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<html>
    <h1>
      THE CASE OF THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By Augusta Groner
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      Translated by Grace Isabel Colbron
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      Contents
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION TO JOE MULLER </a><br /><br /> <a
      href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE CASE OF THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT</b> </a><br /><br />
    </p>
    <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto">
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          THE DISCOVERY
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          THE BROKEN WILLOW TWIG
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          THE EVENING PAPER
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          SPEAK WELL OF THE DEAD
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          BY A THREAD
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          ALMOST CONVICTED
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          THE FACE AT THE GATE
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>
        </td>
        <td>
          JOHANN KNOLL REMEMBERS SOMETHING ELSE
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          THE ELECTRICIAN
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          MULLER RETURNS TO THE THORNE MANSION
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          IN THE POLICE COURT
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          ON THE LIDO
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      INTRODUCTION TO JOE MULLER
    </h2>
    <p>
      Joseph Muller, Secret Service detective of the Imperial Austrian police,
      is one of the great experts in his profession. In personality he differs
      greatly from other famous detectives. He has neither the impressive
      authority of Sherlock Holmes, nor the keen brilliancy of Monsieur Lecoq.
      Muller is a small, slight, plain-looking man, of indefinite age, and of
      much humbleness of mien. A naturally retiring, modest disposition, and two
      external causes are the reasons for Muller's humbleness of manner, which
      is his chief characteristic. One cause is the fact that in early youth a
      miscarriage of justice gave him several years in prison, an experience
      which cast a stigma on his name and which made it impossible for him, for
      many years after, to obtain honest employment. But the world is richer,
      and safer, by Muller's early misfortune. For it was this experience which
      threw him back on his own peculiar talents for a livelihood, and drove him
      into the police force. Had he been able to enter any other profession, his
      genius might have been stunted to a mere pastime, instead of being, as
      now, utilised for the public good.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, the red tape and bureaucratic etiquette which attaches to every
      governmental department, puts the secret service men of the Imperial
      police on a par with the lower ranks of the subordinates. Muller's
      official rank is scarcely much higher than that of a policeman, although
      kings and councillors consult him and the Police Department realises to
      the full what a treasure it has in him. But official red tape, and his
      early misfortune... prevent the giving of any higher official standing to
      even such a genius. Born and bred to such conditions, Muller understands
      them, and his natural modesty of disposition asks for no outward honours,
      asks for nothing but an income sufficient for his simple needs, and for
      aid and opportunity to occupy himself in the way he most enjoys.
    </p>
    <p>
      Joseph Muller's character is a strange mixture. The kindest-hearted man in
      the world, he is a human bloodhound when once the lure of the trail has
      caught him. He scarcely eats or sleeps when the chase is on, he does not
      seem to know human weakness nor fatigue, in spite of his frail body. Once
      put on a case his mind delves and delves until it finds a clue, then
      something awakes within him, a spirit akin to that which holds the
      bloodhound nose to trail, and he will accomplish the apparently
      impossible, he will track down his victim when the entire machinery of a
      great police department seems helpless to discover anything. The high
      chiefs and commissioners grant a condescending permission when Muller
      asks, "May I do this? ... or may I handle this case this way?" both
      parties knowing all the while that it is a farce, and that the department
      waits helpless until this humble little man saves its honour by solving
      some problem before which its intricate machinery has stood dazed and
      puzzled.
    </p>
    <p>
      This call of the trail is something that is stronger than anything else in
      Muller's mentality, and now and then it brings him into conflict with the
      department,... or with his own better nature. Sometimes his unerring
      instinct discovers secrets in high places, secrets which the Police
      Department is bidden to hush up and leave untouched. Muller is then taken
      off the case, and left idle for a while if he persists in his opinion as
      to the true facts. And at other times, Muller's own warm heart gets him
      into trouble. He will track down his victim, driven by the power in his
      soul which is stronger than all volition; but when he has this victim in
      the net, he will sometimes discover him to be a much finer, better man
      than the other individual, whose wrong at this particular criminal's hand
      set in motion the machinery of justice. Several times that has happened to
      Muller, and each time his heart got the better of his professional
      instincts, of his practical common-sense, too, perhaps,... at least as far
      as his own advancement was concerned, and he warned the victim, defeating
      his own work. This peculiarity of Muller's character caused his undoing at
      last, his official undoing that is, and compelled his retirement from the
      force. But his advice is often sought unofficially by the Department, and
      to those who know, Muller's hand can be seen in the unravelling of many a
      famous case.
    </p>
    <p>
      The following stories are but a few of the many interesting cases that
      have come within the experience of this great detective. But they give a
      fair portrayal of Muller's peculiar method of working, his looking on
      himself as merely an humble member of the Department, and the comedy of
      his acting under "official orders" when the Department is in reality
      following out his directions.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE CASE OF THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I. THE DISCOVERY
    </h2>
    <p>
      The radiance of a clear September morning lay over Vienna. The air was so
      pure that the sky shone in brightest azure even where the city's buildings
      clustered thickest. On the outskirts of the town the rays of the awakening
      sun danced in crystalline ether and struck answering gleams from the dew
      on grass and shrub in the myriad gardens of the suburban streets.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was still very early. The old-fashioned steeple clock on the church of
      the Holy Virgin in Hietzing had boomed out six slow strokes but a short
      time back. Anna, the pretty blonde girl who carried out the milk for the
      dwellers in several streets of this aristocratic residential suburb, was
      just coming around the corner of the main street into a quiet lane. This
      lane could hardly be dignified by the name of street as yet, it was so
      very quiet. It had been opened and named scarcely a year back and it was
      bordered mostly by open gardens or fenced-in building lots. There were
      four houses in this street, two by two opposite each other, and another,
      an old-fashioned manor house, lying almost hidden in its great garden. But
      the quiet street could not presume to ownership of this last house, for
      the front of it opened on a parallel street, which gave it its number.
      Only the garden had a gate as outlet onto our quiet lane.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anna stopped in front of this gate and pulled the bell. She had to wait
      for some little time until the gardener's wife, who acted as janitress,
      could open the door. But Anna was not impatient, for she knew that it was
      quite a distance from the gardener's house in the centre of the great
      stretch of park to the little gate where she waited. In a few moments,
      however, the door was opened and a pleasant-faced woman exchanged a
      friendly greeting with the girl and took the cans from her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anna hastened onward with her usual energetic step. The four houses in
      that street were already served and she was now bound for the homes of
      customers several squares away. Then her step slowed just a bit. She was a
      quiet, thoughtful girl and the lovely peace of this bright morning sank
      into her heart and made her rejoice in its beauty. All around her the
      foliage was turning gently to its autumn glory of colouring and the
      dewdrops on the rich-hued leaves sparkled with an unusual radiance. A
      thrush looked down at her from a bough and began its morning song. Anna
      smiled up at the little bird and began herself to sing a merry tune.
    </p>
    <p>
      But suddenly her voice died away, the colour faded from her flushed
      cheeks, her eyes opened wide and she stood as if riveted to the ground.
      With a deep breath as of unconscious terror she let the burden of the milk
      cans drop gently from her shoulder to the ground. In following the bird's
      flight her eyes had wandered to the side of the street, to the edge of one
      of the vacant lots, there where a shallow ditch separated it from the
      roadway. An elder-tree, the great size of which attested its age, hung its
      berry-laden branches over the ditch. And in front of this tree the bird
      had stopped suddenly, then fluttered off with the quick movement of the
      wild creature surprised by fright. What the bird had seen was the same
      vision that halted the song on Anna's lips and arrested her foot. It was
      the body of a man&mdash;a young and well-dressed man, who lay there with
      his face turned toward the street. And his face was the white frozen face
      of a corpse.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anna stood still, looking down at him for a few moments, in wide-eyed
      terror: then she walked on slowly as if trying to pull herself together
      again. A few steps and then she turned and broke into a run. When she
      reached the end of the street, breathless from haste and excitement, she
      found herself in one of the main arteries of traffic of the suburb, but
      owing to the early hour this street was almost as quiet as the lane she
      had just left. Finally the frightened girl's eyes caught sight of the
      figure of a policeman coming around the next corner. She flew to meet him
      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&mdash;in the lane, there's a dead man," answered the girl, gasping
      for breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A dead man?" repeated the policeman gravely, looking at the girl. "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 don't want
      to go down there again. I'll look into the matter, if you will go to the
      police station and make the announcement. Will 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 in the
      opposite direction, to the nearest police station, where she told what she
      had seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The policeman reached his goal even earlier. The first glance told him
      that the man lying there by the wayside was indeed lifeless. And the icy
      stiffness of the hand which he touched showed him that life must have fled
      many hours back. Anna had been right about the blood also. The dead man
      lay on the farther side of the ditch, half down into it. His right arm was
      bent under his body, his left arm was stretched out, and the stiffened
      fingers... they were slender white fingers... had sought for something to
      break his fall. All they had found was a tall stem of wild aster with its
      purple blossoms, which they were holding fast in the death grip. On the
      dead man's back was a small bullet-wound and around the edges of it his
      light grey coat was stained with blood. His face was distorted in pain and
      terror. It was a nice face, or would have been, did it not show all too
      plainly the marks of dissipation in spite of the fact that the man could
      not have been much past thirty years old. He was a stranger to the
      policeman, although the latter had been on this beat for over three years.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the guardian of the law had convinced himself that there was nothing
      more to do for the man who lay there, he rose from his stooping position
      and stepped back. His gaze wandered up and down the quiet lane, which was
      still absolutely empty of human life. He stood there quietly waiting,
      watching over the ghastly discovery. In about ten minutes the police
      commissioner and the coroner, followed by two roundsmen with a litter,
      joined the solitary watcher, and the latter could return to his post.
    </p>
    <p>
      The policemen set down their litter and waited for orders, while the
      coroner and the commissioner bent over the corpse. There was nothing for
      the physician to do but to declare that the unfortunate man had been dead
      for many hours. The bullet which struck him in the back had killed him at
      once. The commissioner examined the ground immediately around the corpse,
      but could find nothing that pointed to a struggle. There remained only to
      prove whether there had been a robbery as well as a murder.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Judging from the man's position the bullet must have come from that
      direction," said the commissioner, pointing towards the cottages down the
      lane.
    </p>
    <p>
      "People who are killed by bullets may turn several times before they
      fall," said a gentle voice behind the police officer. The voice seemed to
      suit the thin little man who stood there meekly, his hat in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner turned quickly. "Ah, are you there already, Muller?" he
      said, as if greatly pleased, while the physician broke in with the remark:
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's just what I was about to observe. This man did not die so quickly
      that he could not have made a voluntary or involuntary movement before
      life fled. The shot that killed him might have come from any direction."
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner nodded thoughtfully and there was silence for a few
      moments. Muller&mdash;for the little thin man was none other than the
      celebrated Joseph Muller, one of the most brilliant detectives in the
      service of the Austrian police&mdash;looked down at the corpse carefully.
      He took plenty of time to do it and nobody hurried him. For nobody ever
      hurried Muller; his well-known and almost laughable thoroughness and
      pedantry were too valuable in their results. It was a tradition in the
      police that Muller was to have all the time he wanted for everything. It
      paid in the end, for Muller made few mistakes. Therefore, his superior the
      police commissioner, and the coroner waited quietly while the little man
      made his inspection of the corpse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," said Muller finally, with a polite bow to the 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, and that
      he has been shot in the back. His pockets may tell us something more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, we can examine them at once," said the commissioner. "I have been
      delaying that for I wanted you here; but I had no idea that you would come
      so soon. I told them to fetch you if you were awake, but doubted you would
      be, for I know you have had no sleep for forty-eight hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I can sleep, at least with one eye, when I'm on the chase," answered
      the detective. "So it's really only twenty-four hours, you see." Muller
      had just returned from tracking down an aristocratic swindler whom he had
      found finally in a little French city and had brought back to a Viennese
      prison. He had returned well along in the past night and Holzer knew that
      the tired man would need his rest. Still he had sent for Muller, who lived
      near the police station, for the girl's report had warned him that this
      was a serious case. And in serious cases the police did not like to do
      without Muller's help.
    </p>
    <p>
      And as usual when his work called him, Muller was as wide awake as if he
      had had a good night's sleep behind him. The interest of a new case robbed
      him of every trace of fatigue. It was he alone&mdash;at his own request&mdash;who
      raised the body and laid it on its back before he stepped aside to make
      way for the doctor.
    </p>
    <p>
      The physician opened the dead man's vest to see whether the bullet had
      passed completely through the body. But it had not; there was not the
      slightest trace of blood upon the shirt.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's nothing more for me to do here, Muller," said the 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. "A man
      as well-dressed as this one is would be likely to have a watch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a purse," added the detective. "But this man has neither&mdash;or at
      least he has them no longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      In the various pockets of the dead man's clothes Muller found the
      following articles: a handkerchief, several tramway tickets, a penknife, a
      tiny mirror, and comb, and a little book, a cheap novel. He wrapped them
      all in the handkerchief and put them in his own pocket. The dead man's
      coat had fallen back from his body during the examination, and as Muller
      turned the stiffened limbs a little he saw the opening of another pocket
      high up over the right hip of the trousers. The detective passed his hand
      over the pocket and heard something rattle. Then he put his hand in the
      pocket and drew out a thin narrow envelope which he handed to the
      commissioner. Holzer looked at it carefully. It was made of very thin
      expensive paper and bore no address. But it was sealed, although not very
      carefully, for the gummed edges were open in spots. It must have been
      hastily closed and was slightly crushed as if it had been carried in a
      clenched hand. The commissioner cut open the envelope with his penknife.
      He gave an exclamation of surprise as he showed Muller the contents. In
      the envelope there were three hundred-gulden notes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner looked at Muller without a word, but the detective
      understood and shook his head. "No," he said calmly, "it may be a case of
      robbery just the same. This pocket was not very easy to find, and the
      money in it was safer than the dead man's watch and purse would be. That
      is, if he had a watch and purse&mdash;and he very probably had a watch,"
      he added more quickly.
    </p>
    <p>
      For Muller had made a little discovery. On the lower hem of the left side
      of the dead man's waistcoat he saw a little lump, and feeling of it he
      discovered that it was a watch key which had slipped down out of the torn
      pocket between the lining and the material of the vest. A sure proof that
      the dead man had had a watch, which in all probability had been taken from
      him by his murderer. There was no loose change or small bills to be found
      in any of the pockets, so that it was more than likely that the dead man
      had had his money in a purse. It seemed to be a case of murder for the
      sake of robbery. At least Muller and the commissioner believed it to be
      one, from what they had discovered thus far.
    </p>
    <p>
      The police officer gave his men orders to raise the body and to take it to
      the morgue. An hour later the unknown man lay in the bare room in which
      the only spot of brightness were the rays of the sun that crept through
      the high barred windows and touched his cold face and stiffened form as
      with a pitying caress. But no, there was one other little spot of
      brightness in the silent place. It was the wild aster which the dead man's
      hand still held tightly clasped. The little purple flowers were quite
      fresh yet, and the dewdrops clinging to them greeted the kiss of the sun's
      rays with an answering smile.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER II. THE BROKEN WILLOW TWIG
    </h2>
    <p>
      As soon as the corpse had been taken away, the police commissioner
      returned to the station. But Muller remained there all alone to make a
      thorough examination of the entire vicinity.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not a very attractive spot, this particular part of the street.
      There must have been a nursery there at one time, for there were still
      several ordered rows of small trees to be seen. There were traces of
      flower cultivation as well, for several trailing vines and overgrown
      bushes showed where shrubs had been grown which do not usually grow
      without man's assistance. Immediately back of the old elder tree Muller
      found several fine examples of rare flowers, or rather he found the shrubs
      which his experienced eye recognised as having once borne these unusual
      blossoms. One or two blooms still hung to the bushes and the detective,
      who was a great lover of flowers, picked them and put them in his
      buttonhole. While he did this, his keen eyes were darting about the place
      taking in all the details. This vacant lot had evidently been used as an
      unlicensed dumping ground for some time, for all sorts of odds and ends,
      old boots, bits of stuff, silk and rags, broken bottles and empty tin
      cans, lay about between the bushes or half buried in the earth. What had
      once been an orderly garden was now an untidy receptacle for waste. The
      pedantically neat detective looked about him in disgust, then suddenly he
      forgot his displeasure and a gleam shot up in his eye. It was very little,
      the thing this man had seen, this man who saw so much more than others.
    </p>
    <p>
      About ten paces from where he stood a high wooden fence hemmed in the lot.
      The fence belonged to the neighbouring property, as the lot in which he
      stood was not protected in any way. To the back it was closed off by a
      corn field where the tall stalks rustled gently in the faint morning
      breeze. All this could be seen by anybody and Muller had seen it all at
      his first glance. But now he had seen something else. Something that
      excited him because it might possibly have some connection with the newly
      discovered crime. His keen eyes, in glancing along the wooden fence at his
      right hand, had caught sight of a little twig which had worked its way
      through the fence. This twig belonged to a willow tree which grew on the
      other side, and which spread its grey-green foliage over the fence or
      through its wide openings. One of the little twigs which had crept in
      between the planks was broken, and it had been broken very recently, for
      the leaves were still fresh and the sap was oozing from the crushed stem.
      Muller walked over to the fence and examined the twig carefully. He soon
      saw how it came to be broken. The broken part was about the height of a
      man's knee from the ground. And just at this height there was quite a
      space between two of the planks of the fence, heavy planks which were laid
      cross-ways and nailed to thick posts. It would have been very easy for
      anybody to get a foothold in this open space between the planks.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was very evidently some foot thrust in between the planks which had
      broken the little willow twig, and its soft rind had left a green mark on
      the lower plank. "I wonder if that has anything to do with the murder,"
      thought Muller, looking over the fence into the lot on the other side.
    </p>
    <p>
      This neighbouring plot was evidently a neglected garden. It had once worn
      an aristocratic air, with stone statues and artistic arrangement of flower
      beds and shrubs. It was still attractive even in its neglected condition.
      Beyond it, through the foliage of its heavy trees, glass windows caught
      the sunlight. Muller remembered that there was a handsome old house in
      this direction, a house with a mansard roof and wide-reaching wings. He
      did not now know to whom this handsome old house belonged, a house that
      must have been built in the time of Maria Theresa,... but he was sure of
      one thing, and that was that he would soon find out to whom it belonged.
      At present it was the garden which interested him, and he was anxious to
      see where it ended. A few moments' further inspection showed him what he
      wanted to know. The garden extended to the beginning of the park-like
      grounds which surrounded the old house with the mansard roof. A tall iron
      railing separated the garden from the park, but this railing did not
      extend down as far as the quiet lane. Where it ended there was a light,
      well-built wooden fence. Along the street side of the fence there was a
      high thick hedge. Muller walked along this hedge until he came to a little
      gate. Then crossing the street, he saw that the house whose windows
      glistened in the sunlight was a house which he knew well from its other
      side, its front facade.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now he went back to the elder tree and then walked slowly away from this
      to the spot where he found the broken willow twig. He examined every foot
      of the ground, but there was nothing to be seen that was of any interest
      to him&mdash;not a footprint, or anything to prove that some one else had passed
      that way a short time before. And yet it would have been impossible to
      pass that way without leaving some trace, for the ground was cut up in all
      directions by mole hills.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next the detective scrutinised as much of the surroundings as would come
      into immediate connection with the spot where the corpse had been found.
      There was nothing to be seen there either, and Muller was obliged to
      acknowledge that he had discovered nothing that would lead to an
      understanding of the crime, unless, indeed, the broken willow twig should
      prove to be a clue. He sprang back across the ditch, turned up the edges
      of his trousers where they had been moistened by the dew and walked slowly
      along the dusty street. He was no longer alone in the lane. An old man,
      accompanied by a large dog, came out from one of the new houses and walked
      towards the detective, he was very evidently going in the direction of the
      elder-tree, which had already been such a centre of interest that morning.
      When he met Muller, the old man halted, touched his cap and asked in a
      confidential tone: "I suppose you've been to 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. They
      found him under that elder-tree. My wife just heard of it and 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 the
      news.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, he was shot last night. Only I don't understand why I didn't hear
      the shot. I couldn't sleep a wink all night for the pain in 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 to turn
      up my trousers so that they wouldn't get dusty&mdash;it must have been
      then you came out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then you must have been right near the place I was talking about. Do
      you see that elder tree there? It's the only one in the street, and the
      girl who brings the milk found the man under it. The police have been here
      already and have taken him away. They 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 happening so
      near you?" asked the detective casually.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I didn't know a thing, sir, not a thing. There couldn't have been a fight
      or I would have heard it. But I don't know why I didn't hear the shot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then you must have been asleep after all, in spite of your pain,"
      said Muller with a smile, as he walked along beside the 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 eye all
      night. I went to bed at half-past nine and I smoked two pipes before I put
      out the light, and then I heard every hour strike all night long and it
      wasn't until nearly five o'clock, 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 dog Sultan
      didn't hear anything. Sultan is a famous watchdog, I'd have you know.
