save<br>
 Herbert Thorne from disgrace, if I thought that it could be<br>
 successful, and if I had not thought of a milder way to silence
a<br>
 man who cannot be a millionaire. I have served in this house
for<br>
 thirty-two years, I have been treated with such generosity that
I<br>
 have been able to save almost every cent of my wages for my
old<br>
 age. With the interest that has rolled up, my little fortune
must<br>
 amount to nearly eight thousand gulden. I will gladly give it
to<br>
 you, if you will but keep silence, if you will not tell what
you<br>
 have discovered." She spoke gaspingly and sank down on her
knees<br>
 before she had finished.</p>

<p>"And Mr. Thorne also - " she continued hastily, as she saw no
sign<br>
 of interest in Muller's calm face. Then her voice failed
her.</p>

<p>The detective looked down kindly on her grey hairs and
answered:<br>
 "No, no, my good woman; that won't do. One cannot conceal
one<br>
 crime by committing another. I myself would naturally not
listen<br>
 to your suggestion for a moment, but I am also convinced that
Mr.<br>
 Thorne, to whom you are so devoted, and who, I acknowledge,
pleased<br>
 me the very first sight I had of him - I am convinced that he
would<br>
 not agree for a moment to any such solution of the problem."</p>

<p>"Then I can only hope that you will not find him in
Venice,"<br>
 replied Mrs. Bernauer, with utter despair in her voice and
eyes.</p>

<p>"I am not at all certain that I will find him in Venice when
I<br>
 leave here to-morrow morning," said Muller calmly.</p>

<p>"Oh! then you don't want to find him! Oh God! how good,
how<br>
 inexpressibly good you are," stammered the woman, seizing at
some<br>
 vague hope in her distraught heart.</p>

<p>"No, you are mistaken again, Mrs. Bernauer. I will find Mr.
Thorne<br>
 wherever he may be. But I may arrive in Venice too late to
meet<br>
 him there. He may already be on his way home."</p>

<p>"On his way home?" cried the housekeeper in terror,
staggering<br>
 where she stood.</p>

<p>Muller led her gently to a chair. "Sit down here and listen to
me<br>
 calmly. This is what I mean. If Mr. Thorne has seen in the
papers<br>
 that a man has been arrested and accused of the murder of
Leopold<br>
 Winkler, then he will take the next train back and give himself
up<br>
 to the authorities. That he makes no such move as long as he
thinks<br>
 there is no suspicion on any one else, no possibility that any
one<br>
 else could suffer the consequences of his deed - is quite<br>
 comprehensible - it is only natural and human."</p>

<p>Adele Bernauer sighed deeply again and heavy tears ran down
her<br>
 cheeks, in strange contrast to the ghost of a smile that
parted<br>
 her lips and shone in her dimmed eyes.</p>

<p>"You know him better than I do," she murmured almost
inaudibly,<br>
 "you know him better than I do, and I have known him for so
long."</p>

<p>A moment later Muller had parted from the housekeeper with a
warm,<br>
 sincere pressure of the hand.</p>

<p>"Lieutenant Theobald Leining was here on a visit to his sister
last<br>
 March, wasn't he?" the detective asked as Franz led him out of
the<br>
 gate.</p>

<p>"Yes, sir; the Lieutenant was here just about that time,"
answered<br>
 the old man.</p>

<p>And he left here on the 16th of March?"</p>

<p>"On the 16th? Why, it may have been - yes, it was the 16th -
that<br>
 is our lady's birthday. He went away that day." Franz bowed
a<br>
 farewell to this stranger who began to appear uncanny in his
eyes,<br>
 and shutting the gate carefully he returned to the house.</p>

<p>"What does the man want anyway?" he murmured to himself,
shivering<br>
 involuntarily. Without knowing why he turned his steps towards
Mrs.<br>
 Bernauer s room. He opened the door hesitatingly as if afraid
of<br>
 what he might see there. He would not have been at all surprised
if<br>
 he had found the housekeeper fainting on the floor as
before.</p>

<p>But she was not fainting this time. She was very much alive,
for,<br>
 to Franz's great astonishment, she was busied at the packing of
a<br>
 valise.</p>

<p>"Are you going away too?" asked Franz. Mrs. Bernauer answered
in<br>
 a voice that was dull with weariness: "Yes, Franz, I am going
away.<br>
 Will you please look up the time-tables of the Southern
railroad<br>
 and let me know when the morning express leaves? And please
order<br>
 a cab in time for it. I will depend upon you to look after
the<br>
 house in my absence. You can imagine that it must be
something<br>
 very important that takes me to Venice."</p>

<p>"To Venice? Why, what are you going to Venice for?"</p>

<p>"Never mind about that, Franz, but help me to pray that I may
get<br>
 there in time."</p>

<p>She almost pushed the old man out of the door with these
last<br>
 words and shut and locked it behind him.</p>

