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JOE MULLER
DETECTIVE
GRACE ISABEL COLBRON


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JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE





JOE MULLER:
DETECTIVE
Being the Account of Some Adventures in
the Professsional Experience of a Member of
the Imperial Austrian Police
BY
GRACE ISABEL COLBRON
AND
AUGUSTA GRONER
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS


KD 9067
HARVA
COPYRIGHT, 1910, By
THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS
COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1910, By
DUFFIELD & COMPANY


CONTENTS
PAGE
The Case of the Lamp that Went Outi.
3
The Case of the Registered Letter . .
.
. 139
The Case of the Pocket Diary Found in the Snow 183
The Case of the Pool of Blood in the Pastor's
Study . . . . . . . . . . 233
The Case of the Golden Bullet ...
. . 291





JOE MULLER
JOSEPH MULLER, Secret Service detective of the Im-
perial Austrian police, is one of the great experts in
his profession. In personality he differs greatly from
other famous detectives. He has neither the impres-
sive authority of Sherlock Holmes, nor the keen bril-
liancy 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 misfor-
tune. 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.
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


viii
JOE MULLER
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 oppor-
tunity to occupy himself in the way he most enjoys.
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 hum-
ble little man saves its honour by solving some problem
before which its intricate machinery has stood dazed
and puzzled.
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 depart-
ment, ... or with his own better nature. Some-
times 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
be little ne depawing ali


JOE MULLER
ix
he a much finest this particutice. Severa
heart gottical commown advanceeating his own his un-
his soul which is stronger than all volition; but when
he has this victim in the net, he will sometimes dis-
cover 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 un-
doing at last, his official undoing that is, and com-
pelled 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 un-
ravelling of many a famous case.
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 De-
partment, and the comedy of his acting under “official
orders " when the Department is in reality following
out his directions.





JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE





THE CASE
OF
THE L'AMP THAT WENT OUT





CHAPTER I
THE DISCOVERY
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 clus-
tered 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.
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 build-
ing lots. There were four houses in this street, two
by two opposite each other, and another, an old-fash-
ioned 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.
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


JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
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 au-
tumn 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.
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 sep-
arated 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 sur-
prised by fright. What the bird had seen was the
same vision that halted the song on Anna's lips and ar-
rested her foot. It was the body of a man-a young
and well-dressed man, who lay there with his face


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 5
m haste in arteries hour hand just of the
turned toward the street. And his face was the
white frozen face of a corpse.
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.
“Why, what is the matter?” he asked. “Why
are you so excited ?”
“Down there—in the lane, there's a dead man,”
answered the girl, gasping for breath.
“A dead man?” repeated the policeman gravely,
looking at the girl. "Are you sure he's dead?”
Anna nodded. “His eyes are all glassy and I saw
blood on his back.”
“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
ܙܙܕ it
“ Yes, sir.”
“ All right, then, that will gain time for us. Good-
bye, Miss Anna.”
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.
The policeman reached his goal even earlier. The
first glance told him that the man lying there by the


JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 ter-
ror. 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.
When the guardian of the law had convinced him-
self 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 po-
lice commissioner and the coroner, followed by two
roundsmen with a litter, joined the solitary watcher,
and the latter could return to his post.
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 physi-
cian 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 com-
missioner examined the ground immediately around


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
7
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.
" Judging from the man's position the bullet must
have come from that direction," said the commis-
sioner, pointing towards the cottages down the lane.
“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.
The commissioner turned quickly. “Ah, are you
there already, Muller?” he said, as if greatly pleased,
while the physician broke in with the remark:
“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.”
The commissioner nodded thoughtfully and there
was silence for a few moments. Muller-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_looked down at
the corpse carefully. He took plenty of time to do
it and nobody hurried him. For nobody ever hur-
ried 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.
“Thank you," said Muller finally, with a polite
bow to the commissioner, before he bent to brush
away the dust on his knees.
“Well?” asked Commissioner Holzer.


JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Muller smiled an embarrassed smile as he replied:
“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.”
“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."
“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 po-
lice did not like to do without Muller's help.
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-at
his own request—who raised the body and laid it on
its back before he stepped aside to make way for the
doctor.
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.
“There's nothing more for me to do here, Muller,”
said the physician, as he bowed to the commissioner
and left the place.
Muller examined the pockets of the dead man.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 9
"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.”
“And a purse,” added the detective. “But this
man has neither—or at least he has them no longer.”
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 wrap-
ped 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 enve-
lope which he handed to the commissioner. Holzer
looked at it carefully. It was made of very thin ex-
pensive 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 car-
ried in a clenched hand. The commissioner cut open
the envelope with his penknife. He gave an excla-
mation of surprise as he showed Muller the contents.
In the envelope there were three hundred-gulden
notes.
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—and he very probably had
a watch,” he added more quickly.
For Muller had made a little discovery. On the


10
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
lower hem of the left side of the dead man's waist-
coat he saw a little lump, and feeling of it he discov-
ered that it was a watch key which had slipped down
out of the torn pocket between the lining and the ma-
terial 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.
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.
CHAPTER II
THE BROKEN WILLOW TWIG
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 exami-
nation of the entire vicinity.
It was not a very attractive spot, this particular
part of the street. There must have been a nursery


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
II
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 flow-
ers, or rather he found the shrubs which his expe-
rienced eye recognised as having once borne these un-
usual 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.
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 discov-
ered crime. His keen eyes, in glancing along the
wooden fence at his right hand, had caught sight of


12 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
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.
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 neg-
lected 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 inter-


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
13
ested 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 be-
ginning 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 sun-
light was a house which he knew well from its other
side, its front façade.
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-not a footprint, or any-
thing 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.
Next the detective scrutinised as much of the sur-
roundings 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


14
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
JOE
detective. He was very evidently going in the di-
rection 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?”
“Which place?" was Muller's reserved answer.
“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.”
“Was there a man murdered here?” asked Muller,
as if surprised by the news.
“Yes, he was shot last night. Only I don't under-
stand why I didn't hear the shot. I couldn't sleep a
wink all night for the pain in my bones.”
“You live near here, then?”
“Yes, I live in No. 1. Didn't you see me coming
out?”
“I didn't notice it. I came across the wet mead-
ows and I stooped to turn up my trousers so that
they wouldn't get dusty-it must have been then you
came out.”
“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.”
"And you hadn't any suspicion that this dreadful
thing was happening so near you?” asked the detec-
tive casually.
"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.”


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 15
“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.
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."
“Then it is astonishing that you didn't hear any-
thing!”
"Sure it's astonishing! But it's still more aston-
ishing 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.”
“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.
“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."
By this time they had come to the elder-tree and
the old man's stream of talk ceased as he stood be-
fore the spot where the mysterious crime had oc-
curred. He looked down thoughtfully at the grass,
now trampled by many feet. “Who could have


16
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
poli But, myan't help it under
done it?” he murmured finally, with a sigh that ex-
pressed his pity for the victim.
“Hietzing is known to be one of the safest spots
in Vienna,” remarked Muller.
“ 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."
“Why, yes, you see more police here than anywhere
else in the city.”
“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."
“But, my dear sir, it isn't always possible for the
police to prevent a criminal carrying out his evil in-
tention," said Muller good-naturedly.
“Well, why not? if they watch out sharp enough ?”
“ The police watch out sharper than most people
think. But they can't catch a man' until he has com-
mitted his crime, can they?"
“No, I suppose not,” said the old man, with an-
other glance at the elder-tree. He bowed to Muller
and turned and walked away.
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 pre-
vious. For the old man-he was evidently the jan-
itor in No. 1—had not heard the shot.
Muller left the scene of the crime and walked to-
wards 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 gar-
with this meno reason to do then the cri


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 17
den 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.
sard rubber on
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.
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 women who leaned back in her corner, shivering
and evidently ill. The servants bustled about, mak-
ing her comfortable, while her husband superin-
tended 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 evi-
dently suffering from the disease of our century-
nervousness, for Muller saw that the man's hands
clenched feverishly and that his lips were trembling
under his drooping moustache.
dently suferin calm authe. He gabest grey eyes was


18 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
The maid hastened down with the rug and spread
it over her mistress's knees, as the gentleman ex-
claimed nervously: “Do hurry with that! Do you
want us to miss the train?”
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 hus-
band added: “If all goes well.” Then he mo-
tioned to the waiting driver and the carriage moved
off swiftly, turning the corner in a few moments.
The little group of servants returned to the court-
yard 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. Bern-
auer.”
“What's the matter?” asked the woman whom
Muller took to be the housekeeper.
“They killed a man last night out here! They
found his body just now in the lane back of our gar-
den. The janitor from No. I 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.”


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
19
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 ex-
cited or alarmed to think that the scene of the crime
had been so near.
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.
“ The fools, see them run," she exclaimed half
aloud. “As if there was anything for them to do
there."
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 dis-
covered. 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.
CHAPTER III
THE EVENING PAPER
The autopsy proved beyond a doubt that the mur-
dered 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


20
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
ision ne monendulgent the
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.
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.
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. Kling-
mayer had less work than usual to attend to.
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 fac-
tory, 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 ques-
tion 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 21
Mrs. Klingmayer thought, everything has to happen
the first time sometime. “It's not likely to be the
last time,” the worthy woman thought.
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 spec-
tacles 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.
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 con-
secutively. But her principal joy were the every-
day 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. Kling-
mayer, for the neatness of her pots and pans was the
one great care of her life. But now, strange to re-
late, 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:
MURDER IN HIETZING.
This morning at six o'clock the body of a man about 30


22
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 a hidden pocket
it is true-there was the sum of 300 guldens in bills.
This was the notice which made Mrs. Klingmayer
neglect the soup pot.
Finally the old woman stood up very slowly, threw
a glance at the stove and opened the window mechan-
ically. 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—she poured water on the fire to put
it out.
When she saw that there was not a spark left in
the stove, she went into her own little room and pre-
pared to go out. Her excitement caused her to for-
get her rheumatism entirely. One more look around
her little kitchen, then she locked it up and set out
for the centre of the city.
She went to the office of the importing house where
her tenant, Leopold Winkler, was employed as book-
keeper. The clerk at the door noticed the woman's
excitement and asked her kindly what the trouble
was.
“I'd like to speak to Mr. Winkler," she said
eagerly.
"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.”
“I don't believe he'll ever come again," said the
old woman, sinking down on a bench beside the door.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 23
“Why, what do you mean?” asked the clerk.
“Why shouldn't he come again?”
“Is the head of the firm here?” asked Mrs. Kling-
mayer, wiping her forehead with her handkerchief.
The clerk nodded and hurried away to tell his em-
ployer about the woman with the white face who
came to ask for a man who, as she expressed it,
“ would never come there again."
“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.
“Who are you, my good woman?” he asked
kindly, softened by the evident agitation of this
poorly though neatly dressed woman.
"I am Mr. Winkler's landlady,” she answered.
"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?”
"I don't think that he'll ever be sick again—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.”
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.
"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?”
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."
Winkler's and with a very, series the woman.


24
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
When the servant entered, the merchant told him to
ask the head bookkeeper to come to the inner office.
When this official appeared, his employer inquired:
“When did Winkler leave here day before yester-
day?”
* At six o'clock, sir, as usual.”
“He was here all day without interruption?”
“ Yes, sir, with the exception of the usual luncheon
hour.”
“Did he have the handling of any money Mon-
day?"
“No, sir.”
“ Thank you, Mr. Pokorny," said the. merchant,
handing his employee the evening paper and pointing
to the notice which had so interested him.
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.
“We will soon find that out. I should like to go
to the police station myself with this woman; she is
Winkler's landlady—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."
Pokorny bowed and left the room. Mrs. Kling-
mayer rose and was about to follow, when the mer-
chant 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 annoy-
ances and trouble which will come of it, but I don't
want you to be out of pocket by it.”
“ 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 25
the matter Winkler belongedorked in 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.
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 particu-
larly 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.
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-he
was not even a good worker. This is the first time
that he has a reasonable excuse for neglecting his
duties."
“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.
Degenhart laughed harshly.
“Did I ever say anything else about him while he
was warm and alive? Death is no reason for chang-
ing 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 non-
entity the less on earth.”
The older man turned to his desk again and the two


26
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
younger clerks continued the conversation: “Degen-
hart 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 con-
ventional superstition. I never did like that Wink-
ler.”
“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."
“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?”
“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."
CHAPTER IV
SPEAK WELL OF THE DEAD
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 angh , of anything connected
with the police or the generally. She crept
slowly and tremblingli che stairs behind the head
bookkeeper and wasr; vás, arglad when she was left
alone for a few minutes while Ppkorny went in to
see the commissioner. But as oon as his errand
was known, both the bookkeeper and his companion
were led into the office of Head Commissioner Dr.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 27
von Riedau, who had charge of the Hietzing murder
case.
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.
** Then you believe you could identify the mur-
dered man?” asked the commissioner.
“From the general description and the initials on
his linen, I believe it must be Leopold Winkler," an-
swered Pokorny. “Mrs. Klingmayer has not seen
him since Monday morning, nor has she had any
message from him. He left the office Monday after-
noon 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.”
“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?"
“I have a cab waiting for me. But it only holds
two," volunteered Pokorny.
“That doesn't matter, I'll sit on the box," an-
swered the man addressed :-s Muller.
“You are going with us?" asked Pokorny.
“Yes, he will accomra 511," replied the commis-
sioner. “This is detecti u ller, sir. By a mere
chance, he happened to be and to take charge of
this case and he will renalix n charge, although it
may be wasting ķis talents which we need for more
difficult problems. If you or any one else have any-
thing to tell us, it must be told only to me or to
Muller. And before you have to look at the body,


28
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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."
“Yes, sir; he did have a watch, a gold watch,"
answered Mrs. Klingmayer.
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."
“Can you tell us anything more about the watch ?”
asked the commissioner of the landlady.
“ Yes, sir; there was engraving on the outside cover,
initials, and a crown on the other side."
“What were the initials?”
“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.”
“ The other was probably an L then.”
“That might be, sir.”
“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 at-
tention to him after the first excitement.”
*You say he didn't have the watch long?”.
“Since spring I think, sir.”
“He brought it home on the 19th of March," in-
terrupted Mrs. Kling. ayer. “I remember the day
because it was my birt hlay. I pretended that he had
brought it home to me or a present."
“Was he in the habitf making you presents?”
“Oh, no, sir; he was ty close with his money, sir."


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 29
“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?”
Both the bookkeeper and the landlady nodded and
the latter exclaimed: "Oh, yes, sir; I could recognise
it in a minute."
“How?"
“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."
“Why didn't he take the chain to the jeweler's to
be fixed ?” asked the commissioner.
The woman smiled. “It wouldn't have been worth
the money, sir; the chain wasn't real gold.”
“But the watch was real, wasn't it?"
“Oh, yes, sir; that was real gold. I pawned it
once for Mr. Winkler and they gave me 24 gulden
for it.”
“One question more, did he have a purse? And
did he have it with him on the day of the murder?”
“Yes, sir; he had a purse, and he must have taken
it with him because he didn't leave it in his room.”
“ What sort of a purse was it?”
“ A brown leather purse, sir.”
“Was it a new one?”
“Oh, no, sir; it was well worn.”
“How big was it? About like mine?” Riedau
took out his own pocketbook.
“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.”
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


30
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
'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.
“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.”
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 Leo-
pold Winkler.
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.
Muller led his companions back to the commis-
sioner'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.”
“ 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 as-
sistance.”
The bookkeeper left the station, but Mrs. Kling-
mayer, who was now quite reassured as to the harm-
lessness of the police, was asked to remain and to tell
what she knew of the private life of the murdered


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 31
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 'ɔdd times.
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.
He seemed to have few friends or even acquaint-
ances. 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. Kling-
mayer could say, and she returned to her home in a
cab furnished her by the kind commissioner.
About two hours later, a police attendant announced
that a gentleman would like to see Dr. von Riedau
on business concerning the murder in Hietzing.
“Friedrich Bormann" was the name on the card.
"Ask him to step in here," said the commissioner.
“And please ask Mr. Muller to join us."
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 em-
ployee of Braun & Co. I have the desk next to Leo-
pold Winkler, during the year that he has been with
us—the year and a quarter to be exact-


32
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“Ah, then you know him rather well?”
“Why, yes. At least we were together all day,
although I never met him outside the office.”
“Then you cannot tell us much about his private
life?"
“No, sir, but there was something happened on
Monday, and in talking it over with Mr. Braun, he sug-
gested 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."
“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.”
Fritz Bormann began: “Winkler came to the of-
fice as usual on Monday morning and worked stead-
ily 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 II with money orders, finally
appeared.”
“ Then he was expecting money you think?”
“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.
“He came in half an hour later than the rest of us.
He had often been reprimanded for his lack of punc-
tuality, but it seemed to do no good. He was almost


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 33
always late. Monday was no exception, although he
was later than usual that day.”
“And what sort of a mood was he in when he
came back?”
“He was irritable and depressed. He seemed to
be awaiting a message which did not come. His ex-
citement 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 messen-
ger had already gone away.”
“Did you notice his number?” asked Dr. von
Riedau. .
“No, I scarcely noticed the man at all. I was look-
ing 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 enve-
lope into little bits and threw the pieces out of the
open window."
“ Then he evidently did not want anybody to see
the contents of this note,” said a voice from the cor-
ner of the room.
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?”
Bormann looked inquiringly at the commissioner,
who replied with a smile: “You may answer. An-
swer anything that Mr. Muller has to ask of you, as
he is in charge of this case."
“As far as I can remember, it happened three
times," was Bormann's answer.
“How close together?”


34 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“Why_about once in every three or four months,
I think."
“ That looks almost like a regular income,” ex-
claimed Riedau. His eyes met Muller's, which were
lit up in sudden fire. “Well, what are you thinking
of?” asked the commissioner.
“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 indis-
tinctness at the last words, and the fire died out of his
eyes. Then he laughed aloud.
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-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."
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-
for it can have nothing whatever to do with his mur-
der and the subsequent robbery—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 appre-
ciate the thoughtfulness of yourself and your ema
ployer and your readiness to help us.”
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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 35
of assistance to us. We have heard that Winkler
boasted of his belongings—did he talk about his pri-
vate affairs in any way?”
“No, sir, I do not think he did.”
“You say that he destroyed the note at once, evi-
dently realising that no one must see it—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?”
“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 so that we could see it—we would none of us
have known of this income, except for the fact that
he was freer in spending after the money carne. He
would dine at expensive restaurants, and this fact he
would mention to us, whereas at other times he would
go to the cheap café.”
“Do you know anything about the people he was
acquainted with outside the office?"
"No, sir. I seldom met him outside of the office.
One evening it did happen that I saw him at Rona-
cher's. He was there with a lady—that is, a so-called
‘lady'—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.”
“He was never seen anywhere with other men?”
“He was not liked in the office?”.
“No.” Bormann's answer was sharp.


36
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“For what reason?”.
"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.”
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.
“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 with-
out 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?” The commissioner raised his
head and looked around. “Oh, are you still there?”
he asked with a drawl.
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 Mul-
ler 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 un-
necessary, 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 re-
port was of value or not. Muller had simply uttered
aloud the thought that came into his mind, a habit of


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 37
his which years of official training had not yet suc-
ceeded in breaking. It was annoying to himself some-
times, for these half-formed thoughts were mere in-
stinct—they were the workings of his own genius
that made him catch a suspicion of the truth long be-
fore his conscious mind could reason it out or appre-
ciate its value. But that sort of thing was not popu-
lar in official police life.
“Well," asked the commissioner, as Muller did not
'continue,"your tongue is not usually so slow—as
you have proved just a few moments back-what
were you going to say now?".
“I was about to ask your pardon for my interrup-
tion. It was unnecessary, I should not have said it.”
“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?”
“ It seems to me as if it might be of value to us.”
“Oh, it seems to you, eh? Your imagination is
working overtime again, Muller," said the commis-
sioner with a laugh. But the laugh turned to serious-
ness as he realised how many times Muller's imagi-
nation had helped the clumsy official mind to its
proudest triumphs. The commissioner was an intel-
ligent 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-1
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.”


38
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 school-
boy. 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.
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.”
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.”
CHAPTER V
BY A THREAD
It was on Monday, the 27th of September, that Leo-
pold 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 39
and the description of the dead man, and on Wednes-
day, 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 sta-
tions had sent out notices by messenger to all pawn-
shops 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 mur-
derer—to get rid of his plunder.
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.
Then he slowed up suddenly, glanced across the
street to Goldstamm's store, and crossed over.
“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.
“I think there's something there," answered the
old man in his usual businesslike tone, leading the
way into the store.
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


40
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
“Give me something better than that I can pay
for it. I don't have to wear patched shoes,” he
grunted.
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 cus-
tomer.
"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 Gold-
stamm who it was that had come into his shop.
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.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 41
“Haven't you found it yet?” he exclaimed.
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 be-
fore 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."
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.
“Give me those blue trousers there,” said Gold-
stamm 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."
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.
“A nice sort of an eye for size you have,” cried
the tramp as the old man came up to him. “I sup-
pose 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."
" Are they so much too small ?” asked the dealer
in an innocent tone. “Well, there's plenty more


42 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
there. And perhaps you had better be trying on this
suit behind the curtain here while I'm hunting up the
shoes.”
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 anx-
ious to keep his Overcoat within reach of his
hand. He had carefully put the purse in one of its
pockets.
“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."
“Stop your talk,” growled the other," and come
here and help me so that I can get away.”
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 think-
ing in terror, as calmly as he had aided his other poor
but honest customers.
'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 tête-à-tête
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 de-
scribed 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.
“What's the matter with you, you'
can get along better myself
pushing the old mana


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 43
had really begun to tremble now in spite of his con-
trol, in the fear that the man would get away from
him before the police came.
The tramp was already dressed in the new suit,
into a pocket of which he put the old purse.
“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 under-
stood only too well the man's desire to get away, and
would much rather have had some talk as to the pay-
ment, anything that would keep his customer a little
longer in his store.
“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 Gold-
stamm, with an apparent eagerness which he hoped
would deceive the customer.
But the man had already turned towards the door,
and called back over his shoulder: “You can keep
the old things, I don't want them.”
As he spoke he opened the door of the store and
stood face to face with a policeman holding a revol-
ver. He turned, with a curse, back into the room, but
the dealer was nowhere to be seen. David Gold-
stamm 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


144 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
turned again to look for him, he had disappeared out
of the back door.
“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 Headquar-
ters in that city. He made no protest nor any at-
tempt to escape, but he refused to utter a word on
the entire journey.
CHAPTER VI
ALMOST CONVICTED
The evening was already far gone when Muller en-
tered Riedau's office.
“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 mur-
derer 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.”
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 gul-
den notes and four guldens in silver. Arrested in
store of second-hand clothes dealer Goldstamm. Will
arrive this evening in Vienna under guard.”
The message was signed by the Chief of the Press-
burg police.
Muller laid the paper on the desk without a word.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
45
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 com-
missioner 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 ar-
rived He was followed by one of the Pressburg po-
lice force, who brought the official report.
“Did you have any difficulty with him?” asked
the commissioner.
“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.”
Then followed the detailed report of the arrest,
and the delivery of the described pocketbook to the
commissioner.
“Is that all?" asked Dr. von Riedau.
“Yes, sir.”
“ Then you may go home now, we will take charge
of the man.”
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 any-
body in the proceedings.
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?”


46
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
The commissioner looked at the man in astonish-
ment, 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 police-
men at the door were all on a broad grin.
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 commis-
sioner 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 evi-
dently the last remains of his intoxication. He was
now quite sober.
“What is your name?” asked the commissioner.
* Johann Knoll.”
“Where were you born?”
“Near Brunn."
“Your age?"
" I'm—I'll be forty next Christmas."
“ Your religion?""
“ Well, you can see I'm no Jew, can't you?”
“ You will please answer my questions in a proper
manner. This impertinence will not make things
easier for you."
“All right, sir," said the tramp humbly. “I am a
Catholic.”
“ You have been in prison before?” This was
scarcely a question.
“No, sir," said Knoll firmly..
“What is your business?"
“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 1- "


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 49
in a hoarse croak. “You'll have to prove it to me
that I am a murderer.”
“That is easily proved. Here is one of the proofs,"
said Riedau coldly, pointing to the purse. “The purse
and the watch of the murdered man are fatal wit-
nesses against you.”
“The watch? I haven't any watch. Where should
I get a watch ?"
“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.”
Knoll's eyes dropped again and he did not trust
himself to speak
“Well, you do not deny this statement?”.
“No, I can't,” said Knoll, still trying to control
his voice. “You must have the watch yourself n'!v,
or else you wouldn't be so certain about it.”
“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 descrip-
tion. 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?”
“Three gulden eighty-five.”
“ That was a very small sum for which to commit
a murder."
Knoll groaned and bit his lips until they bled.
Commissioner von Riedau raised the paper that
covered the watch and continued: “ You presumably
recognised that the chain on which this watch hung


50 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
was valueless, also that it could easily be recognised.
Did you throw it away, or have you it still ?”
“I threw it in the river.”
“That will not make any difference. We do not
need the chain, we have quite enough evidence with-
out it. The purse, for instance: you thought, I sup-
pose, 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.”
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.
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 advan-
tage.”
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 rest-
ing on his shoulder. Then there was a sudden move-
ment, 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.
Biot even and sprangend heldon Policer


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 51
I think he has sense enough to see that he is only
harming himself by his violence.”
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.
"I—I have something to say, sir,” he began, “but
first I want to beg your pardon-
“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.
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."
“He was killed by a shot.”
“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 "
“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.”
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:
He had reached Hietzing on Monday evening about


52 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 lodg-
ing. 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 suit-
able 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 exactiy.
The fences were easy to climb, and there were sev-
eral 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 de-
serted 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-he was on the left sidewalk—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.
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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 53
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.
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 suffi-
ciently 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 gar-
den. 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


54
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
was at he lay fall, ay
would not be safe to carry out his plan just yet
awhile.
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.
His head was already aching from the wine and
he did not feel comfortable in the drafty old build-
ing. He came out from it, crept along to the spot
where he had climbed the fence before, and after lis-
tening 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 at-
tracted by the queer shadows thrown by a big elder


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 55
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."
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.
“Well, go on," he said, looking with interest at
his drawing and improving it with several quick
strokes.
Johann Knoll continued:
“ Then the devil came over me and I thought I
better take this good opportunity—well—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-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 mov-
ing 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."
“So that was the way it was," said the commis-


56
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
sionet, pushing his drawing away from him and mo-
tioning 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.
Knoll's head drooped and he walked out quietly
between his two guards. The clock on the office wall
struck eleven.
“Dear me! what a lot of time the man wasted,”
said the commissioner, putting the report of the pro-
ceedings, 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.”
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 “good-
night," nor did he notice that he was walking down
the quiet street under a star-gilded sky. “Almost
convicted-almost. Almost?” Muller's lips mur-
mured 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-but
not quite. There is something here I must find out
first. What is it? I must know "
CHAPTER VII
THE FACE AT THE GATE
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 tak-
ing a walk in Hietzing.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 57
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 clang-
ingly behind the man whose face was distorted in
impotent rage and despair, Joseph Muller was stand-
ing 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 al-
ready 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 mur-
der 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 accom-
plices? 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 commis-
sioner. 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 sur-
face? The devil that spurred him on to understand
that there always was some hidden side to every


58
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
case? Then the sigh and the smile passed, and Mul-
ler 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 com-
mon good, for the public safety. Thinking back over
the troubles of his early youth, Muller's heart re-
joiced 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.
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 state-
ments by the city directory. As he was now passing
byrinthe shows he was now parsing
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 nat-
urally 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
59
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,” she 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. Mul-
ler heard the lock click and heard the beat of running
feet hastening rapidly over the gravel path through
the garden.
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 inter-
ested and surprised him.
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 house-
keeper. The old butler stood beside her. It was un-
doubtedly 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 Mul-
ler was asking himself at the moment.
“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


60
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
run away from that gate so suddenly? I thought
you wanted me to show you the place?”
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 ges-
ture 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 de-
meanour 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.
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 de-
cided 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 de-
cision it was usually not very long before he carried
it out.
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
café. 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 café, but there was a fairly


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 61
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.
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 conversa-
tion. 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 café. The landlord
was quite at leisure to devote himself to this
stranger in the window seat, whom he did not re-
member to have seen before, and who was therefore
doubly interesting to him. Several subjects of con-
versation 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.
"Oh, by the way, sir, do you know that you are
in the immediate vicinity of the place where the mur-
der 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.”
“ Indeed, is that so? I haven't seen a paper
to-day," replied Muller, awakening from his apparent
indifference.
The landlord was flattered by the success of the
new subject, and stood ready to unloose the flood-
gates of his eloquence. His customer sat up and
asked the question for which the landlord was wait-
ing.
“ So it was around here that the man was shot?"
“ Yes. His name was Leopold Winkler, that was in
the papers to-day too. You see that pretty house op-


62
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
command to a cerer: where was ab of it."terested, as
posite? 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.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Muller, greatly interested, as
if this was the first he had heard of it. The land-
lord took a deep breath and was about to begin again
when his customer, who decided to keep the talka-
tive man to a certain phase of the subject, now took
command of the conversation himself.
“I should think that the people opposite, who
live so near the place where the murder was com-
mitted, 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.”
“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 be-
fore 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.”
“The lady is sick? What's the matter with her?”
“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.”
"She is a young lady then?”
“ Yes, indeed, sir; she's very young still and very
pretty. It makes you feel sorry to see her so miser-


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 63
able, 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.”
“They are very happy, you say? " asked Muller
carelessly. He had no particular set purpose in fol-
lowing up this inquiry, none but his usual understand-
ing 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.
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.”
“You said just now that they had gone away,
where have they gone to?”
“ 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 comfort-
ably fixed in the Hotel Danieli. You know Dani-
eli's ?"
“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


64
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 po-
litely interested manner whether the landlord him-
self had been to Venice.
“Yes, indeed,” replied the latter proudly. “I was
head waiter at Bauer's for two years.”
“Then you must make me some Italian dishes
soon,” said Muller. Further conversation was inter-
rupted by the entrance of Franz, the old butler of
the house opposite.
“Excuse me, sir; I must get him his glass of wine,"
said the landlord, hurrying away to the bar. He re-
turned in a moment with a small bottle and a glass
and set it down on Muller's table.
“You don't mind, sir, if he sits down here?” he
asked. “He usually sits here at this table be-
cause then he can see if he is needed over at the
house."
“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 embar-
rassed 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.
“You come here frequently?” he began, to open
the conversation.
“Yes, sir, since my master and myself have settled
down here—we travelled most of the time until seve
eral years ago—I find this place very convenient.
It's a cosy little room, the wine is good and not ex-
pensive, I'm near home and yet I can see some new,
faces occasionally.”
“I hope the faces that you see about you at home


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 65
are not so unpleasant that you are glad to get away
from them?” asked Muller with a smile.
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."
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.
“Then you evidently have a very good place, since
the lere i dear
" Then yo fond of every Olace, sir."
“Indeed I have a good place, sir.”
“You've had this place a long time?”
“ More than twenty years. My master was only
eleven years old when I took service with the family.”
“Ah, indeed! then you must be a person of import-
ance in the house if you have been there so long?"
“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.”
“And she is ill also? I say also,” explained Mul-
ler, “ because the landlord has just been telling me that
your mistress is ill.”
“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?”