      He'll growl if anybody passes through the street after dark, and I don't
      see why he didn't notice what was going on over there last night. If a
      man's attacked, he generally calls for help; it's a queer business all
      right."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Sultan, why didn't you make a noise?" asked Muller, patting the
      dog's broad head. Sultan growled and walked on indifferently, after he had
      shaken off the strange hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He must have slept more soundly than usual. He went off into the country
      with me yesterday. We had an errand to do there and on the way back we
      stopped in for a drink. Sultan takes a drop or two himself occasionally,
      and that usually makes him sleep. I had hard work to bring him home. We
      got here just a few minutes before 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 stream of
      talk ceased as he stood before the spot where the mysterious crime had
      occurred. He looked down thoughtfully at the grass, now trampled by many
      feet. "Who could have done it?" he 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," remarked
      Muller.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed it is, sir; indeed it is. As it would well have to be with the
      royal castles right here in the neighbourhood! Indeed it would 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 necessary,"
      remarked the old man, not realising to whom he was speaking. "They fuss
      about everything you do or don't do, and yet a man can be shot down right
      under our very noses here and the police can't help it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my dear sir, it isn't always possible for the police to prevent a
      criminal carrying out his evil intention," said Muller 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 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
      elder-tree. He bowed to Muller and turned and walked away.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller followed him slowly, very much pleased with this meeting, for it
      had given him a new clue. There was no reason to doubt the old man's
      story. And if this story was true, then the crime had been committed
      before half-past nine of the evening previous. For the old man&mdash;he
      was evidently the janitor in No.1&mdash;had not heard the shot.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller left the scene of the crime and walked towards the four houses.
      Before he reached them he had to pass the garden which belonged to the
      house with the mansard roof. Right and left of this garden were vacant
      lots, as well as on the opposite side of the street. Then came to the
      right and left the four new houses which stood at the beginning of the
      quiet lane. Muller passed them, turned up a cross street and then down
      again, into the street running parallel, to the lane, a quiet aristocratic
      street on which fronted the house with the mansard roof.
    </p>
    <p>
      A carriage stood in front of this house, two great trunks piled up on the
      box beside the driver. A young girl and an old man in livery were placing
      bags and bundles of rugs inside the carriage. Muller walked slowly toward
      the carriage. Just as he reached the open gate of the garden he was
      obliged to halt, to his own great satisfaction. For at this moment a group
      of people came out from the house, the owners of it evidently, prepared
      for a journey and surrounded by their servants.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beside the old man and the young girl, there were two other women, one
      evidently the housekeeper, the other possibly the cook. The latter was
      weeping openly and devoutly kissing the hand of her mistress. The
      housekeeper discovered that a rug was missing and sent the maid back for
      it, while the old servant helped the lady into the carriage. The door of
      the carriage was wide open and Muller had a good glimpse of the pale,
      sweet-faced and delicate-looking young woman who leaned back in her
      corner, shivering and evidently ill. The servants bustled about, making
      her comfortable, while her husband superintended the work with anxious
      tenderness. He was a tall, fine-looking man with deep-set grey eyes and a
      rich, sympathetic voice. He gave his orders to his servants with calm
      authority, but he also was evidently suffering from the disease of our
      century&mdash;nervousness, for Muller saw that the man's hands clenched
      feverishly and that his lips were trembling under his drooping moustache.
    </p>
    <p>
      The maid hastened down with the rug and spread it over her mistress's
      knees, as the gentleman exclaimed nervously: "Do hurry with that! Do you
      want us to miss the train?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler closed the door of the carriage, the coachman gathered up the
      reins and raised his whip. The housekeeper bowed low and murmured a few
      words in farewell and the other servants followed her example with tears
      in their eyes. "You'll see us again in six weeks," the lady called out and
      her husband added: "If all goes well." Then he motioned to the waiting
      driver and the carriage moved off swiftly, turning the corner in a few
      moments.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little group of servants returned to the courtyard behind the high
      gates. Muller, whom they had not noticed, was about to resume his walk,
      when he halted again. The courtyard of the house led back through a
      flagged walk to the park-like garden that surrounded it on the sides and
      rear. Down this walk came a young woman. She came so quickly that one
      might almost call it running. She was evidently excited about something.
      Muller imagined what this something might be, and he remained to hear what
      she had to say. He was not mistaken. The woman, it was Mrs. Schmiedler,
      the gardener's wife, began her story at once. "Haven't you heard yet?" she
      said breathlessly. "No, you can't have heard it yet or you wouldn't stand
      there so quietly, Mrs. Bernauer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's the matter?" asked the woman whom Muller took to be the
      housekeeper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They killed a man last night out here! They found his body just now in
      the lane back of our garden. The janitor from No.1 told me as I was going
      to the store, so I went right back to look at the 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 an
      equable mind. The other three servants broke out into an excited hubbub of
      talk while she remained quite indifferent and calm. "One more poor fellow
      who had to leave the world before he was ready," she remarked calmly, with
      just the natural touch of pity in her voice that would come to any
      warm-hearted human being upon hearing of such an occurrence. She did not
      seem at all excited or alarmed to think that the scene of the crime had
      been so near.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other servants were very much more excited and had already rushed off,
      under the guidance of the gardener's wife, to look at the dreadful spot.
      Franz, the butler, had quite forgotten to close the front gate in his
      excitement, and the housekeeper turned to do it now.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The fools, see them run," she exclaimed half aloud. "As if there was
      anything for them to do there."
    </p>
    <p>
      The gate closed, Mrs. Bernauer turned and walked slowly to the house.
      Muller walked on also, going first to the police station to report what he
      had discovered. Then he went to his own rooms and slept until nearly noon.
      On his return to the police station he found that notices of the
      occurrence had already been sent out to the papers.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III. THE EVENING PAPER
    </h2>
    <p>
      The autopsy proved beyond a doubt that the murdered man had been dead for
      many hours before the discovery of his body. The bullet which had struck
      him in the back had pierced the trachea and death had occurred within a
      few minutes. The only marks for identification of the body were the
      initials L. W. on his underwear. The evening paper printed an exact
      description of the man's appearance and his clothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was about ten o'clock next morning when Mrs. Klingmayer, a widow living
      in a quiet street at the opposite end of the city from Hietzing, returned
      from her morning marketing. It was only a few little bundles that she
      brought with her and she set about preparing her simple dinner. Her
      packages were wrapped in newspapers, which she carefully smoothed out and
      laid on the dresser.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Klingmayer was the widow of a street-car conductor and the little
      pension which she received from the company, as well as the money she
      could earn for herself, did not permit of the indulgence in a daily
      newspaper. And yet the reading of the papers was the one luxury for which
      the simple woman longed. Her grocer, who was a friend of years, knew this
      and would wrap up her purchases in papers of recent date, knowing that she
      could then enjoy them in her few moments of leisure. To-day this leisure
      came unexpectedly 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 closet
      opening out from it. She lived in the kitchen and rented the front rooms.
      Her tenants were a middle-aged man, inspector in a factory, who had the
      larger room; and a younger man who was bookkeeper in an importing house in
      the city. But this young man had not been at home for forty-eight hours, a
      fact, however, which did not greatly worry his landlady. The gentleman in
      question lived a rather dissipated life and it was not the first time that
      he had remained away from home over night. It is true that it was the
      first time that he had not been home for two successive nights. But as
      Mrs. Klingmayer thought, everything has to happen the first time sometime.
      "It's not likely to be the last time," the worthy woman thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      At all events she was rather glad of it to-day, for she suffered from
      rheumatism and it was difficult for her to get about. The young man's
      absence saved her the work of fixing up his room that morning and allowed
      her to get to her reading earlier than usual. When she had put the pot of
      soup on the fire, she sat down by the window, adjusted her big spectacles
      and began to read. To her great delight she discovered that the paper she
      held in her hand bore the date of the previous afternoon. In spite of the
      good intentions of her friend the grocer, it was not always that she could
      get a paper of so recent date, and she began to read with doubled
      anticipation of pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not waste time on the leading articles, for she understood little
      about politics. The serial stories were a great delight to her, or would
      have been, if she had ever been able to follow them consecutively. But her
      principal joy were the everyday happenings of varied interest which she
      found in the news columns. To-day she was so absorbed in the reading of
      them that the soup pot began to boil over and send out rivulets down onto
      the stove. Ordinarily this would have shocked Mrs. Klingmayer, for the
      neatness of her pots and pans was the one great care of her life. But now,
      strange to relate, she paid no attention to the soup, nor to the smell and
      the smoke that arose from the stove. She had just come upon a notice in
      the paper which took her entire attention. She read it through three
      times, and each time with growing excitement. This is what she read:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                       MURDER IN HIETZING

  This morning at six o'clock the body of a man about 30 years
  old was discovered in a lane in Hietzing.  The man must have
  been dead many hours.  He had been shot from behind.  The dead
  man was tall and thin, with brown eyes, brown hair and moustache.
  The letters L. W. were embroidered in his underwear.  There was
  nothing else discovered on him that could reveal his identity.
  His watch and purse were not in his pockets: presumably they had
  been taken by the murderer.  A strange fact is that in one of
  his pockets&mdash;a hidden pocket it is true&mdash;there was the sum of
  300 guldens in bills.
</pre>
    <p>
      This was the notice which made Mrs. Klingmayer neglect the soup pot.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finally the old woman stood up very slowly, threw a glance at the stove
      and opened the window mechanically. Then she lifted the pots from the fire
      and set them on the outer edge of the range. And then she did something
      that ordinarily would have shocked her economical soul&mdash;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 into
      her own little room and prepared to go out. Her excitement caused her to
      forget her rheumatism entirely. One more look around her little kitchen,
      then she locked it up and set out for the centre of the city.
    </p>
    <p>
      She went to the office of the importing house where her tenant, Leopold
      Winkler, was employed as bookkeeper. The clerk at the door noticed the
      woman's excitement and asked her kindly what the trouble 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 anything the
      matter? You look so white! Winkler will probably show up soon, he's never
      very punctual. But it's after eleven 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, sinking down
      on a bench beside the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what do you mean?" asked the clerk. "Why shouldn't he come again?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is the head of the firm here?" asked Mrs. Klingmayer, wiping her forehead
      with her handkerchief. The clerk nodded and hurried away to tell his
      employer about the woman with the white face who came to ask for a man
      who, as she expressed it, "would never come there again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't think she's quite right in the head," he volunteered. The 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 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
      believe all that this gentleman says. I hope he's not asking your help to
      lie to me. Are you sure that his illness is anything else but a case of
      being up late?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't think that he'll ever be sick again&mdash;I didn't come with any
      message from him, sir; please read this, sir." And she handed him the
      newspaper, showing him the notice. While the gentleman was 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 with a
      very serious face. "When did you see him last?" he asked of the woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Day before yesterday in the morning. He went away about half-past eight
      as he usually does," she replied. And then she added a question of her
      own: "Was he here day before yesterday?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The merchant nodded and pressed an electric bell. Then he rose from his
      seat and pulled up a chair for his visitor. "Sit down here. This thing has
      frightened you and you are no longer young." When the servant entered, the
      merchant told him to ask the head bookkeeper to come to the inner office.
    </p>
    <p>
      When this official appeared, his employer inquired: "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 the
      evening paper and pointing to the notice which had so interested him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pokorny read it, his face, like his employer's, growing more serious. "It
      looks almost as if it must be Winkler, sir," he said, in a few moments.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will soon find that out. I should like to go to the police station
      myself with this woman; she is Winkler's landlady&mdash;but I think it
      will be better for you to accompany her. They will ask questions about the
      man which you will be better able to answer than I."
    </p>
    <p>
      Pokorny bowed and left the room. Mrs. Klingmayer rose and was about to
      follow, when the merchant asked her to wait a moment and inquired whether
      Winkler owed her anything. "I am sorry that you should have had this shock
      and the annoyances and trouble which will come of it, 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, shaking
      her head. A few big tears rolled down over her withered cheeks, possibly
      the only tears that were shed for the dead man under the elder-tree. But
      even this sympathetic soul could find nothing to say in his praise. She
      could feel pity for his dreadful death, but she could not assert that the
      world had lost anything by his going out of it. As if saddened by the
      impossibility of finding a single good word to say about the dead man, she
      left the office with drooping head and lagging step.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pokorny helped her into the cab that was already waiting before the door.
      The office force had got wind of the fact that something unusual had
      occurred and were all at the windows to see them drive off. The three
      clerks who worked in the department to which Winkler belonged gathered
      together to talk the matter over. They were none of them particularly hit
      by it, but naturally they were interested in the discovery in Hietzing,
      and equally naturally, they tried to find a few good words to say about
      the man whose life had ended so suddenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The youngest of them, Fritz Bormann, said some kind words and was about to
      wax more enthusiastic, when Degenhart, the eldest clerk, cut in with the
      words: "Oh, don't trouble yourself. Nobody ever liked Winkler here. He
      was not a good man&mdash;he was not even a good worker. This is the first
      time that he has a reasonable excuse for neglecting his duties."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, come, see here! how can you talk about the poor man that way 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? Death
      is no reason for changing one's opinion about a man who was
      good-for-nothing in life. And his death was a stroke of good luck that he
      scarcely deserved. He died without a moment's pain, with a merry thought
      in his head, perhaps, while many another better man has to linger in
      torture for weeks. No, Bormann, the best I can say about Winkler is that
      his death makes one nonentity the less on earth."
    </p>
    <p>
      The older man turned to his desk again and the two younger clerks
      continued the conversation: "Degenhart appears to be a hard man," said
      Fritz, "but he's the best and kindest person I know, and he's dead right
      in what he says. It was simply a case of conventional superstition. I
      never did like that Winkler."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, you're right," said the other. "Neither did I and I don't know why,
      for the matter of that. He seemed just like a thousand 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 anything
      good about him either. And don't you think that it's worse for a man to
      seem to repel people by his very personality, rather 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 about it.
      I had an instinctive feeling that there was something wrong about Winkler,
      the sort of a creepy, crawly feeling that a snake gives you."
    </p>
    <p>
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      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV. SPEAK WELL OF THE DEAD
    </h2>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Pokorny and Mrs. Klingmayer had reached the police station and
      were going upstairs to the rooms of the commissioner on service for the
      day. Like all people of her class, Mrs. Klingmayer stood in great awe and
      terror of anything connected with the police or the law generally. She
      crept slowly and tremblingly up the stairs behind the head bookkeeper and
      was very glad when she was left alone for a few minutes while Pokorny went
      in to see the commissioner. But as soon as his errand was known, both the
      bookkeeper and his companion were led into the office of Head Commissioner
      Dr. von Riedau, who had charge of the Hietzing murder case.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Dr. von Riedau heard the reason of their coming, his interest was
      immediately aroused, and he pulled a chair to his side for the little thin
      man with whom he had been talking when the two strangers were ushered in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you believe you could identify the murdered man?" asked the
      commissioner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From the general description and the initials on his linen, I believe it
      must be Leopold Winkler," answered Pokorny. "Mrs. Klingmayer has not seen
      him since Monday morning, nor has she had any message from him. He left
      the office Monday afternoon at 6 o'clock and that was the last time that
      we saw him. The only thing that makes me doubt his identity is that the
      paper reports that three hundred gulden were found in his pocket. Winkler
      never seemed to have money, and I do not understand how he should have
      been in possession of such a sum."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The money was found in the dead man's pockets," said the commissioner.
      "And yet it may be Winkler, the man you know. Muller, will you order a
      cab, please?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have a cab waiting for me. But it only holds two," volunteered Pokorny.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That doesn't matter, I'll sit on the box," answered the man addressed as
      Muller.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are going with us?" asked Pokorny.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, he will accompany you," replied the commissioner. "This is detective
      Muller, sir. By a mere chance, he happened to be on hand to take charge of
      this case and he will remain in charge, although it may be wasting his
      talents which we need for more difficult problems. If you or any one else
      have anything to tell us, it must be told only to me or to Muller. And
      before you leave to look at the body, I would like to know whether the
      dead man owned a watch, 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. Klingmayer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Riedau looked at the bookkeeper, who nodded and said: "Yes, sir; Winkler
      had a watch, a gold watch with a double case. It was a large watch, very
      thick. I happen to have noticed it by chance and also I happen to know
      that he had not had the watch for very long."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you tell us anything more about the watch?" asked the commissioner of
      the landlady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; there was engraving on the outside cover, initials, and 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 were so
      many twists and curves to them that I couldn't make them 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 about
      the watch," said Pokorny, "for they were quite interested in it for a
      while. It was a handsome watch and they were envious of Winkler's
      possession of it. But he was so tactless in his boasting about it that
      they paid no further attention to him after the first 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. Klingmayer. "I
      remember the day because it was my birthday. I 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 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: "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 my
      pliers and he bent the two links together with them. It didn't look very
      nice after that, but it was strong again. You could see the mark of the
      pliers easily."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why didn't he take the chain to the jeweler's to be fixed?" asked the
      commissioner.
    </p>
    <p>
      The woman smiled. "It wouldn't have been worth the money, sir; the 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 and
      they gave me 24 gulden for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "One question more, did he have a purse? And did he have it with him on
      the day of the murder?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; he had a purse, and he must have taken it with him 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 pocketbook.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir; it was a little smaller. It had three pockets in it. I mended it
      for him once, so I know it well. I didn't have any brown thread so I
      mended it with yellow."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. von Riedau nodded to Muller. The latter had been sitting at a little
      side-table writing down the questions and answers. When Riedau saw this he
      did not send for a clerk to do the work, for Muller preferred to attend to
      such matters himself as much as possible. The facts gained in the
      examination were impressed upon his mind while he was writing them, and he
      did not have to wade through pages of manuscript to get at what he needed.
      Now he handed his superior officer the paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," said Riedau, "I'll send it out to the other police stations.
      I will attend to this myself. You go on with these people to see whether
      they can identify the corpse."
    </p>
    <p>
      Fifteen minutes later the three stood before the body in the morgue and
      both the bookkeeper and his companion identified the dead man positively
      as Leopold Winkler.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the identification was made, a notice was sent out to all Austrian
      police stations and to all pawnshops with an exact description of the
      stolen watch and purse.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller led his companions back to the commissioner's office and they made
      their report to Dr. von Riedau. Upon being questioned further, Pokorny
      stated: "I had very little to do with Winkler. We met only when he had a
      report to make to me or to show me his books, and we never met outside the
      office. The clerks who worked in the same room with him, may know him
      better. I know only that he was a very reserved man and very little
      liked."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I do not need to detain you any longer, nor to trouble you further
      in this affair. I thank you for coming to us so promptly. It has been of
      great assistance."
    </p>
    <p>
      The bookkeeper left the station, but Mrs. Klingmayer, who was now quite
      reassured as to the harmlessness of the police, was asked to remain and to
      tell what she knew of the private life of the murdered man. Her answers to
      the various questions put to her proved that she knew very little about
      her tenant. But this much was learned from her: that he was very close
      with his money at times, but that again at other times he seemed to have
      all he wanted to spend. At such times he paid all his debts, and when he
      stayed home for supper, he would send her out for all sorts of expensive
      delicacies. These extravagant days seemed to have nothing whatever to do
      with Winkler's business pay day, but came at odd times.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Klingmayer remembered two separate times when he had received a
      postal money order. But she did not know from whom the letters came, nor
      even whether they were sent from the city or from some other town. Winkler
      received other letters now and then, but his landlady was not of the
      prying kind, and she had paid very little attention to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      He seemed to have few friends or even acquaintances. She did not know of
      any love affair, at least of nothing "regular." He had remained away over
      night two or three times during the year that he had been her tenant. This
      was about all that Mrs. Klingmayer could say, and she returned to her home
      in a cab furnished her by the kind commissioner.
    </p>
    <p>
      About two hours later, a police attendant announced that a gentleman would
      like to see Dr. von Riedan on business concerning the murder in Hietzing.
      "Friedrich Bormann" was the name on the card.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ask him to step in here," said the commissioner. "And please ask Mr.
      Muller to join us."