<p>She wanted to be alone with this hideous fear that was
clutching<br>
 at her heart. For it was not to Franz that she could tell
the<br>
 thoughts that came to her lips now as she sank down, wringing
her<br>
 hands, before a picture of the Madonna: "Oh Holy Virgin,
Mother<br>
 of our Lord, plead for me! let me be with my dear mistress
when<br>
 the terrible time comes and they take her husband away from
her,<br>
 or, if preferring death to disgrace, he ends his life by his
own<br>
 hand!"</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER XI</h2>

<h3>IN THE POLICE COURT</h3>

<p><br>
 Commissioner Von Riedau sat at his desk late that evening,<br>
 finishing up some important papers. The quiet of an
undisturbed<br>
 night watch had settled down on the busy police station. An<br>
 occasional low murmur of whispering voices floated up from
the<br>
 guardroom below, but otherwise the stillness was broken only
by<br>
 the scratching of the commissioner's pen and the rustle of
the<br>
 paper as he turned the leaves. It was a silence so complete
that<br>
 a light step on the stair outside and the gentle turning of
the<br>
 doorknob was heard distinctly and the commissioner looked up<br>
 with almost a start to see who was coming to his room so
late.<br>
 Joseph Muller stood in the open door, awaiting his chief's
official<br>
 recognition.</p>

<p><br>
 "Oh ! it's you, Muller. So late? Come in. Anything new?"
asked<br>
 the commissioner. "Have you succeeded in drawing a confession
from<br>
 that stubborn tramp yet? You've been interviewing him, I take
it?"</p>

<p>"Yes, I had a long talk with Johann Knoll to-day."</p>

<p>"Well, that ought to help matters along. Has he confessed?
What<br>
 could you get out of him?"</p>

<p>"Nothing, or almost nothing more than he told us here in the
station,<br>
 sir.</p>

<p>"The man's incredibly stubborn," said the commissioner. "If
he<br>
 could only be made to understand that a free confession would
benefit<br>
 him more than any one else! Well, don't look so down-cast about
it,<br>
 Muller. This thing is going to take longer than we thought at
first<br>
 for such a simple affair. But it's only a question of time until
the<br>
 man comes to his senses. You'll get him to talk soon. You
always<br>
 do. And even if you should fail here, this matter is not so
very<br>
 important, when we think of all the other things you have
done."<br>
 Muller, standing front of the desk, shook his head sadly.</p>

<p>"But I haven't failed here, sir. More's the pity, I had
almost<br>
 said."</p>

<p>"What!" The commissioner looked up in surprise. "I thought
you<br>
 just said that you couldn't get anything more out of the
accused."</p>

<p>"Knoll has told us all he knows, sir. He did not murder
Leopold<br>
 Winkler."</p>

<p>"Hmph!" The commissioner's exclamation had a touch of acidity
in<br>
 it. "Then, if he didn't murder him, who did?"</p>

<p>"Herbert Thorne, painter, living in the Thorne mansion in B.
Street,<br>
 Hietzing, now in Venice, Hotel Danieli. I ask for a warrant
for<br>
 his arrest, sir, and orders to start for Venice on the early
morning<br>
 express to-morrow."</p>

<p>"Muller! ... what the deuce does all this mean?" The
commissioner<br>
 sprang up, his face flushing deeply as he leaned over the
desk<br>
 staring at the sad quiet face of the little man opposite.
"What<br>
 are you talking about? What does all this mean?"</p>

<p>"It means, sir, that we now know who committed the murder
in<br>
 Hietzing. Johann Knoll is innocent of anything more than the
theft<br>
 confessed by himself. He took the purse and watch from the<br>
 senseless form of the just murdered man. The body was warm
and<br>
 still supple and the tramp supposed the victim to be merely<br>
 intoxicated. His story was in every respect true, sir."</p>

<p>The commissioner flushed still deeper. "And who do you say
murdered<br>
 this man?"</p>

<p>"Herbert Thorne, sir.</p>

<p>"But Thome! I know of him ... have even a slight personal<br>
 acquaintance with him. Thorne is a rich man, of excellent
family.<br>
 Why should he murder and rob an obscure clerk like this
Winkler?"</p>

<p>"He did not rob him sir, Knoll did that."</p>

<p>"Oh, yes. But why should Thorne commit murder on this man
who<br>
 scarcely touched his life at any point ... It's incredible!<br>
 Muller! Muller! are you sure you are not letting your
imagination<br>
 run away with you again? It is a serious thing to make such
an<br>
 accusation against any man, much less against a man in
Thorne's<br>
 position. Are you sure of what you are saying?" The
commissioner's<br>
 excitement rendered him almost inarticulate. The shock of
the<br>
 surprise occasioned by the detective's words produced a feeling
of<br>
 irritation ... a phenomenon not unusual in the minds of worthy
but<br>
 pedantic men of affairs when confronted by a startling new
thought.</p>