66 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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—what did you say her name was?”.
“ Bernauer, Mrs. Adele Bernauer. She was a
widow when she came to take care of the master.
Her husband was a sergeant of artillery.”
“Well, I mean,” continued Muller, “ you said
yourself that when the gentleman's parents died, Mrs.
Bernauer was a fine active woman, therefore I sup-
posed she was no longer so.”
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.”
“What seems to be the matter with her?” asked
Muller and then to explain his interest in the house-
keeper'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 in-
terest 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 peculiar-
ities that he always felt an inward embarrassment
at the lies he was obliged to tell in his profes-
sion.
The butler did not seem to have noticed it however,
and appeared eager to tell of what concerned him in


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 67
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 any-
thing 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 in-
terested in the murder case. The whole neighbour-
hood seems to be aroused about it.”
“No, I don't think that was it,” answered the old
servant, “because then she would have sent for a
paper this morning too."
* And she didn't do that?”
“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."
“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.”
“Oh, no, that isn't all, sir,” exclaimed the old man
eagerly.
Muller leaned forward, really interested now, while
Franz continued: “ She was uneasy all the after-
noon yesterday. She walked up and down stairs and
Muller'd is that ai house then I would


68
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
through the halls—I remember Lizzie making some
joke about it—and then in the evening to our surprise
she suddenly began a great rummaging in the first
story.”
“Is that where she lives?”
“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.”
“Well, I shouldn't call that a sign of any particular
nervousness, but rather an evidence of Mrs. Bern-
auer's devotion to her duty.”
“Oh, yes, sir-but it certainly is queer that she
should go into the garden at four o'clock this morn-
ing 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 some-
times, they couldn't have scattered all over the gar-
den like that."
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 some-
thing else. He remembered some remark of the old
man's about the “poor little dog," and on this he built
his plan.
“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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 69
with sick animals rather than with sick people. I've
had some very successful cures there."
“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?”
“Why, you see, sir, we've got a little terrier,” ex-
plained 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-
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."
“You want me to look at the little dog? Why, yes,
I suppose I can."
"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.”
“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."
“All right, then, it's a bargain,” laughed Muller,
signalling to the landlord. “Are you going already? ”
asked the old servant.


70 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“Yes, I must be going if I am to spend any time
with the little dog."
“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 & 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 café Muller hesi-
tated a moment. “You go on ahead,” he said to
Franz. “I want to go in here and get a cigar.”
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.”
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.
“Well, where's our little patient?" asked the detec-
tive as he walked through the courtyard with Franz.
“You'll see him in a minute," answered the old
servant. He led the way through a light roomy cor-
ridor furnished with handsome old pieces in empire
style, and opened a door at its further end.
“ This is my room.”
It was a large light room with two windows open-
ing 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 some-
thing, and he could afford to trust to chance for the
rest. Meanwhile he would look at the dog. The lit-
tle terrier lay in a corner by the stove and it did not


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 71
take Muller more than two or three minutes to dis-
cover 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.
“I'll go for it, I think there's some in the house.
Do you want it made fresh ?” said Franz.
“Yes, that will be better, about a cupful will do,”
was Muller's answer. He knew that this harm-
less 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 beauti-
fully 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.
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. Be-
sides 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 con-
tained a broken bench.
Thus far, therefore, Knoll's story was proved to
be true—but there was something that didn't quite


72
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
Franz was not alone. There was someone 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-
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!”
A moment later Mrs. Bernauer would have been
glad to have recalled her exclamation, but it was too
late.
Muller bowed before her and asked: "'There he
is again,' you said; have you ever seen me before?”
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


THE LAMP. THAT WENT OUT 73
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?”
"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?”
“But why?” said the old man hesitatingly. He
didn't understand at all what was going on and he
would much rather have remained.
“ Because I came here for the special purpose of
speaking to Mrs. Bernauer," replied Muller calmly.
“Then you didn't come on account of the dog?”
"No, I didn't come on account of the dog."
“ Then you—you lied to me?”
“ Partly.”
“ And you're no veterinary?”
“No-can help your dog, but I am not a veter-
inary and never have been.”
“What are you then? ”
"I will tell Mrs. Bernauer who and what I am
when you are outside-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.”
Franz was quite bewildered. These new develop-
ments 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.
“You belong to the police?" asked Adele Bern-
auer finally with a deep sigh.
“That was a good guess," replied Muller with an
ments prhis desire to leaving the ho


74
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
ironic smile, adding: “All who have any reason to
fear us are very quick in recognising us."
“What do you mean by that?” she exclaimed with
a start. “What are you thinking of?”.
“I am thinking about the same thing that you are
thinking of—that I have proved you are thinking of
-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 think-
ing 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 news-
paper regularly. I know also that yesterday and to-
day you bought a great many papers, apparently to
get every possible detail about a certain subject. Do
you deny this?”
She did not deny it, she did not answer at all.
She sank down on a chair, her wide staring eyes look-
ing 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.
“ Still you have not told me what you want here,”
she began coldly, and as he did not answer she con-
tinued: “I have a feeling that you are watching
us. I had this feeling when I saw you the first time
and noticed then-pardon my frankness—that
you stared at us sharply while we were saying good
bye 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 gar-
den gate and now—you will pardon me if I tell the


76
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 morn-
ing'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—I have read them
myself-expressed the public sentiment that the po-
lice 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.
“Now there are at least two people who do not be-
lieve 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.”
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.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 77
“You'd better go in and look after Mrs. Bern-
auer," said the latter, “I can find my way out alone.”
Franz looked after him, shaking his head in be-
wilderment and then entered his own room. “Merci-
ful 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?”.
“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?”
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 housekeeper's voice and she added
hastily: "Does any one besides ourselves know that
he was here?”
“No. Lizzie and the cook are in the kitchen talk-
ing about the murder.”
Mrs. Bernauer shivered again and went slowly out
of the room and up the stairs.
If Franz believed that the stranger had left the
house by the front entrance he was very much mis-
taken. When Muller found himself alone in the cor-
ridor he turned quickly and hurried out into the gar-
den. 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


78 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
him to become so well acquainted with the place that
he could have drawn a map of it. He left the gar-
den 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 sur-
prised thereat. Muller walked down the street rap-
idly 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 him-
self 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.
CHAPTER VIII
JOHANN KNOLL REMEMBERS SOMETHING ELSE
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, there-
fore it was necessary that Muller should talk with
him in the hope of discovering something more defi-
nite.
Knoll lay asleep on his cot as the detective and the
warder entered the cell. Muller motioned the at-
tendant 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 79
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 hon-
estly, 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.
Muller had never believed the first to be the case,
but he had thought it possible that Knoll knew per-
fectly 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 in-
creased a thousand-fold, Muller knew that this man
before him had no heavy crime upon his conscience
-that it was really as he had said—that he had taken
the watch and purse from one whom he believed to be
intoxicated only. Of course it was not a very com-
mendable deed for which the tramp was now in
prison, but it was slight in comparison to the crimes
of which he was suspected.
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


80
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
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 every-
thing I know anyhow.”
“ Perhaps not everything. Perhaps you will an-
swer 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.”
Knoll's little eyes glanced up without embarrass-
ment 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."
“Just as you like. I was trying to help you, I
believe I really could help you. I have just come
from Hietzing-but of course if you don't want to
talk to me”
etzing bullet
Muller shrugged his shoulders and
turned toward the door.
But before he reached it Knoll stood at his side.
“You really mean to help me?” he gasped.
“I do,” said the detective calmly.
“ Then swear, on your mother's soul-or is your
mother still alive?”
“No, she has been dead some time."


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 81
“Well, then, will you swear it?”
“Would you believe an oath like that?”
“Why shouldn't I?”
“With the life you've been leading ?”
“My life's no worse than a lot of others. Steal-
ing those things on Monday was the worst thing I've
done yet. Will you swear?”
“Is it something so very important you have to tell
me?"
“No, I ain't got nothin' at all new to tell you.
But I'd just like to know-in this black hole I've
got into—I'd just like to know that there's one hu-
man being who means well with me I'd like to
know that there's one man in the world who don't
think I'm quite good-for-nothin'.”
The tramp covered his face with his hands and
gave a heart-rending sob. Deep pity moved the de-
tective'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.”
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 fool-
ish. Pull yourself together and answer my questions
carefully, for I am asking you these questions more
for your own sake than for anything else.”
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 some-
thing in the man which might be saved and which
was worth saving.
Muller sat beside him on the cot and began:


82
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“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 look-
ing. 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.”
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.
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?"
"It just struck nine o'clock when I put my foot on
the lowest bar."
“ Are you sure of that?”.
“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.”
“And when was it that you saw the woman in the
garden next door?”
“H'm, I don't just know when that was. I'd been
in on the bench quite a while."
“And the man? When did you see the man?”
“He came past a few minutes after the woman
had gone towards the little house in the garden."
“Ah! there you see, that's where you made your


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
83
mistake. It is more than likely that these two did
not go to the little house, but that they went some-
where else. Did they walk slowly and quietly?"
“Not a bit of it. They ran almost ...
Went past as quick as a bat in the night.”
“Then they both appeared to be in a hurry?”
“Yes indeed they did.”
“ 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—for the little house you saw was the gar-
dener's cottage. There is a tall thick hedge that
starts from the main building and goes right down
through the garden, quite a distance past the garden-
er's cottage. The vegetable garden is on the left side
of this hedge and in the middle of the vegetable gar-
den 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. Now 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?"
“No, that would have been a fool thing to do.”
“And you are quite sure that these people were
in a hurry?”
“That's dead sure. I scarcely saw them before
they'd gone again.”
“And you didn't see them come back?”
“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.
“And it was during this dozing that you thought
you heard the shot?”


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
85
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 some-
thing else.”
“Well, what was it you saw ? "
“The window had been closed.”
“Who closed it? Didn't you see the person that
time? The moonlight lay full on the house.”
“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.”
“How could you see that?”..
“ I could see it when the lamp was lit again.”
“ Then the lamp was lit again?”.
“Yes, I could see the red light behind the curtain."
“ And what happened then?”
“Nothing more then, except that the man went
through the garden.”
Muller rose now and took up his hat. He was
evidently excited and Knoll looked at him uneasily.
“You're goin' already?” he asked.
“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.”
The warder opened the door, let Muller out, and
the heavy iron portal clanged again between Knoll
and freedom.
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


86 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 appar-
ently 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-might not this have something
to do with the murder?
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.
Then the detective's mind went back to the hap-
penings 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 ex-
plain 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-by one person only—the house-


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
87
keeper. 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 con-
nect 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.
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 curi-
osity? 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?"
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 some-
thing about the murder in the quiet lane.
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


88 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 exo
tinguishing 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. I, 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 oc-
casioned 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.
Muller drew a deep breath. He felt much easier
now that he had arranged his thoughts and mar-
shalled in orderly array all the facts he had already
gathered. There was nothing to do now but to fol-
low 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 to-
wards 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.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 89
Now that his mind was easier he realised that he
was very hungry. He drove to a restaurant and
ordered a hasty meal.
“Beer, sir?” asked the waiter for the third time.
“No," answered Muller, also for the third time.
“ Then you'll take wine, sir?” asked the insistent
Ganymede.
“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 work-
ing out of any new problem which presented itself.
But soft-hearted as he was, he repented of his irrita-
tion 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 con-
science that remembered face and figure of this quiet-
looking man who was one of the most-feared servants
of the law in Austria.


90
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
CHAPTER IX
THE ELECTRICIAN
WHEN Muller reached the house where Mrs. Kling-
mayer lived he ordered the cabman to wait and hur-
ried 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 commis-
sioner 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 memo-
randa perhaps, anything that would show any connec-
tion 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.
The detective's search was not quite in vain, al-
though 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 91
other addressed Winkler as his “Dear Friend” and
pleaded with him for “greater discretion," alluding
evidently to something which made this discretion
necessary.
"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 ist of September of the present year.
Then Muller looked at the postmark of the two re-
maining 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.
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.
When the detective had read the letter-it con-
tained but a few lines and bore neither address nor
signature—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."
These words were written hastily on a piece of pa-
per that looked as if it had been torn from a pad. In
spite of the haste the writer had been at some pains


92
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
“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.
“So he was called to a rendezvous in Hietzing,
too,” murmured Muller, then he added after a few
moments: “But this rendezvous had nothing what-
ever to do with love."
landi.
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 sat-
isfied with the result of his errand.
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 coupé, 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 93
the arranger and leave his, te by the other
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 en-
tered his house cautiously.
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 situa-
tion and the arrangement of its doors made it possi-
ble 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 Muiler's own rooms had a sep-
arate 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.
He opened the street door and slipped into his own
room without having seen or been seen by any one.
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 un-
seen and was just closing the main door behind him,
when he met the janitress.
house."'s own landiahis rooms it possi-


94
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“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 look-
ing for is two houses further down.”
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.
· And indeed Muller was entirely changed. In ac-
tuality 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.
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 café, 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.
“I come from Siemens & Halske; I was to ask
whether the other man-
“Has been here already?” interrupted Franz, add-
ing in an irritated tone, “No, he hasn't been here at
all.”
“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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
95
AC
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.
“Well, what's the trouble here? Why did you
write to our firm?” asked the supposed electrician.
“The wires must cross somewhere, or there's some-
thing 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."
“Well, we'll fix it all right for you. First of all I
want to look at the button in the housekeeper's room.”
“I'll take you up there," said Franz.
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."
“There's no one there; Mrs. Bernauer's out.”
“Has she gone away, too?” asked the electrician
hastily.
Franz did not notice that there was a slight change
in the stranger's voice at this question, and he an-
swered 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.”
“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.
It was in the wall immediately above a large table


96 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
“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.”
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, await-
ing 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.
It took Muller but a few seconds to see all this.
Then he set about his investigation of the electric but-
ton. 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 pa-
per was heavy and high-glossed.
“Your housekeeper evidently has no secrets from
ing repairs, covered neat piles of bean of educat
busy at the wires, “or she wouldn't leave her letters
lying about like that.”
“Oh, we've all heard what's in that letter,” replied
Franz. “She read it to us when it came this morn-
ing. 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.”
“The button has been pressed in too far and caught


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 97
down. That seems to be the main trouble," said Mul-
ler, readjusting the little knob. “I'd like a candle
here if I may have one."
“I'll get you a light at once,” said Franz. But his
intentions, however excellent, seemed difficult of ful-
filment. It was rapidly growing dark, and the old
butler peered about uncertainly. "Stupid,” he mut-
tered. “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.”
“Nor I," said Muller calmly, letting his hand close
protectingly over a new full box of them in his own
pocket.
" 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.
Franz brought a lighted candle with him, and Mul-
ler, 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 en-
lighten Franz on the matter just yet.
"Now I'd better look at the wires in the gentle-
man's room,” he said, when he had returned plate and
button to their place.


98
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“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, hand-
somely 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 or-
dered and covered for a term of idleness. Great book-
cases 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, fur-
thermore, 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, sympa-
thetic 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 ex-
pression of his mentality.
“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 mar-
quetry cabinet. “Here's the bell, it rings for several
minutes before it stops."
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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
99
skin, emphasised the look of dissipation given by
the lines about the sensual mouth and the shifty
eyes.
“Well, say, can't your master find anything better
to paint than a face like that?” Muller asked with a
laugh.
“Goodness me! you mustn't say such things!” ex-
claimed 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.”
“Is the lady anything like her brother?” asked
the detective indifferently, bending to examine the
wiring.
“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-
he's Colonel Leining, retired—made him get ex-
changed from the city to a small garrison town.
There's nothing much to do in Marburg, I dare say-
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 whis-
tle which went off into a few merry bars.
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 hap-
pening, and that the happenings were likely to be-
come 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
kes the severest It was a hanings were like


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 101
centre electrician Te finished the dove finishe dhe knew he he
the light of the candle fall more clearly on the wiring
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—a ray of red
light, and it came reflected from the mirrors. Mul-
ler bit his lips to keep back the betraying whistle.
“What's the matter?” asked the butler. “Did
you drop anything ? "
“Yes, the wooden rim of the button,” replied Mul-
ler, 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 sup-
posed electrician replaced it and rose to his feet, say-
ing: “There, I've finished now."
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 be-
yond a doubt that the red light was a signal—and he
knew also for whom this signal was intended. It
was a signal for Herbert Thorne!-Herbert
Thorne, whom no single thought or suspicion of Mul-
ler's had yet connected with the murder of Leopold
Winkler.
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.
“What do we owe you?” asked Franz.


102 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“They'll send you a bill from the office. It won't
amount to much. I must be getting on now.”.
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 rea-
soned 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.
There was but one cab at the stand. Muller walked
to it and laid his hand on the door.
“Oh, Jiminy! 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 un-
der his blanket.
“Why, he does look warm. You must have been
making a tour out into the country," said the blond
gentleman in a friendly tone.
“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.”
“Well, never mind, then; I can get another cab
across the bridge,” replied the stout blond man, turn-
ing 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.
He took up the last, and compared it carefully
with the envelope of one of the letters found in Wink-
ler's room—the unsigned letter postmarked Hietzing,
September 24th. The two envelopes were exactly


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 103
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—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.
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.
And whose hand had fired the shot that caused his
death? The question, at this stage in Muller's medi-
tation, 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, discover-
ing the planned rendezvous, had misunderstood its
motive.
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 en-
velope, sealed hastily, and crumpled as if it had been
carried in a hot and trembling hand.
It was already known that Winkler never had any
money except at certain irregular intervals, when he
appeared to have come into possession of consider-
able sums. During these days he indulged in extrav-
agant pleasures and spent his money with a reckless-
ness which proved that he had not earned it by honest
work.


104
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Leopold Winkler was a blackmailer.
Colonel Leining, retired, the father of two such
widely different children, was doubtless a man of
stern principles, and an army officer as well, there-
fore 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 daugh-
ter 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
cafés and gambling dens, for a man to lose his time
in, his money, and his honour also.
For such must have been the case with Colonel Lei-
ning's son before his exile to Marburg. The old but-
ler had hinted at the truth. The portrait drawn by
Herbert Thorne, a picture of such technical excel-
lence 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 Wink-
ler for “discretion and silence," not knowing (“let
us hope he did not know!” murmured Muller be-
tween 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.
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!
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.
When Muller reached this point in his chain of


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 105
thought, he closed his eyes and covered his face with
his hands, letting two pictures stand out clear before
his mental vision.
He saw the little anxious group around the car-
riage 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 men-
tal or spiritual standard of even the most mediocre
of decent citizens.
If Herbert Thorne were to suffer the just punish-
ment 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 trag-
edy; 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 respon-
sibility 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.
“Oh, dear, if it had only been Knoll who did it,"
said Muller with a sigh that was almost a groan.
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.
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


106
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 mis-
ery awaited those for whom this woman had worked
for years, those whom she loved and who treated her
as one of the family.
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.
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.
“A faithful servant, indeed,” said Muller, with
a harsh laugh.
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 won-
dered 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.
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.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 107
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 ter-
ror in the tramp's little reddened eyes came back to
the detective's mind.
“ 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 mis-
carriage 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—but
it's bitter hard sometimes. I could almost wish now
that I hadn't seen that face at the gate."
CHAPTER X
MULLER RETURNS TO THE THORNE MANSION
MULLER RETURNS TO THE THORNE MANSION
It was striking eight as Muller came out of a café
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 con-
clusions.
There was a Lieutenant Theobald Leining in the
single infantry regiment stationed at Marburg.
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.


108
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 man-
sion and to wait for him there. He himself walked
slowly down the quiet street and rang the bell at
the iron gate.
“ 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.
“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-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.
· 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.
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.
“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.”
“ You are mistaken," replied the woman in a low
tone.
"Perhaps, but I do not think so. One does not
betray the people to whom one is devoted.”


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 109
Mrs. Bernauer looked up in surprise. “What-
what do you know?” she stammered.
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-it was your hand
“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.
“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.
“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,


IIO
110 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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 er-
rands 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 con-
fused your mind. You were searching prob-
ably 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-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 after-
noon, you drove to the main telegraph office in the
city, as you thought that it would be safer to tele-
graph 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?”
The housekeeper had sat as if frozen to stone dur-
ing Muller's long speech. Her face was ashen and


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT III
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.
Mrs. Bernauer trembled. Her head sank on her
breast. Muller waited a moment more and then he
said quietly: “Then it is true.”
“Yes, it is true," came the answer in a low hoarse
tone.
Again there was silence for an appreciable inter-
val.
"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,” con-
tinued 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 Wink-
ler as you—I say this to excuse you—seemed to be-
lieve."
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 mo-
ment 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 success-
ful lover with so much sorrow, with so many tears.
I had long suspected these meetings before I discov-
ered them, but I knew that these meetings had noth-
ing 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 113
pale face glowed, her dulled eyes shot fire, and the
fingers with which she held Muller's hand tightly
clasped, were suddenly feverishly hot.
“And you—you are still the only person who
knows the truth?” she gasped in his ear.
The detective nodded. “And you thought you
might silence me?” he asked calmly. “That will
not be easy for you can imagine that I did not come
unarmed.”
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 gen.
erosity that I have been able to save almost every
cent of my wages for my old age. With the inter-
est 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 gasp-
ingly and sank down on her knees before she had
finished.
“And Mr. Thorne also ” she continued hastily,
as she saw no sign of interest in Muller's calm face.
Then her voice failed her.
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 de-
voted, and who, I acknowledge, pleased me the very
first sight I had of him~I am convinced that he
would not agree for a moment to any such solution
of the problem.”
“ Then I can only hope that you will not find him


114 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
in Venice,” replied Mrs. Bernauer, with utter despair
in her voice and eyes.
"I am not at all certain that I will find him in
Venice when I leave here to-morrow morning," said
Muller calmly.
“Oh! then you don't want to find him! Oh God!
how good, how inexpressibly good you are," stam-
mered the woman, seizing at some vague hope in her
distraught heart.
“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.”
"On his way home? ” cried the housekeeper in
terror, staggering where she stood.
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 sus-
picion on any one else, no possibility that any one else
could suffer the consequences of his deed-is quite
comprehensible—it is only natural and human."
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.
“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.''
A moment later Muller had parted from the house-
keeper with a warm, sincere pressure of the hand.
"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.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 115
“ Yes, sir; the Lieutenant was here just about that
time," answered the old man.
* And he left here on the 16th of March? ”
“On the 16th? Why, it may have been-yes, it
was the 16th—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.
“What does the man want anyway?” he mur-
mured to himself, shivering involuntarily. Without
knowing why he turned his steps towards Mrs. Bern-
auer'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 house-
keeper fainting on the floor as before.
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.
“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 some-
thing very important that takes me to Venice.”
“To Venice? Why, what are you going to Ven-
ice for?”
“Never mind about that, Franz, but help me to
pray that I may get there in time.”
She almost pushed the old man out of the door
with these last words and shut and locked it behind
him.
She wanted to be alone with this hideous fear that
was clutching at her heart. For it was not to Franz


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 117
“The man's incredibly stubborn,” said the com-
missioner. “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.
“But I haven't failed here, sir. More's the pity, I
had almost said.”
“What!” The commissioner looked up in surprise.
“I thought you just said that you couldn't get any-
thing more out of the accused.”
“ Knoll has told us all he knows, sir. He did not
murder Leopold Winkler.”
“Hmph!" The commissioner's exclamation had
a touch of acidity in it. " Then, if he didn't murder
him, who did ?”
“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 ex-
press to-morrow.”
“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?”
“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 him-
self. He took the purse and watch from the sense-
less form of the just murdered man. The body was


118
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
warm and still supple and the tramp supposed the
victim to be merely intoxicated. His story was in
every respect true, sir."
The commissioner flushed still deeper. “And who
do you say murdered this man?”.
do you bert Thorne, know of him with him
why
“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?”
“He did not rob him sir, Knoll did that."
“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.
“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.”
"It is incredible . . . incredible! An ac-
complice you say? . . . who is this accom-
plice? Might it not be some one who has a grudge
against Thorne-some one who is trying to purposely
mislead you?”
“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,


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 119
Stive's face commissione gazing firmly
who has loved and cared for him from his babyhood.
There is not the slightest doubt of it, sir."
Muller moved a step nearer the desk, gazing firmly,
in the eyes of the excited commissioner. The sad-
ness 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 atten-
tion, as he continued: “Herbert Thorne is the mur-
derer 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.”
The commissioner could doubt no longer. Pedan-
tic though he was, Commissioner von Riedau pos-
sessed sufficient insight to know the truth when it was
presented to him with such conviction, and also suffi-
cient insight to have recognised the gifts of the man
before him. “But why. .. why?” he mur-
mured, sinking back into his chair, and shaking his
head in bewilderment.
“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."
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


I20
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
the hidden deeps of a dark mystery had opened be-
'fore 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 Com-
missioner von Riedau himself, had sat calmly waiting
for an innocent man to confess to a crime he had
not committed! It was humiliating. The commis-
sioner flushed again and his eyes sank to the floor.
“Tell me what you know, Muller," he said finally.
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 inter-
est. “Then you believed this elaborate yarn told by
the tramp?” he interrupted once, at the beginning of
the narrative.
“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.”
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.
“It is wonderful! Wonderful! Muller, this case
will go on record as one of your finest achievements
—and we thought it was so simple. to ."
“Oh, indeed, sir, chance favoured me at every turn,"
replied Muller modestly.
“There is no such thing as chance," said the com-
missioner. “We might as well be honest with our-
selves. Any one might have seen, doubtless did see,
all the things you saw, but no one else had the in-
sight 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


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT
121
heart. Thorne is a true-hearted gentleman, while the
scoundrel he killed. ...".
“Yes, sir, I feel that way about it myself. I can
confess now that there was one moment when I was
ready to well, just to say nothing. . . .".
“And let us blunder on in our official stupidity and
blindness?” interrupted the commissioner, a faint
smile breaking the gravity of his face. “We cer-
tainly gave you every opportunity."
“But there's an innocent man accused-suffering
'fear of death-justice must be done. But, sir,” Mul-
ler took the warrant the commissioner handed across
the table to him. “May I not make it as easy as I
can for Mr. Thorne-I mean, bring him here with as
little publicity as possible? His wife is with him in
Venice."
“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 danger-
ous possession for a police detective, Muller. It's
no aid to our business."
“No, sir, I know that.”
“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.”
“I doubt if he'll want to sir, as long as another is
in prison for his crime.”
“ But he may make his confession and then try to
escape the disgrace.”
“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. . . ."
“Yes! Yes! This terrible thing has shaken us


122
122 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.”
“ Good-night, sir."
CHAPTER XII
ON THE LIDO
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 pass-
enger 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.
“Why! you were in the train too? You have
come to Venice?” exclaimed Joseph Muller in as-
tonishment as he saw Mrs. Bernauer standing there
before him.
“Yes, I have come to Venice too. I must be with
my dear lady—when—when Herbert - ” She had
begun quite calmly, but she did not finish her sentence,
for loud sobs drowned the words.
“ 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."
"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."
“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 com-
ing. I will arrange that with her husband.”
The two took each other's hands. They had won


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 123
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—and the devoted
woman whose faithfulness had brought about such a
tragedy.
. 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 rip-
ples 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 exclama-
tions of delight broke the calm of the moonlit
evening as the tourists rejoiced in the beauty that is
Venice.
But in the gondola in which Muller and Mrs. Bern-
auer 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.
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.
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.
Muller stood beside Mrs. Bernauer. His eyes too,


124 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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.
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 tele-
graphed 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 morn-
ing on the Lido, that he might learn, unobserved,
what terrors fate had in store for him.
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, vis-
itor in house to-day. Connected with occurrence in
Street. Please read Viennese papers. News
and orders for me please send to address A. B. Gen-
eral Postoffice.”
This telegam told Herbert Thorne the truth. And
the papers which arrived this morning were to tell
him more—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 Tues-


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 125
Tehind a in abone other
day morning when the detective saw him setting out
on his journey with his wife.
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 tram-
way that took them in the same direction. They dis-
mounted 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 fig-
ure passing on the other side of the road. He was
walking down to the beach, holding the still unopened
papers in his hand.
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 de-
tective 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.
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 ris-
ing 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.
In his own distress he did not hear the deep sigh
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
high good the sand if he


126
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
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, re-
luctantly, he opened one of the papers.
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.
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 con-
tained in the notebook, envelopes which were also ad-
dressed 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.
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 ad-
dressed to the Italian police. He put all the letters


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 127
back in his notebook, holding it together with a rub-
ber strap, and replaced it in his pocket.
Then he stretched out his hand toward the revolver.
The sand came rattling down upon him, the thistles
bent over creakingly and two figures appeared beside
him.
“There's time enough for that yet, Mr. Thorne,"
said the man at whom the painter gazed up in be-
wilderment. And then this man took the re-
volver quietly from his hand and hid it in his own
pocket.
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.
“Adele! Adele! Why are you here?” he stam-
mered finally.
“I want to be with you—in this hour," she an-
swered, looking at him with eyes of worship. “I want
to be with my dear lady—to comfort her--to pro-
tect her when—when "
“When they arrest me?" Thorne finished the sen-
tence himself. Then turning to Muller he con-
tinued: “And that is why you are here?”
“Yes, Mr. Thorne. I have a warrant for your
arrest in my pocket. But I think it will be unneces-
sary to make use of it in the customary official way
through the authorities here. I see that you have
written to both police stations—confessing your deed.
This will amount to a voluntary giving up of your-
self 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
chorne. I havou are herekes, he con-


128
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
authorities in my presence, it is my duty to keep
them.”
Muller had seldom found his official duty as diffi-
cult as it was now. His words came haltingly and
great drops stood out on his forehead.
The painter rose from the sand and he too wiped
his face, which was drawn in agony.
“Herbert, Herbert!” cried Adele Bernauer sud-
denly. “Oh, Herbert, you will live, you will! Prom-
ise me, you will not think of suicide, it would kill
your wife- "
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.
“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."
“My name is Muller-detective Muller."
“ 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 hid-
den.”
“My duty is not always an easy one," said Muller.
“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 import-
ant contents and then walked slowly back along the
road he had come.
Muller walked a little behind him, while Mrs. Bern-


130 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
about the revolver which he had brought with him
to be ready for any emergency, and he stepped de-
signedly 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 oc-
cur. 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 con-
fession of blackmail—then to finish him off with a
large sum once for all and kick him out of the
place.
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.
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?”
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 con-
tinue 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.