    </p>
    <p>
      The good-looking young clerk entered the office bashfully and Muller
      slipped in behind him, seating himself inconspicuously by the door. At a
      sign from the commissioner the visitor began. "I am an employee of Braun
      &amp; Co. I have the desk next to Leopold Winkler, during the year that he
      has been with us&mdash;the year and a quarter to be exact&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, then you know him rather well?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, yes. At least we were together all day, although I never met 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 it
      over with Mr. Braun, he suggested that I should come to you and tell you
      about it. It wasn't really very important, and it doesn't seem as if it
      could have anything to do with this murder and robbery; still it may be of
      some use."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Everything that would throw light on the dead man's life could be 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
      morning and worked steadily at his desk. But I happened to notice that he
      spoiled several letters and had to rewrite them, which showed me that his
      thoughts were not on his work, a frequent occurrence with him. However,
      everything went along as usual until 11 o'clock. Then Winkler became very
      uneasy. He looked constantly toward the door, compared his watch with the
      office clock, and sprang up impatiently as the special letter carrier, who
      usually 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 called
      out: 'Haven't you anything for me?' and as the man shook his head Winkler
      seemed greatly disappointed and depressed. Before he left to go to lunch,
      he wrote a hasty letter, which he put in his pocket.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He came in half an hour later than the rest of us. He had often been
      reprimanded for his lack of punctuality, but it seemed to do no good. He
      was almost always late. Monday was no exception, 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 which
      did not come. His excitement hindered him from working, he scarcely did
      anything the entire afternoon. Finally at five o'clock a messenger boy
      came with a letter for him. I saw that Winkler turned pale as he took the
      note in his hand. It seemed to be only a few words written hastily on a
      card, thrust into an envelope. Winkler's teeth were set as he opened the
      letter. The messenger had 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, whose
      behaviour was so peculiar. When he read the card his face brightened. He
      read it through once more, then he tore both card and envelope into little
      bits and threw the pieces out of the open window.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then he evidently did not want anybody to see the contents of this note,"
      said a voice from the corner of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fritz Bormann looked around astonished and rather doubtful at the little
      man who had risen from his chair and now came forward. Without waiting for
      an answer from the clerk, the other continued: "Did Winkler have money
      sent him frequently?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Bormann looked inquiringly at the commissioner, who replied with a smile:
      "You may answer. Answer anything that Mr. Muller has to ask 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 answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How close together?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why&mdash;about once in every three or four months, I think."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That looks almost like a regular income," exclaimed Riedau. His eyes met
      Muller's, which were lit up in sudden fire. "Well, what are you thinking
      of?" asked the commissioner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A woman," answered Muller; and continued more as if thinking aloud than
      as if addressing the others: "Winkler was a good-looking man. Might he not
      have had a rich love somewhere? Might not the money have come from her,
      the money that was found in his pocket?" Muller's voice trailed off into
      indistinctness at the last words, 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 would give
      to a child who has been over-eager. "It doesn't matter to us where the
      money came from. All that matters here is where the bullet came from&mdash;the
      bullet which prevented his enjoying this money. And it is of more interest
      to us to find out who robbed him of his life and his property, rather than
      the source from which this property came."
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner's tone was friendly, but Muller's face flushed red, and
      his head dropped. Riedau turned to Bormann and continued: "And because it
      is of no interest to us where his money came from&mdash;for it can have
      nothing whatever to do with his murder and the subsequent robbery&mdash;therefore
      what you noticed of his behaviour cannot be of any importance or bearing
      in the case in any way. Unless, indeed, you should find out anything more.
      But we appreciate the thoughtfulness of yourself and your employer and
      your readiness to help us."
    </p>
    <p>
      Bormann rose to leave, but the commissioner put out a hand to stop him. "A
      few moments more, please; you may know of something else that will be of
      assistance to us. We have heard that Winkler boasted of his belongings &mdash;did
      he talk about his private affairs in 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 that no
      one must see it&mdash;this note may have been a promise for the money
      which had not yet come. Did he, however, tell any one later that he
      expected a certain sum? Do you think he would have been likely to tell any
      one?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I do not think that he would tell any one. He never mentioned to any
      of us that he had received money, or even that he expected to receive it.
      None of us knew what outside resources he might have, or whence they came.
      If it had not been that the money was paid him by the carrier in the
      office two or three times&mdash;so, that we could see it&mdash;we would
      none of us have known of this income, except for the fact that he was
      freer in spending after the money came. He would dine at expensive
      restaurants, and this fact he would mention 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 outside the
      office?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir. I seldom met him outside of the office. One evening it did
      happen that I saw him at Ronacher's. He was there with a lady&mdash;that
      is, a so-called 'lady'&mdash;and it must have been one of the times that he had
      money, for they were enjoying an expensive supper. At other times, some of
      the other clerks met him at various resorts, always with the same sort of
      woman. But not always with 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 with him
      at first because of this, and soon we noticed that he 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 sorry,
      sir, if I have taken up your time to no purpose," said the 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 to
      us," said a voice behind them. Muller stood there, looking at Riedau with
      a glance almost of defiance. His eyes were again lit up with the strange
      fire that shone in them when he was on the trail. The commissioner
      shrugged his shoulders, bowed to the departing visitor, and then turned
      without an answer to some documents on his desk. There was silence in the
      room for a few moments. Finally a gentle voice came from Muller's corner
      again: "Dr. von Riedau?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner raised his head and looked around. "Oh, are you still
      there?" he asked with a drawl.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller knew what this drawl meant. It was the manner adopted by the
      amiable commissioner when he was in a mood which was not amiable. And
      Muller knew also the cause of the mood. It was his own last remark, the
      words he addressed to Bormann. Muller himself recognised the fact that
      this remark was out of place, that it was almost an impertinence, because
      it was in direct contradiction to a statement made a few moments before by
      his superior officer. Also he realised that his remark had been quite
      unnecessary, because it was a matter of indifference to the young man, who
      was only obeying his employer's orders in reporting what he had seen,
      whether his report was of value or not. Muller had simply uttered aloud
      the thought that came into his mind, a habit of his which years of
      official training had not yet succeeded in breaking. It was annoying to
      himself sometimes, for these half-formed thoughts were mere instinct&mdash;they
      were the workings of his own genius that made him catch a suspicion of the
      truth long before his conscious mind could reason it out or appreciate its
      value. But that sort of thing was not popular in official police life.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," asked the commissioner, as Muller did not continue, "your tongue
      is not usually so slow&mdash;as you have proved just a few moments back&mdash;what
      were you going to say now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was about to ask your pardon for my interruption. It was unnecessary, I
      should not have said it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I realise that you know better yourself," said Riedau, now quite
      friendly again, "and now what else have you to say? Do you really think
      that what the young man has just told us is of any 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 again,
      Muller," said the commissioner with a laugh. But the laugh turned to
      seriousness as he realised how many times Muller's imagination had helped
      the clumsy official mind to its proudest triumphs. The commissioner was an
      intelligent man, as far as his lights went, and he was a good-hearted man.
      He rose from his chair and walked over to where the detective stood. "You
      needn't look so embarrassed, Muller," he said. "There is no cause for you
      to feel bad about it. And&mdash;I am quite willing to admit that my remark
      just now was unnecessary. You may give your imagination full rein, we can
      trust to your intelligence and your devotion to duty to keep it from
      unnecessary flights. So curbed, I know it will be of as much assistance to
      us this time as it always has been."
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller's quiet face lit up, and his eyes shone in a happiness that made
      him appear ten years younger. That was one of the strange things about
      Joseph Muller. This genius in his profession was in all other ways a man
      of such simplicity of heart and bearing, that the slightest word of
      approval from one of the officials for whom he worked could make him as
      happy as praise from the teacher will make a schoolboy. The moments when
      he was in command of any difficult case, when these same superiors would
      wait for a word from him, when high officials would take his orders or
      would be obliged to acknowledge that without him they were helpless, these
      moments were forgotten as soon as the problem was solved and Muller became
      again the simple subordinate and the obscure member of the Imperial police
      force.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Muller left the commissioner's room and walked through the outer
      office, one of the clerks looked after him and whispered to his companion:
      "Do you think he's found the Hietzing murderer yet?" The other answered:
      "I don't think so, but he looks as if he had 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 pleased
      him. He walked slowly down the stairs murmuring to himself: "I think I was
      right just the same. We are following a false trail."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V. BY A THREAD
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was on Monday, the 27th of September, that Leopold Winkler was murdered
      and robbed, and early on Tuesday, the 28th, his body was found. That day
      the evening papers printed the report of the murder and the description of
      the dead man, and on Wednesday, the 29th, Mrs. Klingmayer read the news
      and went to see Winkler's employer. By noon of that day the body was
      identified and a description of the stolen purse and watch telegraphed to
      police headquarters in various cities. A few hours later, these police
      stations had sent out notices by messenger to all pawnshops and dealers in
      second-hand clothing, and now the machinery of the law sat waiting for
      some news of an attempt on the part of the robber-and-murderer to get rid
      of his plunder.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this same Wednesday, about the twilight hour, David Goldstamm, dealer
      in second-hand clothing, stood before the door of his shop in a side
      street of the old Hungarian city of Pressburg and watched his assistant
      take down the clothes which were hanging outside and carry them into the
      store. The old man's eyes glanced carelessly up and down the street and
      caught sight of a man who turned the corner and came hurrying towards him.
      This man was a very seedy-looking individual. An old faded overcoat hung
      about his thin figure, and a torn and dusty hat fell over his left eye. He
      seemed also to be much the worse for liquor and very wobbly on his feet.
      And yet he seemed anxious to hurry onward in spite of the unevenness of
      his walk.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he slowed up suddenly, glanced across the street to Goldstamm's
      store, and crossed over.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you any boots for me?" he asked, sticking out his right foot 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 usual
      businesslike tone, leading the way into the store.
    </p>
    <p>
      The stranger followed. Goldstamm lit the one light in the little place and
      groped about in an untidy heap of shoes of all kinds and sizes until he
      found several pairs that he thought might fit. These he brought out and
      put them in front of his customer. But in spite of his bleary eyes, the
      man caught sight of some patches on the 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 have to
      wear patched shoes," he grunted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Goldstamm didn't like the looks of the man, but he felt that he had better
      be careful and not make him angry. "Have patience, sir, I'll find you
      something better," he said gently, tossing the heap 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 in a
      rough voice. He bent down to loosen the shabby boot from his right foot,
      and as he did so something fell out of the pocket of his coat. An
      unconscious motion of his own raised foot struck this small object and
      tossed it into the middle of the heap of shoes close by Goldstamm's hand.
      The old man reached out after it and caught it. It was just an ordinary
      brown leather pocketbook, of medium size, old and shabby, like a thousand
      others. But the eyes of the little old man widened as if in terror, his
      face turned pale and his hands trembled. For he had seen, hanging from one
      side of this worn brown leather pocketbook, the end of a yellow thread,
      the loosened end of the thread with which one side of the purse was
      mended. The thread told David Goldstamm who it was that had come into his
      shop.
    </p>
    <p>
      He regained his control with a desperate effort of the will. It took him
      but a few seconds to do so, and, thanks to his partial intoxication, the
      customer had not noticed the shopkeeper's start of alarm. But he appeared
      anxious and impatient to regain 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 pocket
      with a sigh of relief. Goldstamm had regained his calm and his mind was
      working eagerly. He put several pairs of shoes before his customer, with
      the remark: "You must try them on. We'll find something to suit you. And
      meanwhile I will bring in several pairs of trousers from those outside. I
      have some fine coats to show you too."
    </p>
    <p>
      Goldstamm went out to the door, almost colliding there with his assistant
      who was coming in with his arm full of garments. The old man motioned to
      the boy, who retreated until they were both hidden from the view of the
      man within the store.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give me those blue trousers there," said Goldstamm in a loud voice. Then
      in a whisper he said to the boy: "Run to the police station. 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 old man
      returned to his store with a heavy heart. He wondered whether he would be
      able to keep the murderer there until the police could come. And he also
      wondered what it might cost him, an old and feeble man, who would be as a
      weak reed in the hands of the strong tramp in there. But he knew it was
      his duty to do whatever he could to help in the arrest of one who had just
      taken the life of a fellow creature. The realisation of this gave the old
      man strength and calmness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A nice sort of an eye for size you have," cried the tramp as the old man
      came up to him. "I suppose you've brought me in a boy's suit? What do you
      take me for? Any girl could go to a ball in the shoes you brought me to
      try on here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are they so much too small?" asked the dealer in an innocent tone. "Well,
      there's plenty more there. And perhaps you had better be trying on this
      suit behind the curtain here while I'm hunting up the shoes."
    </p>
    <p>
      This suggestion seemed to please the stranger, as he was evidently in a
      hurry. He passed in behind the curtain and began to undress. Goldstamm's
      keen eyes watched him through a crack. There was not much to be seen
      except that the tramp seemed anxious to keep his overcoat within reach of
      his hand. He had carefully put the purse in one of its pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We'll get the things all together pretty soon," said the dealer. "I've
      found a pair of boots here, fine boots of good quality, and sure to fit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop your talk," growled the other, "and come here and help me so that I
      can get away."
    </p>
    <p>
      Goldstamm came forward, and though his heart was very heavy within him, he
      aided this man, this man about whom so many hundreds were now thinking in
      terror, as calmly as he had aided his other poor but honest customers.
    </p>
    <p>
      With hands that did not tremble, the dealer busied himself about his
      customer, listening all the while to sounds in the street in the hope that
      his tete-e-tete with the murderer would soon be over. But in spite of all
      his natural anxiety, the old man's sharp eyes took cognizance of various
      things, one of which was that the man whom he was helping to dress in his
      new clothes did not have the watch which was described in the police
      notice. This fact, however, did not make the old man's heart any lighter,
      for the purse mended with yellow thread was too clearly the one stolen
      from the murdered man found in the quiet street in Hietzing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's the matter with you, you're so slow? I can get along better
      myself," growled the tramp, pushing the old man away from him. Goldstamm
      had really begun to tremble now in spite of his control, in the fear that
      the man would get away from him before the police came.
    </p>
    <p>
      The tramp was already dressed in the new suit, into a pocket of which he
      put the old purse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There, now the boots and then we're finished," said the dealer with an
      attempt at a smile. In his heart he prayed that the pair he now held in
      his hand might not fit, that he might gain a few minutes more. But the
      shoes did fit. A little pushing and stamping and the man was ready to
      leave the store. He was evidently in a hurry, for he paid what was asked
      without any attempt to bargain. Had Goldstamm not known whom he had before
      him now, he would have been very much astonished at this, and might
      perhaps have been sorry that he had not named a higher sum. But under the
      circumstances he understood only too well the man's desire to get away,
      and would much rather have had some talk as to the payment, anything that
      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 perhaps
      we can make a deal for them. I pay the highest prices in the city," said
      Goldstamm, with an apparent eagerness which he hoped would deceive the
      customer.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the man had already turned towards the door, and called hack 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 with a
      policeman holding a revolver. He turned, with a curse, back into the room,
      but the dealer was nowhere to be seen. David Goldstamm had done his duty
      to the public, in spite of his fear. Now, seeing that the police had
      arrived, he could think of his duty to his family. This duty was plainly
      to save his own life, and when the tramp turned again to look for him, he
      had disappeared out of the back door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a move or I will shoot," cried the policeman, and now two others
      appeared behind him, and came into the store. But the tramp made no
      attempt to escape. He stood pale and trembling while they put the
      handcuffs on him, and let them take him away without any resistance. He
      was put on the evening express for Vienna, and taken to Police
      Headquarters in that city. He made no protest nor any attempt to escape,
      but he refused to utter a word on the entire journey.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI. ALMOST CONVICTED
    </h2>
    <p>
      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 late,"
      said the commissioner. "We're working this case off quickly. We will have
      the murderer here in half an hour at the latest. He did not have much time
      to enjoy the stolen property. He was here in Vienna this morning, and was
      arrested in Pressburg this afternoon. Here is the telegram, read it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. von Riedau handed Muller the message. The commissioner was evidently
      pleased and excited. The telegram read as follows: "Man arrested here in
      possession of described purse containing four ten gulden notes and four
      guldens in silver. Arrested in store of second-hand clothes dealer
      Goldstamm. Will arrive this evening in 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 on
      this desk already; it was a heavy gold watch, unusually thick, with the
      initials L. W. on the cover. Just as Muller laid down the telegram, a door
      outside was opened and the commissioner covered the watch hastily. There
      was a loud knock at his own door and an attendant entered to announce that
      the party from Pressburg had arrived He was followed by one of the
      Pressburg police force, who brought the official report.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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, and he
      seems to be quite sober now. But he hasn't said a word since we arrested
      him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then followed the detailed report of the arrest, and the delivery of 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 tramp was
      brought in, guarded by two armed roundsmen. His guards remained at the
      door, while the prisoner himself walked forward to the middle of the room.
      Commissioner von Riedau sat at his desk, his clerk beside him ready to
      take down the evidence. Muller sat near a window with a paper on his lap,
      looking the least interested of anybody in the proceedings.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment there was complete silence in the room, which was broken in a
      rather unusual manner. A deep voice, more like a growl, although it had a
      queer strain of comic good-nature in it, began the proceedings with the
      remark: "Well now, say, what do you want of me, anyway?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner looked at the man in astonishment, then turned aside that
      the prisoner might not notice his smile. But he might have spared himself
      the trouble, for Muller, the clerk, and the two policemen at the door were
      all on a broad grin.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the commissioner pulled himself together again, and began with his
      usual official gravity: "It is I who ask questions here. Is it possible
      that you do not know this? You look to me as if you had had experience in
      police courts before." The commissioner gazed at the prisoner with eyes
      that were not altogether friendly. The tramp seemed to feel this, and his
      own eyes dropped, while the good-natured impertinence in his bearing
      disappeared. It was evidently the last 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&mdash;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 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 shoulders.
      "I've done a lot of things in my life. I'm a cattle drover and a lumber
      man, and I&mdash;"
    </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
      gotten through life thus far honestly?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I've worked hard enough&mdash;I've worked good and hard sometimes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The last few days particularly, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, no, sir, not these last days&mdash;I was drover on a transport of
      pigs; we brought 'em down from Hungary, 200 of 'em, to the slaughter house
      here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When was that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was&mdash;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 would
      have asked why did I go to Ottakring. I just went to Hietzing. A fellow
      has to go somewhere. You don't stay in the same spot all the time, do
      you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Again the commissioner turned his head and another smile went 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," said the
      commissioner, turning back to Knoll when he had controlled his merriment.
      "You went there on Monday, then&mdash;and the day was 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 me to
      dinner or to give me a place to sleep. I just had to look out for myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You evidently know how to look out for yourself at the cost of others, a
      heavy cost." The commissioner's easy tone had changed to sternness. Knoll
      felt this, and a sharp gleam shot out from his dull little eyes, while the
      tone of his voice was gruff and 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 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 the way
      most people get it. I bought it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This purse?" the commissioner emphasised both words distinctly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This purse&mdash;yes," answered the tramp with a perfect imitation of
      Riedau's voice. "Why shouldn't I have bought this purse just like any
      other?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because you stole this purse from the man whom you&mdash;murdered," was
      the commissioner's reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was another moment of dead silence in the room. The commissioner and
      Muller watched intently for any change of expression in the face of the
      man who had just had such an accusation hurled at him. Even the clerk and
      the two policemen at the door were interested to see what would happen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll's calm impertinence vanished, a deadly pallor spread over his face,
      and he seemed frozen to stone. He attempted to speak, but was not able to
      control his voice. His hands were clenched and tremors shook his gaunt but
      strong-muscled frame.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When did I murder anybody?" he gasped finally in a hoarse croak. "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 coldly,
      pointing to the purse. "The purse and the watch of the 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. But you
      were in possession of a watch between the evening of Monday, 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. "You must
      have the watch yourself now, or else you wouldn't be so certain about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, you see, I thought you'd had experience with police courts before,"
      said the commissioner amiably. "Of course I have the watch already. The
      man whom you sold it to this morning knew by three o'clock this afternoon
      where this watch came from. He brought it here at once and gave us your
      description. A very exact description. The man will be brought here to
      identify you to-morrow. We must send for him anyway, to return his money
      to him. He paid you fifty-two gulden for the watch. And how much money was
      in the 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
      continued: "You presumably recognised that the chain on which this watch
      hung was valueless, also that it could easily be recognised. 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 have
      quite enough evidence without it. The purse, for instance: you thought, I
      suppose, that it was just a purse like a thousand others, but it is not.
      This purse is absolutely individual and easily recognised, because it is
      mended in one spot with yellow thread. The thread has become loosened and
      hangs down in a very noticeable manner. It was this yellow thread on the
      purse, which he happened to see by chance, that showed the dealer
      Goldstamm who it was that had entered his store."
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll stood quite silent, staring at the floor. Drops of perspiration
      stood out on his forehead, some of them rolling like tears down his cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner rose from his seat and walked slowly to where the
      prisoner stood. He laid one hand on the man's shoulder and said in a voice
      that was quite gentle and kind again: "Johann Knoll, do not waste your
      time, or ours, in thinking up useless lies. You are almost convicted of
      this crime now. You have already acknowledged so much, that there is but
      little more for you to say. If you make an open confession, it will be
      greatly to your advantage."
    </p>
    <p>
      Again the room was quiet while the others waited for what would happen.
      For a moment the tramp stood silent, with the commissioner's right hand
      resting on his shoulder. Then there was a sudden movement, a struggle and
      a shout, and the two policemen had overpowered the prisoner and held him
      firmly. Muller rose quickly and sprang to his chief's side. Riedau had not
      even changed colour, and he said calmly: "Oh, never mind, Muller; sit down
      again. The man had handcuffs on and he is quite quiet now. I think he has
      sense enough 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 chair by
      the window. The prisoner was quiet again, although his face wore a dark
      flush and the veins on throat and forehead were swollen thick. He trembled
      noticeably and the heavy drops besprinkled his brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I have something to say, sir," he began, "but first I want to beg
      your pardon&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, never mind that. I am not angry when a man is fighting for his life,
      even if he doesn't choose quite the right way," answered the commissioner
      calmly, playing with a lead pencil.
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll's expression was defiant now. He laughed harshly and began again:
      "What I'm tellin' you now is the truth whether you believe it or not. I
      didn't kill the man. I took the watch and purse from him. I thought he was
      drunk. If he was killed, I didn't 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 about it, I
      didn't think there was anythin' doing, I thought somebody was shootin' a
      cat, or else-"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, don't bother to invent things. It was a man who was shot at, the man
      whom you robbed. But go on, go on. I am anxious to hear what you will tell
      me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll's hands, clenched to fists and his eyes glowed in hate and defiance.