<p>"I am quite sure of what I am saying, sir. I have just heard
the<br>
 confession of one who might be called an accomplice of the
murderer."</p>

<p>"It is incredible ... incredible! An accomplice you say? ...
who<br>
 is this accomplice? Might it not be some one who has a
grudge<br>
 against Thorne - some one who is trying to purposely mislead you
?"</p>

<p>"I am not so easily deceived or misled, sir. Every evidence
points<br>
 to Thorne, and the confession I have just heard was made by a
woman<br>
 who loves him, who has loved and cared for him from his
babyhood.<br>
 There is not the slightest doubt of it, sir."</p>

<p>Muller moved a step nearer the desk, gazing firmly in the eyes
of<br>
 the excited commissioner. The sadness on the detective's face
had<br>
 given way to a gleam of pride that flushed his sallow cheek
and<br>
 brightened his grey eyes. It was one of those rare moments
when<br>
 Muller allowed himself a feeling of triumph in his own power,
in<br>
 spite of official subordination and years of habit. His
slight<br>
 frame seemed to grow taller and broader as he faced the Chief
with<br>
 an air of quiet determination that made him at once master of
the<br>
 situation. His voice was as low as ever but it took on a
keen<br>
 incisive note that compelled attention, as he continued:
"Herbert<br>
 Thorne is the murderer of Leopold Winkler. Now that he knows
an<br>
 innocent man is under accusation for his deed it is only a
question<br>
 of time before he will come himself to confess. He will
doubtless<br>
 make this confession to me, if I go to Venice to see him, and
to<br>
 bring him back to trial."</p>

<p>The commissioner could doubt no longer. Pedantic though he
was,<br>
 Commissioner von Riedau possessed sufficient insight to know
the<br>
 truth when it was presented to him with such conviction, and
also<br>
 sufficient insight to have recognised the gifts of the man
before<br>
 him. "But why ... why?" he murmured, sinking back into his
chair,<br>
 and shaking his<br>
 head in bewilderment.</p>

<p>"Winkler was a miserable scoundrel, sir, a blackmailer. Thorne
did<br>
 only what any decent man would have felt like doing in his
place.<br>
 But justice must be done."</p>

<p>Muller's elation vanished and a deep sigh welled up from his
heart.<br>
 The commissioner nodded slowly, and glanced across the desk
almost<br>
 timidly. This case had appeared to be so simple, and suddenly
the<br>
 hidden deeps of a dark mystery had opened before him, deeps
already<br>
 sounded by the little man here who had gone so quietly about
his<br>
 work while the official police, represented in this case by<br>
 Commissioner von Riedau himself, had sat calmly waiting for
an<br>
 innocent man to confess to a crime he had not committed! It
was<br>
 humiliating. The commissioner flushed again and his eyes sank
to<br>
 the floor.</p>

<p>"Tell me what you know, Muller," he said finally.</p>

<p>Muller told the story of his experiences in the Thorne
mansion,<br>
 told of the slight clues which led him to take an interest in
the<br>
 house and its inmates, until finally the truth began to glimmer
up<br>
 out of the depths. The commissioner listened with eager
interest.<br>
 "Then you believed this elaborate yarn told by the tramp?"
he<br>
 interrupted once, at the beginning of the narrative.</p>

<p>"Why, yes, sir, just because it was so elaborate. A man like
Knoll<br>
 would not have had the mind to invent such a story. It must
have<br>
 been true, on the face of it."</p>

<p>The commissioner's eyes sank again, and he did not speak until
the<br>
 detective had reached the end of his story. Then he opened a
drawer<br>
 in his desk and took out a bundle of official blank-forms.</p>

<p>"It is wonderful! Wonderful! Muller, this case will go on
record<br>
 as one of your finest achievements - and we thought it was so
simple</p>

<p>"Oh, indeed, sir, chance favoured me at every turn," replied
Muller<br>
 modestly.</p>

<p>"There is no such thing as chance," said the commissioner.
"We<br>
 might as well be honest with ourselves. Any one might have
seen,<br>
 doubtless did see, all the things you saw, but no one else had
the<br>
 insight to recognise their value, nor the skill to follow them
up<br>
 to such a conclusion. But it's a sad case, a sad case. I
never<br>
 wrote a warrant with a heavier heart. Thorne is a
true-hearted<br>
 gentleman, while the scoundrel he killed..."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir, I feel that way about it myself. I can confess now
that<br>
 there was one moment when I was ready to-well, just to say
nothing.</p>

<p>"And let us blunder on in our official stupidity and
blindness?"<br>
 interrupted the commissioner, a faint smile breaking the gravity
of<br>
 his face. "We certainly gave you every opportunity."</p>

<p>"But there's an innocent man accused - suffering fear of
death<br>
 - justice must be done. But, sir," Muller took the warrant
the<br>
 commissioner handed across the table to him. "May I not make
it<br>
 as easy as I can for Mr. Thorne - I mean, bring him here with
as<br>
 little publicity as possible? His wife is with him in
Venice."</p>