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 131
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.
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 con-
fession. 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.
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.
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.
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.


132 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“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.
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 confess-
ing to her husband and asking for his aid and protec-
tion, 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.
But he came again and again, demanding money
which she saved from her pin money, from her house-
hold 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.
As she looked down from the balcony, she was
like a woman suffering from a deathly illness. A


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 133
new terror had come to her heart because her hus-
band 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 win-
dow and stood in the middle of the room as Herbert
Thorne and his former nurse entered.
“ 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.
He led her to a chair, then knelt beside her and told
her all.
“Outside the door stands the man who will take
me back to Vienna—and you, my dearest, you must
go to your father.” He concluded his story with
these words.
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?"
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.
When the Northern Express rolled out of Venice
that afternoon, three people sat together in a com-
partment, 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-up
and down. He had pressed a gold coin into the con-
ductor's hand, with the words: “The party in there
do not wish to be disturbed; the lady is ill.”.
Herbert Thorne's trial took place several weeks
later. Every possible extenuating circumstance was


THE LAMP THAT WENT OUT 135
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 de-
tective 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 sus-
picion 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.





THE CASE OF THE REGISTERED LETTER





140 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
to the pathetic little figure in the chair. “We will go
into this matter a little more in detail and see if it is
possible for us to interfere with the work of the local,
authorities in G-
The little old lady gave her eyes a last hasty dab
with a dainty handkerchief and raised her head again,
fighting for self-control. She was a quaint little
figure, with soft grey hair drawn back smoothly from
a gentle-featured face in which each wrinkle seemed
the seal of some loving thought for others. Her
bonnet and gown were of excellent material in deli-
cate soft colours, but cut in the style of an earlier dec-
ade. The capable lines of her thin little hands showed
through the fabric of her grey gloves. Her whole
attitude bore the impress of one who had adventured
far beyond the customary routine of her home circle,
adventured out into the world in fear and trembling,
impelled by the stress of a great love.
A knock was heard at the door, and a small, slight
man, with a kind, smooth-shaven face, entered at the
commissioner's call. “You sent for me, sir?” he
asked.
“Yes, Muller, there is a matter here in which I
need your advice, your assistance, perhaps. This is
Detective Muller, Miss - ” (the commissioner
picked up the card on his desk) “Miss Graumann.
If you will tell us now, more in detail, all that you
can tell us about this case, we may be able to help
you."
“Oh, if you would,” murmured Miss Graumann,
with something more of hope in her voice. The ex-
pression of sympathetic interest on the face of the
newcomer had already won her confidence for him.
Her slight figure straightened up in the chair, and the
two men sat down opposite her, prepared to listen to
her story.
“I will tell you all I know, and understand about


THE REGISTERED LETTER
141
this matter, gentlemen,” she began.“ My name is
Babette Graumann, and I live with my nephew, Al-
bert Graumann, engineering expert, in the village of
Grünau, which is not far from the city of G-
My nephew Albert, the dearest, truest ” sobs
threatened to overcome her again, but she mastered
them bravely. “ Albert is now in prison, accused of
the murder of his friend, John Siders, in the latter's
lodgings in G- "
"Yes, that is the gist of what you have already
told me," said the commissioner. “Muller, Miss
Graumann believes her nephew innocent, contrary to
the opinion of the local authorities in G- She
has come to ask for some one from here who could
ferret out the truth of this matter. You are free
now, and if we find that it can be done without of-
fending the local authorities-
“Who is the commissioner in charge of the case
in G- ?” asked Muller.
“Commissioner Lange is his name, I believe,” re-
plied Miss Graumann.
“H’m!” Muller and the commissioner exchanged
glances.
“I think we can venture to hear more of this,”
said the commissioner, as if in answer to their un-
spoken thought. “Can you give us the details now,
Madam? Who is, or rather who was, this John
Siders?”
"John Siders came to our village a little over a
year ago," continued Miss Graumann. “He came
from Chicago, he told us, although he was evidently
a German by birth. He bought a nice little piece of
property, not far from our home, and settled down
there. He was a quiet man and made few friends,
but he seemed to take to Albert and came to see us
frequently. Albert had spent some years in America,
in Chicago, and Siders liked to talk to him about


142 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
things and people there. But one day Siders sud-
denly sold his property and moved to G- Two
weeks later he was found dead in his lodgings in the
city, murdered, and now—now they have accused Al-
bert of the crime.”
“On what grounds ?-oh, I beg your pardon, sir;
I did not mean-
“ That's all right, Muller," said the commissioner.
“As you may have to undertake the case, you might
as well begin to do the questioning now.”
“They say ”—Miss Graumann's voice quavered-
“they say that Albert was the last person known to
have been in Sider's room; they say that it was his
revolver, found in the room. That is the dreadful
part of it-it was his revolver. He acknowledges it,
but he did not know, until the police showed it to
him, that the weapon was not in its usual place in
his study. They tell me that everything speaks for
his guilt, but I cannot believe it I cannot. He says
he is innocent in spite of everything. I believe him.
I brought him up, sir; I was like his own mother to
him. He never knew any other mother. He never
lied to me, not once, when he was a little boy, and I
don't believe he'd lie to me now, now that he's a man
of forty-five. He says he did not kill John Siders.
Oh, I know, even without his saying it, that he would
not do such a thing.”
“Can you tell us anything more about the murder
itself?” questioned Muller gently. “Is there any
possibility of suicide? Or was there a robbery?”.
“They say it was no suicide, sir, and that there
was a large sum of money missing. But why should
Albert take any one else's money? He has money of
his own, and he earns a good income besides we have
all that we need. Oh, it is some dreadful mistake!
There is the newspaper account of the discovery of
the body. Perhaps Mr. Muller might like to read


THE REGISTERED LETTER
143
that.” She pointed to a sheet of newspaper on the
desk. The commissioner handed it to Muller. It
was an evening paper, dated G- , September 24th,
and it gave an elaborate account, in provincial jour-
nalese, of the discovery that morning of the body of
John Siders, evidently murdered, in his lodgings. The
main facts to be gathered from the long-winded story
were as follows:
John Siders had rented the rooms in which he met
his death about ten days before, paying a month's
rent in advance. The lodgings consisted of two
rooms in a little house in a quiet street. It was a
street of simple two-story, one and two family dwell-
ings, occupied by artisans and small tradespeople.
There were many open spaces, gardens and vacant
lots in the street. The house in which Siders lodged
belonged to a travelling salesman by the name of
Winter. The man was away from home a great deal,
and his wife, with her child and an old servant, lived
in the lower part of the house, while the rooms occu-
pied by Siders were in the upper story. Siders lived
very quietly, going out frequently in the afternoon,
but returning early in the evening. He had said to
his landlady that he had many friends in G- But
during the time of his stay in the house he had had
but one caller, a gentleman who came on the evening
of the 23rd of September. The old maid had opened
the door for him and showed him to Mr. Siders'
rooms. She described this visitor as having a full
black beard, and wearing a broad-brimmed grey felt
hat. Nobody saw the man go out, for the old maid,
the only person in the house at the time, had retired
early. Mrs. Winter and her little girl were spending
the night with the former's mother in a distant part
of the city. The next morning the old servant, tak-
ing the lodger's coffee up to him at the usual hour,
found him dead on the floor of his sitting-room, shot


144 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
through the heart. The woman ran screaming from
the house and alarmed the neighbours. A policeman
at the corner heard the noise, and led the crowd up
to the room where the dead man lay. It was plain to
be seen that this was not a case of suicide. Every-
where were signs of a terrible struggle. The furni-
ture was overturned, the dressing-table and the cup-
board were open and their contents scattered on the
floor, one of the window curtains was torn into strips,
as if the victim had been trying to escape by way of
the window, but had been dragged back into the room
by his murderer. An overturned ink bottle on the
table had spattered wide, and added to the general
confusion. In the midst of the disorder lay the body
of the murdered man, now cold in the rigour of death.
The police commissioner arrived soon, took posses-
sion of the rooms, and made a thorough examination
of the premises. A letter found on the desk gave
another proof, if such were needed, that this was not
a case of suicide. This letter was in the handwriting
of the dead man, and read as follows:
Dear Friend:
I appreciate greatly all the kindness shown me by yourself
and your good wife. I have been more successful than I
thought possible in overcoming the obstacles you know of.
Therefore, I shall be very glad to join you day after to-morrow,
Sunday, in the proposed excursion. I will call for you at 8
A. M.-the cab and the champagne will be my share of the trip.
We'll have a jolly day and drink a glass or two to our plans
for the future.
With best greetings for both of you,
Your old friend,
JOHN.
G- , Friday, Sept. 23rd.
An envelope, not yet addressed, lay beside this let-
ter. It was clear that the man who penned these
words had no thought of suicide. On the contrary,
he was looking forward to a day of pleasure in the
near future, and laying plans for the time to come.


THE REGISTERED LETTER
145
The murderer's bullet had pierced a heart, pulsing
with the joy of life.
This was the gist of the account in the evening pa-
per. Muller read it through carefully, lingering over
several points which seemed to interest him particu-
larly. Then he turned to Miss Babette Graumann.
“And then what happened?” he asked.
“ Then the Police Commissioner came to Grünau
and questioned my nephew. They had found out that
Albert was Mr. Siders' only friend here. And late
that evening the Mayor and the Commissioner came
to our house with the revolver they had found in the
room in GM , and they—they- her voice trem-
bled again, “they arrested my dear boy and took
him away."
“Have you visited him in prison? What does he
say about it himself?”
“He seems quite hopeless. He says that he is in-
nocent-oh, I know he is—but everything is against
him. He acknowledges that it was he who was in
Mr. Siders' room the evening before the murder.
He went there because Siders wrote him to come. He
says he left early, and that John acted queerly. He
knows they will not believe his story. This worry
and anxiety will kill him. He has a serious heart
trouble; he has suffered from it for years, and it has
been growing steadily worse. I dare not think what
this excitement may do for him.". Miss Graumann
broke down again and sobbed aloud. Muller laid his
hands soothingly on the little old fingers that gripped
the arm of the chair.
“Did your nephew send you here to ask for help?”
he inquired very gently.
“Oh, no." The old lady looked up at him through
her tears. “No, he would not have done that. I'm
afraid that he'll be angry if he knows that I have
come. He seemed so hopeless, so dazed. I just


146
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
G
couldn't stand it. It seemed to me that the police in
w ere taking things for granted, and just sit-
ting there waiting for an innocent man to confess,
instead of looking for the real murderer, who may be
gone, the Lord knows where, by now!” Miss Grau-
mann's faded cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she
straightened up in her chair again, while her eyes
snapped defiance through the tears that hung on their
lashes.
A faint gleam twinkled up in Muller's eyes, and he
did not look at his chief. Doctor von Riedau's own
face glowed in a slowly mounting flush, and his eyes
drooped in a moment of conscious embarrassment at
some recollection, the sting of which was evidently
made worse by Muller's presence. But Commissioner
von Riedau had brains enough to acknowledge his
mistakes and to learn from them. He looked across
the desk at Miss Graumann. “You are right, Madam,
the police have made that mistake more than once.
And a man with a clear record deserves the benefit of
the doubt. We will take up this case. Detective
Muller will be put in charge of it. And that means,
Madam, that we are giving you the very best assist-
ance the Imperial Police Force affords."
Miss Babette Graumann did not attempt to speak.
In a wave of emotion she stretched out both little
hands to the detective and clasped his warmly. “Oh,
thank you,” she said at last. “I thank you. He's
just like my own boy to me; he's all the child I ever
had, you know.”
“But there are difficulties in the way," continued
the commissioner in a business-like tone. “The local
authorities in
G h ave not asked for our assist-
ance, and we are taking up the case over their heads,
as it were. I shall have to leave that to Muller's
diplomacy. He will come to G- and have an in-
terview with your nephew. Then he will have to


THE REGISTERED LETTER
147.
use his own judgment as to the next steps, and as to
how far he may go in opposition to what has been
done by the police there."
“And then I may go back home?” asked Miss
Graumann. “Go home with the assurance that you
will help my poor boy?”
“ Yes, you may depend on us, Madam. Is there
anything we can do for you here? Are you alone
in the city?"
“No, thank you. There is a friend here who will
take care of me. She will put me on the afternoon
express back to G- ".
“It is very likely that I will take that train my-
self,” said Muller. “If there is anything that you
need on the journey, call on me.”
“Oh, thank you, I will indeed! Thank you both,
gentlemen. And now good-bye, and God bless you!”
The commissioner bowed and Muller held the door
open for Miss Graumann to pass out. There was
silence in the room, as the two men looked after the
quaint little figure slowly descending the stairs.
“A brave little woman," murmured the commis-
sioner.
“ It is not only the mother in the flesh who knows
what a mother's love is,” added Muller.
Next morning Joseph Muller stood in the cell of
the prison in G- confronting Albert Graumann,
The detective had just come from a rather difficult
interview with Commissioner Lange. But the latter,
though not a brilliant man, was at least good-natured.
He acknowledged the right of the accused and his
family to ask for outside assistance, and agreed with
Muller that it was better to have some one in the offi-
cial service brought in, rather than a private detective
whose work, in its eventual results, might bring shame


148
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
what bf integritye inquirieing in the. "A cert
on the police. Muller explained that Miss Graumann
did not want her nephew to know that it was she
who had asked for aid in his behalf, and that it could
only redound to his, Lange's, credit if it were under-
stood that he had sent to Vienna for expert assist-
ance in this case. It would be a proof of his consci-
entious attention to duty, and would insure praise for
him, whichever way the case turned out. Commis-
sioner Lange saw the force of this argument, and
finally gave Muller permission to handle the case as
he thought best, rather relieved than otherwise for
his own part. The detective's next errand was to the
prison, where he now stood looking up into the deep-
set, dark eyes of a tall, broad-shouldered, black-
bearded man, who had arisen from the cot at his en-
trance. Albert Graumann had a strong, self-reliant
face and bearing. His natural expression was some-
what hard and stern, but it was the expression of a
man of integrity and responsibility. Muller had al-
ready made some inquiries as to the prisoner's repu-
tation and business standing in the community, and
all that he had heard was favourable. A certain hard-
ness and lack of amiability in Graumann's nature
made it difficult for him to win the hearts of others,
but although he was not generally loved, he was uni-
versally respected. Through the signs of nagging
fear, sorrow, and ill-health, printed clearly on the
face before him, Muller's keen eyes looked down into
the soul of a man who might be overbearing, pitiless
even, if occasion demanded, but who would not mur-
der—at least not for the sake of gain.
This last possibility Muller had dismissed from
his mind, even before he saw the prisoner. The man's
reputation was sufficient to make the thought ridicu-
lous. But he had not made up his mind whether it
might not be a case of a murder after a quarrel. Now
he began to doubt even this when he looked into the


THE REGISTERED LETTER
intelligent, harsh-featured face of the man in the cell.
But Muller had the gift of putting aside his own
convictions, when he wanted his mind clear to con-
sider evidence before him.
Graumann had risen from his sitting position when
he saw a stranger. His heavy brows drew down
over his eyes, but he waited for the other to speak.
“I am Detective Joseph Muller, from Vienna,” be-
gan the newcomer, when he had seen that the pris-
oner did not intend to start the conversation.
“Have you come to question me again?” asked
Graumann wearily. “I can say no more than I have
already said to the Police Commissioner. And no
amount of cross-examination can make me confess a
crime of which I am not guilty—no matter what evi-
dence there may be against me.” The prisoner's
voice was hard and determined in spite of its note of
physical and mental weariness.
“I have not come to extort a confession from you,
Mr. Graumann," Muller replied gently, “but to help
you establish your innocence, if it be possible.”
A wave of colour flooded the prisoner's cheek. He
gasped, pressed his hand to his heart, and dropped
down on his cot. “ Pardon me," he said finally, hes-
itating like a man who is fighting for breath. “My
heart is weak; any excitement upsets me. You mean
that the authorities are not convinced of my guilt, in
spite of the evidence? You mean that they will give
me the benefit of the doubt—that they will give me
a chance for life?”
“Yes, that is the reason for my coming here. I
am to take this case in hand. If you will talk freely
to me, Mr. Graumann, I may be able to help you. I
have seen too many mistakes of justice because of
circumstantial evidence to lay any too great stress
upon it. I have waited to hear your side of the story,
'from yourself. I did not want to hear it from others.
"Iha and mental determined ;
hi prison possible., to help


150
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Will you tell it to me now? No, do not move, I will
get the stool myself.”
Graumann sat back on the cot, his head resting
against the wall. His eyes had closed while Muller
was speaking, but his quieter breathing showed that
he was mastering the physical attack which had so
shaken him at the first glimpse of hope. He opened
his eyes now and looked at Muller steadily for a mo-
ment. Then he said: “Yes, I will tell you: my life
and my work have taught me to gauge men. I will
tell you everything I know about this sad affair. I
will tell you the absolute truth, and I think you will
believe me."
“I will believe you,” said Muller simply.
“You know the details of the murder, of course,
and why I was arrested?”
“You were arrested because you were the last per-
son seen in the company of the murdered man?
"Exactly. Then I may go back and tell you some-
thing of my connection with John Siders ? "
“It would be the very best thing to do.”
“I live in Grünau, as you doubtless know, and am
the engineering expert of large machine works there.
My father before me held an important position in
the factory, and my family have always lived in Grü-
nau. I have travelled a great deal myself. I am
forty-five years old, a childless widower, and live
with my old aunt, Miss Babette Graumann, and my
ward, Miss Eleonora Roemer, a young lady of twenty-
two." Muller looked up with a slight start of sur-
prise, but did not say anything. Graumann con-
tinued:
“A little over a year ago, John Siders, who signed
himself as coming from Chicago, bought a piece of
property in our town and came to live there. I made
his acquaintance in the café and he seemed to take a
fancy to me. I also had spent several years in Chi-
ncy to me. Le in the café and to live there. Piece of


THE REGISTERED LETTER
151
cago, and we naturally came to speak of the place.
We discovered that we had several mutual acquaint-
ances there, and enjoyed talking over the old times.
Otherwise I did not take particularly to the man, and
as I came to know him better I noticed that he never
mentioned that part of his life which lay back of the
years in Chicago. I asked a casual question once or
twice as to his home and family, but he evaded me
every time, and would not give a direct answer. He
was evidently a German by birth and education, a
man with university training, and one who knew life
thoroughly. He had delightful manners, and when
he could forget his shyness for a while, he could be
very agreeable. The ladies of my family came to
like him, and encouraged him to call frequently.
Then the thing happened that I should not have be-
lieved possible. My ward, Miss Roemer, a quiet, re-
served girl, fell in love with this man about whom
none of us knew anything, a man with a past of which
he did not care to speak.
“I was not in any way satisfied with the match,
and they seemed to realise it. For Siders managed
to persuade the girl to a secret engagement. I dis-
covered it a month or two ago, and it made me very
angry. I did not let them see how badly I felt, but I
warned Lora not to have too much to do with the
boy, and I set about finding out something regarding
his earlier life. It was my duty to do this, as I was
the girl's guardian. She has no other relative living,
and no one to turn to except my aunt and myself.
I wrote to Mr. Richard Tressider in Chicago, the
owner of the factory in which I had been employed
while there. John had told me that Tressider had
been his client during the four years in which he
practiced law in Chicago. I received an answer about
the middle of August. Mr. Tressider had been able
to find out only that John was born in the town of


152 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Hartberg in a certain year. This was enough. I
took leave of absence for a few days and went to
Hartberg, which, as you know, is about 140 miles
from here. Three days later I knew all that I wanted
to know. John Siders was not the man's real name,
or, rather, it was only part of his name. His full
name was Theodor John Bellmann, and his mother
was an Englishwoman whose maiden name was Sid-
ers. His father was a county official who died at an
early age, leaving his widow and the boy in deepest
poverty. Mrs. Bellmann moved to G- to give
music lessons. Theodor went to school there, then
finally to college, and was an excellent pupil every-
where. But one day it was discovered that he had
been stealing money from the banker in whose house
he was serving as private tutor to the latter's sons.
A large sum of money was missing, and every evi-
dence pointed to young Bellmann as the thief. He
denied strenuously that he was guilty, but the Dis-
trict Judge (it was the present Prosecuting Attorney
Schmidt in G- ) sentenced him. He spent eight
months in prison, during which time his mother died
of grief at the disgrace. There must have been some-
thing good in the boy, for he had never forgotten
that it was his guilt that struck down his only rela-
tive, the mother who had worked so hard for him.
He had atoned for this crime of his youth, and dur-
ing the years that have passed since then, he had been
an honest, upright man.”
Graumann paused a moment and pressed his hand
to his heart again. His voice had grown weaker, and
he breathed hard. Finally he continued: “I com-
manded my ward to break off her engagement, as I
could not allow her to marry a man who was a freed
convict. Siders sold his property some few weeks
after that and moved to G- Eleonora acquiesced
in my commands, but she was very unhappy and al-


THE REGISTERED LETTER 153
lowed me to see very little of her. Then came the
events of the evening of September 23rd, the events
which have turned out so terribly. I will try to tell
you the story just as it happened, so far as I am con-
cerned. I had seen nothing of John since he left this
town. He had made several attempts before his de-
parture for G- to change my opinion, and my de-
cision as to his marriage to my ward. But I let him
see plainly that it was impossible for him to enter
our family with such a past behind him. He asserted
his innocence of the charges against him, and declared
that he had been unjustly accused and imprisoned.
I am afraid that I was hard towards him. I begin
to understand now, as I never thought I should, what
it means to be accused of crime. I begin to realise
that it is possible for every evidence to point to a
man who is absolutely innocent of the deed in ques-
tion. I begin to think now that John may have been
right, that possibly he also may have been accused and
sentenced on circumstantial evidence alone. I have
thought much, and I have learned much in these ter-
rible days."
The prisoner paused again and sat brooding, his
eyes looking out into space. Muller respected his
suffering and sat in equal silence, until Graumann
raised his eyes to his again. “Then came the even-
ing of the 23rd of September?”.
“Yes, that evening—it's all like a dream to me,”
Graumann began again. “ John wrote me a letter
asking me to come to see him on that evening. I
tore up the letter and threw it away-or perhaps, yes,
I remember now, I did not wish Eleonora to see that
he had written me. He asked me to come to see him,
as he had something to say to me, something of the
greatest importance for us both. He asked me not to
mention to any one that I was to see him, as it would
be wiser no one should know that we were still in


154 . JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
at home whought in this his requesta not know is on
communication with each other. There was a strain
of nervous excitement visible in his letter. I thought
it better to go and see him as he requested; I felt
that I owed him some little reparation for having
denied him the great wish of his heart. It was my
duty to make up to him in other ways for what I had
felt obliged to do. I knew him for a nervous, high-
strung man, overwrought by brooding for years on
what he called his wrongs, and I did not know what
he might do if I refused his request. It was not of
myself I thought in this connection, but of the girl
at home who looked to me for protection.
“I had no fear for myself; it never occurred to me
to think of taking a weapon with me. How my re-
volver—and it is undoubtedly my revolver, for there
was a peculiar break in the silver ornamentation on
the handle which is easily recognisable—how this re-
volver of mine got into his room, is more than I can
say. Until the Police Commissioner showed it to me
two or three days ago, I had no idea that it was not
in the box in my study where it is ordinarily kept."
Graumann paused again and looked about him as
if searching for something. He rose and poured him-
self out a glass of water. “Let me put some of this
in it,” said Muller. “It will do you good.” From a
flask in his pocket he poured a few drops of brandy
into the water. Graumann drank it and nodded grate-
fully. Then he took up his story again.
"I never discovered why Siders had sent for me.
When I arrived at the appointed time I found the
door of the house closed. I was obliged to ring sev-
eral times before an old servant opened the door.
She seemed surprised that it had been locked. She
said that the door was always unlatched, and that
Mr. Siders himself must have closed it, contrary to
all custom, for she had not done it, and there was no
one else in the house but the two of them. Siders
in the umann paliomething. - Let me


THE REGISTERED LETTER 155
was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, calling
down a noisy welcome.
“When I asked him finally what it was so impor-
tant that he wanted to say to me, he evaded me and
continued to chatter on about commonplace things.
Finally I insisted upon knowing why he had wanted
me to come, and he replied that the reason for it had
already been fulfilled, that he had nothing more to
say, and that I could go as soon as I wanted to. He
appeared quite calm, but he must have been very
nervous. For as I stood by the desk, telling him
what I thought of his actions, he moved his hand
hastily among the papers there and upset the ink-
stand. I jumped back, but not before I had received
several large spots of ink on my trousers. He was
profuse in his apologies for the accident, and tried to
take out the spots with blotting paper. Then at last,
when I insisted upon going, he looked out to see
whether there was still a light on the stairs, and led
me down to the door himself, standing there for some
time looking after me.
“I was slightly alarmed as well as angry at his ac-
tions. I believe that he could not have been quite in
his right mind, that the strain of nervousness which
was apparent in his nature had really made him ill.
For I remember several peculiar incidents of my
visit to him. One of these was that he almost in-
sisted upon my taking away with me, ostensibly to
take care of them, several valuable pieces of jewelry
which he possessed. He seemed almost offended when
I refused to do anything of the kind. Then, as I
parted from him at the door, not in a very good hu-
mour I will acknowledge, he said to me: 'You will
think of me very often in the future-more often
than you would believe now!!
“This is all the truth, and nothing but the truth,
about my visit to John Siders on the evening of Sep-


156
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
his as a perfectint that John cked me mos
tember 23rd. As it had been his wish I said nothing
to the ladies at home, or to any one else about the oc-
currence. And as I have told you, I destroyed his
letter asking me to come to him.
“ The following day about noon, the Commissioner
of Police from G called at my office in the fac-
tory, and informed me bluntly that John Siders had
been found shot dead in his lodgings that morning.
I was naturally shocked, as one would be at such
news, in spite of the fact that I had parted from the
man in anger, and that I had no reason to be particu-
larly fond of him. What shocked me most of all was
the sudden thought that John had taken his own life.
It was a perfectly natural thought when I considered
his nervousness, and his peculiar actions of the even-
ing before. I believe I exclaimed, “It was a sui-
cide!' almost without realising that I was doing so.
The commissioner looked at me sharply and said that
suicide was out of the question, that it was an evi-
dent case of murder. He questioned me as to Siders'
affairs, of which I told only what every one here in
the village knew. I did not consider it incumbent
upon me to disclose to the police the disgrace of the
man's early life. I had been obliged to hurt him
cruelly enough because of that, and I saw no neces-
sity for blackening his name, now that he was dead.
Also, as according to what the commissioner said, it
was a case of murder for robbery, I did not wish to
go into any details of our connection with Siders that
would cause the name of my ward to be mentioned.
After a few more questions the commissioner left me.
I was busy all the afternoon, and did not return to
my home until later than usual. I found my aunt
somewhat worried because Miss Roemer had left the
house immediately after our early dinner, and had
not yet returned. We both knew the girl to be still
grieving over her broken engagement, and we dreaded
the effect this last dreadful news might have on her.