      Then he dropped them to the floor again and began to talk slowly in a
      monotonous tone that sounded as if he were repeating a lesson. His manner
      was rather unfortunate and did not tend to induce belief in the truth of
      his story. The gist of what he said was as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      He had reached Hietzing on Monday evening about 8 o'clock. He was thirsty,
      as usual, and had about two gulden in his possession, his wages for the
      last day's work. He turned into a tavern in Hietzing and ate and drank
      until his money was all gone, and he had not even enough left to pay for a
      night's lodging. But Knoll was not worried about that. He was accustomed
      to sleeping out of doors, and as this was a particularly fine evening,
      there was nothing in the prospect to alarm him. He set about finding a
      suitable place where he would not be disturbed by the guardians of the
      law. His search led him by chance into a newly opened street. This suited
      him exactly. The fences were easy to climb, and there were several little
      summer houses in sight which made much more agreeable lodgings than the
      ground under a bush. And above all, the street was so quiet and deserted
      that he knew it was just the place for him. He had never been in the
      street before, and did not know its name. He passed the four houses at the
      end of the street&mdash;he was on the left sidewalk&mdash;and then he came
      to two fenced-in building lots. These interested him. He was very agile,
      raised himself up on the fences easily and took stock of the situation.
      One of the lots did not appeal to him particularly, but the second one
      did. It bordered on a large garden, in the middle of which he could see a
      little house of some kind. It was after sunset but he could see things
      quite plainly yet for the air was clear and the moon was just rising. He
      saw also that in the vacant lot adjoining the garden, a lot which appeared
      to have been a garden itself once, there was a sort of shed. It looked
      very much damaged but appeared to offer shelter sufficient for a fine
      night.
    </p>
    <p>
      The shed stood on a little raise of the ground near the high iron fence
      that protected the large garden. Knoll decided that the shed would make a
      good place to spend the night. He climbed the fence easily and walked
      across the lot. When he was just settling himself for his nap, he heard
      the clock on a near-by church strike nine. The various drinks he had had
      for supper put him in a mood that would not allow him to get to sleep at
      once. The bench in the old shed was decidedly rickety and very
      uncomfortable, and as he was tossing about to find a good position, a
      thought came into his mind which he acknowledged was not a commendable
      one. It occurred to him that if he pursued his investigations in the
      neighbourhood a little further, he might be able to pick up something that
      would be of advantage to him on his wanderings. His eyes and his thoughts
      were directed towards the handsome house 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 mansard
      roof of the fine old mansion. The windows of the long wing which stretched
      out towards the garden glistened in the moonbeams, and the light coloured
      wall of the house made a bright background for the dark mask of trees
      waving gently in the night breeze. Knoll's little shed was sufficiently
      raised on its hillock for him to have a good view of the garden. There was
      no door to the shed and he could see the neighbouring property clearly
      from where he lay on his bench. While he lay there watching, he saw a
      woman walking through the garden. He could see her only when she passed
      back of or between the lower shrubs and bushes. As far as he could see,
      she came from the main building and was walking towards a pretty little
      house which lay in the centre of the garden. Knoll had imagined this house
      to be the gardener's dwelling and as it lay quite dark he supposed the
      inmates were either asleep or out for the evening. It had been this house
      which he was intending to honour by a visit. But seeing the woman walking
      towards it, he decided it would not be safe to carry out his plan just yet
      awhile.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few moments later he was certain that this last decision had been a wise
      one, for he saw a man come from the main building and walk along the path
      the woman had taken. "No, nothing doing there," thought Knoll, and
      concluded he had better go to sleep. He could not remember just how long
      he may have dozed but it seemed to him that during that time he had heard
      a shot. It did not interest him much. He supposed some one was shooting at
      a thieving cat or at some small night animal. He did not even remember
      whether he had been really sound asleep, before he was aroused by the
      breaking down of the bench on which he lay. The noise of it more than the
      shock of the short fall, awoke him and he sprang up in alarm and listened
      intently to hear whether any one had been attracted by it. His first
      glance was towards the building behind the garden. There was no sound nor
      no light in the garden house but there was a light in the main building.
      While the tramp was wondering what hour it might be, the church clock
      answered him by ten loud strokes.
    </p>
    <p>
      His head was already aching from the wine and he did not feel comfortable
      in the drafty old building. He came out from it, crept along to the spot
      where he had climbed the fence before, and after listening carefully and
      hearing nothing on either side, he climbed back to the road. The Street
      lay silent and empty, which was just what he was hoping for. He held
      carefully to the shadow thrown by the high board fence over which he had
      climbed until he came to its end. Then he remembered that he hadn't done
      anything wrong and stepped out boldly into the moonlight. The moon was
      well up now and the street was almost as light as day. Knoll was attracted
      by the queer shadows thrown by a big elder tree, waving its long branches
      in the wind. As he came nearer he saw that part of the shadow was no
      shadow at all but was the body of a man lying in the street near the bush.
      "I thought sure he was drunk" was the way Knoll described it. "I've been
      like that myself often until somebody came along and found me."
    </p>
    <p>
      When he came to this spot in his story, he halted and drew a long breath.
      Commissioner von Riedau had begun to make some figures on the paper in
      front of him, then changed the lines until the head 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 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
      opportunity&mdash;well&mdash;I did. The man was lying on his back and I
      saw a watch chain on his dark vest. I bent over him and took his watch and
      chain. Then I felt around in his pocket and found his purse. And then&mdash;well
      then I felt sorry for him lying out in the open road like that, and I
      thought I'd lift him up and put him somewhere where he could sleep it off
      more convenient. But I didn't see there was a little ditch there and I
      stumbled over it and dropped him. 'It's a good thing he's so drunk that
      even this don't wake him up,' I thought, and ran off. Then I thought I
      heard something moving and I was scared stiff, but there was nothing in
      the street at all. I thought I had better take to the fields though and I
      crossed through some corn and then out onto another street. Finally I
      walked into the city, stayed there till this morning, sold the watch, then
      went to Pressburg."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So that was the way it was," said the commissioner, pushing his drawing
      away from him and motioning to the policemen at the door. "You may take
      this man away now," he added in a voice of cool indifference, without
      looking at the prisoner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll's head drooped and he walked out quietly between his two guards. The
      clock on the office wall struck eleven.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear me! what a lot of time the man wasted," said the commissioner,
      putting the report of the proceedings, the watch and the purse in a drawer
      of his desk. "When anybody has been almost convicted of a 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 the
      group, walked slowly down the stairs. He was in such a brown study that he
      scarcely heard the commissioner's friendly "goodnight," nor did he notice
      that he was walking down the quiet street under a star-gilded sky. "Almost
      convicted&mdash;almost. Almost?" Muller's lips murmured while his head was
      full of a chaotic rush of thought, dim pictures that came and went,
      something that seemed to be on the point of bringing light into the
      darkness, then vanishing again. "Almost&mdash;but not quite. There is
      something here I must find out first. What is it? I must know&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII. THE FACE AT THE GATE
    </h2>
    <p>
      The second examination of the prisoner brought nothing new. Johann Knoll
      refused to speak at all, or else simply repeated what he had said before.
      This second examination took place early the next morning, but Muller was
      not present. He was taking a walk in Hietzing.
    </p>
    <p>
      When they took Johann Knoll in the police wagon to the City Prison, Muller
      was just sauntering slowly through the street where the murder had been
      committed. And as the door of the cell shut clangingly behind the man
      whose face was distorted in impotent rage and despair, Joseph Muller was
      standing in deep thought before the broken willow twig, which now hung
      brown and dry across the planks of the fence. He looked at it for a long
      time. That is, he seemed to be looking at it, but in reality his eyes were
      looking out and beyond the willow twig, out into the unknown, where the
      unknown murderer was still at large. Leopold Winkler's body had already
      been committed to the earth. How long will it be before his death is
      avenged? Or perhaps how long may it even be before it is discovered from
      what motive this murder was committed. Was it a murder for robbery, or a
      murder for personal revenge perhaps? Were the two crimes committed here by
      one and the same person, or were there two people concerned? And if two,
      did they work as accomplices? Or is it possible that Knoll's story was
      true? Did he really only rob the body, not realising that it was a dead
      man and not merely an intoxicated sleeper as he had supposed? These and
      many more thoughts rushed tumultuously through Muller's brain until he
      sighed despairingly under the pressure. Then he smiled in amusement at the
      wish that had crossed his brain, the wish that this case might seem as
      simple to him as it apparently did to the commissioner. It would certainly
      have saved him a lot of work and trouble if he could believe the obvious
      as most people did. What was this devil that rode him and spurred him on
      to delve into the hidden facts concerning matters that seemed so simple on
      the surface? The devil that spurred him on to understand that there always
      was some hidden side to every case? Then the sigh and the smile passed,
      and Muller raised his head in one of the rare moments of pride in his own
      gifts that this shy unassuming little man ever allowed himself. This was
      the work that he was intended by Providence to do or he wouldn't have been
      fitted for it, and it was work for the common good, for the public safety.
      Thinking back over the troubles of his early youth, Muller's heart
      rejoiced and he was glad in his own genius. Then the moment of unwonted
      elation passed and he bent his mind again to the problem before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sauntered slowly through the quiet street in the direction of the four
      houses. To reach them he passed the fence that enclosed this end of the
      Thorne property. Muller had already known, for the last twenty-four hours
      at least, that the owner of the fine old estate was an artist by the name
      of Herbert Thorne. His own landlady had informed him of this. He himself
      was new to the neighbourhood, having moved out there recently, and he had
      verified her statements by the city directory. As he was now passing the
      Thorne property, in his slow, sauntering walk, he had just come within a
      dozen paces of the little wooden gate in the fence when this gate opened.
      Muller's naturally soft tread was made still more noiseless by the fact
      that he wore wide soft shoes. Years before he had acquired a bad case of
      chilblains, in fact had been in imminent danger of having his feet frozen
      by standing for five hours in the snow in front of a house, to intercept
      several aristocratic gentlemen who sooner or later would be obliged to
      leave that house. The police had long suspected the existence of this
      high-class gambling den; but it was not until they had put Muller in
      charge of the case, that there were any results attained. The arrests were
      made at the risk of permanent injury to the celebrated detective. Since
      then, Muller's step was more noiseless than usual, and now the woman who
      opened the gate and peered out cautiously did not hear his approach nor
      did she see him standing in the shadow of the fence. She looked towards
      the other end of the street, then turned and spoke to somebody behind her.
      "There's nobody coming from that direction," he said. Then she turned her
      head the other way and saw Muller. She looked at him for a moment and
      slammed the gate shut, disappearing behind it. Muller heard the lock click
      and heard the beat of running feet hastening rapidly over the gravel path
      through the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      The detective stood immediately in front of the gate, shaking his head.
      "What was the matter with the woman? What was it that she wanted to see or
      do in the street? Why should she run away when she saw me?" These were his
      thoughts. But he didn't waste time in merely thinking. Muller never did.
      Action followed thought with him very quickly. He saw a knot-hole in the
      fence just beside the gate and he applied his eyes to this knot-hole. And
      through the knot-hole he saw something that interested and surprised him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The woman whose face had appeared so suddenly at the gate, and disappeared
      still more suddenly, was the same woman whom he had seen bidding farewell
      to Mr. Thorne and his wife on the Tuesday morning previous, the woman whom
      he took to be the housekeeper. The old butler stood beside her. It was
      undoubtedly the same man, although he had worn a livery then and was now
      dressed in a comfortable old house coat. He stood beside the woman,
      shaking his head and asking her just the questions that Muller was asking
      himself at the moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what is the matter with you, Mrs. Bernauer? You're so nervous since
      yesterday. Are you ill? Everything seems to frighten you? Why did you run
      away from that gate so suddenly? I thought you wanted me to show you the
      place?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Bernauer raised her head and Muller saw that her face looked pale and
      haggard and that her eyes shone with an uneasy feverish light. She did not
      answer the old man's questions, but made a gesture of farewell and then
      turned and walked slowly towards the house. She realised, apparently, and
      feared, perhaps, that the man who was passing the gate might have noticed
      her sudden change of demeanour and that he was listening to what she might
      say. She did not think of the knot-hole in the board fence, or she might
      have been more careful in hiding her distraught face from possible
      observers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller stood watching through this knot-hole for some little time. He took
      a careful observation of the garden, and from his point of vantage he
      could easily see the little house which was apparently the dwelling of the
      gardener, as well as the mansard roof of the main building. There was
      considerable distance between the two houses. The detective decided that
      it might interest him to know something more about this garden, this house
      and the people who lived there. And when Muller made such a decision it
      was usually not very long before he carried it out.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other street, upon which the main front of the mansard house opened,
      contained a few isolated dwellings surrounded by gardens and a number of
      newly built apartment houses. On the ground floor of these latter houses
      were a number of stores and immediately opposite the Thorne mansion was a
      little cafe. This suited Muller exactly, for he had been there before and
      he remembered that from one of the windows there was an excellent view of
      the gate and the front entrance of the mansion opposite. It was a very
      modest little cafe, but there was a fairly good wine to be had there and
      the detective made it an excuse to sit down by the window, as if enjoying
      his bottle while admiring the changing colours of the foliage in the
      gardens opposite.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another rather good chance, he discovered, was the fact that the landlord
      belonged to the talkative sort, and believed that the refreshments he had
      to sell were rendered doubly agreeable when spiced by conversation. In
      this case the good man was not mistaken. It was scarcely ten o'clock in
      the forenoon and there were very few people in the cafe. The landlord was
      quite at leisure to devote himself to this stranger in the window seat,
      whom he did not remember to have seen before, and who was therefore doubly
      interesting to him. Several subjects of conversation usual in such cases,
      such as politics and the weather, seemed to arouse no particular
      enthusiasm in his patron's manner. Finally the portly landlord decided
      that he would touch upon the theme which was still absorbing all Hietzing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, by the way, sir, do you know that you are in the immediate vicinity
      of the place where the murder of Monday evening was committed? People are
      still talking about it around here. And I see by the papers that the
      murderer was arrested in Pressburg yesterday and brought to Vienna last
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, is that so? I haven't seen a paper to-day," replied Muller,
      awakening from his apparent indifference.
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlord was flattered by the success of the new subject, and stood
      ready to unloose the floodgates of his eloquence. His customer 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 too. You
      see that pretty house opposite? Well, right behind this house is the
      garden that belongs to it and back of that, an old garden which has been
      neglected for some time. It was at the end of this garden where it touches
      the other street, that they found the man under a big elder-tree, early
      Tuesday morning, day before yesterday."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, indeed!" said. Muller, greatly interested, as if this was the first
      he had heard of it. The landlord took a deep breath and was about to begin
      again when his customer, who decided to keep the talkative man to a
      certain phase of the subject, now took command of the conversation
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should think that the people opposite, who live so near the place where
      the murder was committed, wouldn't be very much pleased," he said. "I
      shouldn't care to look out on such a spot every time I went to my window."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There aren't any windows there," exclaimed the landlord, "for there
      aren't any houses there. There's only the old garden, and then the large
      garden and the park belonging to Mr. Thorne's house, that fine old house
      you see just opposite here. It's a good thing that Mr. Thorne and his wife
      went away before the murder became known. The lady hasn't been well for
      some weeks, she's very nervous and frail, and it probably would have
      frightened her to think that 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 things
      these fine ladies are always having. But she wasn't always that way, not
      until about a year ago. She was fresh and blooming 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 you
      feel sorry to see her so miserable, and you feel sorry for her husband.
      Now there's a young couple with everything in the world to make them happy
      and so fond of each other, and the poor little lady has to be so sick."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are very happy, you say?" asked Muller carelessly. He had no
      particular set purpose in following up this inquiry, none but his usual
      understanding of the fact that a man in his business can never amass too
      much knowledge, and that it will sometimes happen that a chance bit of
      information comes in very handy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlord was pleased at the encouragement and continued: "Indeed they
      are very happy. They've only been married two years. The lady comes from a
      distance, from Graz. Her father is an army officer I believe, and I don't
      think she was over-rich. But she's a very sweet-looking lady and her rich
      husband is very fond of her, any one 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 who do
      not know Venice. Franz, that's the butler, sir, told me yesterday evening
      that he had received a telegram saying that the lady and gentleman had
      arrived safely and were very comfortably 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 Venice, that
      is I was until two years ago. Then, however, I had the pleasure of riding
      over the Bridge of Mestre," answered Muller. He did not add that he was
      not alone at the time, but had ridden across the long bridge in company
      with a pale haggard-faced man who did not dare to look to the right or to
      the left because of the revolver which he knew was held in the detective's
      hand under his loose overcoat. Muller's visit to Venice, like most of his
      journeyings, had been one of business. This time to capture and bring home
      a notorious and long sought embezzler. He did not volunteer any of this
      information, however, but merely asked in a politely interested manner
      whether the landlord himself had been to Venice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, indeed," replied the latter proudly. "I was head waiter at Baner's
      for two years."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you must make me some Italian dishes soon," said Muller. Further
      conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Franz, the old butler of
      the house opposite.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excuse me, sir; I must get him his glass of wine," said the landlord,
      hurrying away to the bar. He returned in a moment with 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 sits
      here at this table because then he can see if he is needed over at the
      house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, please let him come here. He has prior rights to this table
      undoubtedly," said the stranger politely. The old butler sat down with an
      embarrassed murmur, as the voluble landlord explained that the stranger
      had no objection. Then the boniface hurried off to attend to some newly
      entered customers and the detective, greatly 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&mdash;we
      travelled most of the time until several years ago&mdash;I find this place
      very convenient. It's a cosy little room, the wine is good and not
      expensive, I'm near home and yet I can see some new faces occasionally."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope the faces that you see about you at home are not so unpleasant
      that you are glad to get away from them?" asked Muller with a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old man gave a start of alarm. "Oh, dear, no, sir," he exclaimed
      eagerly; "that wasn't what I meant. Indeed I'm fond of everybody in the
      house from our dear lady down to the poor little dog."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here Muller gained another little bit of knowledge, the fact that the lady
      of the house was the favourite of her servants, or that 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 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 I took
      service with the family."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, indeed! then you must be a person of importance in the house if you
      have been there so long?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well more or less I might say I am," the old man smiled and looked
      flattered, then added: "But the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernauer, is even more
      important than I am, to tell you the truth. She was nurse to our present
      young master, and she's been in the house ever since. When his parents
      died, it's some years ago now, she took entire charge of the housekeeping.
      She was a fine active woman then, and now the young master and mistress
      couldn't get along 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 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 miserable
      for nearly a year now. It's a shame to see such a sweet angel as she is
      suffer like that and the master's quite heart-broken over it. But there's
      nothing the matter with Mrs. Bernauer. How did you come to think that she
      was sick?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller did not intend to explain that the change in the housekeeper's
      appearance, a change which had come about between Tuesday morning and
      Thursday morning, might easily have made any one think that she was ill.
      He gave as excuse for his question the old man's own words: "Why, I
      thought that she might be ill also because you said yourself that the
      housekeeper&mdash;what did you say her name was?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bernauer, Mrs. Adele Bernauer. She was a widow when she came to 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
      gentleman's parents died, Mrs. Bernauer was a fine active woman, therefore
      I supposed she was no longer so."
    </p>
    <p>
      Franz thought the matter over for a while. "I don't know just why I put it
      that way. Indeed she's still as active as ever and always fresh and well.
      It's true that for the last two or three days she's been very nervous and
      since yesterday it is as if she was a changed 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 explain
      his interest in the housekeeper's health, he fabricated a story: "I
      studied medicine at one time and although I didn't finish my course or get
      a diploma, I've always had a great interest in such things, and every now
      and then I'll take a case, particularly nervous diseases. That was my
      specialty." Muller took up his glass and turned away from the window, for
      he felt a slow flush rising to his cheeks. It was another of Muller's
      peculiarities that he always felt an inward embarrassment at the lies he
      was obliged to tell in his profession.
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler did not seem to have noticed it however, and appeared eager to
      tell of what concerned him in the housekeeper's appearance and demeanour.
      "Why, yesterday at dinner time was the first that we began to notice
      anything wrong with Mrs. Bernauer. The rest of us, that is, Lizzie the
      upstairs girl, the cook and myself. She began to eat her dinner with a
      good appetite, then suddenly, when we got as far as the pudding, she let
      her fork fall and turned deathly white. She got up without saying a word
      and left the room. Lizzie ran after her to ask if anything was the matter,
      but she said no, it was nothing of importance. After dinner, she went
      right out, saying she was doing some errands. She brought in a lot of
      newspapers, which was quite unusual, for she sometimes does not look at a
      newspaper once a week even. I wouldn't have noticed it but Lizzie's the
      kind that sees and hears everything and she told us about it." Franz
      stopped to take a drink, and Muller said indifferently, "I suppose Mrs.