<p>"Poor little woman, it's terrible! Do whatever you think
best,<br>
 Muller. You're a queer mixture. Here you've hounded this man
down,<br>
 followed hot on his trail when not a soul but yourself
connected<br>
 him in any way with the murder. And now you're sorry for him!
A<br>
 soft heart like yours is a dangerous possession for a police<br>
 detective, Muller. It's no aid to our business."</p>

<p>"No, sir, I know that."</p>

<p>"Well take care it doesn't run away with you this time. Don't
let<br>
 Herbert Thorne escape, however much pity you may feel for
him."</p>

<p>"I doubt if he'll want to sir, as long as another is in prison
for<br>
 his crime.</p>

<p>"But he may make his confession and then try to escape the
disgrace."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir, I've thought of that. That's why I want to go to
Venice<br>
 myself. And then, there's the poor young wife, he must think of
her<br>
 when the desire comes to end his own life..."</p>

<p>"Yes! Yes! This terrible thing has shaken us both up more than
a<br>
 little. I feel exhausted. You look tired yourself, Muller. Go
home<br>
 now, and get some rest for your early start. Good-night."</p>

<p>"Good-night, sir."</p>

<h2><br>
 CHAPTER XII</h2>

<h3>ON THE LIDO</h3>

<p><br>
 A Wonderfully beautiful night lay over the fair old city of
Venice<br>
 when the Northern Express thundered over the long bridge to
the<br>
 railway station. A passenger who was alone in a second-class<br>
 compartment stood up to collect his few belongings. Suddenly
he<br>
 looked up as he heard a voice, a voice which he had learned to
know<br>
 only very recently, calling to him from the door of the
compartment.</p>

<p>"Why! you were in the train too? You have come to Venice?"<br>
 exclaimed Joseph Muller in astonishment as he saw Mrs.
Bernauer<br>
 standing there before him.</p>

<p><br>
 "Yes, I have come to Venice too. I must be with my dear lady -
when<br>
 - when Herbert - " She had begun quite calmly, but she did
not<br>
 finish her sentence, for loud sobs drowned the words.</p>

<p>"You were in the next compartment? Why didn't you come in
here<br>
 with me? It would have made this journey shorter for both of
us."</p>

<p>"I had to be alone," said the pale woman and then she added:
"I<br>
 only came to you now to ask you where I must go."</p>

<p>"I think we two had better go to the Hotel Bauer. Let me
arrange<br>
 things for you. Mrs. Thorne must not see you until she has
been<br>
 prepared for your coming. I will arrange that with her
husband."</p>

<p>The two took each other's hands. They had won respect and
sympathy<br>
 for each other, this quiet man who went so relentlessly and yet
so<br>
 pityingly about his duty in the interest of justice - and the
devoted<br>
 woman whose faithfulness had brought about such a tragedy.</p>

<p>The train had now entered the railway station. Muller and
Mrs.<br>
 Bernauer stood a few minutes later on the banks of the Grand
Canal<br>
 and entered, one of the many gondolas waiting there. The
moon<br>
 glanced back from the surface of the water broken into ripples
under<br>
 the oars of the gondoliers; it shone with a magic charm on the
old<br>
 palaces that stood knee-deep in the lagoons, and threw heavy
shadows<br>
 over the narrow water-roads on which the little dark boats
glided<br>
 silently forward. In most of the gondolas coming from the
station<br>
 excited voices and exclamations of delight broke the calm of
the<br>
 moonlit evening as the tourists rejoiced in the beauty that
is<br>
 Venice.</p>

<p>But in the gondola in which Muller and Mrs. Bernauer sat there
was<br>
 deep silence, silence broken only by a sobbing sigh that now
and<br>
 then burst from the heart of the haggard woman. There were
few<br>
 travellers entering Venice on one of its world-famous moonlit
nights<br>
 who were so sad at heart as were these two.</p>

<p>And there were few travellers in Venice as heavy hearted as
was the<br>
 man who next morning took one of the earliest boats out to the
Lido.</p>

<p>Muller and Mrs. Bernauer were on the same boat watching him
from a<br>
 hidden corner. The woman's sad eyes gazed yearningly at the
haggard<br>
 face of the tall man who stood looking over the railing of the
little<br>
 steamer. Her own tears came as she saw the gloom in the once
shining<br>
 grey eyes she loved so well.</p>

<p>Muller stood beside Mrs. Bernauer. His eyes too, keen and
quick,<br>
 followed Herbert Thorne as he stood by the rail or paced
restlessly<br>
 up and down; his face too showed pity and concern. He also saw
that<br>
 Thorne held in his hand a bundle of newspapers which were
still<br>
 enclosed in their mailing wrappers. The papers were pressed in
a<br>
 convulsive grip of the artist's long slender fingers.</p>