THE REGISTERED LETTER 157
We supposed, however, that she had gone to spend
the afternoon with a friend, and were rather glad
to be spared the necessity of telling her at once what
had happened. I had scarcely finished my supper,
when the door bell rang, and to my astonishment the
Mayor of Grünau was announced, accompanied by
the same Police Commissioner who had visited me
in my office that morning. The Mayor was an old
friend of mine and his deeply grave face showed me
that something serious had occurred. It was indeed
serious! and for some minutes I could not grasp the
meaning of the commissioner's questions. Finally I
realised with a tremendous shock that I-I myself
was under suspicion of the murder of John Siders.
The description given by the old servant of the man
who had visited Siders the evening before, the very
clothes that I wore, my hat and the trousers spotted
by the purple ink, led to my identification as this
mysterious visitor. The servant had let me in but
she had not seen me go out.
“Then I discovered—when confronted suddenly
with my own revolver which had been found on the
floor of the room, some distance from the body of the
dead man, that this same revolver had been identified
as mine by my ward, Eleonora Roemer, who had
been to the police station at G in the early
afternoon hours. Some impulse of loyalty to her
dead lover, some foolish feminine fear that I might
have spoken against him in my earlier interviews with
the commissioner had driven the girl to this step.
A few questions sufficed to draw from her the story
of her secret engagement, of its ending, and of my
quarrel with John. I will say for her that I am cer-
tain she did not realise that all these things were
calculated to cast suspicion on me. The poor girl
is too unused to the ways of police courts, to the
'devious ways of the law, to realise what she was
doing. The sight of my revolver broke her down


158 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
completely and she acknowledged that it was mine.
That is all. Except that I was arrested and brought
here as you see. I told the commissioner the story
of my visit to John Siders exactly as I told it to you,
but it was plain to be seen that he did not believe
me. It is plain to be seen also, that he is firmly con-
vinced of my guilt and that he is greatly satis-1
fied with himself at having traced the criminal so'z
soon.”
“And yet he was not quite satisfied,” said Muller
gently. “You see that he has sent to the Capital
for assistance on the case." Muller felt this little un-
truth to be justified for the sake of the honour of the
police force.
“Yes, I'm surprised at that,” said Graumann in his
former tone of weariness. “What do you think
you will be able to do about it?”
“I must ask questions here and there before I can
form a plan of campaign,” replied Muller. “What
do you think about it yourself? Who do you think
killed Siders?”
“How can I know who it was? I only know it is
not I,” answered Graumann.
“Did he have any enemies?”
“No, none that I knew of, and he had few friends
either.”
“You knew there was a sum of money missing
from his rooms?”
“Yes, the sum they named to me was just about
the price that he had received for the sale of his
property here. They did me the honour to believe
that if I had taken the money at all, I had done so
merely as a blind. At least they did not take me for
a thief as well as a murderer. If the money is really
missing, it was for its sake he was murdered I sup-
pose.”
“Yes, that would be natural,” said Muller. “And


THE REGISTERED LETTER 159
you know nothing of any other relations or connec-
tions that the man may have had? Anything that
might give us a clue to the truth?”
“No, nothing. He stood so alone here, as far as
I knew. Of course, as I told you, his actions of the
evening before having been so peculiar—and as I knew
that he was not in the happiest frame of mind-I nat-
urally thought of suicide at once, when they told me
that he had been found shot dead. Then they told
me that the appearance of the room and many other
things, proved suicide to have been out of the ques-
tion. I know nothing more about it. I cannot think
any more about it. I know only that I am here in dan-
ger of being sentenced for the crime that I never com-
mitted—that is enough to keep any man's mind busy."
He leaned back with an intense fatigue in every line
of his face and figure.
Muller rose from his seat. “I am afraid I have
tired you, Mr. Graumann," he said, “but it was nec-
essary that I should know all that you had to tell
me. Try and rest a little now and meanwhile be
assured that I am doing all I can to find out the truth
of this matter. As far as I can tell now I do not be-
lieve that you have killed John Siders. But I must
find some further proofs that will convince others
as well as myself. If it is of any comfort to you,
I can tell you that during a long career as police de-
tective I have been most astonishingly fortunate in
the cases I have undertaken. I am hoping that my
usual good luck will follow me here also. I am
hoping it for your sake.”
The man on the cot took the hand the detective
offered him and pressed it firmly. “You will let me
know as soon as you have found anything—anything
that gives me hope ?”
"I will indeed. And now save your strength and
do not worry. I will help you if it is in my power.”


160 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
After leaving the prison, Muller took the train for
the village of Grünau, about half an hour distant
from the city. He found his way easily to Grau-
mann's home, an attractive old house set in a large
garden amid groups of beautiful old trees. When
he sent up his card to Miss Graumann, the old lady
tripped down stairs in a flutter of excitement.
"Did you see him?" she asked. “You have been
to the prison? What do you think? How does
he seem?"
“He seems calm to-day,” replied Muller, “although
the confinement and the anxiety are evidently wear-
ing on him.”
“And you heard his story? And you believe him
innocent?”
“I am inclined to do so. But there is more yet
for me to investigate in this matter. It is certainly
not as simple as the police here seem to believe.
May I speak to your ward, Miss Roemer? She is at
home now?"
“Yes, Lora is at home. If you will wait here a
moment I will send her in.”
Muller paced up and down the large sunny room,
casting a glance over the handsome old pieces of fur-
niture and the family portraits on the wall. It was
evidently the home of generations of well-to-do, well-
bred people, the narrow circle of whose life was made
rich by congenial duties and a comfortable feeling of
their standing in the community.
While he was studying one of the portraits more
carefully, he became aware that there was some one
in the room. He turned and saw a tall blond girl
standing by the door. She had entered so softly that
even Muller's quick ear had not heard the opening
of the door.
“Do you wish to speak to me?" she said, coming
down into the room. “I am Eleonora Roemer.”


THE REGISTERED LETTER
TOI
Her face, which could be called handsome in its
even regularity of feature and delicate skin, was
very pale now, and around her eyes were dark rings
that spoke of sleepless nights. Grief and mental
shock were preying upon this girl's mind. “She is
not the one to make a confidant of those around
her," thought Muller to himself. Then he added
aloud: “If it does not distress you too much to talk
about this sad affair, I will be very grateful if you
will answer a few questions."
“I will tell you whatever I can," said the girl in
the same low even tone in which she had first spoken.
“Miss Graumann tells me that you have come from
Vienna to take up this case. It is only natural that
we should want to give you every assistance in our
power.”
"What is your opinion about it?" was Muller's
next remark, made rather suddenly after a moment's
pause.
The directness of the question seemed to shake
the girl out of her enforced calm. A slow flush
mounted into her pale cheeks and then died away,
again leaving them whiter than before. “I do not
know-oh, I do not know what to believe."
"But you do not think Mr. Graumann capable of
such a crime, do you?”
"Not of the robbery, of course not; that would be
absurd! But has it been clearly proven that there is
a robbery? Might it not have been-might they not
have
“You mean, might they not have quarrelled? Of
course there is that possibility. And that is why I
wanted to speak to you. You are the one person
who could possibly throw light on this subject. Was
there any other reason beyond the dead mari's past
that would render your guardian unwilling to have
you marry him?”
bil you are is subject's past


162
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Again the slow flush mounted to Eleonora Roem-
er's cheeks and her head drooped.
“I fear it may be painful for you to answer this,”
said Muller gently, “and yet I must insist on it in
the interest of justice.”
“He—my guardian—wished to marry me him-
self,” the girl's words came slowly and painfully.
Muller drew in his breath so sharply that it was
almost like a whistle. “He did not tell me that; it
might-make a difference.”
“That ... that is . . . what . .
I fear,” said the girl, her eyes looking keenly into
those of the man who sat opposite. “And then, it
was his revolver."
“ Then you do believe him guilty?”
“ It would be horrible, horrible—and yet I do not
know what to think.”
There was silence in the room for a moment.
Miss Roemer's head drooped again and her hands
twisted nervously in her lap. Muller's brain was
very busy with this new phase of the problem. Fin-
ally he spoke.
“Let us dismiss this side of the question and talk
of another phase of it, a phase of which it is neces-
sary for me to know something. You would natur-
ally be the person nearest the dead man, the one, the
only one, perhaps, to whom he had given his confi-
dence. Do you know of any enemies he might have
had in the city?”
“No, I do not know of any enemies, or even of
any friends he had there. When the terrible thing
happened that clouded his past, when he had re-
gained his freedom, after his term of imprisonment,
there was no one left whom he cared to see again.
He does not seem to have borne any malice towards
the banker who accused him of the theft. The evi-
dence was so strong against him that he felt the sus-


THE REGISTERED LETTER 163
picion was justified. But there was hatred in his
heart for one man, for the Justice who sentenced him,
Justice Schmidt, who is now Attorney General in
G "
“The man who, in the name of the State, will
conduct this case?” asked Muller quickly.
“Yes, I believe it is so. Is it not an irony that
this man, the only one whom John really hated,
should be the one to avenge him now?”
“H'm! yes. But did you know of any friends in
G- ?”
“No, none at all.”
“No friends whom he might have made while he
was in America and then met again in Germany?”
“No, he never spoke of any such to me. He told
me that he made few friends. He did not seek them
for he was afraid that they might find out what had
happened and turn from him. He was morbidly sen-
sitive and could not bear the disappointment."
"Why did he return to Germany?"
“He was lonely and wanted to come home again.
He had made money in America—John was very
clever and highly educated—but his heart longed for
his own tongue and his own people.”
Muller took a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
“Do you know this handwriting ?”.
Miss Roemer read the few lines hastily and her
voice trembled as she said: “This is John's hand-
writing. I know it well. This is the letter that was
found on the table?”
“Yes, this letter appears to be the last he had writ-
ten in life. Do you know to whom it could have
been written? The envelope, as I suppose you know
from the newspaper reports, was not addressed.
Do you know of any friends with whom he could
have been on terms of sufficient intimacy to write
such a letter? Do you know what these plans for


164 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
the future could have been? It would certainly be
natural that he should have spoken to you first
about them.”
“No; I cannot understand this letter at all,” re-
plied the girl. “I have thought of it frequently
these terrible days. I have wondered why it was
that if he had friends in the city, he did not speak
to me of them. He repeatedly told me that he had
no friends there at all, that his life should begin
anew after we were married.”
“And did he have any particular plans, in a bus-
iness way, perhaps?”.
“No, he had a comfortable little income and need
have no fear for the future. John was, of course,
too young a man to settle down and do nothing.
But the only definite plans he had made were that we
should travel a little at first, and then he would look
about him for a congenial occupation. I always
thought it likely he would resume a law practice
somewhere. I cannot understand in the slightest
what the plans are to which the letter referred.”
“And do you think, from what you know of his
state of mind when you saw him last, that he would
be likely so soon to be planning pleasures like this?”
“No, no indeed! John was terribly crushed
when my guardian insisted on breaking off our en-
gagement. Until my twenty-fourth birthday I am
still bound to do as my guardian says, you know.
John's life and early misfortune made him, as I
have already said, morbidly sensitive and the thought
that it would be a bar to anything we might plan
in the future, had rendered him so depressed that-
and it was not the least of my anxieties and my
troubles—that I feared . . . I feared anything
might happen.”
“You feared he might take his own life, do you
mean?"
we might plan
troubles was not the endered him so


THE REGISTERED LETTER
165
“Yes, yes, that is what I feared. But is it not
terrible to think that he should have died this way-by
the hand of-a murderer?”.
“H’m! And you cannot remember any possible
friend he may have found-some schoolboy friend
of his youth, perhaps, with whom he had again struck
up an acquaintance.”
“Oh, no, no, I am positive of that. John could
not bear to hear the names even of the people he had
known before his misfortune. Still, I do remember
his once having spoken of a man, a German he had
met in Chicago and rather taken a fancy to, and who
had also returned to Germany."
“ Could this possibly have been the man to whom
the letter is addressed?"
“No, no. This friend of John's was not married;
I remember his saying that. And he lived in Ger-
many somewhere— let me think-yes, in Frankfort-
on-Main.”
“ And do you remember the man's name?”
“No, I cannot, I am sorry to say. John only men-
tioned it once. It was only by a great effort that I
could remember the incident at all.”
“And has it not struck you as rather peculiar
that this friend, the one to whom the cordial letter
was addressed, did not come forward and make his
identity known? G is a city, it is true, but it is
not a very large city, and any man being on terms
of intimate acquaintance with one who was murdered
would be apt to come forward in the hope of throw-
ing some light on the mystery."
“Why, yes, I had not thought of that. It is pe-
culiar, is it not? But some people are so foolishly
afraid of having anything to do with the police, you
know."
“That is very true, Miss Roemer. Still it is a
queer incident and something that I must look into."


166 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“What do you believe?” asked the girl tensely.
“I am not in a position to say as yet. When I am,
I will come to you and tell you."
“ Then you do not think that my guardian killed
John—that there was a quarrel between the men?”
“There is, of course, a possibility that it may have
been so. You know your guardian better than I do,
naturally. Our knowledge of a man's character is
often a far better guide than any circumstantial evi-
dence.”
“My guardian is a man of the greatest upright-
ness of character. But he can be very hard and piti-
less sometimes. And he has a violent temper which
his weak heart has forced him to keep in control of
late years." .
“All this speaks for the possibility that there may
have been a quarrel ending in the fatal shot. But
what I want to know from you is this—do you think
it possible, that, this having happened, Albert
Graumann would not have been the first to confess
his unpremeditated crime? Is not this the most
likely thing for a man of his character to do?
Would he so stubbornly deny it, if it had happened?"
The girl started. “I had not thought of that!
Why, why, of course ... he might have killed
John in a moment of temper, but he was never a man
to conceal a fault. He is as pitiless towards his
own weakness, as towards that of others. You are
right, oh, you must be right. Oh, if you could take
this awful fear from my heart! Even my grief for
Muller rose from his chair. “I think I can promise
you that this load will be lifted from your heart,
Miss Roemer.”
“ Then you believe that it was just a case of
murder for robbery? For the money? And John
had some valuable jewelry, I know that."


THE REGISTERED LETTER
167
“I do not know yet,” replied Muller slowly, “but
I will find out, I generally do.”
“Oh, to think that I should have done that poor
man such an injustice! It is terrible, terrible! This
house has been ghastly these days. His poor aunt
knows that he is innocent—she could never believe
otherwise—she has felt the hideous suspicion in my
mind—it has made her suffering worse-will they
ever forgive me?”
“Her joy, if I can free her nephew, will make her
forget everything. Go to her now, Miss Roemer,
comfort her with the assurance that you also believe
him to be innocent. I must hasten back to
G a nd
go on with this quest.”
The girl stood at the doorway shaded by the over-
hanging branches of two great trees, looking down
the street after the slight figure of the detective.
“Oh, it is all easier to bear, hard as it is, easier now
that this horrible suspicion has gone from my mind
—why did I not think of that before?”
Alone in the corner of the smoking compartment
in the train to G , Muller arranged in his mind
the facts he had already gathered. He had ques-
tioned the servants of John Siders' former house-
hold, had found that the dead man received very
few letters, only an occasional business communica-
tion from his bank. Of the few others, the servants
knew nothing except that he had always thrown the
envelopes carelessly in the waste paper basket and
had never seemed to have any correspondence which
he cared to conceal. No friend from elsewhere had
ever visited him in Grünau, and he had made few
friends there except the Graumann family.
The facts of the case, as he knew them now, were
such as to make it extremely doubtful that Grau-
mann was the murderer. Muller himself had been


168 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
inclined to believe in the possibility of a quarrel
between the two men, particularly when he had heard
that Graumann himself was in love with his hand-
some ward. But the second thought that came to
him then, impelled by the unerring instinct that so
often guided him to the truth, was the assurance
that in a case of this kind, in a case of a quarrel ter-
ninating fatally, a man like Albert Graumann would
be the very first to give himself up to the police and
to tell the facts of the case. Albert Graumann was
a man of honour and unimpeachable integrity. Such
a man would not persist in a foolish denial of the
deed which he had committed in a moment of tem-
per. There would be nothing to gain from it, and
his own conscience would be his severest judge.
“ The disorder in the room?” thought Muller. “It'll
be too late for that now. I suppose they have rear-
ranged the place. I can only go by what the local
detectives have seen, by the police reports. But I do
not understand this extreme disorder. There is no
reason why there should be a struggle when the rob-
ber was armed with a pistol. If Siders was supposed
to have been interrupted when writing a letter, in-
terrupted by a thief come with intent to steal, a thief
armed with a revolver, the sight of this weapon alone
would be sufficient to insure his not moving from
his seat. I can understand the open drawers and
cupboard; that is explained by the thief's hasty
search for booty. But the torn window curtain and
the overturned chairs are peculiar.
“Of course there is always a possibility that the
thief might have entered one room while Siders was
in the other; that the latter might have surprised
the robber in his search for money or valuables, and
that there might have been a hand-to-hand struggle
before the intruder could pull out his revolver. Oh,
if I could only have seen the body! This is working


THE REGISTERED LETTER
169
mazoer
ad daje
under terrific difficulties. The marks of a hand-to-
hand struggle would have been very plain on the
clothes and on the person of the murdered man. But
this letter? I do not understand this letter at all. It
is the dead man's handwriting, that we know, but
why did not the friend to whom it was addressed
come forward and make himself known? As far as
I can learn from the police reports in G , there
was no personal interest shown, no personal inquiries
made about the dead man. There was only the nat-
ural excitement that a murder would create. Now
a family, expecting to make a pleasure excursion
with a friend in a day or two and suddenly hearing
that this friend had been found murdered in his lodg-
ings, would be inclined to take some little personal
interest in the matter. These people must have been
in town and at home, for the excursion spoken of in
the letter was to occur two days after the murder.
Miss Roemer's remark about the dread that some
people have as to any connection with the police, is
true to a limited extent only. It is true only of the
ignorant mind, not of a man presumably well-to-do
and properly educated. I do not understand why
the man to whom this letter was addressed has not
made himself known. The only explanation is—that
there was no such man!” A sudden sharp whistle
broke from the detective's lips.
“I must examine the dead man's personal effects,
his baggage, his papers; there may be something
there. His queer letter to Graumann-his desire
that the latter's visit should be kept secret-a visit
which apparently had no cause at all, except
to get Graumann to the house, to get him to the
house in a way that he should be seen coming, but
should not be seen going away. What does this
mean?
“ Graumann was the only person against whom


170
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Siders had an active cause of quarrel for the mo-
ment. There was one other man whom he hated,
and this other man was the prosecuting attorney who
would conduct any case of murder that came up in
the town of G-
“Now John Siders is found murdered—is found
killed, in his lodgings, the morning after he has ar-
ranged things so that his antagonist, his rival in love,
Albert Graumann, shall come under suspicion of
having murdered him.
“What evidence have we that this man did not
commit suicide? We have the evidence of the dis-
order in the room, a disorder that could have been
made just as well by the man himself before he ended
his own life. We have the evidence of a letter to
some unknown, making plans for pleasure during the
next days, and speaking of further plans, presumably
concerning business, for the future. In a town the
size of G , where every one must have read of
the murder, no one has come forward claiming to be
the friend for whom this letter was written. Until
this Unknown makes himself known, the letter as an
evidence points rather to premeditated suicide than
to the contrary. Oh, if I could only have seen the
body! They tell me the pistol was found some little
distance from the body. Is it at all likely that a mur-
derer would go away leaving such evidence behind
him? If Graumann had killed Siders in a hasty
quarrel, he might possibly, in his excitement, have
left his revolver. But I have already disposed of
this possibility. A man of sufficient brains to so
carefully plan his suicide as to conceal every trace
of it and cast suspicion upon the man who had made
him unhappy, such a one would be quite clever enough
to throw the pistol far away from his body and to
leave no traces of powder on his coat or any such
other evidence.


172
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
much of this kind of material that its absence shows
premeditation. The suit Siders had been wearing
when he was killed was lying on the table in the
room. It was a plain grey business suit of good cut
and material. The body had been prepared for bur-
ial in a beseeming suit of black. Muller made a
careful examination of the clothes, and found only
what the police reports showed him had already been
found by the examination made by the local author-
ities. Upon a second careful examination, however,
he found that in one of the vest pockets there was a
little extra pocket, like a change pocket, and in it he
found a crumpled piece of paper. He took it out,
smoothed and read it. It was a post office receipt
for a registered letter. The date was still clear, but
the name of the person to whom the letter had been
addressed was illegible. The creases of the paper
and a certain dampness, as if it had been inadver-
tently touched by a wet finger, had smeared the writ-
ing. But the letter had been sent the day before the
death of John Siders, and it had been registered
from the main post office in G- This was suffi-
cient for Muller. Then he turned to the desk. Here
also there was nothing that could help him. But a
sudden thought came to him, and he took up the
blotting pad. This, to his delight, was in the form
of a book with a handsome embroidered cover. It
looked comparatively new and was, as Muller sur-
mised, a gift from Miss Roemer to her betrothed.
But few of the pages had been used, and on two of
times, showing that there had been several sheets of
the letter. Muller held it up to the looking-glass,
but the repeated blotting had blurred the writing to
such an extent that it was impossible to decipher any
but a few disconnected words, which gave no clue.
On a page further along on the blotter, however, he


THE REGISTERED LETTER 173
saw what appeared to be the impression of an ad-
dress. He held it up to the glass and gave a whistle
of delight. The words could be plainly deciphered
here:
“ MR. LEO PERNBURG,
“ FRANKFURT AM MAIN,
“MAINZER LANDSTRASSE.”
and above the name was a smear which, after a little
study, could be deciphered as the written word “Reg-
istered.”
With this page of the blotter carefully tucked
away in his pocketbook, Muller hurried to the post
office, arriving just at closing hour. He made him-
self known at once to the postmaster, and asked to
be shown the records of registered letters sent on a
certain date. Here he found scheduled a letter ad-
dressed to Mr. Leo Pernburg, Frankfurt am Main,
sent by John Siders, GM , Josefi Street 7.
Muller then hastened to the telegraph office and
despatched a lengthy telegram to the postal authori-
ties in Frankfurt am Main. When the answer came
to him next morning, he packed his grip and took
the first express train leaving G- He first made
a short visit, however, to Albert Graumann's cell in
the prison. Muller was much too kind-hearted not
to relieve the anxiety of this man, to whom such
mental strain might easily prove fatal. He told
Graumann that he was going in search of evidence
which might throw light on the death of Siders, and
comforted the prisoner with the assurance that he,
Muller, believed Graumann innocent, and believed
also that within a day or two he would return to
GM with proofs that his belief was the right one.
Three days later Muller returned to Grünau and
went at once to the Graumann home. It was quite


174 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
late when he arrived, but he had already notified
Miss Roemer by telegram as to his coming, with a
request that she should be ready to see him. He
found her waiting for him, pale and anxious-eyed,
when he arrived. “I have been to Frankfurt am
Main," he said, “and I have seen Mr. Pernburg- "
“Yes, yes, that is the name; now I remember,"
interrupted the girl eagerly. “That is the name of
John's friend there."
“I have seen Mr. Pernburg and he gave me this
letter.” Muller laid a thick envelope on the girl's
lap.
She looked down at it, her eyes widening as if she
had seen a ghost. “That—that is John's writing,”
she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “Where did it
come from?”
“Pernburg gave it to me. The day before his
death John Siders sent him this letter, requesting
that Pernburg forward it to you before a certain
date. When I explained the circumstances to Mr.
Pernburg, he gave me the letter at once. I feel that
this paper holds the clue to the mystery. Will you
open it?”
With trembling hands the girl tore open the enve-
lope. It enclosed still another sealed envelope, with-
out an address. But there was a sheet of paper
around this letter, on which was written the follow-
ing:
My beloved Eleonore:
Before you read what I have to say to you here I want you
to promise me, in memory of our love and by your hope of
future salvation, that you will do what I ask you to do.
I ask you to give the enclosed letter, although it is addressed
to you, to the Judge who will preside in the trial against Grau-
mann. The letter is written to you and will be given back to
you. For you, the beloved of my soul, you are the only human
being with whom I can still communicate, to whom I can still
express my wishes. But you must not give the letter to the
Judge until you have assured yourself that the prosecuting at-


THE REGISTERED LETTER
175
torney insists upon Graumann's guilt. In case he is acquitted,
which I do not think probable, then open this letter in the pres-
ence of Graumann himself and one or two witnesses. For I
wish Graumann, who is innocent, to be able to prove his in-
nocence.
You will know by this time that I have determined to end my
life by my own hand. Forgive me, beloved. I cannot live on
without you-without the honour of which I was robbed so un-
justly.
God bless you.
One who will love you even beyond the grave,
John.
Remember your promise. It was given to the dead.
“Oh, what does it all mean?” asked Eleonora,
dropping the letter in her lap.
“ It is as I thought,” replied Muller. “John Sid-
ers took his own life, but made every arrangement
to have suspicion fall upon Graumann."
“But why? oh, why?”
“It was a terrible revenge. But perhaps-per-
haps it was just retribution. Graumann would not
understand that Siders could have been suspected of,
and imprisoned for, a theft he had not committed.
He must know now that it is quite possible for a man
to be in danger of sentence of death even, for a
crime of which he is innocent."
“Oh, my God! It is terrible.” The girl's head
fell across her folded arms on the table. Deep shud-
dering sobs shook her frame.
Muller waited quietly until the first shock had
passed. Finally her sobs died away and she raised
her head again. “What am I to do?" she asked.
“You must open this letter to-morrow in the pres-
ence of the Police Commissioner and Graumann.”
“But this promise? This promise that he asks of
me—that I should wait until the trial?”
“You have not given this promise. Would you
take it upon yourself to endanger your guardian's
life still more? Every further day spent in his
prison, in this anxiety, might be fatal.”.


176 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“But this promise? The promise demanded of
me by the man to whom I had given my love? Is
it not my duty to keep it?”
Muller rose from his chair. His slight figure
seemed to grow taller, and the gentleness in his voice
gave way to a commanding tone of firm decision.
“Our duty is to the living, not to the dead. The
dead have no right to drag down others after them.
Believe me, Miss Roemer, the purpose that was in
your betrothed's mind when he ended his own life,
has been fulfilled. Albert Graumann knows now.
what are the feelings of a man who bears the prison
stigma unjustly. He will never again judge his fel-
low-men as harshly as he has done until now. His
soul has been purged in these terrible days; have you
the right to endanger his life needlessly?”
“Oh, I do not know! I do not know what to do."
"I have no choice," said Muller firmly. “It is my
duty to make known the fact to the Police Commis-
sioner that there is such a letter in existence. The
Police Commissioner will then have to follow his
duty in demanding the letter from you. Mr. Pern-
burg, Sider's friend, saw this argument at once. Al-
though he also had a letter from the dead man, ask-
ing him to send the enclosure to you, registered, on a
certain date, he knew that it was his duty to give all
the papers to the authorities. Would it not be better,
for you to give them up of your own free will?” Mul-
ler took a step nearer the girl and whispered: “And
would it not be a noble revenge on your part? You
would be indeed returning good for evil.”
Eleonora clasped her hands and her lips moved as
if in silent prayer. Then she rose slowly and held
out the letters to Muller. “Do what you will with
them,” she said. “My strength is at an end.”
The next day, in the presence of Police Commis-


THE REGISTERED LETTER
179
Graumann and I will be alone, therefore, with no reliable wit-
nesses near. I will keep him there for a little while with com-
monplace conversation, for I have nothing to say to him. If he
moves near the desk I will upset the inkbottle. The spots on
his clothes will be another evidence against him. I will en-
deavour to get him to keep my jewelry which is, as you know,
of considerable value. I will tell him that I am going away
for a while and ask him to take charge of it for me. I, my-
self, will take him down to the door and let him out, when I
have satisfied myself that the old servant is in bed or at least
at the back of the house. The revolver which shall end my
misery is Graumann's property. I took it from its place with-
out his knowledge.
The 10,000 gulden which I told my landlady were still in
the house, and which would therefore be thought missing after
my death, I have deposited in a bank in Frankfort in your
name. Here is the certificate of deposit.
I will endeavour not to hold the revolver sufficiently close to
have the powder burn my clothes. And I will exert every ef-
fort of mind and body to throw it far from me after I have
fired the fatal shot. I think that I will be able to do this, for I
am a very good shot and I have no fear of death. One thing
more I will do, to turn aside all suspicion of suicide. I will
write a letter to some person who does not exist, a letter which
will make it appear as if I were in excellent humour and plan-
ning for the future,
And now, good-bye to life. People have called me eccentric,
they may be right. This last deed of mine, at least, is out of
the ordinary. No one will say now that I ended my life in
a moment of darkened mind, in a rush of despair. My brain
is perfectly clear, my heart beats calmly, now that I have ar-
ranged everything for my departure from this world of false-
hood and unreality. My last deed shall go to prove to the
world how little actual, apparent facts can be trusted.
The one thing real, the one thing true in all this world of
falsehood was your love and your trust. I thank you for it.
THEODOR BELLMANN,
known as
JOHN SIDERS.
Joseph Muller refuses to take any particular credit
for this case. The letter would have come in time to
prevent Graumann's conviction without his assist-
ance, he says. The only person whose gratitude he has
a right to is Prosecuting Attorney Gustav Schmidt.
He managed to have the Police Commissioner in G-
read the letter in detail to the attorney. But Muller


180 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
himself knows that it failed of its effect, so far as
that dignitary was concerned. For nothing but open
ridicule could ever convince a man of such decided
opinions that he is not the one infallible person in the
world.
But Albert Graumann had learned his lesson. And
he told Muller himself that the few days of life which
might remain to him were a gift to him from the
detective. He felt that his weak heart would not
have stood the strain and the disgrace of an open
trial, even if that trial ended in acquittal. Two
months later he was found dead in his bed, a calm
smile on his lips.
Before he died he had learned that it was the un-
daunted courage of his timid little old aunt that had
brought Muller to take charge of the case and to
free her beloved nephew from the dreaded prison.
And the last days that these two passed together were
very happy.
But as aforesaid, Muller refuses to have this case
included in the list of his successes. He did not
change the ultimate result, he merely anticipated it,
he says.