      Bernauer was interested in the murder 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 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 stand
      right next door here. But I don't think she did because I 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 tone of
      disappointment. "Why, I thought you'd have something really 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: "She
      was uneasy all the afternoon yesterday. She walked up and down stairs and
      through the halls&mdash;I remember Lizzie making some joke about it&mdash;and
      then in the evening to our surprise she suddenly began 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 on the
      first floor all belong to the master and mistress. This morning we found
      out that Mrs. Bernauer's cleaning up of the evening before had been done
      because she remembered that the master wanted to take some papers with him
      but couldn't find them and had asked her to look for them and send them
      right on."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I shouldn't call that a sign of any particular nervousness, but
      rather an evidence of Mrs. Bernauer's devotion to her duty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, yes, sir&mdash;but it certainly is queer that she should go into the
      garden at four o'clock this morning and appear to be looking for something
      along the paths and under the bushes. Even if a few of the papers blew out
      of the window, or blew away from the summer house, where the master writes
      sometimes, they couldn't have scattered all over the garden like that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller didn't follow up this subject any longer. There might come a time
      when he would be interested in finding out the reason for the
      housekeeper's search in the garden, but just at present he wanted
      something else. He remembered some remark of the old man's about the "poor
      little dog," and on this he built his plan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, well," he said carelessly, "almost everybody is nervous and impatient
      now-a-days. I suppose Mrs. Bernauer felt uneasy because she couldn't find
      the paper right away. There's nothing particularly interesting or
      noticeable about that. Anyway, I've been occupying myself much more these
      last years with sick animals rather than with sick people. I've had some
      very successful cures there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, really, have you? Then you could do us a great favour," exclaimed
      Franz in apparent eagerness. Muller's heart rejoiced. He had apparently
      hit it right this time. He knew that in a house like that "a poor dog"
      could only mean a "sick dog." But his voice was 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 man,
      who had quite forgotten the fact that he had mentioned the dog before.
      "And there's been something the matter with the poor little chap for
      several days. He won't eat or drink, he bites at the grass and rolls
      around on his stomach and cries&mdash;it's a pity to see him. If you're
      fond of animals and know how to take care of them, you may 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. But
      Muller shook his head and continued: "No, never mind the payment, I
      wouldn't take any money for it. But I'll tell you what you can do for me.
      I'm very fond of flowers. If you think you can take the responsibility of
      letting me walk around in the garden for a little 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 see there
      that please you. They're nearly over for the season now and it's better
      they should be picked rather than left to fade on the bush. We don't use
      so many flowers in the house now when the family are not there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right, then, it's a bargain," laughed Muller, signalling to 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 the
      matter with the electric wiring in our place. The bell in the master's
      room keeps ringing. I wrote to Siemens &amp; Halske to send us a man out
      to fix it. He's likely to come any minute now." The two men rose, paid
      their checks, and went out together. Outside the cafe Muller hesitated a
      moment. "You go on ahead," he said to Franz. "I want to go in here and get
      a cigar."
    </p>
    <p>
      While buying his cigar and lighting it, he asked for several newspapers,
      choosing those which his quick eye had told him were no longer among the
      piles on the counter. "I'm very sorry, sir," said the clerk; "we have only
      a few of those papers, just two or three more than we need for our regular
      customers, and this morning they are all sold. The housekeeper from the
      Thorne mansion took the very last ones."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was exactly what Muller wanted to know. He left the store and caught
      up with the old butler as the latter was opening the handsome iron gate
      that led from the Thorne property out onto the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, where's our little patient?" asked the detective as he walked
      through the courtyard with Franz.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'll see him in a minute," answered the old servant. He led the way
      through a light roomy corridor furnished with handsome old 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. Muller
      was not at all pleased that the journey through the hall had been such a
      short one. However he was in the house, that was something, and he could
      afford to trust to chance for the rest. Meanwhile he would look at the
      dog. The little terrier lay in a corner by the stove and it did not take
      Muller more than two or three minutes to discover that there was nothing
      the matter with the small patient but a simple case of over-eating. But he
      put on a very wise expression as he handled the little dog and looking up,
      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 made
      fresh?" said Franz.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, that will be better, about a cupful will do," was Muller's answer.
      He knew that this harmless remedy would be likely to do the dog good and
      at the present moment he wanted to be left alone in the room. As soon as
      Franz had gone, the detective hastened to the window, placing himself
      behind the curtain so that he could not be seen from outside. He himself
      could see first a wide courtyard lying between the two wings of the house,
      then beyond it the garden, an immense square plot of ground beautifully
      cultivated. The left wing of the house was about six windows longer than
      the other, and from the first story of it it would be quite easy to look
      out over the vacant lot where the old shed stood which had served as a
      night's lodging for Johann Knoll.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was not the slightest doubt in Muller's mind that this part of the
      tramp's story was true, for by a natural process of elimination he knew
      there was nothing to be gained by inventing any such tale. Besides which
      the detective himself had been to look at the shed. His well-known
      pedantic thoroughness would not permit him to take any one's word for
      anything that he might find out for himself. In his investigations on
      Tuesday morning he had already seen the half-ruined shed, now he knew that
      it contained a broken bench.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus far, therefore, Knoll's story was proved to be true&mdash;but there was
      something that didn't quite hitch in another way. The tramp had said that
      he had seen first a woman and then a man come from the main house and go
      in the direction of the smaller house which he took to be the gardener's
      dwelling. This Muller discovered now was quite impossible. A tall hedge,
      fully seven or eight feet high and very thick, stretched from the
      courtyard far down into the garden past the gardener's little house. There
      was a broad path on the right and the left of this green wall. From his
      position in the shed, Knoll could have seen people passing only when they
      were on the right side of the hedge. But to reach the gardener's house
      from the main dwelling, the shortest way would be on the left side of the
      hedge. This much Muller saw, then he heard the butler's steps 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 housekeeper,
      Mrs. Bernauer. Just as they opened the door, Muller heard her say: "If the
      gentleman is a veterinary, then we'd better ask him about the parrot&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      The sentence was never finished. Muller never found out what was the
      matter with the parrot, for as he looked up with a polite smile of
      interest, he looked into a pale face, into a pair of eyes that opened wide
      in terror, and heard trembling lips frame the words: "There he is again!"
    </p>
    <p>
      A moment later Mrs. Bernauer would have been glad to have recalled her
      exclamation, but it was too late.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller bowed before her and asked: "'There he is again,' you said; have
      you ever seen me before?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The woman looked at him as if hypnotised and answered almost in a whisper:
      "I saw you Tuesday morning for the first time, Tuesday morning when the
      family were going away. Then I saw you pass through our street twice again
      that same day. This morning you went past the garden gate and now I find
      you here. What-what is it you want of us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will tell you what I want, Mrs. Bernauer, but first I want to speak to
      you alone. Mr. Franz doesn't mind leaving us for a while, does he?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why?" said the old man hesitatingly. He didn't understand 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.
      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&mdash;you lied to me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Partly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you're no veterinary?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&mdash;I can help your dog, but I am not a veterinary and never have
      been."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What are you then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will tell Mrs. Bernauer who and what I am when you are outside&mdash;outside
      in the courtyard there. You can walk about in the garden if you want to,
      or else go and get some simple purgative for this dog. That is all he
      needs; he has been over-fed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Franz was quite bewildered. These new developments promised to be
      interesting and he was torn between his desire to know more, and his
      doubts as to the propriety of leaving the housekeeper with this queer
      stranger. He hesitated until the woman herself motioned to him to go. He
      went out into the hall, then into the courtyard, watched by the two in the
      room who stood silently in the window until they saw the butler pass down
      into the garden. Then they looked at each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You belong to the police?" asked Adele Bernauer finally with a deep sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was a good guess," replied Muller with an ironic smile, adding: "All
      who have any reason to fear us are very quick in recognising us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you mean by that?" she exclaimed with a start. "What are you
      thinking of?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am thinking about the same thing that you are thinking of&mdash;that I
      have proved you are thinking of&mdash;the same thing that drove you out
      into the street yesterday and this morning to buy the papers. These papers
      print news which is interesting many people just now, and some people a
      great deal. I am thinking of the same thing that was evidently in your
      thoughts as you peered out of the garden gate this morning, although you
      would not come out into the street. I know that you do not read even one
      newspaper regularly. I know also that yesterday and today you bought a
      great many papers, apparently to get every possible detail about a certain
      subject. Do you deny this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not deny it, she did not answer at all. She sank down on a chair,
      her wide staring eyes looking straight ahead of her, and trembling so that
      the old chair cracked underneath her weight. But this condition did not
      last long. The woman had herself well under control. Muller's coming, or
      something else, perhaps, may have overwhelmed her for a moment, but she
      soon regained her usual self-possession.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still you have not told me what you want here," she began coldly, and as
      he did not answer she continued: "I have a feeling that you are watching
      us. I had this feeling when I saw you the first time and noticed then&mdash;pardon
      my frankness&mdash;that you stared at us sharply while we were saying
      goodbye to our master and mistress. Then I saw you pass twice again
      through the street and look up at our windows. This morning I find you at
      our garden gate and now&mdash;you will pardon me if I tell the exact truth&mdash;now
      you have wormed yourself in here under false pretenses because you have no
      right whatever to force an entrance into this house. And I ask you again,
      what do you want here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller was embarrassed. That did not happen very often. Also it did not
      happen very often that he was in the wrong as he was now. The woman was
      absolutely right. He had wormed himself into the house under false
      pretenses to follow up the new clue which almost unconsciously as yet was
      leading him on with a stronger and stronger attraction. He could not have
      explained it and he certainly was not ready to say anything about it at
      police headquarters, even at the risk of being obliged to continue to
      enter this mysterious house under false pretenses and to be told that he
      was doing so. Of course this sort of thing was necessary in his business,
      it was 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 sensitive
      spot and drove the blood to his cheeks. There was something in the bearing
      and manner of this one-time nurse that impressed him, although he was not
      a man to be lightly impressed. He had a feeling that he had made a fool of
      himself and it bothered him. For a moment he did not know what he should
      say to this woman who stood before him with so much quiet energy in her
      bearing. But the something in his brain, the something that made him what
      he was, whispered to him that he had done right, and that he must follow
      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, looking her
      firmly in the eyes, he said: "It is true that I have no right as yet to
      force my way into your house, therefore I have been obliged to enter it as
      best I could. I have done this often in my work, but I do it for the
      safety of society. And those who reproach me for doing it are generally
      those whom I have been obliged to persecute in the name of the law. Mrs.
      Bernauer, I will confess that there are moments in which I feel ashamed
      that I have chosen this profession that compels me to hunt down human
      beings. But I do not believe that this is one of those moments. You have
      read this morning's papers; you must know, therefore, that a man has been
      arrested and accused of the murder which interests you so much; you must
      be able to realise the terror and anxiety which are now filling this man's
      heart. For to-day's papers&mdash;I have read them myself&mdash;expressed
      the public sentiment that the police may succeed in convicting this man of
      the crime, that the death may be avenged and justice have her due. Several
      of these papers, the papers I know you have bought and presumably read, do
      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 the
      murderer. I am one of them, and you, Mrs. Bernauer, you are the other. I
      am going now and when I come again, as I doubtless will come again, I will
      come with full right to enter this house. I acknowledge frankly that I
      have no justification in causing your arrest as yet, but you are quite
      clever enough to know that if I had the faintest justification I would not
      leave here alone. And one thing more I have to say. You may not know that
      I have had the most extraordinary luck in my profession, that in more than
      a hundred cases there have been but two where the criminal I was hunting
      escaped me. And now, Mrs. Bernauer, I will bid you good day."
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller stepped towards the window and motioned to Franz, who was walking
      up and down outside. The old man ran to the door and met the detective in
      the hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'd better go in and look after Mrs. Bernauer," said the latter, "I can
      find my way out alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      Franz looked after him, shaking his head in bewilderment and then entered
      his own room. "Merciful God!" he exclaimed, bending down in terror over
      the housekeeper, who lay on the floor. In his shock and bewilderment he
      imagined that she too had been murdered, until he realised that it was
      only a swoon from which she recovered in a moment. He helped her regain
      her feet and she looked about as if still dazed, stammering: "Has he
      gone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The strange man? ... Yes, he went some time ago. But what happened to
      you? Did he give you something to make you faint? Do you think he was a
      thief?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Bernauer shook her head and murmured: "Oh, no, quite the contrary." A
      remark which did not enlighten Franz particularly as to the status of the
      man who had just left them. There was a note of fear in the housekeepers's
      voice and she added hastily: "Does any one besides ourselves know that he
      was here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Lizzie and the cook are in the kitchen talking about the murder."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Bernauer shivered again and went slowly out of the room and up the
      stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      If Franz believed that the stranger had left the house by the front
      entrance he was very much mistaken. When Muller found himself alone in the
      corridor he turned quickly and hurried out into the garden. None of the
      servants had seen him. Lizzie and the cook were engaged in an earnest
      conversation in the kitchen and Franz was fully occupied with Mrs.
      Bernauer. The gardener was away and his wife busy at her wash tubs. No one
      was aware, therefore, that Muller spent about ten minutes wandering about
      the garden, and ten minutes were quite sufficient for him to become so
      well acquainted with the place that he could have drawn a map of it. He
      left the garden through the rear gate, the latch of which he was obliged
      to leave open. The gardener's wife found it that way several hours later
      and was rather surprised thereat. Muller walked down the street rapidly
      and caught a passing tramway. His mood was not of the best, for he could
      not make up his mind whether or no this morning had been a lost one. His
      mind sorted and rearranged all that he knew or could imagine concerning
      Mrs. Bernauer. But there was hardly enough of these facts to reassure him
      that he was not on a false trail, that he had not allowed himself to waste
      precious hours all because he had seen a woman's haggard face appear for a
      moment at the little gate in the quiet street.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII. JOHANN KNOLL REMEMBERS SOMETHING ELSE
    </h2>
    <p>
      Muller's goal was the prison where Johann Knoll was awaiting his fate. The
      detective had permission to see the man as often as he wished to. Knoll
      had been proven a thief, but the accusation of murder against him had not
      been strengthened by anything but the most superficial circumstantial
      evidence, therefore it was necessary that Muller should talk with him in
      the hope of discovering something more definite.
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll lay asleep on his cot as the detective and the warder entered the
      cell. Muller motioned the attendant to leave him alone with the prisoner
      and he stood beside the cot looking down at the man. The face on the hard
      pillow was not a very pleasant one to look at. The skin was roughened and
      swollen and had that brown-purple tinge which comes from being constantly
      in the open air, and from habitual drinking. The weather-beaten look may
      be seen often in the faces of men whose honest work keeps them out of
      doors; but this man had not earned his colouring honestly, for he was one
      of the sort who worked only from time to time when it was absolutely
      necessary and there was no other way of getting a penny. His hands proved
      this, for although soiled and grimy they had soft, slender fingers which
      showed no signs of a life of toil. But even a man who has spent forty
      years in useless idling need not be all bad. There must have been some
      good left in this man or he could not have lain there so quietly,
      breathing easily, wrapped in a slumber as undisturbed as that of a child.
      It did not seem possible that any man could lie there like that with the
      guilt of murder on his conscience, or even with the knowledge in his soul
      that he had plundered a corpse.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller had never believed the first to be the case, but he had thought it
      possible that Knoll knew perfectly well that it was a lifeless body he was
      robbing. He had believed it at least until the moment when he stood
      looking down at the sleeping tramp. Now, with the deep knowledge of the
      human heart which was his by instinct and which his profession had
      increased a thousand-fold, Muller knew that this man before him had no
      heavy crime upon his conscience&mdash;that it was really as he had said&mdash;that
      he had taken the watch and purse from one whom he believed to be
      intoxicated only. Of course it was not a very commendable deed for which
      the tramp was now in prison, but it was slight in comparison to the crimes
      of which he was suspected.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller bent lower over the unconscious form and was surprised to see a
      gentle smile spread over the face before him. It brightened and changed
      the coarse rough face and gave it for a moment a look of almost child-like
      innocence. Somewhere within the coarsened soul there must be a spot of
      brightness from which such a smile could come.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the face grew ugly again as Knoll opened his eyes and looked up. He
      shook off the clouds of slumber as he felt Muller's hand on his shoulder
      and raised himself to a sitting position, grumbling: "Can't I have any
      rest? Are they going to question me again? I'm getting tired of this. I've
      said everything I know anyhow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps not everything. Perhaps you will answer a few of my questions
      when I tell you that I believe the story you told us 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 who spoke
      to him. They were sharp eyes and had a certain spark of intelligence in
      them. Muller had noticed that yesterday, and he saw it again now. But he
      saw also the gleam of distrust in these eyes, a distrust which found
      expression in Knoll's next words. "You think you can catch me with your
      good words, but you're makin' a mistake. I've got nothin' new to say. And
      you needn't think that you can blind me, I know you're one of the police,
      and I'm not going to say anything at all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just as you like. I was trying to help you, I believe I really could help
      you. I have just come from Hietzing&mdash;but of course if you don't want
      to talk to me&mdash;" Muller shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      But before he reached it Knoll stood at his side. "You really mean to help
      me?" he gasped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do," said the detective calmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then swear, on your mother's soul&mdash;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 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 to know&mdash;in
      this black hole I've got into&mdash;I'd just like to know that there's one
      human being who means well with me&mdash;I'd like to know that there's one
      man in the world who don't think I'm quite good-for-nothin'."
    </p>
    <p>
      The tramp covered his face with his hands and gave a heart-rending sob.
      Deep pity moved the detective's breast. He led Knoll back to his cot, and
      put both hands on his shoulders, saying gravely: "I believe that this
      theft was the worst thing you have done. By my mother's salvation, Knoll,
      I believe your words and I will try to help you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll raised his head, looking up at Muller with a glance of unspeakable
      gratitude. With trembling lips he kissed the hand which a moment before
      had pressed kindly on his shoulder, clinging fast to it as if he could not
      bear to let it go. Muller was almost embarrassed. "Oh, come now, Knoll,
      don't be foolish. Pull yourself together and answer my questions
      carefully, for I am asking you 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 almost happy
      again, and there was a softness in his eyes that showed there was
      something in the man which might be saved and which was worth saving.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller sat beside him on the cot and began: "There was one mistake in your
      story yesterday. I want you to think it over carefully. You said that you
      saw first a woman and then a man going through the neighbouring garden. I
      believe that one or both of these people is the criminal for whom we are
      looking. Therefore, I want you to try and remember everything that you can
      connect with them, every slightest detail. Anything that you can tell us
      may be of the greatest importance. Therefore, think very carefully."
    </p>
    <p>
      Knoll sat still a few moments, evidently trying hard to put his hazy
      recollections into useful form and shape. But it was also evident that
      orderly thinking was an unusual work for him, and he found it almost too
      difficult. "I guess you better ask me questions, maybe that'll go," he
      said after a pause.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Muller began to question. With his usual thoroughness he began at the
      very beginning: "When was it that you climbed the 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 how long
      the night was going to be, seein' I'd have to sleep in that shed. I was in
      the garden just exactly an hour. I came out of the shed as it struck ten
      and it wasn't but a few minutes before 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 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 little
      house in the garden."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! there you see, that's where you made your mistake. It is more than
      likely that these two did not go to the little house, but 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 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 longest
      way round, as a rule. And it would have been the longest way round for
      these two people to go from the big house to the gardener's cottage&mdash;for
      the little house you saw was the gardener's cottage. There is tall thick
      hedge that starts from the main building and goes right down through the
      garden, quite a distance past the gardener's cottage. The vegetable garden
      is on the left side of this hedge and in the middle of the vegetable
      garden is the gardener's cottage. But you could have seen the man and the
      woman only because they passed down the right side of the hedge, and this
      would have given them a detour of fifty paces or more to reach the
      gardener's house. Nov do you think that two people who were very much in a
      hurry would have gone down the right side of the hedge, to reach a place
      which they could have gotten to much quicker 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 thought
      it wouldn't be any good to look about in there I turned 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 else."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, nothin' at all, there was so much noise anyway. There was a high wind
      that night and the trees were rattling and creaking."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you didn't see anything else, anything that attracted your
      attention?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, nothing&mdash;" Knoll did not finish his sentence, but began another
      instead. He had suddenly remembered something which had seemed to him of
      no importance before. "There was a light that went out suddenly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the side of the house that I could see from my place. There was a lamp
      in the last window of the second story, a lamp with a 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 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 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 and many
      people go to bed about that time," said Muller, who did not see much value
      in this incident.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Knoll shook his head. "The person who put out that light didn't go to
      bed, at least not right away," he said eagerly. "I looked over after a
      while to the place where the red light was and I saw 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 lay
      full on the house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, when there weren't any clouds. But there was a heavy cloud over the
      moon just then and when it came out again the window was 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 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 nodded
      to the prisoner as he knocked on the door. "I am glad you 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 portal
      clanged again between Knoll and freedom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller was quite satisfied with the result of his visit to the accused. He
      hurried to the nearest cab stand and entered one of the carriages waiting
      there. He gave the driver Mrs. Klingmayer's address. It was about two
      o'clock in the afternoon now and Muller had had nothing to eat yet. But he
      was quite unaware of the fact as his mind was so busy that no mere
      physical sensation could divert his attention for a moment. Muller never
      seemed to need sleep or food when he was on the trail, particularly not in
      the fascinating first stages of the case when it was his imagination
      alone, catching at trifles unnoticed by others, combining them in masterly
      fashion to an ordered whole, that first led the seekers to the truth. Now
      he went over once more all the little apparently trivial incidents that
      had caused him first to watch the Thorne household and then had drawn his
      attention, and his suspicion, to Adele Bernauer. It was the broken willow
      twig that had first drawn his attention to the old garden next the Thorne
      property. This twig, this garden, and perhaps some one who could reach his
      home again, unseen and unendangered through this garden&mdash;might not
      this have something to do with the murder?