<p>Muller knew then that Thorne had not yet learned of the arrest
of<br>
 Johann Knoll. At the very earliest, Thursday's papers, which
brought<br>
 the news, could not reach him before Friday morning. But
these<br>
 newspapers (Muller saw that they were German papers) were still
in<br>
 their wrappings. They were probably Viennese papers for which he
had<br>
 telegraphed and which had just arrived. His anxiety had not
allowed<br>
 him to read them in the presence of his wife. He had sought
the<br>
 solitude of early morning on the Lido, that he might learn,<br>
 unobserved, what terrors fate had in store for him.</p>

<p>It was doubtless Mrs. Bernauer's telegram which caused his
present<br>
 anxiety, a telegram which had reached him only the night
before<br>
 when he returned with his wife from an excursion to Torcello.
It<br>
 had caused him a sleepless night, for it had brought the
realisation<br>
 that his faithful nurse suspected the truth about the murder in
the<br>
 quiet lane. The telegram had read as follows: "Have drawn money
and<br>
 send it at once. Further journey probably necessary, visitor
in<br>
 house to-day. Connected with occurrence in -Street. Please
read<br>
 Viennese papers. News and orders for me please send to address
A.B.<br>
 General Postoffice."</p>

<p>This telegram told Herbert Thorne the truth. And the papers
which<br>
 arrived this morning were to tell him more - what he did not
yet<br>
 know. But his heart was drawn with terrors which threw lines in
his<br>
 face and made him look ten years older than on that Tuesday
morning<br>
 when the detective saw him setting out on his journey with his
wife.</p>

<p>When the boat landed at the Lido, Thorne walked off down the
road<br>
 which led to the ocean side. Muller and Mrs. Bernauer entered
the<br>
 waiting tramway that took them in the same direction. They<br>
 dismounted in front of the bathing establishment, stepped behind
a<br>
 group of bushes and waited there for Thorne. In about ten
minutes<br>
 they saw his tall figure passing on the other side of the road.
He<br>
 was walking down to the beach, holding the still unopened papers
in<br>
 his hand.</p>

<p>A narrow strip of park runs along parallel to the beach in
the<br>
 direction towards Mala Mocco. Muller and Mrs Bernauer walked
along<br>
 through this park on the path which was nearest the water.
The<br>
 detective watched the rapidly moving figure ahead of them, while
the<br>
 woman's tear-dimmed eyes veiled everything else to her but the
path<br>
 along which her weary feet hastened. Thorne halted about half
way<br>
 between the bathing establishment and the customs barracks,
looked<br>
 around to see if he were alone and threw himself down on the
sand.</p>

<p>He had chosen a good place. To the right and to the left were
high<br>
 sand dunes, before him was the broad surface of the ocean, and
at<br>
 his back was rising ground, bare sand with here and there a
scraggly<br>
 bush or a group of high thistles. Herbert Thorne believed
himself<br>
 to be alone here ... as far as a man can be alone over whom
hangs<br>
 the shadow of a crime. He groaned aloud and hid his pale face
in<br>
 his hands.</p>

<p>In his own distress he did not hear the deep sigh - which,
just<br>
 above him on the edge of the knoll, broke from the breast of a
woman<br>
 who was suffering scarcely less than he; he did not know that
two<br>
 pair of sad eyes looked down upon him. And now into the eyes of
the<br>
 watching woman there shot a gleam of terror. For Herbert Thorne
had<br>
 taken a revolver from his pocket and laid it quietly beside
him.<br>
 Then he took out a notebook and a pencil and placed them beside
the<br>
 weapon. Then slowly, reluctantly, he opened one of the
papers.</p>

<p>A light breeze from the shining sea before him carried off
the<br>
 wrapping. The paper which he opened shook in his trembling
hands,<br>
 as his eyes sought the reports of the murder. He gave a
sudden<br>
 start and a tremor ran through his frame. He had come to the
spot<br>
 which told of the arrest of another man, who was under shadow
of<br>
 punishment for the crime which he himself had committed. When
he<br>
 had read this report through, he turned to the other papers. He
was<br>
 quite calm now, outwardly calm at least.</p>

<p>When he had finished reading the papers he laid them in a
heap<br>
 beside him and reached out for his notebook. As he opened it
the<br>
 two watchers saw that between its first pages there was a sealed
and<br>
 addressed letter. Two other envelopes were contained in the<br>
 notebook, envelopes which were also addressed although still
open.<br>
 Muller's sharp eyes could read the addresses as Thorne took them
up<br>
 in turn, looking long at each of them. One envelope was
addressed<br>
 in Italian to the Chief of Police of Venice, the other to the
Chief<br>
 of Police in Vienna.</p>

<p>The two watchers leaned forward, scarcely three yards above
the man<br>
 in whom they were interested. Thorne tore out two leaves of
his<br>
 notebook and wrote several lines on each of them. One note,
he<br>
 placed in the envelope addressed to the Viennese police and
sealed<br>
 it carefully. Then he put the sealed letter with the second note
in<br>
 the other envelope, the one addressed to the Italian police. He
put<br>
 all the letters back in his notebook, holding it together with
a<br>
 rubber strap, and replaced it in his pocket.</p>