THE CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY. FOUND
IN THE SNOW





CHAPTER I
THE DISCOVERY IN THE SNOW
A QUIET winter evening had sunk down upon the
great city. The clock in the old clumsy church stee-
ple of the factory district had not yet struck eight,
when the side door of one of the large buildings
opened and a man came out into the silent street.
It was Ludwig Amster, one of the working-men
in the factory, starting on his homeward way. It
was not a pleasant road, this street along the edge of
the city. The town showed itself from its most dis-
agreeable side here, with malodorous factories, rick-
ety tenements, untidy open stretches and dumping
grounds offensive both to eye and nostril.
Even by day the street that Amster took was empty;
by night it was absolutely quiet and dark, as dark as
were the thoughts of the solitary man. He walked
along, brooding over his troubles. Scarcely an hour
before he had been discharged from the factory be-
cause of his refusal to submit to the injustice of his
foreman.
The yellow light of the few lanterns show nothing
but high board walls and snow drifts, stone heaps,
and now and then the remains of a neglected garden.
Here and there a stunted tree or a wild shrub bent
their twigs under the white burden which the winter
had laid upon them. Ludwig Amster, who had walked
this street for several years, knew his path so well
that he could take it blindfolded. The darkness did
not worry him, but he walked somewhat more slowly
183


184
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
than usual, for he knew that under the thin cover-
ing of fresh-fallen snow there lay the ice of the night
before. He walked carefully, watching for the slip-
pery places.
He had been walking about half an hour, perhaps,
when he came to a cross street. Here he noticed the
tracks of a wagon, the trace still quite fresh, as the
slowly falling flakes did not yet cover it. The tracks
led out towards the north, out on to the hilly, open
fields.
Amster was somewhat astonished. It was very sel-
dom that a carriage came into this neighbourhood, and
yet these narrow wheel-tracks could have been made
only by an equipage of that character. The heavy
trucks which passed these roads occasionally had much
wider wheels. But Amster was to find still more to
astonish him.
In one corner near the cross-roads stood a solitary
lamp-post. The light of the lamp fell sharply on the
snow, on the wagon tracks, and on something else
besides.
Amster halted, bent down to look at it, and shook
his head as if in doubt.
A number of small pieces of glass gleamed up at
him and between them, like tiny roses, red drops of
blood shone on the white snow. All this was a few.
steps to one side of the wagon tracks.
“What can have happened here~here in this weird
spot, where a cry for help would never be heard?
where there would be no one to bring help?"
So Amster asked himself, but his discovery gave
him no answer. His curiosity was aroused, how-
ever, and he wished to know more. He followed up
the tracks and saw that the drops of blood led fur-
ther on, although there was no more glass. The
drops could still be seen for a yard further, reaching
out almost to the board fence that edged the side-


188
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
besides, the skin on a man's thumb does not show
the fine markings that you can see here on these bits
of bread that have been used for seals."
The commissioner rose from his seat. “You may
be right, Muller. We will take for granted, then,
that there is a woman in trouble. It remains to be
seen whether she is insane or not.”
“Yes, that remains to be seen,” said Muller dryly,
as he reached for his overcoat.
“You are going before you read what is in the
notebook ?” asked Commissioner von Mayringen.
Muller nodded. “I want to see the wagon tracks
before they are lost; it may help me to discover
something else. You can read the book and make
any arrangements you find necessary after that.”.
Muller was already wrapped in his overcoat. “Is
it snowing now?” He turned to Amster.
“Some flakes were falling as I came here."
“ All right. Come with me and show me the way."
Muller nodded carelessly to his superior officer, his
mind evidently already engrossed in thoughts of the
interesting case, and hurried out with Amster. The
commissioner was quite satisfied with the state of
affairs. He knew the case was in safe hands. He
seated himself at his desk again and began to read
the little book which had come into his hands so
strangely. His eyes ran more and more rapidly over
the closely written pages, as his interest grew and
grew.
When, half an hour later, he had finished the read-
ing, he paced restlessly up and down the room, try-
ing to bring order into the thoughts that rushed
through his brain. And one thought came again and
again, and would not be denied in spite of many im-
probabilities, and many strange things with which the
book was full; in spite, also, of the varying, uncertain


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 189
handwriting and style of the message. This one
thought was, “This woman is not insane."
While the young official was pondering over the
problem, Muller entered as quietly as ever, bowed,
put his hat and cane in their places, and shook the
snow off his clothing. He was evidently pleased
about something. Kurt von Mayringen did not no-
tice his entrance. He was again at the desk with the
open book before him, staring at the mysterious
words, “How I was murdered.”
“ It is a woman, a lady of position. And if she is
mad, then her madness certainly has method." Mul-
ler said these words in his usual quiet way, almost
indifferently. The young commissioner started up
and snatched for the fine white handkerchief which
the detective handed him. A strong sweet perfume
filled the room. “It is hers? ” he murmured.
“It is hers," said Muller. " At least we can take
that much for granted, for the handkerchief bears
the same monogram, A. L., which is on the note-
book."
Commissioner von Mayringen rose from his chair
in evident excitement. “Well?” he asked.
It was a short question, but full of meaning, and
one could see that he was waiting in great excitement
for the answer. Muller reported what he had dis-
covered. The commissioner thought it little enough,
and shrugged his shoulders impatiently when the
other had finished.
Muller noticed his chief's dissatisfaction and smiled
at it. He himself was quite content with what he
had found.
“Is that all?” murmured the commissioner, as if
disappointed.
“That is all,” repeated the detective calmly, and
added, “That is a good deal. We have here a closely


190
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
written notebook, the contents of which, judging by
your excitement, are evidently important. We have
also a handkerchief with an unusual perfume on it.
I repeat that this is quite considerable. Besides this,
we have the seals, and we know several other things.
I believe that we can save this lady, of if it be too
late, we can avenge her at least.”
The commissioner looked at Muller in surprise.
“We are in a city of more than a million inhabi-
tants," he said, almost timidly.
“I have hunted criminals in two hemispheres, and
I have found them,” said Muller simply. The young
commissioner smiled and held out his hand. "Ah,
yes, Muller-I keep forgetting the great things you
have done. You are so quiet about it.”
“What I have done is only what any one could do
who has that particular faculty. I do only what is
in human power to do, and the cleverest criminal
can do no more. Besides which, we all know that
every criminal commits some stupidity, and leaves
some trace behind him. If it is really a crime which
we have found the trace of here, we will soon dis-
cover it.” Muller's editorial “we” was a matter.
of formality. He might with more truth have used
the singular pronoun.
“Very well, then, do what you can,” said the com-
missioner with a friendly smile.
The older man nodded, took the book and its wrap-
pings from the desk, and went into a small adjoin-
ing room.
The commissioner sent for an attendant and gave
him the order to fetch a pot of tea from a neighbour-
ing saloon. When the tray arrived, he placed several
good cigars upon it, and sent it in to Muller. Tak-
ing a cigar himself, the commissioner leaned back in
his sofa corner to think over this first interesting case
of his short professional experience. That it con-


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 191
cerned a lady in distress made it all the more ro-
mantic.
In his little room the detective, put in good humour
by the thoughtful attention of his chief, sat down to
read the book carefully. While he studied its con-
tents his mind went back over his search in the silent
street outside.
He and Amster had hurried out into the raw chill
of the night, reaching the spot of the first discovery
in about ten or fifteen minutes. Muller found noth-
ing new there. But he was able to discover in which
direction the carriage had been going. The hoof
marks of the single horse which had drawn it were
still plainly to be seen in the snow.
“Will you follow these tracks in the direction from
which they have come?” he asked of Amster. “Then
meet me at the station and report what you have
seen.”
“Very well, sir,” answered the workman. The
two men parted with a hand shake.
Before Muller started on to follow up the tracks
in the other direction, he took up one of the larger
pieces of glass. “Cheap glass," he said, looking at
it carefully. “ It was only a hired cab, therefore, and
a one-horse cab at that.”
He walked on slowly, following the marks of the
wheels. His eyes searched the road from side to
side, looking for any other signs that might have
been left by the hand which had thrown the package
out of the window. The snow, which had been fall-
ing softly thus far, began to come down in heavier
flakes, and Muller quickened his pace. The tracks
would soon be covered, but they could still be plainly
seen. They led out into the open country, but when
the first little hill had been climbed a drift heaped it-
self up, cutting off the trail completely.
Muller stood on the top of this knoll at a spot


192
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
where the street divided. Towards the right it led
down into a factory suburb; towards the left the
road led on to a residence colony, and straight ahead
the way was open, between fields, pastures and farms,
over moors, to another town of considerable size ly-
ing beside a river. Muller knew all this, but his
knowledge of the locality was of little avail, for all
traces of the carriage wheels were lost.
He followed each one of the streets for a little dis-
tance, but to no purpose. The wind blew the snow
up in such heaps that it was quite impossible to follow.
any trail under such conditions.
With an expression of impatience Muller gave up
his search and turned to go back again. He was
hoping that Amster might have had better luck. It
was not possible to find the goal towards which the
wagon had taken its prisoner-if prisoner she was-
as soon as they had hoped. Perhaps the search must
be made in the direction from which she had been
brought.
Muller turned back towards the city again. He
walked more quickly now, but his eyes took in every-
thing to the right and to the left of his path. Near
the place where the street divided a bush waved its
bare twigs in the wind. The snow which had settled
upon it early in the day had been blown away by the
freshening wind, and just as Muller neared the bush
he saw something white fluttering from one twig.
It was a handkerchief, which had probably hung
heavy and lifeless when he had passed that way be-
fore. Now when the wind held it out straight,
he saw it at once. He loosened it carefully from the
thorny twigs. A delicate and rather unusual perfume
wafted up to his face. There was more of the odour.
on the little cloth than is commonly used by people
of good taste. And yet this handkerchief was far too
fine and delicate in texture to belong to the sort of


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 193
people who habitually passed along this street. It
must have something to do with the mysterious
carriage. It was still quite dry, and in spite of the
fact that the wind had been playing with it, it had been
but slightly torn. It could therefore have been in
that position for a short time only. At the nearest
lantern Muller saw that the monogram on the hand-
kerchief was the same in style and initials as that on
the notebook. It was the letters A. L.
CHAPTER II
THE STORY OF THE NOTEBOOK
It was warm and comfortable in the little room where
Muller sat. He closed the windows, lit the gas, took off
his overcoat-Muller was a pedantically careful per-
son-smoothed his hair and sat down comfortably at
the table. Just as he took up the little book, the at-
tendant brought the tea, which he proceeded at once
to enjoy. He did not take up his little book again
until he had lit himself a cigar. He looked at the
cover of the dainty little notebook for many minutes
before he opened it. It was a couple of inches long,
of the usual form, and had a cover of brown leather.
In the left upper corner were the letters A. L. in
gold. The leaves of the book, about fifty in all, were
of a fine quality of paper and covered with close
writing. On the first leaves the writing was fine and
delicate, calm and orderly, but later on it was irreg-
ular and uncertain, as if penned by a trembling hand
under stress of terror. This change came in the
leaves of the book which followed the strange and
terrible title, “How I was murdered.”
Before Muller began to read he felt the covers of


194 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
the book carefully. In one of them there was a tiny
pocket, in which he found a little piece of wall paper
of a noticeable and distinctly ugly pattern. The pa-
per had a dark blue ground with clumsy lines of gold
on it. In the pocket he found also a tramway ticket,
which had been crushed and then carefully smoothed
out again. After looking at these papers, Muller re-
placed them in the cover of the notebook. The book
itself was strongly perfumed with the same odour
which had exhaled from the handkerchief.
The detective did not begin his reading in that part
of the book which followed the mysterious title, as
the commissioner had done. He began instead at the
very first words.
“Ah! she is still young," he murmured, when he
had read the first lines. “Young, in easy circum-
stances, happy and contented.”
These first pages told of pleasure trips, of visits
from and to good friends, of many little events of
every-day life. Then came some accounts, written in
pencil, of shopping expeditions to the city. Costly
laces and jewels had been bought, and linen garments
for children by the dozen. “She is rich, generous,
and charitable,” thought the detective, for the book
showed that the considerable sums which had been
spent here had not been for the writer herself. The
laces bore the mark, “For our church”; behind the
account for the linen stood the words, “ For the char-
ity school.”
Muller began to feel a strong sympathy for the
writer of these notices. She showed an orderly, al-
most pedantic, character, mingled with generosity of
heart. He turned leaf after leaf until he finally came
to the words, written in intentionally heavy letters,
“How I was murdered.”
Muller's head sank down lower over these myste-
rious words, and his eyes flew through the writing


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY
195
that followed. It was quite a different writing here.
The hand that penned these words must have trem-
bled in deadly terror. Was it terror of coming death,
foreseen and not to be escaped ? or was it the trem-
bling and the terror of an overthrown brain? It was
undoubtedly, in spite of the difference, the same hand
that had penned the first pages of the book. A few
characteristic turns of the writing were plainly to be
seen in both parts of the story. But the ink was
quite different also. The first pages had been written
with a delicate violet ink, the later leaves were penned
with a black ink of uneven quality, of the kind used
by poor people who write very seldom. The words
of this later portion of the book were blurred in many
places, as if the writer had not been able to dry them
properly before she turned the leaves. She there-
fore had had neither blotting paper nor sand at her
disposal.
And then the weird title!
Was it written at the dictation of insanity? or did
A. L. know, while she wrote it, that it was too late
for any help to reach her? Did she see her doom ap-
proaching so clearly that she knew there was no
escape ? :
Muller breathed a deep breath before he continued
his reading. Later on his breath came more quickly
still, and he clinched his fist several times, as if deeply
moved. He was not a cold man, only thoroughly
self-controlled. In his 'breast there lived an un-
quenchable hatred of all evil. It was this that awak-
ened the talents which made him the celebrated de-
tective he had become
“I fear that it will be impossible for any one to
save me now, but perhaps I may be avenged. There-
fore I will write down here all that has happened to
me since I set out on my journey.” These were the
first words that were written under the mysterious


196
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
title. Muller had just read them when the commis-
sioner entered.
“Will you speak to Amster; he has just re-
turned?” he asked.
Muller rose at once. “Certainly. Did you tele-
graph to all the railway stations?”
“Yes," answered the commissioner, “and also to
the other police stations."
“And to the hospitals? And to the various insane
asylums?”
“No, I did not do that." Commissioner von May-
ringen blushed, a blush that was as becoming to him
as was his frank acknowledgement of his mistake.
He went out to remedy it at once, while Muller heard
Amster's short and not particularly important report.
The workingman was evidently shivering, and the
detective handed him a glass of tea with a good por-
tion of rum in it.
“Here, drink this; you are cold. Are you ill?”
Amster smiled sadly. “No, I am not ill, but I
was discharged to-day and am out of work now-
that's almost as bad.”
“ Are you married?”.
“No, but I have an old mother to support."
“Leave your address with the commissioner. He
may be able to find work for you; we can always use
good men here. But now drink your tea.” Amster
drank the glass in one gulp. “Well, now we have
lost the trail in both directions,” said Muller calmly.
“But we will find it again. You can help, as you are
free now anyway. If you have the talent for that
sort of thing, you may find permanent work here."
A gesture and a look from the workingman showed
the detective that the former did not think very highly
of such occupation. Muller laid his hand on the other's
shoulder and said gravely: “You wouldn't care to
take service with us? This sort of thing doesn't rate


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 197
very high, I know. But I tell you that if we have
our hearts in the right place, and our brains are
worth anything, we are of more good to humanity
than many an honest citizen who wouldn't shake
hands with us. There-and now I am busy. Good-
night."
With these words Muller pushed the astonished
man out of the room, shut the door, and sat down
again with his little book. This is what he read:
“ Wednesday—is it Wednesday? They brought
me a newspaper to-day which had the date of Wed-
nesday, the 20th of November. The ink still smells
fresh, but it is so damp here, the paper may have
been older. I do not know surely on what day it is
that I begin to write this narrative. I do not know
either whether I may not have been ill for days and
weeks; I do not know what may have been the mat-
ter with me I know only that I was unconscious,
and that when I came to myself again, I was here in
this gloomy room. Did any physician see me? I
have seen no one until to-day except the old woman,
whose name I do not know and who has so little to
say. She is kind to me otherwise, but I am afraid
of her hard face and of the smile with which she an-
swers all my questions and entreaties. “You are
ill.” These are the only words that she has ever said
to me, and she pointed to her forehead as she spoke
them. She thinks I am insane, therefore, or pre-
tends to think so.
“ What a hoarse voice she has. She must be ill her-
self, for she coughs all night long. I can hear it
through the wall—she sleeps in the next room. But
I am not ill, that is I am not ill in the way she says.
I have no fever now, my pulse is calm and regular.
I can remember everything, until I took that drink
of tea in the railway station. What could there have
been in that tea? I suppose I should have noticed
tend what a ho acoughs alkeeps in


198 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
how anxious my travelling companion was to have
me drink it.
“Who could the man have been? He was so polite,
so fatherly in his anxiety about me. I have not seen
him since then. And yet I feel that it is he who has
brought me into this trap, a trap from which I may
never escape alive. I will describe him. He is very
tall, stout and blond, and wears a long heavy beard,
which is slightly mixed with grey. On his right
cheek his beard only partly hides a long scar. His
eyes are hidden by large smoked glasses. His voice
is low and gentle, his manners most correct-except
for his giving people poison or whatever else it was
in that tea.
"I did not suffer any—at least I do not remember
anything except becoming unconscious. And I seem
to have felt a pain like an iron ring around my head.
But I am not insane, and this fear that I feel does not
spring from my imagination, but from the real dan-
ger by which I am surrounded. I am very hungry,
but I do not dare to eat anything except eggs, which
cannot be tampered with. I tasted some soup yester-
day, and it seemed to me that it had a queer taste.
I will eat nothing that is at all suspicious. I will be
in my full senses when my murderers come; they
shall not kill me by poison at least.
“When I came to my senses again-it was the even-
ing of the day before yesterday-I found a letter on
the little table beside my bed. It was written in
French, in a handwriting that I had never seen be-
fore, and there was no signature.
“This strange letter demanded of me that I should
write to my guardian, calmly and clearly, to say that
for reasons which I did not intend to reveal, I had
taken my own life. If I did this my present place of
sojourn would be exchanged for a far more agree-
able one, and I would soon be quite free. But if I


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 199
did not do it, I would actually be put to death. A
pen, ink and paper were ready there for the answer.
“Never,' I wrote. And then despair came over
me, and I may have indeed appeared insane. The old
woman came in. I entreated and implored her to
tell me why this dreadful fate should have overtaken
me. She remained quite indifferent and I sank back,
almost fainting, on the bed. She laid a moist cloth
over my face, a cloth that had a peculiar odour. I
soon fell asleep. It seemed to me that there was
some one else besides the woman in the room with
me. Or was she talking to herself? Next morning
the letter and my answer had disappeared.
“It was as I thought; there was some one else in my
room. Some one who had come on the tramway. I
found the ticket on the carpet beside my bed. I took
it and put it in my notebook-
“I believe that it is Sunday to-day. It is four days
now since I have been conscious. The first sound
that I remember hearing was the blast of a horn. It
must come from a factory very near me. The old
windows in my room rattle at the sound. I hear it
mornings and evenings and at noon, on week days.
I did not hear it to-day, so it must be Sunday. It
was Monday, the 18th of November, that I set out
on my trip, and reached here in the evening (here?
I do not know where I am), that is, I set out for
Vienna, and I know that I reached the Northern Rail-
way station there in safety.
"I was cold and felt a little faint-and then he of-
fered me the tea—and what happened after that?
Where am I? The paper that they gave me may
have been a day or two old or more. And to-day is
Sunday-is it the first Sunday since my departure
from home? I do not know. I know only this, that
I set out on the 18th of November to visit my kind
old guardian, and to have a last consultation with


200
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
him before my coming of age. And I know also that
I have fallen into the hands of some one who has an
interest in my disappearance.
“There is some one in the next room with the old
woman. I hear a man's voice and they are quar-
relling. They are talking of me. He wants her to
do something which she will not do. He commands
her to go away, but she refuses. What does he mean
to do? I do not want her to leave me alone. I do
not hate her any more; I know that she is not bad.
When I listened I heard her speaking of me as of an
insane person. She really believes that I am ill.
When the man went away he must have been angry.
He stamped down the stairs until the steps creaked
under his tread. I know it is a wooden staircase
therefore.
“I am safe from him to-day, but I am really ill of
fright. Am I really insane? There is one thing that
I have forgotten to write down. When I first came
to myself I found a bit of paper beside me on which
was written, ‘Beware of calling in help from out-
side. One scream will mean death to you.' It was
written in French like the letter. Why? Was it be-
cause the old woman could not read it? She knew
of the piece of paper, for she took it away from me.
It frightens me that I should have forgotten to write
this down. Am I really ill? If I am not yet ill, this
terrible solitude will make me so.
“What a gloomy room this is, this prison of mine.
And such a strange ugly wall-paper. I tore off a
tiny bit of it and hid it in this little book. Some one
may find it some day and may discover from it this
place where I am suffering, and where I shall die,
perhaps. There cannot be many who would buy such
a pattern, and it must be possible to find the factory
where it was made. And I will also write down here
what I can see from my barred window. Far down


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 201
below me there is a rusty tin roof, it looks like as if
it might belong to a sort of shed. In front and to
the right there are windowless walls; to the left, at
a little distance, I can see a slender church spire,
greenish in colour, probably covered with copper, and
before the church there are two poplar trees of dif-
At heights.urch thereably coverender chuhe left, at
This I really day has
"Another day has passed, a day of torturing fear!
Am I really insane? I know that I see queer things.
This morning I looked towards the window and I saw
a parrot sitting there! I saw it quite plainly. It
ruffled up its red and green feathers and stared at me.
I stared back at it and suddenly it was gone. I shiv-
ered. Finally I pulled myself together and went to
the window. There was no bird outside nor was there
a trace of any in the snow on the window sill. Could
the wind have blown away the tracks so soon, or was
it really my sick brain that appeared to see this trop-
ical bird in the midst of the snow? It is Tuesday
to-day; from now on I will carefully count the days—
the days that still remain to me.
“ This morning I asked the old woman about the
parrot. She only smiled and her smile made me ter-
ribly afraid. The thought that this thing which is
happening to me, this thing that I took to be a crime,
may be only a necessity—the thought fills me with
horror! Am I in a prison? or is this the cell of an in-
sane asylum? Am I the victim of a villain? or am I
really mad? My pulse is quickening, but my memory
is quite clear; I can look back over every incident in
my life.
" She has just taken away my food. I asked her
to bring me only eggs as I was afraid of everything
else. She promised that she would do it.
“Are they looking for me? My guardian is Theo-
dore Fellner, Cathedral Lane, 14. My own name is
Asta Langen.


202
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
my room. The strange He spoke to but I could
“They took away my travelling bag, but they did
not find this little book and the tiny bottle of perfume
which I had in the pocket of my dress. And I found
this old pen and a little ink in a drawer of the writing
table in my room.
“Wednesday. The stranger was here again to-day.
I recognised his soft voice. He spoke to the woman
in the hall outside my room. I listened, but I could
catch only a few words. “To-morrow evening-I
will come myself—no responsibility for you. Were
these words meant for me? Are they going to take
me away? Where will they take me? Then they do
not dare to kill me here? My head is burning hot. I
have not dared to drink a drop of liquid for four
days. I dare not take anything into which they might
have put some drug or some poison.
“Who could have such an interest in my death? It
cannot be because of the fortune which is to be mine
when I come of age; for if I die, my father has willed
it to various charitable institutions. I have no rela-
tives, at least none who could inherit my money. I
had never harmed any one; who can wish for my
death?
“There is somebody with her, somebody was listen-
ing at the door. I have a feeling as if I was being
watched. And yet-I examined the door, but there
is no crack anywhere and the key is in the lock,
Still I seem to feel a burning glance resting on me.
Ah! the parrot! is this another delusion? Oh God,
let it end soon! I am not yet quite insane, but all
these unknown dangers around me will drive me mad.
I must fight against them.
“ Thursday. They brought me back my travelling
bag. My attendant is uneasy. She was longer in
cleaning up the room than usual to-day. She seemed
to want to say something to me, and yet she did not
dare to speak. Is something to happen to-day then?


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 203
I did not close my eyes all night. Can one be made
insane from a distance ? hypnotised into it, as it
were? I will not allow fear alone to make me mad.
My enemy shall not find it too easy. He may kill my
body, but that is all — ”
These were the last words which Asta Langen had
written in her notebook, the little book which was
the only confidant of her terrible need. When the
detective had finished reading it, he closed his eyes for
a few minutes to let the impression made by the
story sink into his mind.
Then he rose and put on his overcoat. He entered
the commissioner's room and took up his hat and
cane.
“Where are you going, Muller?" asked Herr Von
Mayringen.
“To Cathedral Lane, if you will permit it.”
“At this hour? it is quarter past eleven! Is there
any such hurry, do you think? There is no train
from any of our stations until morning. And I have
already sent a policeman to watch the house. Be-
sides, I know that Fellner is a highly respected man.”
“There is many a man who is highly respected
until he is found out,” remarked the detective.
“And you are going to find out about Fellner?”
smiled the commissioner. “And this evening,
too?”
“ This very evening. If he is asleep I shall wake
him up. That is the best time to get at the truth
about a man.”
The commissioner sat down at his desk and wrote
out the necessary credentials for the detective. A
few moments later Muller was in the street. He left
the notebook with the commissioner. It was snow-
ing heavily, and an icy north wind was howling
through the streets. Muller turned up the collar of


204
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
his coat and walked on quickly. It was just striking
a quarter to twelve when he reached Cathedral Lane.
As he walked slowly along the moonlit side of the
pavement, a man stepped out of the shadow to meet
ñim. It was the policeman who had been sent to
watch the house. Like Muller, he wore plain
clothes.
“Well?” the latter asked.
“Nothing new. Mr. Fellner has been ill in bed
several days, quite seriously ill, they tell me. The
janitor seems very fond of him.
“ Hm-we'll see what sort of a man he is. You can
go back to the station now, you must be nearly frozen
standing here."
Muller looked carefully at the house which bore
the number 14. It was a handsome, old-fashioned
building, a true patrician mansion which looked
worthy of all confidence. But Muller knew that the
outside of a house has very little to do with the hon-
esty of the people who live in it. He rang the bell
carefully, as he wished no one but the janitor to hear
him.
The latter did not seem at all surprised to find a
stranger asking for the owner of the house at so
late an hour. “You come with a telegram, I suppose ?
Come right up stairs then, I have orders to let you
in.”
These were the words with which the old janitor
greeted Muller. The detective could see from this
that Mr. Theodore Fellner's conscience must be per-
fectly clear. The expected telegram probably had
something to do with the non-appearance of Asta
Langen, of whose terrible fate her guardian evidently
as yet knew nothing. The janitor knocked on one of
the doors, which was opened in a few moments by.
an old woman.
“Is it the telegram?” she asked sleepily.


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 205
old ma little at led the ja
“Yes” said the janitor.
“No,” said Muller, “but I want to speak to Mr.
Fellner.”
The two old people stared at him in surprise.
“To speak to him?” said the woman, and shook
her head as if in doubt. “Is it about Miss Langen?”
“ Yes, please wake him up."
“But he is ill, and the doctor-
“Please wake him up. I will take the responsi-
bility.”
“But who are you?” asked the janitor.
Muller smiled a little at this belated caution on the
part of the old man, and answered. “I will tell Mr.
Fellner who I am. But please announce me at once.
It concerns the young lady." His expression was so
grave that the woman waited no longer, but let him
in and then disappeared through another door. The
janitor stood and looked at Muller with half distrust-
ful, half anxious glances.
“It's no good news you bring,” he said after a few
minutes.
“You may be right.”
“Has anything happened to our dear young lady ? '
“ Then you know Miss Asta Langen and her fam-
ily?”
“Why, of course. I was in service on the estate
when all the dreadful things happened.”
“What things?”
“Why the divorce—and—but you are a stranger
and I shouldn't talk about these family affairs to you.
You had better tell me what has happened to our
young lady.”
“I must tell that to your master first."
The woman came back at this moment and said to
Muller, “Come with me, please. Berner, you are to
stay here until the gentleman goes out again.”
Muller followed her through several rooms into


206 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
a large bed-chamber where he found an elderly man,
very evidently ill, lying in bed.
“Who are you?” asked the sick man, raising his
head from the pillow. The woman had gone out
and closed the door behind her.
“My name is Muller, police detective. Here are
my credentials.”
Fellner glanced hastily at the paper. “Why does
the police send to me?”
“ It concerns your ward.”
Fellner sat upright in bed now. He leaned over
towards his visitor as he said, pointing to a letter on
the table beside his bed, “ Asta's overseer writes me
from her estate that she left home on the 18th of
November to visit me. She should have reached here
on the evening of the 18th, and she has not arrived
yet. I did not receive this letter until to-day.”
“Did you expect the young lady?”
“I knew only that she would arrive sometime be-
fore the third of December. That date is her twenty-
fourth birthday and she was to celebrate it here."
“Did she not usually announce her coming to
you?”
"No, she liked to surprise me. Three days ago
I sent her a telegram asking her to bring certain neces-
sary papers with her. This brought the answer
from the overseer of her estate, an answer which has
caused me great anxiety. Your coming makes it
worse, for I fear- ” The sick man broke off and
turned his eyes on Muller, eyes so full of fear and
grief that the detective's heart grew soft. He felt
Fellner's icy hand on his as the sick man murmured:
“Tell me the truth! Is Asta dead?”
The detective shrugged his shoulders. “We do
not know yet. She was alive and able to send a mes-
sage at half past eight this evening.”
“ A message? To whom?"


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 207
“To the nearest police station.” Muller told the
story as it had come to him.
The old man listened with an expression of such
utter dazed terror that the detective dropped all sus-
picion of him at once.
“What a terrible riddle,” stammered the sick man
as the other finished the story.
“Would you answer me several questions?” asked
Muller. The old gentleman answered quickly, “Any
one, every one.”
“Miss Langen is rich ?”
“She has a fortune of over three hundred thousand
guldens, and considerable land.”
“Has she any relatives?”
“No,” replied Fellner harshly. But a thought
must have flashed through his brain for he started
suddenly and murmured, “Yes, she has one relative,
a step-brother.”
The detective gave an exclamation of surprise.
“Why are you astonished at this?” asked Fellner.
“ According to her notebook, the young lady does
not seem to know of this step-brother.”
“She does not know, sir. There was an ugly scan-
dal in her family before her birth. Her father turned
his first wife and their son out of his house on one
and the same day. He had discovered that she was de-
ceiving him, and also that her son, who was studying
medicine at the time, had stolen money from his safe.
What he had discovered about his wife made Lan-
gen doubt whether the boy was his son at all. There
was a terrible scene, and the two disappeared from
their home forever. The woman died soon after.
The young man went to Australia. He has never
been heard of since and has probably come to no
step-broere was father to
good.”
“Might he not possibly be here in Europe again,
watching for an opportunity to make a fortune?”