    </p>
    <p>
      The breaking of the twig was already explained. It was Johann Knoll who
      had stepped on it. But he had not climbed the wall at all, had only crept
      along it looking for a night's shelter. And there was no connection
      between Knoll and the people who lived in the Thorne house. Muller had not
      the slightest doubt that the tramp had told the entire truth that day and
      the day preceding.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the detective's mind went back to the happenings of Tuesday morning.
      The little twig had first drawn his attention to the Thorne estate and the
      people who lived there. He had seen the departure of the young couple and
      had passed the house again that afternoon and the following day, drawn to
      it as if by a magnet. He had not been able then to explain what it was
      that attracted him; there had been nothing definite in his mind as he
      strolled past the old mansion. But his repeated appearance had been
      noticed by some one&mdash;by one person only&mdash;the housekeeper. Why
      should she have noticed it? Had she any reason for believing that she
      might be watched? People with an uneasy conscience are very apt to connect
      even perfectly natural trivial circumstances with their own doings. Adele
      Bernauer had evidently connected Muller's repeated passing with something
      that concerned herself even before the detective had thought of her at
      all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller had not noticed her until he had seen her peculiar conduct that
      very morning. When he heard Franz's words and saw how disturbed the woman
      was, he asked himself: "Why did this woman want to be shown the spot of
      the murder? Didn't she know that place, living so near it, as well as any
      of the many who stood there staring in morbid curiosity? Did she ask to
      have it shown her that the others might believe she had nothing whatever
      to do with the occurrences that had happened there? Or was she drawn
      thither by that queer attraction that brings the criminal back to the
      scene of his crime?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The sudden vision of Mrs. Bernauer's head at the garden gate, and its
      equally sudden disappearance had attracted Muller's attention and his
      thoughts to the woman. What he had been able to learn about her had
      increased his suspicions and her involuntary exclamation when she met him
      face to face in the house had proved beyond a doubt that there was
      something on her mind. His open accusation, her demeanour, and finally her
      swoon, were all links in the chain of evidence that this woman knew
      something about the murder in the quiet lane.
    </p>
    <p>
      With this suspicion in his mind what Muller had learned from Knoll was of
      great value to him, at all events of great interest. Was it the
      housekeeper who had put out the light? For now Muller did not doubt for a
      moment that this sudden extinguishing of the lamp was a signal. He
      believed that Knoll had seen clearly and that he had told truly what he
      had seen. A lamp that is blown out by the wind flickers uneasily before
      going out. A sudden extinguishing of the light means human agency. And the
      lamp was lit again a few moments afterward and burned on steadily as
      before. A short time after the lamp had been put out the man had been seen
      going through the garden. And it could not have been much later before the
      shot was heard. This shot had been fired between the hours of nine and
      ten, for it was during this hour only that Knoll was in the garden house
      and heard the shot. But it was not necessary to depend upon the tramp's
      evidence alone to determine the exact hour of the shot. It must have been
      before half past nine, or otherwise the janitor of No.1, who came home at
      that hour and lay awake so long, would undoubtedly have heard a shot fired
      so near his domicile, in spite of the noise occasioned by the high wind.
      There would have been sufficient time for Mrs. Bernauer to have reached
      the place of the murder between the putting out of the lamp and the firing
      of the shot. But perhaps she may have rested quietly in her room; she may
      have been only the inciter or the accomplice of the deed. But at all
      events, she knew something about it, she was in some way connected with
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller drew a deep breath. He felt much easier now that he had arranged
      his thoughts and marshalled in orderly array all the facts he had already
      gathered. There was nothing to do now but to follow up a given path step
      by step and he could no longer reproach himself that he might have cast
      suspicion on an innocent soul. No, his bearing towards Mrs. Bernauer had
      not been sheer brutality. His instinct, which had led him so unerringly so
      many times, had again shown him the right way when he had thrust the
      accusation in her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now that his mind was easier he realised that he was very hungry. 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," growled the
      detective, this time effectively scaring the waiter. It did not often
      happen that a customer refused drinks, but then there were not many
      customers who needed as clear a head as Muller knew he would have to have
      to-day. Always a light drinker, it was one of his rules never to touch a
      drop of liquor during this first stage of the mental working out of any
      new problem which presented itself. But soft-hearted as he was, he
      repented of his irritation a moment later and soothed the waiter's wounded
      feelings by a rich tip. The boy ran out to open the cab door for his
      strange customer and looked after him, wondering whether the man was a
      cranky millionaire or merely a poet. For Joseph Muller, by name and by
      reputation one of the best known men in Vienna, was by sight unknown to
      all except the few with whom he had to do on the police force. His
      appearance, in every way inconspicuous, and the fact that he never sought
      acquaintance with any one, was indeed of the greatest possible assistance
      to him in his work. Many of those who saw him several times in a day would
      pass him or look him full in the face without recognising him. It was
      only, as in the case of Mrs. Bernauer, the guilty conscience that
      remembered face and figure of this quiet-looking man who was one of the
      most-feared servants of the law in Austria.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX. THE ELECTRICIAN
    </h2>
    <p>
      When Muller reached the house where Mrs. Klingmayer lived he ordered the
      cabman to wait and hurried up to the widow's little apartment. He had the
      key to Leopold Winkler's room in his own pocket, for Mrs. Klingmayer had
      given this key to Commissioner von Riedau at the latter's request and the
      commissioner had given it to Muller. The detective told the good woman not
      to bother about him as he wanted to make an examination of the place
      alone. Left to himself in the little room, Muller made a thorough search
      of it, opening the cupboard, the bureau drawers, every possible receptacle
      where any article could be kept or hidden. What he wanted to find was some
      letter, some bit of paper, some memoranda perhaps, anything that would
      show any connection existing between the murdered man and Mrs. Bernauer,
      who lived so near the place where this man had died and who was so greatly
      interested in his murder.
    </p>
    <p>
      The detective's search was not quite in vain, although he could not tell
      yet whether what he had found would be of any value. Leopold Winkler had
      had very little correspondence, or else he had had no reason to keep the
      letters he received. Muller found only about a half dozen letters in all.
      Three of them were from women of the half-world, giving dates for
      meetings. Another was written by a man and signed "Theo." This "Theo"
      appeared to be the same sort of a cheap rounder that Winkler was. And he
      seemed to have sunk one grade deeper than the dead man, in spite of the
      latter's bad reputation. For this other addressed Winkler as his "Dear
      Friend" and pleaded with him for "greater discretion," alluding evidently
      to something which made this discretion necessary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wonder what rascality it was that made these two friends?" murmured
      Muller, putting Theo's letter with the three he had already read. But
      before he slipped it in his pocket he glanced at the postmark. The letters
      of the three women had all been posted from different quarters of the city
      some months ago. Theo's letter was postmarked "Marburg," and dated on the
      1st of September of the present year.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Muller looked at the postmark of the two remaining letters which he
      had not yet read, and whistled softly to himself. Both these letters were
      posted from a certain station in Hietzing, the station which was nearest
      his own lodgings and also nearest the Thorne house. He looked at the
      postmark more sharply. They both bore the dates of the present year, one
      of them being stamped "March 17th," the other "September 24th." This last
      letter interested the detective most.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller was not of a nervous disposition, but his hand trembled slightly as
      he took the letter from its envelope. It was clear that this letter had
      been torn open hastily, for the edges of the opening were jagged and
      uneven.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the detective had read the letter&mdash;it contained but a few lines
      and bore neither address nor signature&mdash;he glanced over it once more
      as if to memorise the words. They were as follows: "Do not come again. In
      a day or two I will be able to do what I have to do. I will send you later
      news to your office. Impatience will not help you."&mdash;These words were
      written hastily on a piece of paper that looked as if it had been torn
      from a pad. In spite of the haste the writer had been at some pains to
      disguise the handwriting. But it was a clumsy disguise, done by one not
      accustomed to such tricks, and it was evidently done by a woman. All she
      had known how to do to disguise her writing had been to twist and turn the
      paper while writing, so that every letter had a different position. The
      letters were also made unusually long. This peculiarity of the writing was
      seen on both letters and both envelopes. The earlier letter was still
      shorter and seemed to have been written with the same haste, and with the
      same disgust, or 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. God
      forgive him and you." This was the contents of the letter of the 17th of
      March. That is, the writer had penned the letter this way. But the last
      two words, "and you," had evidently not come from her heart, for she had
      annulled them by a heavy stroke of the pen. A stroke that seemed like a
      knife thrust, so full of rage and hate it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So he was called to a rendezvous in Hietzing, too," murmured Muller, then
      he added after a few moments: "But this rendezvous had nothing whatever to
      do with love."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was nothing else in Winkler's room which could be of any value to
      Muller in the problem that was now before him. And yet he was very well
      satisfied with the result of his errand.
    </p>
    <p>
      He entered his cab again, ordering the driver to take him to Hietzing.
      Just before he had reached the corner where he had told the man to stop,
      another cab passed them, a coupe, in which was a solitary woman. Muller
      had just time enough to recognise this woman as Adele Bernauer, and to see
      that she looked even more haggard and miserable than she had that morning.
      She did not look up as the other cab passed her carriage, therefore she
      did not see Muller. The detective looked at his watch and saw that it was
      almost half-past four. The unexpected meeting changed his plans for the
      afternoon. He had decided that he must enter the Thorne mansion again that
      very day, for he must find out the meaning of the red-shaded lamp. And now
      that the housekeeper was away it would be easier for him to get into the
      house, therefore it must be done at once. His excuse was all ready, for he
      had been weighing possibilities. He dismissed his cab a block from his own
      home and entered his house cautiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller's lodgings consisted of two large rooms, really much too large for
      a lone man who was at home so little. But Muller had engaged them at first
      sight, for the apartment possessed one qualification which was absolutely
      necessary for him. Its situation and the arrangement of its doors made it
      possible for him to enter and leave his rooms without being seen either by
      his own landlady or by the other lodgers in the house. The little
      apartment was on the ground floor, and Muller's own rooms had a separate
      entrance opening on to the main corridor almost immediately behind the
      door. Nine times out of ten, he could come and go without being seen by
      any one in the house. To-day was the first time, however, that Muller had
      had occasion to try this particular qualification of his new lodgings.
    </p>
    <p>
      He opened the street door and slipped into his own room without having
      seen or been seen by any one.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fifteen minutes later he left the apartment again, but left it such a
      changed man that nobody who had seen him go in would have recognised him.
      Before he came out, however, he looked about carefully to see whether
      there was any one in sight He came out unseen and was just closing the
      main door behind him, when he met the janitress.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Were you looking for anybody in the house?" said the woman, glancing
      sharply at the stranger, who answered in a slightly veiled voice: "No, I
      made a mistake in the number. The place I am looking for is two houses
      further down."
    </p>
    <p>
      He walked down the street and the woman looked after him until she saw him
      turn into the doorway of the second house. Then she went into her own
      rooms. The house Muller entered happened to be a corner house with an
      entrance on the other street, through which the detective passed and went
      on his way. He was quite satisfied with the security of his disguise, for
      the woman who knew him well had not recognised him at all. If his own
      janitress did not know 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 thin, with
      sparse brown hair and smooth shaven face, he was now an inch or two taller
      and very much stouter. He wore thick curly blond hair, a little pointed
      blond beard and moustache. His eyes were hidden by heavy-rimmed
      spectacles.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was just half-past five when he rang the bell at the entrance gate to
      the Thorne property. He had spent the intervening time in the cafe, as he
      was in no hurry to enter the house. Franz came down 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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Has been here already?" interrupted Franz, adding in an irritated 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. I'll see
      what the trouble is," said the stranger, whom Franz naturally supposed to
      be the electrician, he opened the gate and asked the other to come in,
      leading him into the house. Under a cloudy sky the day was fading rapidly.
      Muller knew that it would not occur to the real electrician to begin any
      work as late as this, 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?" asked the
      supposed electrician.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The wires must cross somewhere, or there's something wrong with the
      bells. When the housekeeper touches the button in her room to ring for the
      cook or the upstairs girl, the bell rings in Mr. Thorne's room. It starts
      ringing and it keeps up with a deuce of a noise. Fortunately the family
      are away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we'll fix it all right for you. First of all I want to look 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, darker
      hall and went up a narrow winding stairway. Franz halted before a door in
      the second story. It was the last of the three doors in the hall. Muller
      took off his hat as the door opened and murmured a "good-evening."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's no one there; Mrs. Bernauer'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
      voice at this question, and he answered calmly as ever: "Oh, no; she's
      just driven to town. I think she went to see the doctor who lives quite a
      distance away. She hasn't been feeling at all well. She took a cab to-day.
      I told her she ought to, as she wasn't well 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 when the
      lady comes," said Muller, as Franz led him to the misbehaving bell.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in the wall immediately above a large table which filled the window
      niche so completely that there was but scant space left for the
      comfortable armchair that stood in front of it. The window was 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: "This is
      the last window in the left wing. It is the window where Johann Knoll saw
      the red light."
    </p>
    <p>
      And when he turned back into the room again he found the source of this
      light right at his hand on the handsome old table at which Mrs. Bernauer
      evidently spent many of her hours. A row of books stood against the wall,
      framing the back of the table. Well-worn volumes of the classics among
      them gave proof that the one-time nurse was a woman of education. A sewing
      basket and neat piles of house linen, awaiting repairs, covered a large
      part of the table-top, and beside them stood a gracefully shaped lamp,
      covered by a shade of soft red silk.
    </p>
    <p>
      It took Muller but a few seconds to see all this. Then he set about his
      investigation of the electric button. He unscrewed the plate and examined
      the wires meeting under it. While doing so he cast another glance at the
      table and saw a letter lying there, an open letter half out of its
      envelope. This envelope was of unusual shape, long and narrow, and the
      paper was heavy and high-glossed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your housekeeper evidently has no secrets from the rest of you," Muller
      remarked with a laugh, still busy at the wires, "or she wouldn't leave her
      letters lying about like that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, we've all heard what's in that letter," replied Franz. "She read it
      to us when it came this morning. It's from the Madam. She sent messages to
      all of us and orders, so Mrs. Bernauer read us the whole letter. There's
      no secrets in that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The button has been pressed in too far and caught down. That seems to be
      the main trouble," said Muller, readjusting the little knob. "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, however
      excellent, seemed difficult of fulfilment. It was rapidly growing dark,
      and the old butler peered about uncertainly. "Stupid," he muttered. "I
      don't know where she keeps the matches. I can't 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 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 loose
      slippers clattering down the stairs. He was no sooner well out of the room
      than Muller had the letter in his hand and was standing close by the
      window to catch the fading light. But on the old servant's return the
      supposed electrician stood calmly awaiting the coming of the light, and
      the letter was back on the table half hidden by a piece of linen. Franz
      did not notice that the envelope was missing. And the housekeeper, whose
      mind was so upset by the events of the day, and whose thoughts were on
      other more absorbing matters, would hardly be likely to remember whether
      she had returned this quite unimportant letter to its envelope or not.
    </p>
    <p>
      Franz brought a lighted candle with him, and Muller, who really did
      possess a creditable knowledge of electricity, saw that the wires in the
      room were all in good condition. As he had seen at first, there was really
      nothing the matter except with the position of the button. But it did not
      suit his purpose to enlighten Franz on the matter just yet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now I'd better look at the wires in the gentleman's room," he 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 the way
      out into the hall and down the winding stair. They crossed the lower
      corridor, mounted another staircase and entered a large, handsomely
      furnished room, half studio, half library. The wall was covered with
      pictures and sketches, several easels stood piled up in the corner, and a
      broad table beside them held paint boxes, colour tubes, brushes, all the
      paraphernalia of the painter, now carefully ordered and covered for a term
      of idleness. Great bookcases towered to the ceiling, and a huge flat top
      desk, a costly piece of furniture, was covered with books and papers. It
      was the room of a man of brains and breeding, a man of talent and ability,
      possessing, furthermore, the means to indulge his tastes freely. Even now,
      with its master absent, the handsome apartment bore the impress of his
      personality. The detective's quick imagination called up the attractive,
      sympathetic figure of the man he had seen at the gate, as his quick eye
      took in the details of the room. All the charm of Herbert Thorne's
      personality, which the keen-sensed Muller had felt so strongly even in
      that fleeting glimpse of him, came back again here in the room which was
      his own little kingdom and the expression of his mentality.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, what's the trouble here? Where are the wires?" asked the detective,
      after the momentary pause which had followed his entrance into the room.
      Franz led him to a spot on the wall hidden by a marquetry cabinet. "Here's
      the bell, it rings for several minutes before it stops."
    </p>
    <p>
      The light of the candle which the butler held fell upon a portrait hanging
      above the cabinet. It was a sketch in water-colours, the life-sized head
      of a man who may have been about thirty years old, perhaps, but who had
      none of the freshness and vigour of youth. The scanty hair, the sunken
      temples, and the faded skin, emphasised the look of dissipation given by
      the lines about the sensual mouth and the shifty eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, say, can't your master find anything better to paint than a face
      like that?" Muller asked with a laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Goodness me! you mustn't say such things!" exclaimed Franz in alarm;
      "that's the Madam's brother. He's an officer, I'd have you know. It's
      true, he doesn't look like much there, but that's because he's not in
      uniform. It makes such a difference."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is the lady anything like her brother?" asked the detective
      indifferently, bending to examine the wiring.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, dear, no, not a bit; they're as different as day and night. He's only
      her half-brother anyway. She was the daughter of the Colonel's second
      wife. Our Madam is the sweetest, gentlest lady you can imagine, an angel
      of goodness. But the Lieutenant here has always been a care to his family,
      they say. I guess he's quieted down a bit now, for his father&mdash;he's
      Colonel Leining, retired&mdash;made him get exchanged from the city to a
      small garrison town. There's nothing much to do in Marburg, I dare say&mdash;well!
      you are a merry sort, aren't you?" These last words, spoken in a tone of
      surprise, were called forth by a sudden sharp whistle from 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 made the
      Imperial Police Force sit up and take notice, for it meant that things
      were happening, and that the happenings were likely to become exciting. It
      was a habit he could control only by the severest effort of the will, an
      effort which he kept for occasions when it was absolutely necessary. Here,
      alone with the harmless old man, he was not so much on his guard, and the
      sudden vibrating of every nerve at the word "Marburg," found vent in the
      whistle which surprised old Franz. One young police commissioner with a
      fancy for metaphor had likened this sudden involuntary whistle of Muller's
      to the bay of the hound when he strikes the trail; which was about what it
      was.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I am merry sometimes," he said with a laugh. "It's a habit I have.
      Something occurred to me just then, something I had 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 now
      completely mastered the excitation of his nerves which had called it
      forth. He threw another sharp look at the picture of the man who lived in
      Marburg, and then asked: "And now where is the button?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the window there, beside the desk." Franz led the way with his candle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, how funny! What are those mirrors there for?" asked the electrician
      in a tone of surprise, pointing to two small mirrors hanging in the window
      niche. They were placed at a height and at such a peculiar angle that no
      one could possibly see his face in them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Something the master is experimenting with, I guess. He's always making
      queer experiments; he knows a lot about scientific things."
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller shook his head as if in wonderment, and bent to investigate the
      button which was fastened into the wall beneath the window sill. His quick
      ear heard a carriage stopping in front of the house, and heard the closing
      of the front door a moment later. To facilitate his examination of the
      button, the detective had seated himself in the armchair which stood
      beside the desk. He half raised himself now to let the light of the candle
      fall more clearly on the wiring&mdash;then he started up altogether and
      threw a hasty glance at the mirrors above his head. A ray of light had
      suddenly flashed down upon him&mdash;a ray of red light, and it came
      reflected from the mirrors. Muller bit his lips to keep back the betraying
      whistle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's the matter?" asked the butler. "Did you drop anything?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, the wooden rim of the button," replied Muller, telling the truth
      this time. For he had held the little wooden circlet in his hands at the
      moment when the red light, reflected down from the mirrors, struck full
      upon his eyes. He had dropped it in his surprise and excitement. Franz
      found the little ring in the centre of the room where it had rolled, and
      the supposed electrician 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 all
      right! I've finished here now," Muller repeated to himself. For now he
      knew beyond a doubt that the red light was a signal&mdash;and he knew also
      for whom this signal was intended. It was a signal for Herbert Thorne!&mdash;Herbert
      Thorne, whom no single thought or suspicion of Muller's had yet connected
      with the murder of Leopold Winkler.
    </p>
    <p>
      The detective was very much surprised and greatly excited. But Franz did
      not notice it, and indeed a far keener observer than the slow-witted old
      butler might have failed to see the sudden gleam which shot up in the grey
      eyes behind the heavy spectacles, might have failed to notice the
      tightening of the lips beneath the blond moustache, or the tenseness of
      the slight frame under the assumed embonpoint. Muller's every nerve was
      tingling, but he had himself 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. I must
      be getting on now."