<p>Then he stretched out his hand toward the revolver.</p>

<p>The sand came rattling down upon him, the thistles bent
over<br>
 creakingly and two figures appeared beside him.</p>

<p>"There's time enough for that yet, Mr. Thorne," said the man
at whom<br>
 the painter gazed up in bewilderment. And then this man took
the<br>
 revolver quietly from his hand and hid it in his own pocket.</p>

<p>Thorne pressed his teeth down on his lips until the blood
came. He<br>
 could not speak; he looked first at the stranger who had
mastered<br>
 him so completely, and then, in dazed astonishment, at the woman
who<br>
 had sunk down beside him in the sand, clasping his hand in both
of<br>
 hers.</p>

<p>"Adele! Adele! 'Why are you here?" he stammered finally.</p>

<p>"I want to be with you - in this hour," she answered, looking
at<br>
 him with eyes of worship. "I want to be with my dear lady -
to<br>
 comfort her - to protect her when - when - "</p>

<p>"When they arrest me?" Thorne finished the sentence himself.
Then<br>
 turning to Muller he continued: "And that is why you are
here?"</p>

<p>"Yes, Mr. Thorne. I have a warrant for your arrest in my
pocket.<br>
 But I think it will be unnecessary to make use of it in the<br>
 customary official way through the authorities here. I see
that<br>
 you have written to both police stations - confessing your
deed.<br>
 This will amount to a voluntary giving up of yourself to the<br>
 authorities, therefore all that is necessary is that I return
with<br>
 you in the same train which takes you to Vienna. But I must
ask<br>
 you for those two letters, for until you yourself give them to
the<br>
 police authorities in my presence, it is my duty to keep
them."</p>

<p>Muller had seldom found his official duty as difficult as it
was<br>
 now. His words came haltingly and great drops stood out on
his<br>
 forehead.</p>

<p>The painter rose from the sand and he too wiped his face,
which was<br>
 drawn in agony.</p>

<p>"Herbert, Herbert!" cried Adele Bernauer suddenly. "Oh,
Herbert,<br>
 you will live, you will! Promise me, you will not think of
suicide,<br>
 it would kill your wife - "</p>

<p>She lay on her knees before him in the sand. He looked down at
her<br>
 gently and with a gesture which seemed to be a familiar one of
days<br>
 long past, he stroked the face that had grown old and worn in
these<br>
 hours of fear for him.</p>

<p>"Yes, you dear good soul, I will live on, I will take upon
myself my<br>
 punishment for killing a scoundrel. The poor man whom they
have<br>
 arrested in my place must not linger in the fear of death. I
am<br>
 ready, sir.</p>

<p>"My name is Muller - detective Muller."</p>

<p>"Joseph Muller, the famous detective Muller?" asked Thorne
with a<br>
 sad smile. "I have had little to do with the police but by
chance<br>
 I have heard of your fame. I might have known; they tell me
you<br>
 are one from whom the truth can never remain hidden."</p>

<p>"My duty is not always an easy one," said Muller.</p>

<p>"Thank you. Dispose of me as you will. I do not wish any<br>
 privileges that others would not have, Mr. Muller. Here is
my<br>
 written confession and here am I myself. Shall we go. now?"<br>
 Herbert Thorne handed the detective his notebook with its
important<br>
 contents and then walked slowly back along the road he had
come.</p>

<p>Muller walked a little behind him, while Mrs. Bernauer was at
his<br>
 side. As in days long past, they walked hand in hand.</p>

<p>With eyes full of pity Muller watched them, and he heard
Thorne<br>
 give his old nurse orders for the care of his wife. She was to
take<br>
 Mrs. Thorne to Graz to her father, then to return herself to
Vienna<br>
 and take care of the house as usual, until his attorney could
settle<br>
 up his affairs and sell the property. For Thorne said that
neither<br>
 he nor his wife would ever want to set foot in the house again.
He<br>
 spoke calmly, he thought of everything - he thought even of
the<br>
 possibility that he might have to pay the death penalty for his
deed.</p>

<p>For who could tell how the authorities would judge this
murder?</p>

<p>It had indeed been a murder by merest chance only. Thorne told
his<br>
 old nurse all about it. When she had given him the signal he
had<br>
 hurried down into the garden, and walking quietly along the
path,<br>
 he had found his wife at the garden gate in conversation with a
man<br>
 who was a stranger to him. That part of their talk which he<br>
 overheard told him that the man was a blackmailer, and that he
was<br>
 making money on the fact that he had caught Theobald Leining
cheating<br>
 at cards.</p>