208
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
picture. Taleed
Fellner's hand grasped that of his visitor. The
eyes of the two men gazed steadily at each other.
The old man's glance was full of sudden helpless
horror, the detective's eyes shone brilliantly. Mul-
ler spoke calmly: “This is one clue. Is there no
one else who could have an interest in the young
lady's death?"
“No one but Egon Langen, if he bear this name
by right, and if he is still alive."
“How old would he be now?”
“He must be nearly forty. It was many years
before Langen married again.”
“Do you know him personally ? ”.
"No."
“Have you a picture of Miss Langen?”
Fellner rang a bell and Berner appeared. “Give
this gentleman Miss Asta's picture. Take the one in
the silver frame on my desk"; the old gentleman's
voice was friendly but faint with fatigue. His old
servant looked at him in deep anxiety. Fellner
smiled weakly and nodded to the man. “Sad news,
Berner! Sad news and bad news. Our poor Asta is
being held a prisoner by some unknown villain who
threatens her with death."
“My God, is it possible? Can't we help the poor
young lady?”
“We will try to help her, or if it is—too late,
we will at least avenge her. My entire fortune shall
be given up for it. But bring her picture now.”
Berner brought the picture of a very pretty girl
with a bright intelligent face. Muller took the pic-
ture out of the frame and put it in his pocket.
“You will come again ? soon? And remember, I
will give ten thousand guldens to the man who saves
Asta, or avenges her. Tell the police to spare no
expense-I will go to headquarters myself to-morrow.”
Fellner was a little surprised that Muller, although
voice was frame on my


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 209
he had already taken up his hat, did not go. The
sick man had seen the light flash up in the eyes of
the other as he named the sum. He thought he un-
derstood this excitement, but it touched him unpleas-
antly and he sank back, almost frightened, in his
cushions as the detective bent over him with the
words “Good. Do not forget your promise, for I
will save Miss Langen or avenge her. But I do not
want the money for myself. It is to go to those who
have been unjustly convicted and thus ruined for
life. It may give the one or the other of them a bet-
ter chance for the future.”
“And you? what good do you get from that?”
asked the old gentleman, astonished. A soft smile
illumined the detective's plain features and he an-
swered gently, “I know then that there will be some
poor fellow who will have an easier time of it than
I have had.”
He nodded to Fellner, who had already grasped
his hand and pressed it hard. A tear ran down his
grey beard, and long after Muller had gone the old
gentleman lay pondering over his last words.
Berner led the visitor to the door. As he was
opening it, Muller asked: “Has Egon Langen a bad
scar on his right cheek?”
Berner's eyes looked his astonishment. How did
the stranger know this? And how did he come to
mention this forgotten name.
“Yes, he has, but how did you know it?” he mur-
mured in surprise. He received no answer, for Mul-
ler was already walking quickly down the street. The
old man stared after him for some few minutes,
then suddenly his knees began to tremble. He closed
the door with difficulty, and sank down on a bench
beside it. The wind had blown out the light of his
lantern; Berner was sitting in the dark without know-
ing it, for a sudden terrible light had burst upon his


210
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
soul, burst upon it so sharply that he hid his eyes
with his hands, and his old lips murmured, “Hor-
rible! Horrible! The brother against the sister."
The next morning was clear and bright. Muller
was up early, for he had taken but a few hours sleep
in one of the rooms of the station, before he set out
into the cold winter morning. At the next corner
he found Amster waiting for him. “What are you
doing here?” he asked in astonishment.
“ I have been thinking over what you said to me
yesterday. Your profession is as good and perhaps
better than many another.”
“And you come out here so early to tell me that?”
Amster smiled. “I have something else to say."
“Well?”
“The commissioner asked me yesterday if I knew
of a church in the city that had a slender spire with
a green top and two poplars in front of it."
Muller looked his interest.
"I thought it might possibly be the Convent Church
of the Grey Sisters, but I wasn't quite sure, so I
went there an hour ago. It's all right, just as I
thought. And I suppose it has something to do with
the case of last night, so I thought I had better report
at once. I was on my way to the station.”
“That will do very well. You have saved us much
time and you have shown that you are eminently
fitted for this business.”
“If you really will try me, then-
“ We'll see, You can begin on this. Come to
the church with me now.” Muller was no talker,
particularly not when, as now, his brain was busy on
a problem.
The two men walked on quickly. In about half
an hour they found themselves in a little square in
the middle of which stood an old church. In front
of the church, like giant sentinels, stood a pair of tall


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 2IT
211
of the worthy he gentlemen answer.
poplars. One of them looked sickly and was a good
deal shorter than its neighbour. Muller nodded as if
content.
“Is this the church the commissioner was talking
about?” queried Amster.
"It is,” was the answer. Muller walked on toward
a little house built up against the church, which was
evidently the dwelling of the sexton.
The detective introduced himself to this official,
who did not look over-intelligent, as a stranger in
the city who had been told that the view from the
tower of the church was particularly interesting. A
bright silver piece banished all distrust from the soul
of the worthy man. With great friendliness he in-
quired when the gentlemen would like to ascend the
tower. “At once," was the answer.
The sexton took a bunch of keys and told the
strangers to follow him. A few moments later Mul-
ler and his companion stood in the tiny belfry room
of the slender spire. The fat sexton, to his own
great satisfaction, had yielded to their request not to
undertake the steep ascent. The cloudless sky lay
crystal clear over the still sleeping city and the wide
spread snow-covered fields which lay close at hand,
beyond the church. On the one side were gardens
and the low rambling buildings of the convent, and
on the other were huddled high-piled dwellings of
poverty.
Muller looked out of each of the four windows in
turn. He spent some time at each window, but
evidently without discovering what he looked for,
for he shook his head in discontent. But when he
went once more to the opening in the East, into
which the sun was just beginning to pour its light,
something seemed to attract his attention. He called
Amster and pointed from the window. “Your eyes
are yo‘inger than mine, lend them to me. What do


214
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
ler, then she said hesitatingly: “The lady was insane
and has been taken to an asylum.”
“That is what the man told you. He is a crimi-
nal and the police are looking for him."
“ Come with me," murmured the woman. She
seemed to understand that further resistance was use-
less. She carefully locked the outside door. Amster
remained down stairs in the corridor, while Muller
followed the old woman up the stairs. The staircase
to the third story was made of wood. The house was
evidently very old, with low ceilings and many dark
corners.
The woman led Muller into the room in which she
had cared for the strange lady at the order of the
latter's “husband.” He had told her that it was only
until he could take the lady to an asylum. One
look at the wall paper, a glance out of the window,
and Muller knew that this was where Asta Langen
had been imprisoned. He sat down on a chair and
looked at the woman, who stood frightened before
him.
“Do you know where they have taken the lady?”
“No, sir.'
"Do you know the gentleman's name?”
“No, sir.”
“ You did not send the lady's name to the authori-
ties?” *
“No, sir."
“Were you not afraid you would get into
trouble?'
“The gentleman paid me well, and I did not think
that he meant anything bad, and-and- "
“And you did not think that it would be found
out? ” said Muller sternly.
* Any stranger taking rooms in a hotel or lodging house must
be registered with the police authorities by the proprietor of the
house within forty-eight hours of arrival.


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 215
“I took good care of the lady.”
“Yes, we know that.”
“Did she escape from her husband?"
“He was not her husband. But now tell me all
you know about these people; the more truthful you
are the better it will be for you."
The old woman was so frightened that she could
scarcely find strength to talk. When she finally got
control of herself again she began: “He came here
on the first of November and rented this room for
himself. But he was here only twice before he
brought the lady and left her alone here. She was
very ill when he brought her here—so ill that he had
to carry her upstairs. I wanted to go for a doctor,
but he said he was a doctor himself, and that he could
take care of his wife, who often had such attacks.
He gave me some medicine for her after I had put
her to bed. I gave her the drops, but it was a long
while before she came to herself again.
“ Then he told me that she had lost her mind, and
that she believed everybody was trying to harm
her. She was so bad that he was taking her to an
asylum. But he hadn't found quite the right place
yet, and wanted me to keep her here until he knew.
where he could take her. Once he left a revolver
here by mistake. But I hid it so the lady wouldn't
see it, and gave it to the gentleman the next time he
came. He was angry at that, though I couldn't see
why, and said I shouldn't have touched it."
The woman had told her story with much hesita-
tion, and stopped altogether at this point. She had
évidently suddenly realised that the lady was not in-
sane, but only in great despair, and that people
in such a state will often seek death, particularly
if any weapon is left conveniently within their
reach.
“What did this gentleman look like?” asked Mul-


216 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
ler, to start her talking again. She described her
tenant as very tall and stout with a long beard slightly
mixed with grey. She had never seen his eyes, for
he wore smoked glasses.
“Did you notice anything peculiar about his face?”
“No, nothing except that his beard was very heavy
and almost covered his face.”
“ Could you see his cheeks at all?”
“No, or else I didn't notice."
“Did he leave nothing that might enable us to find
him?”
“No, sir, nothing. Or yes, perhaps, but I don't
suppose that will be any good.”
“What was it? What do you mean?”.
“It gave him a good deal of trouble to get the
lady into the wagon, because she had fainted again.
He lost his glove in doing it. I have it down stairs in
my room, for I sleep down stairs again since the lady
has gone."
Muller had risen from his chair and walked over
to the old writing desk which stood beside one win-
dow. There were several sheets of ordinary brown
paper on it and a sharp pointed pencil and also some-
thing not usually found on writing desks, a piece of
bread from which some of the inside had been taken.
“Everything as I expected it” he said to himself.
“ The young lady made up the package in the last few
moments that she was left alone here."
'He turned again to the old woman and commanded
her to lead him down stairs. “What sort of a car-
riage was it in which they took the lady away?” he
asked as they went down.
“A closed coupé.”
“ Did you see the number?”
“No, sir. But the carriage was very shabby and
so was the driver.”
“ Was he an old man?”


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 217
“He was about forty years old, but he looked like
a man who drank. He had a light-coloured overcoat
on.”
“Good. Is this your room?"
“Yes, sir."
They werë now in the lower corridor, where they
found Amster walking up and down. The woman
opened the door of the little room, and took a glove
from a cupboard. Muller put it in his pocket and told
the woman not to leave the house for anything, as she
might be sent for to come to the police station at
any moment. Then he went out into the street with
Amster. When they were outside in the sunlight, he
looked at the glove. It was a remarkably small size,
made for a man with a slender, delicate hand, not at
all in accordance with the large stout body of the man
described by the landlady. Muller put his hand into
the glove and found something pushed up into the
middle finger. He took it out and found that it was
a crumpled tramway ticket.
“Look out for a shabby old closed coupé, with a
driver about forty years old who looks like a drunk-
ard and wears a light overcoat. If you find such
a cab, engage it and drive in it to the nearest police
station. Tell them there to hold the man until fur-
ther notice. If the cab is not free, at least take his
number. And one thing more, but you will know
that yourself,—the cab we are looking for will have
new glass in the right-hand window." Thus Muller
spoke to his companion as he put the glove into his
pocket and unfolded the tramway ticket. Amster
understood that they had found the starting point of
the drive of the night before.
"I will go to all coupé stands," he said eagerly.
“Yes, but we may be able to find it quicker than
that.” Muller took the little notebook, which he
was now carrying in his pocket, and took from it the
a cIoLook out fort, light rive ir
Thus Mulle
and unfoldson as he put


218 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
you will where on this can they heir
tramway ticket which was in the cover. He com-
pared it with the one he had just found. They were
both marked for the same hour of the day and for the
same ride.
“ Did the man use them?” asked Amster. The de-
tective nodded. “How can they help us?”
“Somewhere on this stretch of the street railroad
you will probably find the stand of the cab we are
looking for. The man who hired it evidently ar-
rived on the 6:30 train at the West Station—I have
reason to believe that he does not live here,-and then
took the street car to this corner. The last ticket is
marked for yesterday. In the car he probably made
his plans to hire a cab. So you had better stay along
the line of the car tracks. You will find me in room
seven, Police Headquarters, at noon to-day. The au-
thorities have already taken up the case. You may
have something to tell us then. Good luck to you."
• Muller hurried on, after he had taken a quick
breakfast in a little café. He went at once to head-
quarters, made his report there and then drove to
Fellner's house. The latter was awaiting him with
great impatience. There the detective gathered much
valuable information about the first marriage of Asta
Langen's long-dead father. It was old Berner who
could tell him the most about these long-vanished
days.
When he reached his office at headquarters again,
he found telegrams in great number awaiting him.
They were from all the hospitals and insane asylums
in the entire district. But in none of them had there
been a patient fitting the description of the vanished
girl. Neither the commissioner nor Muller was
surprised at this negative result. They were also not
surprised at all that the other branches of the police
department had been able to discover so little about
the disappearance of the young lady. They were


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 219
aware that they had to deal with a criminal of great
ability, who would be careful not to fall into the
usual slips made by his kind.
There was no news from the cab either, although
several detectives were out looking for it. It was
almost nightfall when Amster ran breathlessly into
room number seven. “I have him! he's waiting out-
side across the way!” This was Amster's report.
Muller threw on his coat hastily. “You didn't
pay him, did you? On a cold day like this the driv-
ers don't like to wait long in any one place.”
“No danger. I haven't money enough for that,"
replied Amster with a sad smile. Muller did not hear
him as he was already outside. But the commis-
sioner with whom he had been talking and to whom
Muller had already spoken of his voluntary assistant,
entered into a conversation with Amster, and said
to him finally: “I will take it upon myself to guaran-
tee your future, if you are ready to enter the secret
service under Muller's orders. If you wish to do
this you can stay right on now, for I think we will
need you in this case.”
Amster bowed in agreement. His life had been
troubled, his reputation darkened by no fault of his
own, and the work he was doing now had awakened
an interest and an ability that he did not know he
possessed. He was more than glad to accept the offer
made by the official.
· Muller was already across the street and had laid
his hand upon the door of the cab when the driver
turned to him and said crossly, “Some one else has
ordered me. But I am not going to wait in this cold,
get in if you want to.”
“ All right. Now tell me first where you drove to
last evening with the sick lady and her companion?”
The man looked astonished but found his tongue again
in a moment. “And who are you?” he asked calmly.


220
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
tion, man to drive imself got int had made
“We will tell you that upstairs in the police sta-
tion," answered Muller equally calmly, and ordered
the man to drive through the gateway into the inner
courtyard. He himself got into the wagon, and in the
course of the short drive he had made a discovery.
He had found a tiny glass stopper, such as is used
in perfume bottles. He could understand from this
why the odour of perfume which had now become
familiar to him was still so strong inside the old
cab. Also why it was so strong on the delicate
handkerchief. Asta Langen had taken the stopper
from the bottle in her pocket, so as to leave a trail
of odour behind her.
CHAPTER THREE
THE LONELY COTTAGE
FIFTEEN minutes after the driver had made his re-
port to Commissioner Von Mayringen, the latter
with Amster entered another cab. A well-armed po-
liceman mounted the box of this second vehicle.
“ Follow that cab ahead,” the commissioner told his
driver. The second cab followed the one-horse coupé
in which Muller was seated. They drove first to No.
14 Cathedral Lane, where Muller told Berner to come
with him. He found Mr. Fellner ready to go also,
and it was with great difficulty that he could dis-
suade the invalid, who was greatly fatigued by his
morning visit to the police station, from joining
them.
The carriages then drove off more quickly than bē-
fore. It was now quite dark, a gloomy stormy win-
ter evening. Muller had taken his place on the box
of his cab and sat peering out into the darkness. In
spite of the sharp wind and the ice that blew against


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 221
his face the detective could see that they were going
out from the more closely built up portions of the
city, and werë now in new streets with half-finished
houses. Soon they passed even these and were out-
side of the city. The way was lonely and dreary,
bordered by wooden fences on both sides. Muller
looked sharply to right and to left.
“ You should have become alarmed here,” he said
to the driver, pointing to one part of the fence.
“Why?" asked the man.
“Because this is where the window was broken."
“I didn't know that~until I got home.”
“H'm; you must have been nicely drunk.”
The driver murmured something in his beard.
“Stop here, this is your turn, down that street,"
Muller said a few moments later, as the driver turned
the other way.
“How do you know that?” asked the man, sur-
prised.
“None of your business."
* This street will take us there just the same.”
“Probably, but I prefer to go the way you went
yesterday.”
“Very well, it's all the same to me." They were
silent again, only the wind roared around them, and
It was now six o'clock. The snow threw out a
mild light which could not brighten the deep dark-
ness around them. About half an hour later the first
cab halted. “There's the house up there. Shall I
drive to the garden gate?”
“No, stop here.” Muller was already on the
ground. “Are there any dogs here?” he asked.
“I didn't hear any yesterday.”
“That's of no value. You didn't seem to hear
much of anything yesterday." Muller opened the
door of the cab and helped Berner out. The old


222
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
man was trembling. “That was a dreadful drive !"
he stammered.
“I hope you will be happier on the drive back,"
said the detective and added, “You stay here with the
commissioner now.”
The latter had already left his cab with his com-
panion. His sharp eyes glanced over the heavily
shaded garden and the little house in its midst. A
little light shone from two windows of the first story.
The men's eyes looked toward them, then the detec-
tive and Amster walked toward a high picket fence
which closed the garden on the side nearest its neigh-
bours. They shook the various pickets without much
caution, for the wind made noise enough to kill any
other sound. Amster called to Muller, he had
found a loose picket, and his strong young arms had
torn it out easily. Muller motioned to the other
three to join them. A moment later they were all
in the garden, walking carefully toward the house.
The door was closed but there were no bars at the
windows of the ground floor. Amster looked inquir-
ingly at the commissioner and the latter nodded and
said, “ All right, go ahead.”
The next minute Amster had broken in through
one pane of the window and turned the latch. The
inner window was broken already so that it was not
difficult for him to open it without any further noise.
He disappeared into the dark room within. In
a few seconds they heard a key turn in the door and
it opened gently. The men entered, all except the
policeman, who remained outside. The blind of his
lantern was slightly opened, and he had his revolver
ready in his hand.
Muller had opened his lantern also, and they saw
that they were in a prettily furnished corridor from
which the staircase and one door led out.
The four men tiptoed up the stairway and the com-
ready ller had opera prettily, door led ound the


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 223
missioner stepped to the first of the two doors which
opened onto the upper corridor. He turned the key
which was in the lock, and opened the door, but they
found themselves in a room as dark as was the corri-
dor. From somewhere, however, a ray of light fell
into the blackness. The official stepped into the room,
pulling Berner in after him. The poor old man was
in a state of trembling excitement when he found
himself in the house where his beloved young lady
might already be a corpse. One step more and a
smothered cry broke from his lips. The commis-
sioner had opened the door of an adjoining room,
which was lighted and handsomely furnished. Only
the heavy iron bars across the closed windows
showed that the young lady who sat leaning back
wearily in an arm-chair was a prisoner.
She looked up as they entered. The expression of
utter despair and deep weariness which had rested on
her pale face changed to a look of terror; then she
saw that it was not her would-be murderer who was
entering, but those who came to rescue. A bright
flush illumined her cheeks and her eyes gleamed. But
the change was too sudden for her tortured soul.
She rose from her chair, then sank fainting to the
floor.
Berner threw himself on his knees beside her, sob-
bing out, “ She is dying! She is dying!”
Muller turned on the instant, for he had heard the
door on the other side of the hall open, and a tall
slender man with a smooth face and a deep scar on
his right cheek stood on the threshold looking at
them in dazed surprise. For an instant only had
he lost his control. The next second he was in his
room again, slamming the door behind him. But it
was too late. Amster's foot was already in the crack
of the door and he pushed it open to let Muller enter.
“Well done,” cried the latter, and then he turned to


224
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
the man in the room. “Here, stop that. I can fire
twice before you get the window open.”
The man turned and walked slowly to the centre
of the room, sinking down into an arm-chair that
stood beside the desk. Neither Amster nor Muller
turned their eyes from him for a moment, ready for
any attempt on his part to escape.' But the detec-
tive had already seen something that told him that
Langen was not thinking of flight. When he turned
to the desk, Muller had seen his eyes glisten while
a scornful smile parted his thin lips. A second
later he had let his handkerchief fall, apparently
carelessly, upon the desk. But in this short space of
time the detective's sharp eyes had seen a tiny bottle
upon which was a black label with a grinning skull.
Muller could not see whether the bottle was full or
empty, but now he knew that it must hold sufficient
poison to enable the captured criminal to escape open
disgrace. Knowing this, Muller looked with admi-
ration at the calmness of the villain, whose intelli-
gent eyes were turned towards him in evident curi-
osity.
“Who are you and who else is here with you?”,
asked the man calmly.
“I am Muller of the Secret Service," replied his
visitor and added, “You must put up with us for the
time being, Mr. Egon Langen. The police commis-
sioner is occupied with your step-sister, whom you
were about to murder.”
Langen put his hand to his cheek, looking at Mul-
ler between his lashes as he said, “To murder? Who
can prove that?”
“We have all the proofs we need."
“I will acknowledge only that I wanted Asta to
disappear.”
Muller smiled. “What good would that have done
you? You wanted her entire fortune, did you not?
But that could have come to you only after thirty


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 225
her angen rose Steasily in 5. he asked
yēars, and you are not likely to have waited that
long. Your plan was to murder your step-sister,
even if you could not get a letter from her telling of
her intention to commit suicide."
Langen rose suddenly, but controlled himself again
and sank back easily in his chair. “Then the old
woman has been talking ?” he asked.
Muller shook his head. “We knew it through
Miss Langen herself.”
“She has spoken to no one for over ten days.”
“But you let her throw her notebook out of the
window of the cab.”
“ Ah- "
“There, you see, you should not have let that hap-
pen.”
Drops of perspiration stood out on Langen's fore-
head. Until now, perhaps, he had had some possible
hope of escape. It was useless now, he knew.
As calmly as he had spoken thus far Muller contin-
ued. “For twenty years I have been studying the
hearts of criminals like yourself. But there are
things I do not understand about this case and it in-
terests me very much.”
Langen had wiped the drops from his forehead and
he now turned on Muller a face that seemed made of
bronze. There was, but one expression on it, that of
cold scorn.
"I feel greatly flattered, sir, to think that I can of-
fer a problem to one of your experience,” Langen be-
gan. His voice, which had been slightly veiled be-
fore, was now quite clear. “Ask me all you like. I
will answer you."
Muller began: “Why did you wait so long before
committing the murder? and why did you drag your
victim from place to place when you could have
killed her easily in the compartment of the railway
train?”
“The windows of the compartment were open, my,


226 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
honoured friend, and it was a fine warm evening for
the season, because of which the windows in the other
compartments were also open. There was nothing
else I could do at that time then, except to offer
Asta a cup of tea when she felt a little faint upon
leaving the train. I am a physician and I know how
to use the right drugs at the right time. When
Asta had taken the tea, she knew nothing inore until
she woke up a day later in a room in the city.”
“And the piece of paper with the threat on it? and
the revolver you left so handy for her? oh, but I
forgot, the old woman took the weapon away before
the lady could use it in her despair," said Muller.
“Quite right. I see you know every detail."
“But why didn't you complete your crime in the
room in the old house?” persisted Muller.
“Because I lost my false beard one day upon the
staircase, and I feared the old woman might have
seen my face enough to recognise me again. I
thought it better to look for another place."
“And then you found this house."
“Yes, but several days later."
“And you hired it in the name of Miss Asta Lan-
gen? Who would then have been found dead here
several days after you had entered the house?”
“ Several days, several weeks perhaps. I preferred
to wait until the woman who rented the house had
read in the papers that Asta Langen had disappeared
and was being sought for. Somebody would have
found her here, and her identity would have easily
been established, for I knew that she had some im-
portant family documents with her.”
Muller was silent a moment, with an expression of
deep pity on his face. Then he continued: “Yes, some-
one would have found her, and her suicide would
have been a dark mystery, unless, of course, malicious
tongues would have found ugly reasons enough why,


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 227
a beautiful young lady should hide herself in a lonely
cottage to take her own life.”
Muller had spoken as if to himself. Egon Lan-
gen's lips parted in a smile so evil that Amster
clenched his fists.
“And you would not have regretted this ruining
the reputation as well as taking the life of an innocent
girl?” asked the detective low and tense.
“No, for I hated her.”
“You hated her because she was rich and innocent.
She was very charitable and would gladly have helped
you if you were in need. Beside this, you were en-
titled to a portion of your father's estate. It is al-
most thirty thousand guldens, as Mr. Fellner tells
me. Why did you not take that?”
“Fellner did not know that I had already received
twenty thousand of this when my father turned me
out. He probably would have heard of it later, for
Berner was the witness. I did not care for the re-
maining ten thousand because I would have the entire
fortune after Asta's death. 'I would have seen the
official notice and the call for heirs in Australia, and
would have written from there, announcing that I
was still alive. If you had come several days
later I should have been a rich man within a
year.”
His clenched fist resting on his knee, the rascal
stared out ahead of him when he ended his shameless
confession. In his rage and disappointment he had not
noticed that Muller's hand dropped gently to the
desk and softly took a little bottle from under the
handkerchief. Langen came out of his dark
thoughts only when Muller's voice broke the silence.
“But you miscalculated, if you expected to inherit
from your sister. She is still a minor and your fath-
er's will would have given you only ten thousand gul-
dens.


CASE OF THE POCKET DIARY 229
“Do you feel better now?” asked the young com-
missioner in sincere sympathy that was mingled with
admiration for the delicate beauty of the girl beside
him, an admiration heightened by her romantic story
and marvellous escape.
Asta nodded and answered gently: “I feel as if
some terrible weight were lifted from my heart and
brain. But I doubt if I will ever forget these hor-
rible days, when I had already come to accept it as
a fact that—that I was to be murdered.”
“This is the man to whom you owe your escape,"
said the commissioner, laying his hand on Muller's
knee. Asta did not speak, but she reached out in the
darkness of the cab, caught Muller's hand and would
have raised it to her lips, had not the little man
drawn it away hastily. “It was only my duty, dear
young lady," he said. “A duty that is not onerous
when it means the rescue of innocence and the pre-
venting of crime. It is not always so, unfortunately,
-nor am I always so fortunate as in this case.”
This indeed is what Muller calls a “case with a
happy ending," for scarcely a year later, to his own
great embarrassment, he found himself the most hon-
oured guest, and a centre of attraction equally with
the bridal couple, at the marriage of Kurt von May-
ringen and Asta Langen. Muller asserts, however,
that he is not a success in society, and that he would
rather unravel fifty difficult cases than again be the
“lion” at a fashionable function.





THE POOL OF BLOOD
235
sat down at the table a shadow moved past the little
window. Janci looked up. “Who was that?” asked
Margit, looking up from her folded hands. She had
just finished her murmured prayer.
“Pastor's Liska,” replied Janci indifferently, be-
ginning his meal. (Liska was the local abbrevia-
tion for Elizabeth.)
“In such a hurry?” thought the shepherd's wife.
Her curiosity would not let her rest. “I hope His
Reverence isn't ill again," she remarked after a while.
Janci did not hear her, for he was very busy picking
a fly out of his milk cup.
"Do you think Liska was going for the old man?”
began Margit again after a few minutes.
The “old man” was the name given by the people
of the village, more as a term of endearment than any-
thing else, to the generally loved and respected phy-
sician who was the head of the insane asylum. He
had become general mentor and oracle of all the vil-
lage and was known and loved by man, woman and
child.
“ It's possible," answered Janci.
“His Reverence didn't look very well yesterday,
or maybe the old housekeeper has the gout again.”
Janci gave a grunt which might have meant any-
thing. The shepherd was a silent man. Being alone
so much had taught him to find his own thoughts
sufficient company. Ten minutes passed in silence
since Margit's last question, then some one went past
the window. There were two people this time,
Liska and the old doctor. They were walking very
fast, running almost. Margit sprang up and hurried
to the door to look after them.
Janci sat still in his place, but he had laid aside
his spoon and with wide eyes was staring ahead of
him, murmuring, “ It's the pastor this time; I saw
him-just as I did the others."


THE POOL OF BLOOD
237
housekeeper, who staggered down the path wringing
her hands, unable to give voice to anything but inar-
ticulate expressions of grief and terror. The rest of
the household and the farm hands were gathered in
a frightened group in the great courtyard of the stately
rectory which had once been a convent building.
The physician hurried up the stairs into the pastor's
apartments. These were high sunny and airy rooms
with arched ceilings, deep window seats, great heavy
doors and handsomely ornamented stoves. The simple
modern furniture appeared still more plain and com-
mon-place by contrast with the huge spaces of the
building.
In one of the rooms a gendarme was standing be-
side the window. The man saluted the physician,
then shrugged his shoulders with an expression of
hopelessness. The doctor returned a silent greet-
ing and passed through into the next apartment. The
old man was paler than usual and his face bore an
expression of pain and surprise, the same expression
that showed in the faces of those gathered down
stairs. The room he now entered was large like the
others, the walls handsomely decorated, and every
corner of it was flooded with sunshine. There were
two men in this room, the village magistrate and the
notary. Their expression, as they held out their hands
to the doctor, showed that his coming brought great
relief. And there was something else in the room,
something that drew the eyes of all three of the men
immediately after their silent greeting.
This was a great pool of blood which lay as a hid-
eous stain on the otherwise clean yellow-painted floor.
The blood must have flowed from a dreadful wound,
from a severed artery even, the doctor thought, there
was such a quantity of it. It had already dried and
darkened, making its terrifying ugliness the more
apparent.