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller hastened out of the door and down the street to the nearest cab
      stand. There were not very many cab stands in this vicinity, and the
      detective reasoned that Mrs. Bernauer would naturally have taken her cab
      from the nearest station. He had heard her return in 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 his hand
      on the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Jimmy! must I go out again?" asked the driver hoarsely. "Can't you
      see the poor beast is all wet from the last ride? We've just come in." He
      pointed with his whip to the tired-looking animal under his blanket.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, he does look warm. You must have been making a tour out into 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 main
      telegraph office in the city and back again. But she was in a hurry and
      he's not a young horse, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, never mind, then; I can get another cab across the bridge," replied
      the stout blond man, turning away and strolling off leisurely in the
      direction of the bridge. It was now quite dark, and a few steps further on
      Muller could safely turn and take the road to his own lodging. No one saw
      him go in, and in a few moments the real Muller, slight, smooth-shaven,
      sat down at his desk, looking at the papers that lay before him. They were
      three letters and an empty envelope.
    </p>
    <p>
      He took up the last, and compared it carefully with the envelope of one of
      the letters found in Winkler's room&mdash;the unsigned letter postmarked
      Hietzing, September 24th. The two envelopes were exactly alike. They were
      of the same size and shape, made of the same cream-tinted, heavy, glossy
      paper, and the address was written by the same hand. This any keen
      observer, who need not necessarily be an expert, could see. The same hand
      which had addressed the envelope to Mrs. Adele Bernauer on the letter
      which was postmarked "Venice," about thirty-six hours previous&mdash;this
      hand had, in an awkward and childish attempt at disguise, written
      Winkler's address on the envelope which bore the date of September 24th.
    </p>
    <p>
      The writer of the harmless letter to Mrs. Bernauer, a letter which chatted
      of household topics and touched lightly on the beauties of Venice, was
      Mrs. Thorne. It was Mrs. Thorne, therefore, who, reluctantly and in anger
      and distaste, had called Leopold Winkler to Hietzing, to his death.
    </p>
    <p>
      And whose hand had fired the shot that caused his death? The question, at
      this stage in Muller's meditation, could hardly be called a question any
      more. It was all too sadly clear to him now. Winkler met his death at the
      hand of the husband, who, discovering the planned rendezvous, had
      misunderstood its motive.
    </p>
    <p>
      For truly this had been no lovers' meeting. It had been a meeting to which
      the woman was driven by fear and hate; the man by greed of gain. This was
      clearly proved by the 300 guldens found in the dead man's pocket, money
      enclosed in a delicate little envelope, sealed hastily, and crumpled as if
      it had been carried in a hot and trembling hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was already known that Winkler never had any money except at certain
      irregular intervals, when he appeared to have come into possession of
      considerable sums. During these days he indulged in extravagant pleasures
      and spent his money with a recklessness which 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
      children, was doubtless a man of stern principles, and an army officer as
      well, therefore a man with a doubly sensitive code of honour and a social
      position to maintain; and this man, morbidly sensitive probably, had a
      daughter who had inherited his sensitiveness and his high ideals of
      honour, a daughter married to a rich husband. But he had another child, a
      son without any sense of honour at all, who, although also an officer,
      failed to live in a manner worthy his position. This son was now in
      Marburg, where there were no expensive pleasures, no all-night cafes and
      gambling 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 his
      exile to Marburg. The old butler had hinted at the truth. The portrait
      drawn by Herbert Thorne, a picture of such technical excellence that it
      was doubtless a good likeness also, had given an ugly illustration to
      Franz's remarks. And there was something even more tangible to prove it:
      "Theo's" letter from Marburg pleading with Winkler for "discretion and
      silence," not knowing ("let us hope he did not know!" murmured Muller
      between set teeth) that the man who held him in his power because of some
      rascality, was being paid for his silence by the Lieutenant's sister.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is easy to frighten a sensitive woman, so easy to make her believe the
      worst! And there is little such a tender-hearted woman will not do to save
      her aging father from pain and sorrow, perhaps even disgrace!
    </p>
    <p>
      It must have been in this way that Mrs. Thorne came into the power of the
      scoundrel who paid with his life for his last attempt at blackmail.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Muller reached this point in his chain of thought, he closed his eyes
      and covered his face with his hands, letting two pictures stand out clear
      before his mental vision.
    </p>
    <p>
      He saw the little anxious group around the carriage in front of the Thorne
      mansion. He saw the pale, frail woman leaning back on the cushions, and
      the husband bending over her in tender care. And then he saw Johann Knoll
      in his cell, a man with little manhood left in him, a man sunk to the
      level of the brutes, a man who had already committed one crime against
      society, and who could never rise to the mental or spiritual standard of
      even the most mediocre of decent citizens.
    </p>
    <p>
      If Herbert Thorne were to suffer the just punishment for his deed of
      doubly blind jealousy, then it was not only his own life, a life full of
      gracious promise, that would be ruined, but the happiness of his delicate,
      sweet-faced wife, who was doubtless still in blessed ignorance of what had
      happened. And still one other would be dragged down by this tragedy; a
      respected, upright man would bow his white hairs in disgrace. Thorne's
      father-in-law could not escape the scandal and his own share in the
      responsibility for it. And to a veteran officer, bred in the exaggerated
      social ethics of his profession, such a disgrace means ruin, sometimes
      even voluntary death.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, dear, if it had only been Knoll who did it," said Muller with a sigh
      that was almost a groan.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he rose slowly and heavily, and slowly and heavily, as if borne down
      by the weight of great weariness, he reached for his hat and coat and left
      the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whether he wished it or not, he knew it was his duty to go on to the
      bitter end on this trail he had followed up all day from the moment that
      he caught that fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Bernauer's haggard face at the
      garden gate. He was almost angry with the woman, because she chanced to
      look out of the gate at just that moment, showing him her face distorted
      with anxiety. For it was her face that had drawn Muller to the trail, a
      trail at the end of which misery awaited those for whom this woman had
      worked for years, those whom she loved and who treated her as one of the
      family.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller knew now that the one-time nurse was in league with her former
      charge; that Thorne and Adele Bernauer were in each other's confidence;
      that the man sat waiting for the signal which she was to give him, a
      signal bringing so much disgrace and sorrow in its train.
    </p>
    <p>
      If the woman had not spied upon and betrayed her mistress, this terrible
      event, which now weighed upon her own soul, would not have 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 it was
      indeed devotion that had swayed Adele Bernauer, devotion to her master
      more than to her mistress. This was hardly to be wondered at. But she had
      not thought what might come from her revelations, what had come of them.
      For now her pet, the baby who had once lain in her arms, the handsome,
      gifted man whom she adored with more than the love of many a mother for
      the child of her own blood, was under the shadow of hideous disgrace and
      doom, was the 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 which he
      had spoken of to the unhappy woman that very day. He felt like cursing the
      fatal gift that was his, the gift to see what was hidden from others, this
      something within him that forced him relentlessly onward until he had
      uncovered the truth, and brought misery to many.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller need not do anything, he need simply do nothing. Not a soul besides
      himself suspected the dwellers in the Thorne mansion of any connection
      with the murder. If he were silent, nothing could be proven against Knoll
      after all, except the robbery which he himself had confessed. Then the
      memory of the terror in the tramp's little 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 great
      fear. And even he's a better man than the blackmailer who was killed. A
      miscarriage of justice will often make a criminal of a poor fellow whose
      worst fault is idleness." Muller's face darkened as the things of the
      past, shut down in the depths of his own soul, rose up again. "No; that's
      why I took up this work. Justice must be done&mdash;but it's bitter hard
      sometimes. I could almost wish now that I hadn't seen that face at the
      gate."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X. MULLER RETURNS TO THE THORNE MANSION
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was striking eight as Muller came out of a cafe in the heart of the
      city. He had been in there but a few moments, for his purpose was merely
      to look through the Army lists of the current year. The result of his
      search proved the correctness of his conclusions.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a Lieutenant Theobald Leining in the single infantry regiment
      stationed at Marburg.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller took a cab and drove to the main telegraph office. He asked for the
      original of the telegram which had been sent that afternoon to the
      address; "Herbert Thorne, Hotel Danieli, Venice." This closed the circle
      of the chain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The detective re-entered his waiting cab and drove back to Hietzing. He
      told the driver to halt at the corner of the street on which fronted the
      Thorne mansion and to wait for him there. He himself walked slowly down
      the quiet Street and rang the bell at the iron gate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You come to this house again?" asked Franz, starting back in 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 on
      false pretenses this time. And before you let me in you can go upstairs
      and ask Mrs. Bernauer if she will receive me in her own room&mdash;in her
      own room, mind. But make haste; I am in a hurry." The detective's tone was
      calm and he strolled slowly up and down in front of the gate when he had
      finished speaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old butler hesitated a moment, then walked into the house. When he
      returned, rather more quickly, he looked alarmed and his tone was very
      humble as he asked Muller to follow him.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the detective entered Mrs. Bernauer's room the housekeeper rose
      slowly from the large armchair in front of her table. She was very pale
      and her eyes were full of terror. She made no move to speak, so Muller
      began the conversation. He put down his hat, brought up a chair and placed
      it near the window at which the housekeeper had been sitting. Then he sat
      down and motioned to her to do the same.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a faithful servant, all too faithful," he began. "But you are
      faithful only to your master. You have no devotion for 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 to whom
      one is devoted."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Bernauer looked up in surprise. "What&mdash;what do you know?" she
      stammered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller did not answer the question directly, but continued: "Mrs. Thorne
      had a meeting recently with a strange man. It was not their first meeting,
      and somehow you discovered it. But before this last meeting occurred you
      spoke to the lady's husband about it, and it was arranged between you that
      you should give him a signal which would mean to him, 'Your wife is going
      to the meeting.' Mrs. Thorne did go to the meeting. This happened on
      Monday evening at about quarter past nine. Some one, who was in the
      neighbourhood by chance, saw a woman's figure hurrying through the garden,
      down to the other street, and a moment after this, the light of this lamp
      in your window was seen to go out. A hand had turned down the wick&mdash;it
      was your hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This was the signal to Mr. Thorne. The mirrors over his desk reflected in
      his eyes the light he could not otherwise have seen as he sat by his own
      window. The signal, therefore, told him that the time had come to act.
      This same chance watcher, who had seen the woman going through the garden,
      had seen the lamp go out, and now saw a man's figure hurrying down the
      path the woman had taken. The man as well as the woman came from this
      house and went in the direction of the lower end of the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A little while later a shot was heard, and the next morning Leopold
      Winkler was found with a bullet in his back. The crime was generally taken
      to be a murder for the sake of robbery. But you and 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 suddenly
      came to you, falling like a heavy weight on your soul, the idea that
      Winkler might not have been killed for the sake of robbery, but because of
      the hatred that some one bore him. Then it was that you lost your appetite
      suddenly, that you drove into the city with the excuse of errands to do,
      in order to read the papers without being seen by any one who knew you.
      When you came home you searched everywhere in your master's room: you made
      an excuse for this search, but what you wanted to find out was whether he
      had left anything that could betray him. Your fright had already confused
      your mind. You were searching probably for the weapon from which he had
      fired the bullet. You did not realise that he would naturally have taken
      it with him and thrown it somewhere into a ravine or river beside the
      railway track between here and Venice. How could you think for a moment
      that he would leave it behind him, here in his room, or dropped in the
      garden? But this was doubtless due to the confusion owing to your sudden
      alarm and anxiety&mdash;a confusion which prevented you from realising the
      danger of the two peculiarly hung mirrors in Mr. Thorne's room. These
      should have been taken away at once. This morning my sudden appearance at
      the garden gate prevented you from making an examination of the place of
      the murder. Your swoon, after I had spoken to you in the butler's room,
      showed me that you were carrying a burden too heavy for your strength.
      Finally, this afternoon, you drove to the main telegraph office in the
      city, as you thought that it would be safer to telegraph Mr. Thorne from
      there. Your telegram was very cleverly written. But you might have spared
      the last sentence, the request that Mr. Thorne should get the Viennese
      papers of these last days. Believe me, he has already read these papers.
      Who could be more interested in what they have to tell than he?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The housekeeper had sat as if frozen to stone during Muller's long speech.
      Her face was ashen and her eyes wild with horror. When the detective
      ceased speaking, there was dead silence in the room for some time. Finally
      Muller asked: "Is this what happened?" His voice was cutting and the
      glance of his eyes keen and sharp.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Bernauer trembled. Her head sank on her breast. Muller waited 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 spied
      upon her and betrayed her to her husband, all this might not have
      happened," continued the detective pitilessly, adding with a bitter smile:
      "And it was not even a case of sinful love. Your mistress had no such
      relations with this Winkler as you&mdash;I say this to excuse you&mdash;seemed
      to believe."
    </p>
    <p>
      Adele Bernauer sprang up. "I do not need this excuse," she cried,
      trembling in excitement. "I do not need any excuse. What I have done I did
      after due consideration and in the realisation that it was absolutely
      necessary to do it. Never for one moment did I believe that my mistress
      was untrue to her husband. Never for one moment could I believe such an
      evil thing of her, for I knew her to be an angel of goodness. A woman who
      is deceiving her husband is not as unhappy as this poor lady has been for
      months. A woman does not write to a successful lover with so much sorrow,
      with so many tears. I had long suspected these meetings before I
      discovered them, but I knew that these meetings had nothing whatever to do
      with love. Because I knew this, and only because I knew it, did I tell my
      master about them. I wanted him to protect his wife, to free her from the
      wretch who had obtained some power over her, I knew not how."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! then that was it?" exclaimed Muller, and his eyes softened as he
      looked at the sobbing woman who had sunk back into her chair. He laid his
      hand on her cold fingers and continued gently: "Then you have really done
      right, you have done only what was your duty. I pity you deeply that you&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That I have brought suspicion upon my master by my own foolishness?" she
      finished the sentence with a pitifully sad smile. "If I could have
      controlled myself, could have kept calm, nobody would have had a thought
      or a suspicion that he&mdash;my pet, my darling&mdash;that it was he who
      was forced, through some terrible circumstance of which I do not know, to
      free his wife, in this manner, from the wretch who persecuted her."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Bernauer wrung her hands and gazed with despairing eyes at the man
      who sat before her, himself deeply moved.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again there was a long silence. Muller could not find a word to comfort
      the weeping woman. There was no longer anger in his heart, nothing but the
      deepest pity. He took out his handkerchief and 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 lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      He nodded. "Yes, officially of course. I must make a report at once to
      headquarters about what I have learned. You can imagine yourself what the
      next steps will be."
    </p>
    <p>
      Her deep sigh showed him that she knew as well as he. In the same second,
      however, a thought shot through her brain, changing her whole being. Her
      pale face glowed, her dulled eyes shot fire, and the fingers with which
      she held Muller's hand tightly clasped, were suddenly feverishly hot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you&mdash;you are still the only person who knows the truth?" she
      gasped in his ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      The detective nodded. "And you thought you might silence me?" he asked
      calmly. "That will not be easy&mdash;for you can imagine that I did not
      come unarmed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Adele Bernauer smiled sadly. "I would take even this way to save Herbert
      Thorne from disgrace, if I thought that it could be successful, and if I
      had not thought of a milder way to silence a man who cannot be a
      millionaire. I have served in this house for thirty-two years, I have been
      treated with such generosity that I have been able to save almost every
      cent of my wages for my old age. With the interest that has rolled up, my
      little fortune must amount to nearly eight thousand gulden. I will gladly
      give it to you, if you will but keep silence, if you will not tell what
      you have discovered." She spoke gaspingly and sank down on her knees
      before she had finished.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Mr. Thorne also&mdash;" she continued hastily, as she saw no sign 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: "No, no,
      my good woman; that won't do. One cannot conceal one crime by committing
      another. I myself would naturally not listen to your suggestion for a
      moment, but I am also convinced that Mr. Thorne, to whom you are so
      devoted, and who, I acknowledge, pleased me the very first sight I had of
      him&mdash;I am convinced that he would 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," 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 leave here
      to-morrow morning," said Muller calmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! then you don't want to find him! Oh God! how good, how inexpressibly
      good you are," stammered the woman, seizing at some vague hope in her
      distraught heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, you are mistaken again, Mrs. Bernauer. I will find Mr. Thorne
      wherever he may be. But I may arrive in Venice too late to meet him there.
      He may already be on his way home."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On his way home?" cried the housekeeper in terror, staggering where she
      stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller led her gently to a chair. "Sit down here and listen to me calmly.
      This is what I mean. If Mr. Thorne has seen in the papers that a man has
      been arrested and accused of the murder of Leopold Winkler, then he will
      take the next train back and give himself up to the authorities. That he
      makes no such move as long as he thinks there is no suspicion on any one
      else, no possibility that any one else could suffer the consequences of
      his deed&mdash;is quite comprehensible&mdash;it is only natural and
      human."
    </p>
    <p>
      Adele Bernauer sighed deeply again and heavy tears ran down her cheeks, in
      strange contrast to the ghost of a smile that parted her lips and shone in
      her dimmed eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know him better than I do," she murmured almost inaudibly, "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, sincere
      pressure of the hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lieutenant Theobald Leining was here on a visit to his sister last March,
      wasn't he?" the detective asked as Franz led him out of the gate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; the Lieutenant was here just about that time," answered the old
      man.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And he left here on the 16th of March?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the 16th? Why, it may have been&mdash;yes, it was the 16th&mdash;that
      is our lady's birthday. He went away that day." Franz bowed a farewell to
      this stranger who began to appear uncanny in his eyes, and shutting the
      gate carefully he returned to the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does the man want anyway?" he murmured to himself, shivering
      involuntarily. Without knowing why he turned his steps towards Mrs.
      Bernauer's room. He opened the door hesitatingly as if afraid of what he
      might see there. He would not have been at all surprised if 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, to
      Franz's great astonishment, she was busied at the packing of a valise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you going away too?" asked Franz. Mrs. Bernauer answered in a voice
      that was dull with weariness: "Yes, Franz, I am going away. Will you
      please look up the time-tables of the Southern railroad and let me know
      when the morning express leaves? And please order a cab in time for it. I
      will depend upon you to look after the house in my absence. You can
      imagine that it must be something 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 there in
      time."
    </p>
    <p>
      She almost pushed the old man out of the door with these last words and
      shut and locked it behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      She wanted to be alone with this hideous fear that was clutching at her
      heart. For it was not to Franz that she could tell the thoughts that came
      to her lips now as she sank down, wringing her hands, before a picture of
      the Madonna: "Oh Holy Virgin, Mother of our Lord, plead for me! let me be
      with my dear mistress when the terrible time comes and they take her
      husband away from her, or, if preferring death to disgrace, he ends his
      life by his own hand!"
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI. IN THE POLICE COURT
    </h2>
    <p>
      Commissioner Von Riedau sat at his desk late that evening, finishing up
      some important papers. The quiet of an undisturbed night watch had settled
      down on the busy police station. An occasional low murmur of whispering
      voices floated up from the guardroom below, but otherwise the stillness
      was broken only by the scratching of the commissioner's pen and the rustle
      of the paper as he turned the leaves. It was a silence so complete that a
      light step on the stair outside and the gentle turning of the doorknob was
      heard distinctly and the commissioner looked up with almost a start to see
      who was coming to his room so late. Joseph Muller stood in the open door,
      awaiting his chief's official recognition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! it's you, Muller. So late? Come in. Anything new?" asked the
      commissioner. "Have you succeeded in drawing a confession from 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 could you
      get out of him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing, or almost nothing more than he told us here in the station, sir.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The man's incredibly stubborn," said the commissioner. "If he could only
      be made to understand that a free confession would benefit him more than
      any one else! Well, don't look so down-cast about it, Muller. This thing
      is going to take longer than we thought at first for such a simple affair.
      But it's only a question of time until the man comes to his senses. You'll
      get him to talk soon. You always do. And even if you should fail here,
      this matter is not so very important, when we think of all the other
      things you have done." 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 said."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" The commissioner looked up in surprise. "I thought you 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 Winkler."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hmph!" The commissioner's exclamation had a touch of acidity in it.
      "Then, if he didn't murder him, who did?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Herbert Thorne, painter, living in the Thorne mansion in B. Street,
      Hietzing, now in Venice, Hotel Danieli. I ask for a warrant for his
      arrest, sir, and orders to start for Venice on the early morning express
      to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Muller!... what the deuce does all this mean?" The commissioner sprang
      up, his face flushing deeply as he leaned over the desk staring at the sad
      quiet face of the little man opposite. "What are you talking about? What
      does all this mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It means, sir, that we now know who committed the murder in Hietzing.
      Johann Knoll is innocent of anything more than the theft confessed by
      himself. He took the purse and watch from the senseless form of the just
      murdered man. The body was warm and still supple and the tramp supposed
      the victim to be merely intoxicated. His story was in every respect true,
      sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner flushed still deeper. "And who do you say murdered this
      man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Herbert Thorne, sir.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Thorne! I know of him... have even a slight personal acquaintance with
      him. Thorne is a rich man, of excellent family. 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 scarcely
      touched his life at any point... It's incredible! Muller! Muller! are you
      sure you are not letting your imagination run away with you again? It is a
      serious thing to make such an accusation against any man, much less
      against a man in Thorne's position. Are you sure of what you are saying?"