<p>This chance had put the officer into Winkler's power. The
clerk<br>
 knew that he could get nothing from the guilty man himself, so
he<br>
 had turned to the latter's sister, who was rich, and had
threatened<br>
 to bring about a disgraceful scandal if she did not pay for
his<br>
 silence. For more than a year he had been getting money from
her<br>
 by means of these threats. All this was clear from the
conversation.<br>
 The man spoke in tones of impertinence, or sneering
obsequiousness,<br>
 the woman s voice showed contempt and hatred.</p>

<p>Thorne's blood began to boil. His fingers tightened about
the<br>
 revolver which he had brought with him to be ready for any
emergency,<br>
 and he stepped designedly upon a twig which broke under his
feet<br>
 with a noise. He wanted to frighten his wife and send her back
to<br>
 the house. This was what did occur. But the blackmailer was
alarmed<br>
 as well and fled hastily from the garden when he realised that
he was<br>
 not alone with his victim. Thorne followed the man's
disappearing<br>
 figure, calling him to halt. He did not call loudly for he too
wanted<br>
 to avoid a scandal. His intention was to force the man to follow
him<br>
 into the house, to get his written confession of blackmail -
then to<br>
 finish him off with a large sum once for all and kick him out of
the<br>
 place.</p>

<p>In this manner Herbert Thorne thought to free himself and his
wife<br>
 from the persecutions of the rascal. His heart was filled
with<br>
 hatred towards the man. For since Mrs. Bernauer had told him
what<br>
 she had discovered, he knew that it was because of this wretch
that<br>
 his once so happy wife was losing her strength, her health and
her<br>
 peace of mind.</p>

<p>He followed the fleeing man and called to him several times to
halt.<br>
 Finally Winkler half turned and called out over his shoulder:
"You'd<br>
 better leave me alone! Do you want all Vienna to know that
your<br>
 brother-in-law ought to be in jail?"</p>

<p>These words robbed Thorne of all control. He pressed the
trigger<br>
 under his finger and the bullet struck the man before him, who
had<br>
 turned to continue his flight, full in the back. "And that is
how<br>
 I became a murderer." With these words Herbert Thorne concluded
his<br>
 narrative. He appeared quite calm now. He was really calmer,
for<br>
 the strain of the deed, which was justified in his eyes, was not
so<br>
 great upon his conscience as had been the strain of the secret
of it.</p>

<p>In his own eyes he had only killed a beast who chanced to bear
the<br>
 form of a man. But of course in the eyes of the world this was
a<br>
 murder like any other, and the man who had committed it knew
that<br>
 he was under the ban of the law, that it was only a chance that
the<br>
 arm of justice had not yet reached out for him. And now this
arm<br>
 had reached out for him, although it was no longer necessary.
For<br>
 Herbert Thorne was not the man to allow another to suffer in
his<br>
 stead.</p>

<p>As soon as he knew that another had been arrested and was
under<br>
 suspicion of the murder, he knew that there was nothing more
for<br>
 him but open confession. But he wished to avoid a scandal even
now.<br>
 If he died by his own hand, then the first cause of all this
trouble,<br>
 his brother-in-law's rascality, could still be hidden.</p>

<p>But now his care was all in vain and Herbert Thorne knew that
he<br>
 must submit to the inevitable. Side by side with his old
friend<br>
 he sat on the deck of the boat that took them back to the Riva
dei<br>
 Schiavoni. Muller sat at some distance from them. The pale<br>
 sad-faced woman, and the pale sad-faced man had much to say to
each<br>
 other that a stranger might not hear.</p>

<p>When the little boat reached the landing stage, there were but
a<br>
 few steps more to the door of the Hotel Danieli. From a balcony
on<br>
 the first floor a young woman stood looking down onto the
canal.<br>
 She too was pale and her eyes were heavy with anxiety. She had
been<br>
 pale and anxious even then, the day when she left the beautiful
old<br>
 house in the quiet street, to start on this pleasure trip to
Venice.</p>

<p>It had been no pleasure trip to her. She had seen the change
in her<br>
 husband, a change that struck deep into his very being and
altered<br>
 him in everything except in his love and tender care for her.
"Oh,<br>
 why is it? what is the matter?" she asked her self a thousand
times<br>
 a day. Could it be possible that he had discovered the secret
which<br>
 tortured her, the only secret she had ever had from him, the
secret<br>
 she had longed to confess to him a hundred times but had
lacked<br>
 courage to do it.</p>

<p>For she had sinned deeply against her husband, she knew. Her
fear<br>
 and her confusion had driven her deeper and deeper into the
waters<br>
 of deceit until it was impossible for her to find the words
that<br>
 would have brought help and comfort from the man whom she loved
more<br>
 than anything else in the world. In the very earliest stages
of<br>
 Winkler's persecution she had lost her head completely and
instead<br>
 of confessing to her husband and asking for his aid and
protection,<br>
 she had pawned the rich jewels which had been his wedding
present to<br>
 get the money demanded by the blackmailer. In her ignorance she
had<br>
 thought that this one sum would satisfy him.</p>