238 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“This is the third murder in two years," said the
magistrate in a low voice.
“And the most mysterious of all of them," added
the clerk.
“Yes, it is," said the doctor. “And there is not
a trace of the body, you say?—or a clue as to where
they might have taken the dead-or dying man?”.
With these words he looked carefully around the
room, but there was no more blood to be seen any-
where. Any spot would have been clearly visible on
the light-coloured floor. There was nothing else to tell
of the horrible crime that had been committed here,
nothing but the great, hideous, brown-red spot in the
middle of the room.
“ Have you made a thorough search for the body?”
asked the doctor.
The magistrate shook his head. “No, I have done
nothing to speak of yet. We have been waiting for
you. There is a gendarme at the gate; no one can
go in or out without being seen.”
“Very well, then, let us begin our search now."
The magistrate and his companion turned towards
the door of the room but the doctor motioned them
to come back. “I see you do not know the house
as well as I do,” he said, and led the way towards
a niche in the side of the wall, which was partially
filled by a high bookcase.
“Ah-that is the entrance of the passage to the
church?” asked the magistrate in surprise.
“Yes, this is it. The door is not locked.”
“ You mean you believe "
" That the murderers came in from the church?
Why not? It is quite possible.”
with a shake of his head.
The doctor laughed bitterly. “To those who are
planning a murder, a church is no more than any,


240
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
bells hung mute, added to the spreading terror. Fin-
ally the doctor came out from the rectory, accom-
panied by the magistrate, and announced to the wait-
ing villagers that their venerable pastor had disap-
peared under circumstances which left no doubt that
he had met his death at the hand of a murderer. The
peasants listened in shuddering silence, the men
pale-faced, the women sobbing aloud with frightened
children hanging to their skirts. Then at the magis-
trate's order, the crowd dispersed slowly, going to
their homes, while a messenger set off to the near-by
county seat.
It was a weird, sad Easter Monday. Even nature
seemed to feel the pressure of the brooding horror,
for heavy clouds piled up towards noon and a chill
wind blew fitfully from the north, bending the young
corn and the creaking tree-tops, and moaning about
the straw-covered roofs. Then an icy cold rain de-
scended on the village, sending the children, the only
humans still unconscious of the fear that had come
on them all, into the houses to play quietly in the cor-
ner by the hearth.
There was nothing else spoken of wherever two or
three met together throughout the village except this
dreadful, unexplainable thing that had happened in
the rectory. The little village inn was full to over-
flowing and the hum of voices within was like the
noise of an excited beehive. Everyone had some new.
explanation, some new guess, and it was not until
the notary arrived, looking even more important than
usual, that silence fell upon the excited throng. But
the expectations aroused by his coming were not ful-
filled. The notary knew no more than the others,
although he had been one of the searchers in the
rectory. But he was in no haste to disclose his ig-
norance, and sat wrapped in a dignified silence until
some one found courage to question him.


242 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
W
modern-minded, laughed and made his jokes at this.
But the smith laid one mighty hand on the other's
shoulder, almost crushing the tailor's slight form
under its weight, and said gravely: “Friend, do you
be silent in this matter. You've come from other
parts and you do not know of things that have hap-
pened here in days gone by. Janci can do more than
take care of his sheep. One day, when my little girl
was playing in the street, he said to me, ‘Have a care
of Maruschka, smith!' and three days later the child
was dead. The evening before Red Betty was mur-
dered he saw her in a vision lying in a coffin in front
of her door. He told it to the sexton, whom he
met in the fields; and next morning they found Betty
dead. And there are many more things that I could
tell you, but what's the use; when a man won't be-
lieve it's only lost talk to try to make him. But one
thing you should know: when Janci stares ahead of
him without seeing what's in front of him, then the
whole village begins to wonder what's going to hap-
pen, for Janci knows far more than all the rest of
us put together.”
The smith's grave, deep voice filled the room and
the others listened in a silence that gave assent to his
words. He had scarcely finished speaking, however,
when there was a noise of galloping hoofs and rap-
idly rolling wagon wheels. A tall brake drawn by
four handsome horses dashed past in a whirlwind.
“It's the Count—the Count and the district
judge,” said the landlord in a tone of respect. The
notary made a grab at his hat and umbrella and hur-
ried from the room. “That shows how much they
thought of our pastor," continued the landlord
proudly. “For the Count himself has come and
with four horses, too, to get here the more quickly.
His Reverence was a great friend of the Count-
ess.”
B


244 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
bearers of some of the proudest names in all Hun-
gary had gathered in the high-arched rooms to laugh
with the venerable pastor and to sample the excellent
wines in his cellar. These wines, which the gentle-
men themselves would send in as presents to the mas-
ter of the rectory, would be carefully preserved for
their own enjoyment. Not a landed proprietor for
many leagues around but knew and loved the old
pastor, who had now so strangely disappeared under
such terrifying circumstances.
“Well, we might as well begin our examination,”
remarked the Count. “Although if Dr. Orszay's sharp
eyes did not find anything, I doubt very much if we
will. You have asked the doctor to come here again,
haven't you?”
“Yes, your Grace! As soon as I saw you coming
I sent the sexton to the asylum.” Then the men
went in again into the room which had been the
scene of the mysterious crime. The wind rattled
the open window and blew out its white curtains.
It was already dark in the corners of the room, one
could see but indistinctly the carvings of the wain-
scoting. The light backs of the books, or the gold
letters on the darker bindings, made spots of bright-
ness in the gloom. The hideous pool of blood in the
centre of the floor was still plainly to be seen.
“Judging by the loss of blood, death must have
come quickly.”
“There was no struggle, evidently, for everything
in the room was in perfect order when we entered it."
“There is not even a chair misplaced. His Bible
is there on the desk, he may have been preparing for
to-day's sermon.”
“Yes, that is the case; because see, here are some
notes in his handwriting.”
The Count and Judge von Kormendy spoke these
sentences at intervals as they made their examination


248 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
the threshold. “I am Joseph Muller," he said with
a low, soft voice.
The four men in the room looked at him in aston-
ishment.
“ This simple-looking individual is the man that
every one is afraid of?” thought the Count, as he
walked forward and held out his hand to the
stranger.
“I sent for you, Mr. Muller,” said the magnate,
conscious of his stately size and appearance, as well
as of his importance in the presence of a personage
who so little looked what his great fame might have
led one to expect.
“Then you are Count - ?” answered Muiler
gently. “I was in Budapest, having just finished a
difficult case which took me there. They told me
that a mysterious crime had happened in your neigh-
bourhood, and sent me here to take charge of it.
You will pardon any ignorance I may show as a
stranger to this locality. I will do my best and it
may be possible that I can help you."
The Count introduced the other gentlemen in order
and they sat down again at the table.
“ And now what is it you want me for, Count?"
asked Muller.
“There was a murder committed in this house,”
answered the Count.
“ When?"
“ Last night."
“ Who is the victim?”
“ Our pastor.”
“How was he killed ?”
** We do not know."
“You are not a physician, then?” asked Muller,
turning to Orszay.
“Yes, I am," answered the latter.
“ Well?"


THE POOL OF BLOOD 249
“The body is missing," said Orszay, somewhat
sharply..
“Missing?” Muller became greatly interested.
“Will you please lead me to the scene of the crime?”
he said, rising from his chair.
The others led him into the next room, the magis-
trate going ahead with a lamp. The judge called for
more lights and the group stood around the pool of
blood on the floor of the study. Muller's arms were
crossed on his breast as he stood looking down at
the hideous spot. There was no terror in his eyes, as
in those of the others, but only a keen attention and
a lively interest.
“ Who has been in this room since the discovery?"
he asked.
The doctor replied that only the servants of the
immediate household, the notary, the magistrate, and
himself, then later the Count and the district judge
entered the room.
“You are quite certain that no one else has been
in here?”
“No, no one else.”
“Will you kindly send for the three servants ?”
The magistrate left the room.
“ Who else lives in the house?”
“ The sexton and the dairymaid."
“And no one else has left the house to-day or has
entered it?”
“No one. The main door has been watched all
day by a gendarme.”
“Is there but one door out of this room?"
“No, there is a small door beside that bookcase.”
“Where does it lead to ?”
" It leads to a passageway at the end of which
there is a stair down into the vestry.”
Muller gave an exclamation of surprise.
“The vestry as well as the church have neither of


250 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
them been opened to-day on the side toward the
street.”
“The church or the vestry, you mean,” corrected
Muller. “How many doors have they on the street
side? ”
“One each."
“The locks on these doors were in good condi-
tion?”
“ Yes, they were untouched.”
“Was there anything stolen from the church?”
“No, nothing that we could see."
“ Was the pastor rich ?”
“No, he was almost a poor man, for he gave away
all that he had.”
“But you were his patron, Count.”
“I was his friend. He was the confidential ad-
viser of myself and family.”
“This would mean rich presents now and then,
would it not?”
“No, that is not the case. Our venerable pastor
would take nothing for himself. He would accept
no presents but gifts of money for his poor.”
“ Then you do not believe this to have been a mur-
der for the sake of robbery?”
“No. There was nothing disturbed in any part
of the house, no drawers or cupboards broken open
at all.”
Muller smiled. “I have heard it said that your
romantic Hungarian bandits will often be satisfied
with the small booty they may find in the pocket or
on the person of their victim.”
“You are right, Mr. Muller. But that is only
when they can find nothing else.”
“Or perhaps if it is a case of revenge.”
“It cannot be revenge in this case!”
“The pastor was greatly loved ?"
“He was loved and revered.”


THE POOL OF BLOOD 251
“By every one?”
“ By every one!” the four men answered at once.
Muller was still a while. His eyes were veiled and
his face thoughtful. Finally he raised his head.
“There has been nothing moved or changed in this
room?"
“No-neither here nor anywhere else in the house
or the church," answered the local magistrate.
“That is good. Now I would like to question the
servants.”
Muller had already started for the door, then he
turned back into the room and pointing toward the
second door he asked: “Is that door locked?”
“ Yes," answered the Count. “I found it locked
when I examined it myself a short time ago."
“It was locked on the inside?”
“ Yes, locked on the inside."
“Very well. Then we have nothing more to do
here for the time being. Let us go back into the
dining-room."
The men returned to the dining-room, Muller
last, for he stopped to lock the door of the study
and put the key in his pocket. Then he began his
examination of the servants.
The old housekeeper, who, as usual, was the first
to rise in the household, had also, as usual, rung the
bell to waken the other servants. Then when Liska
came downstairs she had sent her up to the pastor's
room. His bedroom was to the right of the dining-
room. Liska had, as usual, knocked on the door
exactly at seven o'clock and continued knocking for
some few minutes without receiving any answer.
Slightly alarmed, the girl had gone back and told
the housekeeper that the pastor did not answer.
Then the old woman asked the coachman to go
up and see if anything was the matter with the rey-
erend gentleman. The man returned in a few mo-


254 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
me for funds. Here is something to begin on."
With these words the Count laid a silk purse full of
gold pieces on the table. One more pressure of the
hand and he was gone. The other men also left
the room, following the Count's lead in a cordial
farewell of the detective. They also shared the
nobleman's feeling that now indeed, with this man to
help them, could the cloud of horror that had hung
over the village for two years, and had culminated
in the present catastrophe, be lifted.
The excitement of the Count's departure had died
away and the steps of the other men on their way to
the village had faded in the distance. There was
nothing now to be heard but the rustling of the
leaves and the creaking of the boughs as the trees
bent before the onrush of the wind. Muller stood
alone, with folded arms, in the middle of the large
room, letting his sharp eyes wander about the circle
of light thrown by the lamps. He was glad to be
alone for only when he was alone could his brain
do its best work. He took up one of the lamps and
opened the door to the room in which, as far as
could be known, the murder had been committed. He
walked in carefully and, setting the lamp on the desk,
examined the articles lying about on it. There was
nothing of importance to be found there. An open
Bible and a sheet of paper with notes for the day's
sermon lay on top of the desk. In the drawers, none
of which were locked, were official papers, books,
manuscripts of former sermons, and a few unim-
portant personal notes.
The flame of the lamp Aickered in the breeze that
came from the open window. But Muller did not
close the casement. He wanted to leave everything
just as he had found it until daylight. When he
saw that it was impossible to leave the lamp there he
took it up again and left the room.


THE POOL OF BLOOD 255
“What is the use of being impatient?” he said
to himself. “If I move about in this poor light I
will be sure to ruin some possible clue. For there
must be some clue left here. It is impossible for
even the most practiced criminal not to leave some
trace of his presence.”
The detective returned to the dining-room, locking
the study door carefully behind him. The maid and
the coachman returned, bringing in an abundant sup-
per, and Muller sat down to do justice to the many
good things on the tray. When the maid returned
to take away the dishes she inquired whether she
should put the guest chamber in order for the detec-
tive. He told her not to go to any trouble for his
sake, that he would sleep in the bed in the neighbour-
ing room.
“You going to sleep in there?” said the girl, hor-
rified.
“Yes, my child, and I think I will sleep well to-
night. I feel very tired.” Liska carried the things
out, shaking her head in surprise at this thin little
man who did not seem to know what it was to be
afraid. Half an hour later the rectory was in dark-
ness. Before he retired, Muller had made a careful
examination of the pastor's bedroom. Nothing was
disturbed anywhere, and it was evident that the priest
had not made any preparations for the night, but was
still at work at his desk in the study when death
overtook him. When he came to this conclusion, the
detective went to bed and soon fell asleep.
In his little hut near the asylum gates, shepherd
Janci slept as sound as usual. But he was dreaming
and he spoke in his sleep. There was no one to hear
him, for his faithful Margit was snoring loudly.
Snatches of sentences and broken words came from
Janci's lips: “The hand—the big hand—I see it-at
his throat—the face—the yellow face-it laughs ----"


256
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Next morning the children on their way to school
crept past the rectory with wide eyes and open
mouths. And the grown people spoke in lower tones
when their work led them past the handsome old
house. It had once been their pride, but now it was
a place of horror to them. The old housekeeper had
succumbed to her fright and was very ill. Liska
went about her work silently, and the farm servants
walked more heavily and chattered less than they
had before. The hump-backed sexton, who had not
been allowed to enter the church and therefore had
nothing to do, made an early start for the inn, where
he spent most of the day telling what little he knew
to the many who made an excuse to follow him there.
The only calm and undisturbed person in the rec-
tory household was Muller. He had made a thor-
ough examination of the entire scene of the murder,
but had not found anything at all. Of one thing
alone was he certain: the murderer had come through
the hidden passageway from the church. There were
two reasons to believe this, one of which might pos-
sibly not be sufficient, but the other was conclusive.
The heavy armchair before the desk, the chair on
which the pastor was presumably sitting when the
murderer entered, was half turned around, turned in
just such a way as it would have been had the man
who was sitting there suddenly sprung up in excite-
ment or surprise. The chair was pushed back a step
from the desk and turned towards the entrance to
the passageway. Those who had been in the room
during the day had reported that they had not touched
any one of the articles of furniture, therefore the posi-
tion of the chair was the same that had been given
it by the man who had sat in it, by the murdered
pastor himself.
Of course there was always the possibility that
some one had moved the chair without realising it.


THE POOL OF BLOOD
257
This clue, therefore, could not be looked upon as an
absolutely certain one had it stood alone. But there
was other evidence far more important. The great
pool of blood was just half-way between the door of
the passage and the armchair. It was here, therefore,
that the attack had taken place. The pastor could
not have turned in this direction in the hope of flight,
for there was nothing here to give him shelter, no
weapon that he could grasp, not even a cane. He
must have turned in this direction to meet and greet
the invader who had entered his room in this unusual
manner. Turned to meet him as a brave man would,
with no other weapon than the sacredness of his call-
ing and his age.
But this had not been enough to protect the vener-
able priest. The murderer must have made his thrust
at once and his victim had sunk down dying on the
floor of the room in which he had spent so many hours
of quiet study, in which he had brought comfort and
given advice to so many anxious hearts; for dying
he must have been-it would be impossible for a man
to lose so much blood and live.
“The struggle,” thought the detective, “but was
there a struggle?” He looked about the room
again, but could see nothing that showed disorder
anywhere in its immaculate neatness. No, there
could have been no struggle. It must have been a
quick knife thrust and death at once. “Not a shot?"
No, a shot would have been heard by the night
watchman walking the streets near the church. The
night was quiet, the window open. Some one in the
village would have heard the noise of a shot. And it
was not likely that the old housekeeper who slept in the
room immediately below, slept the light sleep of the
aged, would have failed to have heard the firing of a
pistol.
Muller took a chair and sat down directly in front


258
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
of the pool of blood, looking at it carefully. Sud-
denly he bowed his head deeper. He had caught sight
of a fine thread of the red fluid which had been drawn
out for about a foot or two in the direction towards
the door to the dining-room. What did that mean?
Did it mean that the murderer went out through that
door, dragging something after him that made this
delicate line? Muller bent down still deeper. The
sun shone brightly on the floor, sending its clear rays
obliquely through the window. The sharp eyes which
now covered every inch of the yellow-painted floor
discovered something else. They discuvered that this
red thread curved slightly and had a continuation in
a fine scratch in the paint of the floor. Muller fol-
lowed up this scratch and it led him over towards
the window and then back again in wide curves, then
out again under the desk and finally, growing weaker
and weaker, it came back to the neighbourhood of the
pool of blood, but on the opposite side of it. Muller
got down on his hands and knees to follow up the
scratch. He did not notice the discomfort of his po-
sition, his eyes shone in excitement and a deep flush
glowed in his cheeks. Also, he began to whistle
softly.
Joseph Muller, the bloodhound of the Austrian
police, had found a clue, a clue that soon would bring
him to the trail he was seeking. He did not know yet
what he could do with his clue. But this much he
knew; sooner or later this scratch in the floor would
lead him to the murderer. The trail might be long
and devious; but he would follow it and at its end
would be success. He knew that this scratch had
been made after the murder was committed; this
was proved by the blood that marked its beginning.
And it could not have been made by any of those who
entered the room during the day because by that time
the blood had dried. This strange streak in the floor,


THE POOL OF BLOOD
259
with its weird curves and spirals, could have been
made only by the murderer. But how? With what
instrument? There was the riddle which must be
solved.
And now Muller, making another careful examina-
tion of the floor, found something else. It was some-
Thing that might be utterly unimportant or might be
of great value. It was a tiny bit of hardened lacquer
which he found on the floor beside one of the legs
of the desk. It was rounded out, with sharp edges,
and coloured grey with a tiny zigzag of yellow on
its surface. Muller lifted it carefully and looked at
it keenly. This tiny bit of lacquer had evidently been
knocked off from some convex object, but it was im-
possible to tell at the moment just what sort of an
object it might have been. There are so many dif-
ferent things which are customarily covered with
lacquer. However, further examination brought him
down to a narrower range of subjects. For on the
inside of the lacquer he found a shred of reddish
wood fibre. It must have been a wooden object,
therefore, from which the lacquer came, and the wood
had been of reddish tinge.
Muller pondered the matter for a little while longer.
Then he placed his discovery carefully in the pas-
tor's emptied tobacco-box, and dropped the box in
his own pocket. He closed the window and the door
to the dining-room, lit a lamp, and entered the pas-
sageway leading to the vestry. It was a short pas-
sageway, scarcely more than a dozen paces long.
The walls were whitewashed, the floor tiled and
the entire passage shone in neatness. Muller held
the light of his lamp to every inch of it, but there
was nothing to show that the criminal had gone
through here with the body of his victim.
“The criminal”-Muller still thought of only one.
His long experience had taught him that the most


THE POOL OF BLOOD
263
cross surrounded by a wreath. Thus were buried
the monks of days long past.
Muller walked slowly through the rows of coffins
looking eagerly to each side. Suddenly he stopped
and stood still. His hand did not tremble but his
thin face was palepale as that face which looked
up at him out of one of the coffins. The lid of the
coffin stood up against the wall and Muller saw that
there were several other empty ones further on, wait-
ing for their silent occupants.
The body in the open coffin before which Muller
stood was the body of the man who had been missing
since the day previous. He lay there quite peacefully,
his hands crossed over his breast, his eyes closed, a
line of pain about his lips. In the crossed fingers
was a little bunch of dark yellow roses. At the first
glance one might almost have thought that loving
hands had laid the old pastor in his coffin. But the
red stain on the white cloth about his throat, and the
bloody disorder of his snow-white hair contrasted
sadly with the look of peace on the dead face. Un-
der his head was a white silk cushion, one of the
cushions from the altar.
Muller stood looking down for some time at this
poor victim of a strange crime, then he turned to go.
He wanted to know one thing more: how the
murderer had left the crypt. The flame of his candle
told him, for it nearly went out in a gust of wind
that came down the opening right above him. This
was a window about three or four feet from the
floor, protected by rusty iron bars which had been
sawed through, leaving the opening free. It was a
small window, but it was large enough to allow a man
of much greater size than Muller to pass through it.
The detective blew out his candle and climbed up onto
the window sill. He found himself outside, in a
corner of the churchyard. A thicket of heavy bushes


264
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
grown up over neglected graves completely hid the
opening through which he had come. There were
thorns on these bushes and also a few scattered roses,
dark yellow roses.
Muller walked thoughtfully through the church-
yard. The sexton sat huddled in an unhappy heap
at the gate. He looked up in alarm as he saw the
detective walking towards him. Something in the
stranger's face told the little hunchback that he had
made a discovery. The sexton sprang up, his lips
did not dare utter the question that his eyes asked.
“I have found him," said the detective gravely.
The hunchback sexton staggered, then recovered
himself, and hurried away to fetch the magistrate
and the doctor.
An hour later the murdered pastor lay in state in
the chief apartment of his home, surrounded by burn-
ing candles and high-heaped masses of flowers. But
he still lay in the simple convent coffin and the little
bunch of roses which his murderer had placed be-
tween his stiffening fingers had not been touched.
Two days later the pastor was buried. The Count
and his family led the train of numerous mourners
and among the last was Muller.
A day or two after the funeral the detective saun-
tered slowly through the main street of the village.
He was not in a very good humour, his answer to the
greeting of those who passed him was short. The
children avoided him, for with the keenness of their
kind they recognised the fact that this usually gentle
little man was not in possession of his habitual calm
temper. One group of boys, playing with a top, did
not notice his coming and Muller stopped behind them
to look on. Suddenly a sharp whistle was heard and
the boys looked up from their play, surprised at seeing
the stranger behind them. His eyes were gleaning,


THE POOL OF BLOOD
267
a personal magnetism which they cannot resist. He
can always master our patients mentally and physi-
cally—most of them are afraid of him and they know
that they must do as he says. There is something in
his very glance which has the power to paralyse
even healthy nerves, for it shows the strength of will
possessed by this man.”
“And what is the name of this invaluable attend-
ant?" asked Muller with a strange smile which the
doctor took to be slightly ironical.
“Gyuri Kovacz. You are amused at my enthu-
siasm? But consider my position here. I am an
old man and have never been a strong man. At my
age I would not have strength enough to force that
little woman there—she thinks herself possessed and
is quite cranky at times—to go to her own room when
she doesn't want to. And do you see that man over
there in the blue blouse? He is an excellent gardener
but he believes himself to be Napoleon, and when he
has his acute attacks I would be helpless to control
him were it not for Gyuri.”
“ And you are not afraid of Cardillac?” inter-
rupted Muller.
“Not in the least. He is as good-natured as a
child and as confiding. I can let him walk around
here as much as he likes. If it were not for the ab-
surd nonsense that he talks when he has one of his
attacks, and which frightens those who do not un-
derstand him, I could let him go free altogether."
“Then you never let him leave the asylum
grounds?”
"Oh, yes. I take him out with me very frequently.
He is a man of considerable education and a very
clever talker. It is quite a pleasure to be with him.
That was the opinion of my poor friend also, my poor
murdered friend."
there in the want to. Anto go to her s possessed


THE POOL OF BLOOD 269
"I just wanted to announce, sir, that No. 302 is
quiet again!
" 302 is Cardillac himself, Mr. Muller, or to give
him his right name, Lajos Varna,” explained the doc-
tor turning to his guest. “He is the 302nd patient
who has been received here in these twenty years.--
Then Cardillac is quiet again?” he asked, looking up
at the young giant. “I am glad of that. You can
announce our visit to him. This gentleman wants
to inspect the asylum.”
Muller realised that this was the attendant Gyuri,
and he looked at him attentively. He was soon clear
in his own mind that this remarkably handsome man
did not please him, in fact awoke in him a feeling
of repulsion. The attendant's quiet, almost cat-like
movements were in strange contrast to the massivity
of his superb frame, and his large round eyes, shaped
for open, honest glances, were shifty and cunning.
They seemed to be asking “ Are you trying to dis-
cover anything about me?” coupled with a threat
“For your own sake you had better not do it.”
When the young man had left the room Muller
rose hastily and walked up and down several times.
His face was flushed and his lips tight set. Suddenly
'he exclaimed: “I do not like this Gyuri.”
Dr. Orszay looked up astonished." There are many
others who do not like him—most of his fellow-ward-
ers for instance, and all of the patients. I think there
must be something in the contrast of such quiet nove-
ments with such a big body that gets on people's
nerves. But consider, Mr. Muller, that the man's
work would naturally inake him a little different from
other people. I have known Gyuri for five years as
a faithful and unassuming servant, always willing
and ready for any duty, however difficult or danger-
ous. He has but one fault--if I may call it such-
that is that he has a mistress who is known to be mer-


THE POOL OF BLOOD
271
hung over him for the past day or two had vanished.
The impenetrable darkness that had surrounded the
mystery of the pastor's murdêr had gotten on his
nerves. He was not accustomed to work so long
over a problem without getting some light on it. But
now, since the chance watching of the spinning top
in the street had given him his first inkling of the
trail, he was following it up to a clear issue. The
eagerness, the blissful vibrating of every nervë that
he always felt at this stage of the game, was on him
again. He knew that from now on what was still to
be done would be easy. Hitherto his mind had been
made up on one point; that one man alone was con-
cerned in the crime. Now he understood the possibility
that there might have been two, the harmless mechani-
cian who fancied himself a dangerous murderer, and
the handsome young giant with the evil eyes.
The two men stood looking at each other in a
silence that was almost hostile. Had this stranger
come to disturb the peace of the refuge for the un-
fortunate and to prove that Dr. Orszay, the friend
of all the village, had unwittingly been giving shel-
ter to such criminals ?
“Shall we go now?" asked the detective finally.
“If you wish it, sir," answered the doctor in a
tone that was decidedly cool.
Muller held out his hand. “Don't let us be fool-
ish, doctor. If you should find yourself terribly de-
ceived, and I should have been the means of prov-
ing it, promise me that you will not be angry with
me."
Orszay pressed the offered hand with a deep sigh.
He realised the other's position and knew it was his
duty to give him every possible assistance. “What
is there for me to do now?” he asked sadly.
“You must see that all the patients are shuť up in
their cells so that the other attendants are at our


THE POOL OF BLOOD
273
setting suferly man was ad rose when
The cell to which they went was the first one at
the head of the staircase. “Extremely convenient,”
thought Muller to himself. It was a large room, com-
fortably furnished and filled now with the red glow
of the setting sun. A turning-lathe stood by the
window and an elderly man was at work at it. Gyuri
called to him and he turned and rose when he saw
a stranger. .
Lajos Varna was a tall, loose-jointed man with sal-
low skin and tired eyes. He gave only a hasty glance
at his visitor, then looked at Gyuri. The expression
in his eyes as he turned them on those of the warder
was like the look in the eyes of a well-trained dog
when it watches its master's face. Gyuri's brows
were drawn close together and his mouth set tight to
a narrow line. His eyes fairly bored themselves
into the patient's eyes with an expression like that
of a hypnotiser.
Muller knew now what he wanted to know. This
young man understood how to bend the will of
others, even the will of a sick mind, to his own de-
sires. The little silent scene he had watched had
lasted just the length of time it had taken the detec-
tive to walk through the room and hold out his hand
to the patient.
“I don't want to disturb you, Mr. Varna," he said
in a friendly tone, with a motion towards the bench
from which the mechanician had just arisen. Varna
sat down again, obedient as a child. He was not
always so apparently, for Muller saw a red mark over
the fingers of one hand that was evidently the mark
of a blow. Gyuri was not very choice in the methods
by which he controlled the patients confided to his
care.
“May I sit down also ? ” asked Muller.
Varna pushed forward a' chair. His movements
were like those of an automaton.


THE POOL OF BLOOD
275
" And they tell me that you take gifts with you
for the children every time you go down to the vil-
lage. This is pretty work here, and it must be a
pleasant diversion for you.” Muller had taken up a
dainty little spinning-wheel which was almost com-
pleted. “Isn't it made from the wood of a red yew
tree?"
“Yes, the doctor gave me a whole tree that had
been cut down in the park.”
“ Alnd that gave you wood for a long time?”
“Yes, indeed; I have been making toys from it for
months.” Varna had become quite eager and inter-
ested as he handed his visitor a number of pretty tri-
fles. The two had risen from their chairs and were
leaning over the wide window seat which served as a
store-house for the wares turned out by the busy
workman. They were toys, mostly, all sorts of little
pots and plates, dolls' furniture, balls of various sizes,
miniature bowling pins, and tops. Muller took up
one of the latter.
“How very clever you are, and how industrious,"
he exclaimed, sitting down again and turning the top
in his hands. It was covered with gray varnish with
tiny little yellow stripes painted on it. Towards the
lower point a little bit of the varnish had been broken
off and the reddish wood underneath was visible.
The top was much better constructed than the cheap
toys sold in the village. It was hollow and contained
in its interior a mechanism started by a pressure on
the upper end. Once set in motion the little top
spun about the room for some time.
"Oh, isn't that pretty! Is this mechanism your own
invention?” asked Muller smiling. Gyuri watched
the top with drawn brows and murmured something
about “ childish foolishness."
“Yes, it is my own invention," said the patient,
flattered. He started out on an absolutely technical


THE POOL OF BLOOD 277
“You are making him nervous, sir” he said to
Muller in a tone that was almost harsh.
“You can leave that to me,” answered the detec-
tive calmly. “And you will please place yourself
behind Mr. Varna's chair, not behind mine. It is
your eyes that are making him uneasy."
The attendant was alarmed and lost control of
himself for a moment. “ Sir!” he exclaimed in
an outburst.
“My name is Muller, in case you do not know it
already, Joseph Muller, detective. Gyuri Kovacz,
you will do what I tell you to! I am master here
just now. Is it not so, doctor?”.
“Yes, it is so," said the doctor.
“What does this mean?” murmured Gyuri, turn-
ing pale.
“It means that the best thing for you to do is to
stand up against that wall and fold your arms on
your breast,” said Muller firmly. He took a revolver
from his pocket and laid it beside him on the turn-
ing-lathe. The young giant, cowed by the sight of
the weapon, obeyed the commands of this little man
whom he could have easily crushed with a single blow.
Dr. Orszay sank down on the chair beside the
door. Muller, now completely master of the situa-
tion, turned to the insane man who stood looking at
him in a surprise which was mingled with admiration.
“And now, my dear Cardillac, you must tell us of
your great deeds here,” said the detective in a friendly
tone.
The unfortunate man bent over him with shining
eyes and whispered: “ But you'll shoot him first,
won't you?”
“Why should I shoot him?".
“Because he won't let me say a word without
beating me. He is so cruel. He sticks pins into me
if I don't do what he wants.”