      The commissioner's excitement rendered him almost inarticulate. The shock
      of the surprise occasioned by the detective's words produced a feeling of
      irritation... a phenomenon not unusual in the minds of worthy but 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
      confession of one who might be called an accomplice of the murderer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is incredible... incredible! An accomplice you say?... who is this
      accomplice? Might it not be some one who has a grudge against Thorne&mdash;some
      one who is trying to purposely mislead you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not so easily deceived or misled, sir. Every evidence points to
      Thorne, and the confession I have just heard was made by a woman who loves
      him, who has loved and cared for him from his babyhood. There is not the
      slightest doubt of it, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller moved a step nearer the desk, gazing firmly in the eyes of the
      excited commissioner. The sadness on the detective's face had given way to
      a gleam of pride that flushed his sallow cheek and brightened his grey
      eyes. It was one of those rare moments when Muller allowed himself a
      feeling of triumph in his own power, in spite of official subordination
      and years of habit. His slight frame seemed to grow taller and broader as
      he faced the Chief with an air of quiet determination that made him at
      once master of the situation. His voice was as low as ever but it took on
      a keen incisive note that compelled attention, as he continued: "Herbert
      Thorne is the murderer of Leopold Winkler. Now that he knows an innocent
      man is under accusation for his deed it is only a question of time before
      he will come himself to confess. He will doubtless make this confession to
      me, if I go to Venice to see him, and to bring him back to trial."
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner could doubt no longer. Pedantic though he was,
      Commissioner von Riedau possessed sufficient insight to know the truth
      when it was presented to him with such conviction, and also sufficient
      insight to have recognised the gifts of the man before him. "But why...
      why?" he murmured, sinking back into his chair, and shaking his head in
      bewilderment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Winkler was a miserable scoundrel, sir, a blackmailer. Thorne did only
      what any decent man would have felt like doing in his place. But justice
      must be done."
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller's elation vanished and a deep sigh welled up from his heart. The
      commissioner nodded slowly, and glanced across the desk almost timidly.
      This case had appeared to be so simple, and suddenly the hidden deeps of a
      dark mystery had opened before him, deeps already sounded by the little
      man here who had gone so quietly about his work while the official police,
      represented in this case by Commissioner von Riedau himself, had sat
      calmly waiting for an innocent man to confess to a crime he had not
      committed! It was humiliating. The commissioner flushed again and his eyes
      sank to 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, told of
      the slight clues which led him to take an interest in the house and its
      inmates, until finally the truth began to glimmer up out of the depths.
      The commissioner listened with eager interest. "Then you believed this
      elaborate yarn told by the tramp?" he interrupted once, at the beginning
      of the narrative.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, yes, sir, just because it was so elaborate. A man like Knoll would
      not have had the mind to invent such a story. It must have been true, on
      the face of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      The commissioner's eyes sank again, and he did not speak until the
      detective had reached the end of his story. Then he opened a drawer 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 as one of
      your finest achievements&mdash;and we thought it was so simple."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, indeed, sir, chance favoured me at every turn," replied Muller
      modestly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no such thing as chance," said the commissioner. "We might as
      well be honest with ourselves. Any one might have seen, doubtless did see,
      all the things you saw, but no one else had the insight to recognise their
      value, nor the skill to follow them up to such a conclusion. But it's a
      sad case, a sad case. I never wrote a warrant with a heavier heart. Thorne
      is a true-hearted gentleman, while the scoundrel he killed..."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, I feel that way about it myself. I can confess now that there
      was one moment when I was ready to&mdash;well, just to say nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And let us blunder on in our official stupidity and blindness?"
      interrupted the commissioner, a faint smile breaking the gravity of his
      face. "We certainly gave you every opportunity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But there's an innocent man accused&mdash;suffering fear of death&mdash;justice
      must be done. But, sir," Muller took the warrant the commissioner handed
      across the table to him. "May I not make it as easy as I can for Mr.
      Thorne&mdash;I mean, bring him here with as little publicity as possible?
      His wife is with him in Venice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor little woman, it's terrible! Do whatever you think best, Muller.
      You're a queer mixture. Here you've hounded this man down, followed hot on
      his trail when not a soul but yourself connected him in any way with the
      murder. And now you're sorry for him! A soft heart like yours is a
      dangerous possession for a police 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 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 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 myself.
      And then, there's the poor young wife, he must think of her when the
      desire comes to end his own life..."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes! Yes! This terrible thing has shaken us both up more than a little. I
      feel exhausted. You look tired yourself, Muller. Go home now, and get some
      rest for your early start. Good-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-night, sir."
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII. ON THE LIDO
    </h2>
    <p>
      A wonderfully beautiful night lay over the fair old city of Venice when
      the Northern Express thundered over the long bridge to the railway
      station. A passenger who was alone in a second-class compartment stood up
      to collect his few belongings. Suddenly he looked up as he heard a voice,
      a voice which he had learned to know 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?" exclaimed
      Joseph Muller in astonishment as he saw Mrs. Bernauer standing there
      before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I have come to Venice too. I must be with my dear lady&mdash;when&mdash;when
      Herbert&mdash;" She had begun quite calmly, but she did not finish her
      sentence, for loud sobs drowned the words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You were in the next compartment? Why didn't you come in here 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 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 things
      for you. Mrs. Thorne must not see you until she has been 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 for
      each other, this quiet man who went so relentlessly and yet so pityingly
      about his duty in the interest of justice&mdash;and the devoted woman
      whose faithfulness had brought about such a tragedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The train had now entered the railway station. Muller and Mrs. Bernauer
      stood a few minutes later on the banks of the Grand Canal and entered one
      of the many gondolas waiting there. The moon glanced back from the surface
      of the water broken into ripples under the oars of the gondoliers; it
      shone with a magic charm on the old palaces that stood knee-deep in the
      lagoons, and threw heavy shadows over the narrow water-roads on which the
      little dark boats glided silently forward. In most of the gondolas coming
      from the station excited voices and exclamations of delight broke the calm
      of the moonlit evening as the tourists rejoiced in the beauty that is
      Venice.
    </p>
    <p>
      But in the gondola in which Muller and Mrs. Bernauer sat there was deep
      silence, silence broken only by a sobbing sigh that now and then burst
      from the heart of the haggard woman. There were few travellers entering
      Venice on one of its world-famous moonlit nights 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 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 hidden
      corner. The woman's sad eyes gazed yearningly at the haggard face of the
      tall man who stood looking over the railing of the little steamer. Her own
      tears came as she saw the gloom in the once shining grey eyes she loved so
      well.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller stood beside Mrs. Bernauer. His eyes too, keen and quick, followed
      Herbert Thorne as he stood by the rail or paced restlessly up and down;
      his face too showed pity and concern. He also saw that Thorne held in his
      hand a bundle of newspapers which were still enclosed in their mailing
      wrappers. The papers were pressed in a convulsive grip of the artist's
      long slender fingers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Muller knew then that Thorne had not yet learned of the arrest of Johann
      Knoll. At the very earliest, Thursday's papers, which brought the news,
      could not reach him before Friday morning. But these newspapers (Muller
      saw that they were German papers) were still in their wrappings. They were
      probably Viennese papers for which he had telegraphed and which had just
      arrived. His anxiety had not allowed him to read them in the presence of
      his wife. He had sought the solitude of early morning on the Lido, that he
      might learn, unobserved, what terrors fate had in store for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was doubtless Mrs. Bernauer's telegram which caused his present
      anxiety, a telegram which had reached him only the night before when he
      returned with his wife from an excursion to Torcello. It had caused him a
      sleepless night, for it had brought the realisation that his faithful
      nurse suspected the truth about the murder in the quiet lane. The telegram
      had read as follows: "Have drawn money and send it at once. Further
      journey probably necessary, visitor in house to-day. Connected with
      occurrence in &mdash; Street. Please read Viennese papers. News and orders
      for me please send to address A.B. General Postoffice."
    </p>
    <p>
      This telegram told Herbert Thorne the truth. And the papers which arrived
      this morning were to tell him more&mdash;what he did not yet know. But his
      heart was drawn with terrors which threw lines in his face and made him
      look ten years older than on that Tuesday morning 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 which
      led to the ocean side. Muller and Mrs. Bernauer entered the waiting
      tramway that took them in the same direction. They dismounted in front of
      the bathing establishment, stepped behind a group of bushes and waited
      there for Thorne. In about ten minutes they saw his tall figure passing on
      the other side of the road. He was walking down to the beach, holding the
      still unopened papers in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      A narrow strip of park runs along parallel to the beach in the direction
      towards Mala Mocco. Muller and Mrs Bernauer walked along through this park
      on the path which was nearest the water. The detective watched the rapidly
      moving figure ahead of them, while the woman's tear-dimmed eyes veiled
      everything else to her but the path along which her weary feet hastened.
      Thorne halted about half way between the bathing establishment and the
      customs barracks, looked 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 sand
      dunes, before him was the broad surface of the ocean, and at his back was
      rising ground, bare sand with here and there a scraggly bush or a group of
      high thistles. Herbert Thorne believed himself to be alone here... as far
      as a man can be alone over whom hangs the shadow of a crime. He groaned
      aloud and hid his pale face in his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      In his own distress he did not hear the deep sigh&mdash;which, just above
      him on the edge of the knoll, broke from the breast of a woman who was
      suffering scarcely less than he; he did not know that two pair of sad eyes
      looked down upon him. And now into the eyes of the watching woman there
      shot a gleam of terror. For Herbert Thorne had taken a revolver from his
      pocket and laid it quietly beside him. Then he took out a notebook and a
      pencil and placed them beside the weapon. Then slowly, reluctantly, he
      opened one of the papers.
    </p>
    <p>
      A light breeze from the shining sea before him carried off the wrapping.
      The paper which he opened shook in his trembling hands, as his eyes sought
      the reports of the murder. He gave a sudden start and a tremor ran through
      his frame. He had come to the spot which told of the arrest of another
      man, who was under shadow of punishment for the crime which he himself had
      committed. When he had read this report through, he turned to the other
      papers. He was quite calm now, outwardly calm at least.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he had finished reading the papers he laid them in a heap beside him
      and reached out for his notebook. As he opened it the two watchers saw
      that between its first pages there was a sealed and addressed letter. Two
      other envelopes were contained in the notebook, envelopes which were also
      addressed although still open. Muller's sharp eyes could read the
      addresses as Thorne took them up in turn, looking long at each of them.
      One envelope was addressed in Italian to the Chief of Police of Venice,
      the other to the Chief of Police in Vienna.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two watchers leaned forward, scarcely three yards above the man in
      whom they were interested. Thorne tore out two leaves of his notebook and
      wrote several lines on each of them. One note, he placed in the envelope
      addressed to the Viennese police and sealed it carefully. Then he put the
      sealed letter with the second note in the other envelope, the one
      addressed to the Italian police. He put all the letters back in his
      notebook, holding it together with a 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 creakingly
      and two figures appeared beside him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's time enough for that yet, Mr. Thorne," said the man at whom the
      painter gazed up in bewilderment. And then this man took the 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 could
      not speak; he looked first at the stranger who had mastered him so
      completely, and then, in dazed astonishment, at the woman who had sunk
      down beside him in the sand, clasping his hand in both of hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Adele! Adele! Why are you here?" he stammered finally.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want to be with you&mdash;in this hour," she answered, looking at him
      with eyes of worship. "I want to be with my dear lady&mdash;to comfort her&mdash;to
      protect her when&mdash;when&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "When they arrest me?" Thorne finished the sentence himself. Then 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. But I
      think it will be unnecessary to make use of it in the customary official
      way through the authorities here. I see that you have written to both
      police stations&mdash;confessing your deed. This will amount to a
      voluntary giving up of yourself to the authorities, therefore all that is
      necessary is that I return with you in the same train which takes you to
      Vienna. But I must ask you for those two letters, for until you yourself
      give them to the 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 now. His
      words came haltingly and great drops stood out on his forehead.
    </p>
    <p>
      The painter rose from the sand and he too wiped his face, which was drawn
      in agony.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Herbert, Herbert!" cried Adele Bernauer suddenly. "Oh, Herbert, you will
      live, you will! Promise me, you will not think of suicide, it would kill
      your wife&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      She lay on her knees before him in the sand. He looked down at her gently
      and with a gesture which seemed to be a familiar one of days long past, he
      stroked the face that had grown old and worn in these hours of fear for
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, you dear good soul, I will live on, I will take upon myself my
      punishment for killing a scoundrel. The poor man whom they have arrested
      in my place must not linger in the fear of death. I am ready, sir.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My name is Muller&mdash;detective Muller."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Joseph Muller, the famous detective Muller?" asked Thorne with a sad
      smile. "I have had little to do with the police but by chance I have heard
      of your fame. I might have known; they tell me you 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 privileges that
      others would not have, Mr. Muller. Here is my written confession and here
      am I myself. Shall we go now?" Herbert Thorne handed the detective his
      notebook with its important 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 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 give his
      old nurse orders for the care of his wife. She was to take Mrs. Thorne to
      Graz to her father, then to return herself to Vienna and take care of the
      house as usual, until his attorney could settle up his affairs and sell
      the property. For Thorne said that neither he nor his wife would ever want
      to set foot in the house again. He spoke calmly, he thought of everything&mdash;he
      thought even of the 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 old
      nurse all about it. When she had given him the signal he had hurried down
      into the garden, and walking quietly along the path, he had found his wife
      at the garden gate in conversation with a man who was a stranger to him.
      That part of their talk which he overheard told him that the man was a
      blackmailer, and that he was making money on the fact that he had caught
      Theobald Leining cheating at cards.
    </p>
    <p>
      This chance had put the officer into Winkler's power. The clerk knew that
      he could get nothing from the guilty man himself, so he had turned to the
      latter's sister, who was rich, and had threatened to bring about a
      disgraceful scandal if she did not pay for his silence. For more than a
      year he had been getting money from her by means of these threats. All
      this was clear from the conversation. The man spoke in tones of
      impertinence, or sneering obsequiousness, the woman's voice showed
      contempt and hatred.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thorne's blood began to boil. His fingers tightened about the revolver
      which he had brought with him to be ready for any emergency, and he
      stepped designedly upon a twig which broke under his feet with a noise. He
      wanted to frighten his wife and send her back to the house. This was what
      did occur. But the blackmailer was alarmed as well and fled hastily from
      the garden when he realised that he was not alone with his victim. Thorne
      followed the man's disappearing figure, calling him to halt. He did not
      call loudly for he too wanted to avoid a scandal. His intention was to
      force the man to follow him into the house, to get his written confession
      of blackmail&mdash;then to finish him off with a large sum once for all
      and kick him out of the place.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this manner Herbert Thorne thought to free himself and his wife from
      the persecutions of the rascal. His heart was filled with hatred towards
      the man. For since Mrs. Bernauer had told him what she had discovered, he
      knew that it was because of this wretch that his once so happy wife was
      losing her strength, her health and her peace of mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      He followed the fleeing man and called to him several times to halt.
      Finally Winkler half turned and called out over his shoulder: "You'd
      better leave me alone! Do you want all Vienna to know that your
      brother-in-law ought to be in jail?"
    </p>
    <p>
      These words robbed Thorne of all control. He pressed the trigger under his
      finger and the bullet struck the man before him, who had turned to
      continue his flight, full in the back. "And that is how I became a
      murderer." With these words Herbert Thorne concluded his narrative. He
      appeared quite calm now. He was really calmer, for the strain of the deed,
      which was justified in his eyes, was not so 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 form of
      a man. But of course in the eyes of the world this was a murder like any
      other, and the man who had committed it knew that he was under the ban of
      the law, that it was only a chance that the arm of justice had not yet
      reached out for him. And now this arm had reached out for him, although it
      was no longer necessary. For Herbert Thorne was not the man to allow
      another to suffer in his stead.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as he knew that another had been arrested and was under suspicion
      of the murder, he knew that there was nothing more for him but open
      confession. But he wished to avoid a scandal even now. If he died by his
      own hand, then the first cause of all this trouble, 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 must
      submit to the inevitable. Side by side with his old friend he sat on the
      deck of the boat that took them back to the Riva dei Schiavoni. Muller sat
      at some distance from them. The pale sad-faced woman, and the pale
      sad-faced man had much to say to each other that a stranger might not
      hear.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the little boat reached the landing stage, there were but a few steps
      more to the door of the Hotel Danieli. From a balcony on the first floor a
      young woman stood looking down onto the canal. She too was pale and her
      eyes were heavy with anxiety. She had been pale and anxious even then, the
      day when she left the beautiful old 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
      husband, a change that struck deep into his very being and altered him in
      everything except in his love and tender care for her. "Oh, why is it?
      what is the matter?" she asked her self a thousand times a day. Could it
      be possible that he had discovered the secret which tortured her, the only
      secret she had ever had from him, the secret she had longed to confess to
      him a hundred times but had lacked courage to do it.
    </p>
    <p>
      For she had sinned deeply against her husband, she knew. Her fear and her
      confusion had driven her deeper and deeper into the waters of deceit until
      it was impossible for her to find the words that would have brought help
      and comfort from the man whom she loved more than anything else in the
      world. In the very earliest stages of Winkler's persecution she had lost
      her head completely and instead of confessing to her husband and asking
      for his aid and protection, she had pawned the rich jewels which had been
      his wedding present to get the money demanded by the blackmailer. In her
      ignorance she had thought that this one sum would satisfy him.
    </p>
    <p>
      But he came again and again, demanding money which she saved from her pin
      money, from her household allowance, thus taking what she had intended to
      use to redeem her jewels. The pledge was lost, and her jewels gone
      forever. From now on, Mrs. Thorne lived in a terror which sapped her
      strength and drank her life blood drop by drop. Any hour might bring
      discovery, a discovery which she feared would shake her husband's love for
      her. The poor weak little woman grew pale and ill. She wrote finally to
      her step-brother, but he could think of no way out; he wrote only that if
      the matter came to a scandal there would be nothing for him to do but to
      kill himself. This was one reason more for her silence, and Mrs. Thorne
      faded to a wan shadow of her former sunny self.
    </p>
    <p>
      As she looked down from the balcony, she was like a woman suffering from a
      deathly illness. A new terror had come to her heart because her husband
      had gone away so early without telling her why or whither he had gone.
      When she saw him coming towards the door of the hotel, pale and drooping,
      and when she saw Mrs. Bernauer beside him, her heart seemed to stand
      still. She crept back from the window and stood in the middle of the room
      as Herbert Thorne and his former nurse entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What has happened?" This was all she could say as she looked into 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&mdash;and
      you, my dearest, you must go to your father." He concluded his story with
      these words.
    </p>
    <p>
      She bent down over him and kissed him. "'No, I am going with you," she
      said softly, strangely calm; "why should I leave you now? Is 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 him,
      back to the city of their home. It seemed to them both quite natural that
      she should do so.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the Northern Express rolled out of Venice that afternoon, three
      people sat together in a compartment, the curtains of which were drawn
      close. They were the unhappy couple and their faithful servant. And
      outside in the corridor of the railway carriage, a small, slight man
      walked up and down&mdash;up and down. He had pressed a gold coin into the
      conductor's hand, with the words: "The party in there do not wish to be
      disturbed; the lady is ill."
    </p>
    <p>
      Herbert Thorne's trial took place several weeks later. Every possible
      extenuating circumstance was brought to bear upon his sentence. Five years
      only was to be the term of his imprisonment, 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, but
      continued to live in the old mansion with the mansard roof. Her father was
      with her. The brother Theobald, the cause of all this suffering to those
      who had shielded him at the expense of their own happiness, had at last
      done the only good deed of his life&mdash;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 who had
      sinned and suffered for their sake. They spoke of him only in terms of the
      tenderest affection and respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      And indeed, seldom has any condemned murderer met with the respect of the
      entire community as Herbert Thorne did. The tone of the newspapers, and
      public opinion, evinced by hundreds of letters from friends,
      acquaintances, and from strangers, was a great boon to the solitary man in
      his cell, and to the three loving hearts in the old house. And at the end
      of two years the clemency of the Monarch ended his term of imprisonment,
      and Herbert Thorne was set free, a step which met with the approval of the
      entire city.
    </p>
    <p>
      He returned to the home where love and affection awaited him, ready to
      make him forget what he had suffered. But the silver threads in his dark
      hair and a certain quiet seriousness in his manner, and in the hearts of
      all the dwellers in the old mansion, showed that the occurrence of that
      fatal 27th of September had thrown a shadow over them all which was not to
      be shaken off.
    </p>
    <p>
      Joseph Muller brought many other cases to a successful solution. But for
      years after this particular case had been won, he was followed, as by a
      shadow, by a man who watched over him, and who, whenever danger
      threatened, stood over the frail detective as if to take the blow upon
      himself. He is a clever assistant, too, and no one who had seen Johann
      Knoll the day that he was put into the cell on suspicion of murder would
      have believed that the idle tramp could become again such a useful member
      of society. These are the victories that Joseph Muller considers his
      greatest.
    </p>
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