<p><br>
 But he came again and again, demanding money which she saved
from<br>
 her pin money, from her household allowance, thus taking what
she<br>
 had intended to use to redeem her jewels. The pledge was lost,
and<br>
 her jewels gone forever. From now on, Mrs. Thorne lived in a
terror<br>
 which sapped her strength and drank her life blood drop by drop.
Any<br>
 hour might bring discovery, a discovery which she feared would
shake<br>
 her husband's love for her. The poor weak little woman grew pale
and<br>
 ill. She wrote finally to her step-brother, but he could think
of no<br>
 way out; he wrote only that if the matter came to a scandal
there<br>
 would be nothing for him to do but to kill himself. This was
one<br>
 reason more for her silence, and Mrs. Thome faded to a wan
shadow of<br>
 her former sunny self.</p>

<p>As she looked down from the balcony, she was like a woman
suffering<br>
 from a deathly illness. A new terror had come to her heart
because<br>
 her husband had gone away so early without telling her why or
whither<br>
 he had gone. When she saw him coming towards the door of the
hotel,<br>
 pale and drooping, and when she saw Mrs. Bernauer beside him,
her<br>
 heart seemed to stand still. She crept back from the window
and<br>
 stood in the middle of the room as Herbert Thorne and his
former<br>
 nurse entered.</p>

<p>"What has happened?" This was all she could say as she looked
into<br>
 the distraught face of the housekeeper, into her husband's sad
eyes.</p>

<p>He led her to a chair, then knelt beside her and told her
all.</p>

<p>"Outside the door stands the man who will take me back to
Vienna<br>
 - and you, my dearest, you must go to your father." He concluded
his<br>
 story with these words.</p>

<p>She bent down over him and kissed him. "'No, I am going with
you,"<br>
 she said softly, strangely calm; "why should I leave you now?
Is<br>
 it not I who am the cause of this dreadful thing?"</p>

<p>And then she made her confession, much too late. And she went
with<br>
 him, back to the city of their home. It seemed to them both
quite<br>
 natural that she should do so.</p>

<p>When the Northern Express rolled out of Venice that afternoon,
three<br>
 people sat together in a compartment, the curtains of which
were<br>
 drawn close. They were the unhappy couple and their faithful<br>
 servant. And outside in the corridor of the railway carriage,
a<br>
 small, slight man walked up and down - up and down. He had
pressed<br>
 a gold coin into the conductor's hand, with the words: "The
party<br>
 in there do not wish to be disturbed; the lady is ill."</p>

<p>Herbert Thorne's trial took place several weeks later.
Every<br>
 possible extenuating circumstance was brought to bear upon
his<br>
 sentence. Five years only was to be the term of his
imprisonment,<br>
 his punishment for the crime of a single moment of anger.</p>

<p>His wife waited for him in patient love. She did not go to
Graz,<br>
 but continued to live in the old mansion with the mansard
roof.<br>
 Her father was with her. The brother Theobald, the cause of
all<br>
 this suffering to those who had shielded him at the expense
of<br>
 their own happiness, had at last done the only good deed of
his<br>
 life - had put an end to his useless existence with his own
hand.</p>

<p>Father and daughter waited patiently for the return of the
man<br>
 who had sinned and suffered for their sake. They spoke of
him<br>
 only in terms of the tenderest affection and respect.</p>

<p>And indeed, seldom has any condemned murderer met with the
respect<br>
 of the entire community as Herbert Thorne did. The tone of
the<br>
 newspapers, and public opinion, evinced by hundreds of letters
from<br>
 friends, acquaintances, and from strangers, was a great boon
to<br>
 the solitary man in his cell, and to the three loving hearts in
the<br>
 old house. And at the end of two years the clemency of the
Monarch<br>
 ended his term of imprisonment, and Herbert Thorne was set free,
a<br>
 step which met with the approval of the entire city.</p>

<p>He returned to the home where love and affection awaited him,
ready<br>
 to make him forget what he had suffered. But the silver threads
in<br>
 his dark hair and a certain quiet seriousness in his manner, and
in<br>
 the hearts of all the dwellers in the old mansion, showed that
the<br>
 occurrence of that fatal 27th of September had thrown a shadow
over<br>
 them all which was not to be shaken off.</p>

<p>Joseph Muller brought many other cases to a successful
solution.<br>
 But for years after this particular case had been won, he
was<br>
 followed, as by a shadow, by a man who watched over him, and
who,<br>
 whenever danger threatened, stood over the frail detective as
if<br>
 to take the blow upon himself. He is a clever assistant, too,
and<br>
 no one who had seen Johann Knoll the day that he was put into
the<br>
 cell on suspicion of murder would have believed that the idle
tramp<br>
 could become again such a useful member of society. These are
the<br>
 victories that Joseph Muller considers his greatest.</p>







<pre>






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