THE POOL OF BLOOD
279
“Yes. He knew that I loved to give them riddles
to guess, just as I did in Paris so long ago."
"Oh, yes, you're Cardillac, aren't you? And now
tell us about the smith's swineherd.”
“You mean Janos? Oh, he was a stupid lout,” an-
swered Varna scornfully.
“Why?”
“He had cast an eye on the beautiful Julcsi,
Gyuri's mistress, so of course I had to kill
him.”
“Did you do that alone?”
“No, Gyuri helped me."
“Why did you cut the bridge supports?”
“ Because I enjoy giving people riddles, as I told
you. But Gyuri forbade me to kill people uselessly.
I liked the chance of getting out though. The doc-
tor's so good to me and the others too. Gyuri is
good to me when I have done what he wanted. But
you see, Mr. Muller, I am like a prisoner here and
that makes me angry. I made Gyuri let me out
nights sometimes."
“You mean he let you out alone, all alone?”
“Yes, of course, for I threatened to tell the doctor
everything if he didn't.”
“You wouldn't have dared do that.”
“No, that's true," smiled Varna slyly. “But
Gyuri was afraid I might do it, for he isn't always
strong enough to frighten me with his eyes. Those
were the hours when I could make him afraid—I
liked those hours "
“What did you do when you were out alone at
night?”
“I just walked about. I set fire to a tree in the
woods once, then the rain came and put it out. Once
I killed a dog and another time I cut through the
bridge supports. That took me several hours to do
and made me very tired. But it was such fun to


282 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
once. I always kill that way—I know just how to
strike and where. I killed more than a hundred
people years ago in Paris, and I didn't leave one of
them the time for even a sigh. I was renowned for
that, I had a kind heart and a sure hand.”
Muller interrupted the dreadful imaginings of the
madman with a question. “ You got into the house
through the crypt? ”
“Yes, through the crypt. I found the window one
night when I was prowling around in the churchyard.
When I knew that the pastor was to be the next, I
cut through the window bars. Gyuri went into the
church one day when nobody was there and found out
that it was easy to lift the stone over the entrance to
the crypt. He also learned that the doors from the
church to the vestry were never locked. I knew how
to find the passageway, because I had been through it
several times on my visits to the rectory. But it was
a mere chance that the door into the pastor's study
was unlocked."
"A chance that cost the life of a worthy man,”
said the detective gravely.
Varna nodded sadly. “But he didn't suffer, he
was dead at once.”
“And now tell me what this top was doing there?”
No. 302 looked at the detective in great surprise,
and then laid his hand on the latter's arm. "How
did you know that I had the top there?” he asked
with a show of interest.
"I found its traces in the room, and it was those
traces that led me here to you,” answered Muller.
“How strange!” remarked Varna. “ Are you like
shepherd Janci that you can see the things others
don't see?”
“No, I have not Janci's gift. It would be a great
comfort to me and a help to the others perhaps if I
had. I can only see things after they have happened.”


284 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Varna also stood looking down at the unconscious.
warder. Then he glanced up with a cunning smile
at the other two men who stood there. The doctor,
pale and trembling with horror, covered his face with
his hands. Muller turned to the door to call in the
attendants waiting outside. During the moment's
pause that ensued the madman bent over his work-
table, seized a knife that lay there and dropped on one
knee beside the prostrate form. His hand was raised
to strike when a calm voice said: “Fie! Cardillac, for
shame! Do not belittle yourself. This man here is
not worthy of your knife, the hangman will look after
him.”
Varna raised his loose-jointed frame and looked
about with glistening eyes and trembling lips. His
mind was completely darkened once more. “I must
kill him, I must have his blood-there is no one to
see me," he murmured. “I am a hangman too_he
has made a hangman of me,” and again he bent
with uplifted hand over the man who had utilised
his terrible misfortune to make a criminal of him.
But two of the waiting attendants seized his arms and
threw him back on the floor, while the other two
carried Gyuri out. Both unfortunates were soon se-
curely guarded.
“Do not be angry with me, doctor,” said Muller
gravely, as he walked through the garden accom-
panied by Orszay.
Doctor Orszay laughed bitterly. “Why should I
be angry with you—you who have discovered my in-
excusable credulity?”
“Inexcusable? Oh, no, doctor; it was quite natural
that you should have believed a man who had himself
so well in hand, and who knew so well how to play
his part. When we come to think of it, we realise
that most crimes have been made possible through
some one's credulity, or over-confidence, a credulity
alled.


THE POOL OF BLOOD
285
which, in the light of subsequent events, seems quite
incomprehensible. Do not reproach yourself and do
not lose heart. Your only fault was that you did
not recognise the heart of the beast of prey in this
admirable human form."
“What course will the law take?” asked Orszay.
“The poor unfortunate madman—whose knife took
all these lives cannot be held responsible, can
he?”
“Oh, no; his misfortune protects him. But as for
the other, though his hands bear no actual bloodstains,
he is more truly a murderer than the unhappy man
who was his tool. Hanging is too good for him.
There are times when even I could wish that we were
back in the Middle Ages, when it was possible to tor-
ture a prisoner.”
“You do not look like that sort of a man,” smiled
the doctor through his sadness.
“No, I am the most good-natured of men usually,
I think—the meekest anyway," answered Muller.
“But a case like this . However, as I said be-
fore, keep a stout heart, doctor, and do not waste
time in unnecessary self-reproachings." The detec-
tive pressed the doctor's hand warmly and walked
down the hill towards the village.
He went at once to the office of the magistrate and
made his report, then returned to the rectory and
packed his grip. He arranged for its transport to
the railway station, as he himself preferred to walk
the inconsiderable distance. He passed through the
village and had just entered the open fields when he
met Janci with his flock. The shepherd hastened his
steps when he saw the detective approaching.
“You have found him, sir?” he exclaimed as he
came up to Muller. The men had come to be friends
by this time. The silent shepherd with the power of
second sight had won Muller's interest at once.


286 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“Yes, I found him. It is Gyuri, the warder in the
asylum.”
'“ No, sir, it is not Gyuri_Gyuri did not do it.”
“ But when I tell you that he did ? "
“But I tell you, sir, that Gyuri did not do it. The
man who did it—he has yellowish hands--I saw them
I saw big yellowish hands. Gyuri's hands are big,
but they are brown.”
" Janci, you are right. I was only trying to test
you. Gyuri did not do it; that is, he did not do it
with his own hands. The man who held the knife
that struck down the pastor was Varna, the crazy
mechanician.”
Janci beat his forehead. “Oh, I am a foolish and
useless dreamer!” he exclaimed; “of course it was
Varna's hands that I saw. I have seen them a hun-
dred times when he came down into the village, and
yet when I saw them in the vision I did not recognise
them."
“We're all dreamers, Janci—and our dreams are
very useless generally.” .
“Yours are not useless, sir," said the shepherd.
“If I had as much brains as you have, my dreams
might be of some good.
Muller smiled. “And if I had your visions, Janci,
it would be a powerful aid to me in my profession."
“I don't think you need them, sir. You can find
out the hidden things without them. You are going
to leave us?”
“Yes, Janci, I must go back to Budapest, and from
there to Vienna. They need me on another case.”
“It's a sad work, this bringing people to the gal-
lows, isn't it?”
“Yes, Janci, it is sometimes. But it's a good thing
to be able to avenge crime and bring justice to the in-
jured. Good-bye, Janci."
“Good-bye, sir, and God speed you."


THE POOL 287
L OF BLOOD
BLOOD
OF The shepherd stood looking after the small, slight
figure of the man who walked on rapidly through the
heather. “He's the right one for the work," mur-
mured Janci as he turned slowly back towards the
village.
An hour later Muller stood in the little waiting-
room of the railway station writing a telegram. It
was addressed to Count
“Do you know the shepherd Janci? It would be a good
thing to make him the official detective for the village. He has
high qualifications for the profession. If I had his gifts com-
bined with my own, not one could escape me. I have found this
one, however. The guards are already taking him to you. My
work here is done. If I should be needed again I can be found
at Police Headquarters, Vienna.
“Respectfully,
" JOSEPH MULLER.”
While the detective was writing his message-it
was one of the rare moments of humour that Muller
allowed himself, and he wondered mildly what the
stately Hungarian nobleman would think of it-a
heavy farm wagon jolted over the country roads to-
wards the little county seat. Sitting beside the driver
and riding about the wagon were armed peasants.
The figure of a man, securely bound, his face dis-
torted by rage and fear, lay in the wagon. It was
Gyuri Kovacz, who had murdered by the hands of
another, and who was now on his way to meet the
death that was his due.
And at one of the barred windows in the big yel-
low house stood a sallow-faced man, looking out at
the rising moon with sad, tired eyes. His lips were
parted in a smile like that of a dreaming child, and
he hummed a gentle lullaby.
In his compartment of the express from Budapest
to Vienna, Joseph Muller sat thinking over the strange
events that had called him to the obscure little Hun-





THE CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET
“PLEASE, sir, there is a man outside who asks to see
you."
“What does he want?" asked Commissioner Horn,
looking up.
“He says he has something to report, sir."
“ Send him in, then.”
The attendant disappeared, and the commissioner
looked up at the clock. It was just striking eleven,
but the fellow official who was to relieve him at that
hour had not yet appeared. And if this should chance
to be a new case, he would probably be obliged to
take it himself. The commissioner was not in a very
good humour as he sat back to receive the young
man who entered the room in the wake of the attend-
ant. The stranger was a sturdy youth, with an un-
intelligent, good-natured face. He twisted his soft
hat in his hands in evident embarrassment, and his
eyes wandered helplessly about the great bare room.
“ Who are you?” demanded the commissioner.
“My name is Dummel, sir, Johann Dummel."
“And your occupation?”.
“ My occupation? Oh, yes, I-I am a valet, valet
to Professor Fellner.”
The commissioner sat up and looked interested.
He knew Fellner personally and liked him. “What
· have you to report to me?” he asked eagerly.
"I—I don't know whether I ought to have come
here, but at home "
“Well, is anything the matter?” insisted Horn.
“Why, sir, I don't know; but the Professor-he
is so still—he doesn't answer.”
291


294
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
“We are not there yet," said the commissioner.
“No, but it's the third house from here," replied
Muller.
“ You know where everybody lives, don't you?”
smiled Horn.
“ Nearly everybody," answered Muller gently, as
the cab stopped before an attractive little villa sur-
rounded by its own garden, as were most of the
houses in this quiet, aristocratic part of the town.
The house was two stories high, but the upper win-
dows were closed and tightly curtained. This upper
story was the apartment occupied by the owner of the
house, who was now in Italy with his invalid wife.
Otherwise the dainty little villa, built in the fashion-
able Nuremberg style, with heavy wooden doors and
lozenged-paned windows, had no occupants except
Professor Fellner and his servant. With its grace-
ful outlines and well-planned garden, the dwelling
had a most attractive appearance. Opposite it was
the broad avenue known as the Promenade, and be-
yond this were open fields. To the right and to the
left were similar villas in their gardens.
Dummel opened the door and the three men en-
tered the house. The commissioner and the valet
went in first, Muller following them more slowly.
His sharp eyes glanced quickly over the coloured tiles
of the flooring, over the white steps and the carpeted
hallway beyond. Once he bent quickly and picked up
something, then he walked on with his usual quiet
manner, out of which every trace of excitement had
now vanished.
The dull winter sun seemed only to make the gloom
of the dark vestibule more visible. Johann turned
up the light, and Horn, who had visited the Pro-
fessor several times and knew the situation of the
rooms, went at once to the heavy, carved and iron-
His sha Aboring... on


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 295
trimmed door of the study. He attempted to open
the door, but it resisted all pressure. The heavy key
was in the inner side of the big lock with its medieval
iron ornamentation. But the key was turned so that
the lower part of the lock was free, a round opening
of unusual size. Horn made sure of this by holding
a lighted match to the door.
“You are right," he said to the valet, “the door is
locked from the inside. We'll have to go through
the bedroom. Johann, bring me a chisel or a hatchet.
Muller, you stay here and open the door when the
doctor comes.”
Muller nodded. Johann disappeared, returning in
a few moments with a small hatchet, and followed
the commissioner through the dining-room. It was
an attractive apartment with its high wooden panel-
ling and its dainty breakfast table. But a slight
shiver ran through the commissioner's frame as he
realised that some misfortune, some crime even,
might be waiting for them on the other side of the
closed door. The bedroom door also was locked on
the inside, and after some moments of knocking and
calling, Horn set the hatchet to the framework just
With a cracking and tearing of wood the bedroom
door fell open, and in the same moment Muller and
the physician passed through the dining-room. Jo-
hann hurried into the bedroom to open the window-
shutters, and the others gathered in the doorway. A
single look showed each of the men that the bed was
untouched, and they passed on through the room.
The door from the bedroom to the study stood open.
In the latter room the shutters were tightly closed,
and the lamp had long since gone out. But sufficient
light fell through the open bedroom door for the men
to see the figure of the Professor seated at his desk,


296
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
and when Johann had opened the shutters, it was
plain to all that the silent figure before them was that
of a corpse.
"Heart disease, probably," murmured the physi-
cian, as he touched the icy forehead. Then he felt
the pulse of the stiffened hand from which the pen
had fallen in the moment of death, raised the droop-
ing head and lifted up the half-closed eyelids. The
eyes were glazed.
The others looked on in silence. Horn was very
pale, and his usually calm face showed great emo-
tion. Johann seemed quite beside himself, the tears
rolled down his cheeks unhindered. Muller stood
without a sign of life, his sallow face seemed made
of bronze; he was watching and listening. He
seemed to hear and see what to one else could see
or hear. He smiled slightly when the doctor spoke
of “heart disease,” and his eyes fell on the revolver
that lay near the dead man's hand on the desk. Then
he shook his head, and then he started suddenly.
Horn noticed the movement; it was in the moment
when the physician raised up the sunken figure that
had fallen half over the desk.
"He was killed by a bullet,” said Muller.
“Yes, that was it,” replied the doctor. With the
raising of the body the dead man's waistcoat fell back
into its usual position, and they could see a little
round hole in his shirt. The doctor opened the shirt
bosom and pointed to a little wound in the Professor's
left breast. There were scarcely three or four drops
of blood visible. The hemorrhage had been internal.
“He must have died at once, without suffering,”
said the physician.
“He killed himself-he killed himself," murmured
Johann, as if bewildered.
“It's strange that he should have found time to
lay down the revolver before he died,” remarked


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 297.
Horn. Johann put out his hand and raised the weapon
before Horn could prevent him. “Leave that pistol
where it was," commanded the commissioner. “We
have to look into this matter more closely.”
The doctor turned quickly. “You think it was a
murder?” he exclaimed. “The doors were both
locked on the inside—where could the murderer be?”
“I don't pretend to see him myself yet. But our
rule is to leave things as they are discovered, until
the official examination. Muller, did you shut the
outer door?”
“Yes, sir; here is the key."
"Johann, are there any more keys for the outer
door?”
“Yes, sir. One more, that is, for the third was
lost some months ago. The Professor's own key
ought to be in the drawer of the little table beside the
bed.”
“Will you please look for it, Muller?”.
Muller went into the bedroom and soon returned
with the key, which he handed to the commissioner.
The detective had found something else in the little
table drawer—a tortoise-shell hairpin, which he had
carefully hidden in his own pocket before rejoining
the others,
Horn turned to the servant again. “How many
times have you been out of the apartment since last
night?”
“Once only, sir, to go to the police station to fetch
you."
“ And you locked the door behind you?”
“Why, yes, sir. You saw that I had to turn the
key twice to let you in.”
Horn and Muller both looked the young man over
very carefully. He seemed perfectly innocent, and
their suspicion that he might have turned the key in
pretense only, soon vanished. It would have been a


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 299
“But what do you think about it-you, who have
the gift of seeing more than other people see, even if
it does bring you into disfavour with the Powers that
Be? Then means
“ Then you don't believe me yet?”
“You mean about the beautiful Mrs. Kniepp?
No.”
“ And yet I tell you I am right. It was an inten-
tional suicide.”
“Muller, Muller, you must keep better watch over
your imagination and your tongue! It is a danger-
ous thing to spread rumours about persons high in
favor with the Arch-duke. But you had better tell
me what you think about this affair," continued the
doctor, pointing back towards the room they had just
left.
“ There's a woman in the case.”
"Aha! you are romancing again. Well, they won't
be so sensitive about this matter, but take care that
you don't make a mistake again, my dear Muller. It
would be likely to cost you your position, don't for-
get that.”
The doctor left the house. Muller smiled bitterly
as he closed the door behind him, and murmured to
himself: “Indeed, I do not forget it, and that is
why I shall take this matter into my own hands. But
the Kniepp case is not closed yet, by any means." .
When he returned to the study he saw Johann sit-
ting quietly in a corner, shaking his head, as if try-
ing to understand it all. Horn was bending over a
sheet of writing paper which lay before the dead
man. Fellner must have been busy at his desk when
the bullet penetrated his heart. His hand in dying
had let fall the pen, which had drawn a long black
mark across the bottom of the sheet. One page of
the paper was covered with a small, delicate hand-
writing.


300
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
Horn called up the detective, and together they
read the following words:
“Dear Friend:-
“He challenged mempistols—it means life or
death. My enemy is very bitter. But I am not ready
to die yet. And as I know that I would be the one
to fall, I have refused the duel. That will help me
little, for his revenge will know how to find me. I
dare not be a moment without a weapon now-his
threats on my refusal let me fear the worst. I have
an uncanny presentiment of evil. I shall leave here
to-morrow. With the excuse of having some press-
ing family affair to attend to, I have secured several
days' leave. Of course I do not intend to return. I
am hoping that you will come here and break up my
establishment in my stead. I will tell you everything
else when I see you. I am in a hurry now, for there
is a good deal of packing to do. If anything should
happen to me, you will know who it is who is re-
sponsible for my death. His name is "
Here the letter came to an abrupt close.
Muller and Horn looked at each other in silence,
then they turned their eyes again toward the dead
man.
“He was a coward,” said the detective coldly, and
turned away. Horn repeated mechanically, “ A cow-
ard!” and his eyes also looked down with a changed
expression upon the handsome, soft-featured face,
framed in curly blond hair, that lay so silent against
the chair-back. Many women had loved this dead
man, and many men had been fond of him, for they
had believed him capable and manly.
The commissioner and Muller continued their
researches in silence and with less interest than be-
fore. They found a heap of loose ashes in the bed-


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 301
room stove. Letters and other trifles had been burned
there. Muller raked out the heap very carefully, but
the writing on the few pieces of paper still left whole
was quite illegible. There were several envelopes in
the waste-basket, but all of them were dated several
months back. There was nothing that could give the
slightest clue.
The letter written by the murdered man was suffi-
cient proof that his death had been an act of ven-
geance. But who was it who had carried out this
secret, terrible deed? The victim had not been al-
lowed the time to write down the name of his mur-
derer.
Horn took the letter into his keeping. Then he
left the room, followed by Muller and the valet, to
look about the rest of the house as far as possible.
This was not very far, for the second story was
closed off by a tall iron grating.
“Is the house door locked during the daytime? ”
asked Horn of the servant.
“The front door is, but the side door into the gar-
den is usually open."
“ Has it ever happened that any one got into the
house from this side door without your knowing it?”
“No, sir. The garden has a high wall around it.
And there is extra protection on the side toward the
Promenade.”
“But there's a little gate there?”
“ Yes, sir."
“Is that usually closed ?”.
“We never use the key for that, sir. It has a
trick lock that you can't open unless you know how.”
“You said you went to the theatre yesterday even-
ing. Did your master give you permission to go?”
“Yes, sir. It's about a year now that he gave me
money for a theatre ticket every Saturday evening.
He was very kind.”


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 303
“There must have been a third key of which you
knew nothing,” answered Horn, turning to Muller
again. “It's stranger still how Fellner could have
been shot, for the window-shutters were fastened and
quite uninjured, and both doors were locked on the
inside.”
As he said these words, Horn looked sharply at
his subordinate; but Muller's calm face did not give
the slightest clue to his thoughts. The experienced
police commissioner was pleased and yet slightly an-
gered at this behaviour on the part of the detective.
He knew that it was quite possible that Muller had
already formed a clear opinion about the case, and
that he was merely keeping it to himself. And yet
he was glad to see that the little detective had appar-
rently learned a lesson from his recent mistake con-
cerning the death of Mrs. Kniepp—that he had some-
what lost confidence in his hitherto unerring instinct,
and did not care to express any opinion until he had
studied the matter a little closer. The commissioner
was just a little bit vain, and just a little bit jealous
of this humble detective's fame.
Muller shrugged his shoulders at the remark of
his superior, and the two men stood silent, thinking
over the case, as the Chief of Police appeared, ac-
companied by the doctor, a clerk, and two hospital
attendants. The chief commissioner received the
report of what had been discovered, while the corpse
was laid on a bier to be taken to the hospital.
Muller handed the commissioner his hat and canê
and helped him into his overcoat. Horn noticed that
the detective himself was making no preparations to
go out. “Aren't you coming with us?” he asked,
astonished.
“I hope the gentlemen will allow me to remain
here for a little while," answered Muller modestly.
“But you know that we will have to close the
by the chief discovere he ng


308 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
nen
mar-
the other gentlemen from the college were mar-
ried.”
“Did he ever receive letters from ladies?” con-
tinued Muller.
Johann thought the matter over, then confessed
that he knew very little about writing and couldn't
read handwriting very well anyway. But he remem-
bered to have seen a letter now and then, a little let-
ter with a fine and delicate handwriting.
“Have you any of these envelopes?” asked Mul-
ler. But Johann told him that in spite of his usual
carelessness in such matters, Professor Fellner never
allowed these letters to lie about his room.
Finally the detective came out with the question to
which he had been leading up. “Did your master
ever receive visits from ladies ? "
Johann looked extremely stupid at this moment.
His lack of intelligence and a certain crude sensitive-
ness in his nature made him take umbrage at what
appeared to him a very unnecessary question. He
answered it with a shake of the head only. Muller
smiled at the young man's ill-concealed indignation
and paid no attention to it.
“Your master has been here for about a year.
Where was he before that?"
" In the capital.”
“You were in his service then?”
“I have been with him for three years."
“Did he know any ladies in his former home?”
“There was one-I think he was engaged to her."
“Why didn't he marry her?”
“I don't know.”
“What was her name?”.
“ Marie. That's all I know about it."
“Was she beautiful?”
“I never saw her. The only way I knew about
her was when the Professor's friends spoke of her.”


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 309
“Did he have many friends ?”
“There were ever so many gentlemen whom he
called his friends.”
“ Take me into the garden now.”
“Yes, sir." Muller took his hat and coat and fol-
lowed the valet into the garden. It was of consider-
able size, carefully and attractively planned, and
pleasing even now when the bare twigs bent under
their load of snow.
“Now think carefully, Johann. We had a full
moon last night. Don't you remember seeing any
footsteps in the garden, leading away from the
house?” asked Muller, as they stood on the snow-
covered paths.
Johann thought it over carefully, then said deci-
dedly, "No. At least I don't remember anything of
the kind. There was a strong wind yesterday any-
way, and the snow drifts easily out here. No tracks
could remain clear for long.”
The men walked down the straight path which led
to the little gate in the high wall. This gate had a
secret lock, which, however, was neither hard to find
nor hard to open. Muller managed it with ease, and
looked out through the gate on the street beyond.
The broad promenade, deserted now in its winter
snowiness, led away in one direction to the heart of
the city. In the other it ended in the main county
high-road. This was a broad, well-made turnpike,
with footpath and rows of trees. A half-hour's walk
along it would bring one to the little village cluster-
ing about the Archduke's favourite hunting castle.
There was a little railway station near the castle, but
it was used only by suburban trains or for the royal
private car.
Muller did not intend to burden his brain with un-
necessary facts, so with his usual thoroughness he
left the further investigation of what lay beyond the


312 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
And now we are compelled to print the news of another equally
sad as well as mysterious occurrence. This time, Fate has de-
manded the sacrifice of the life of a capable and promising
young man. Professor Paul Fellner, a member of the faculty
of our college, was found dead at his desk yesterday morning.
It was thought at first that it was a case of suicide, for doors
and windows were carefully closed from within and those who
discovered the corpse were obliged to break open one of the
doors to get to it. And a revolver was found lying close at hand,
upon the desk. But this revolver was loaded in every chamber
and there was no other weapon to be seen in the room. There
was a bullet wound in the left breast of the corpse, and the bul-
let had penetrated the heart. Death must have been instan-
taneous.
The most mysterious thing about this strange affair was dis-
covered during the autopsy. It is incredible, but it is absolutely
true, as it is vouched for under oath by the authorities who were
present, that the bullet which was found in the heart of the dead
man was made of solid gold. And yet, strange as is this cir-
cumstance, it is still more a riddle how the murderer could have
escaped from the room where he had shot down his victim,
for the keys in both doors were in the locks from the inside.
We have evidently to do here with a criminal of very unusual
cleverness and it is therefore not surprising that there has
been no clue discovered thus far. The only thing that is known
is that this murder was an act of revenge.
The entire city was in excitement over the mys-
tery, even the police station was shaken out of its
usual business-like indifference. There was no other
topic of conversation in any of the rooms but the
mystery of the golden bullet and the doors closed
from the inside. The attendants and the policeman
gathered whispering in the corners, and strangers
who came in on their own business forgot it in their
excitement over this new and fascinating mystery.
That afternoon Muller passed through Horn's of-
fice with a bundle of papers, on his way to the inner
office occupied by his patron, Chief of Police Bauer.
Horn, who had avoided Muller since yesterday al-
though he was conscious of a freshened interest in
the man, raised his head and watched the little de-
tective as he walked across the room with his usual


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 315
ment was a convenient place for pleasant meetings;
and nothing prevented the Professor from accom-
panying his beautiful friend home through the quiet
Promenade, along the turnpike to the hunting cas-
tle. And Johann had once found a dog-whip in his
master's room-and Councillor Leo Kniepp, head of
the Forestry Department, was the possessor of a
beautiful Ulmer hound which took an active in-
terest in people who wore clothes belonging to Fell-
ner.
Furthermore, in the little drawer of the bedside
table in the murdered man's room, there had been
found a tortoise-shell hairpin; and in the corner of
the vestibule of his house, a little mother-of-pearl
glove button, of the kind much in fashion that win-
ter, because of a desire on the part of the ladies of
the town to help the home industry of the neighbour-
hood. Mrs. Marie Kniepp was one of the fashion-
able women of the town, and several days before the
Professor was murdered, this woman had thrown
herself from the second-story window of her home,
and her husband, whose passionate eccentric nature
was well known, had been a changed man from that
hour.
It was his deep grief at the loss of his beloved wife
that had turned his hair grey and had drawn lines of
terrible sorrow in his face—said gossip. But Muller,
who did not know Kniepp personally although he.
had been taking a great interest in his affairs for the
last few days, had his own ideas on the subject, and
he decided to make the acquaintance of the Forest
Councillor as soon as possible—that is, after he had
found out all there was to be found out about his af-
fairs and his habits.
Just a week after the murder, on Saturday even-
ing therefore, the snow was whirling merrily about
the gables and cupolas of the Archducal hunting cas-


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 319
old pedaistupid nonsensason for her day, even say tha
of course, only what a faithful servant could tell.
It will interest my customers very much.”
“You know all there is to know," said the valet,
evidently disappointed that he had nothing to tell
which could win the peddler's gratitude. “There are
no secrets about it. Everybody knows that they were
a very happy couple, and even if there was a little
talk between them on that day, why it was pure ac-
cident and had nothing to do with the mistress' ex-
citement."
“Then there was a quarrel between them? "
" Are people talking about it?”
“I've heard some things said. They even say that
this quarrel was the reason for her death.”
“It's stupid nonsense!” exclaimed the servant. The
old peddler seemed to like the young man's honest in-
dignation.
While they were talking, they had passed through
a long corridor and the young man laid his hand on
one of the doors as the peddler asked, “ Can I see Miss
Nanette alone?”
“ Alone? Oho, she's engaged to me!”
“I know that,” said the stranger, who seemed to
be initiated into all the doings of this household.
“ And I am an old man—all I meant was that I
would rather not have any of the other servants
about."
"I'll keep the cook out of the way if you want me
to.”
“That would be a good idea. It isn't easy to
talk business before others,” remarked the old man
as they entered the room. It was a comfortably
furnished and cozily warm apartment. Only two
people were there, an old woman and a pretty young
girl, who both looked up in astonishment as the men
came in.
rem. It is
Toon


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 321
ed to the
she
the questions I have to ask, and answer truthfully,
or it might occur to më to let your George know
that he is not the first man you have loved.”
“What do you know?” she breathed in alarm.
The peddler laughed. “Oho, then he's jealous !
All the better for me the Councillor was jealous
too, wasn't he?” Nanette looked at him in horror.
“The truth, therefore, you must tell me the truth,
and get the others away, so I can speak to you alone.
You must do this or else I'll tell George about the
handsome carpenter in Church street, or about Franz
Schmid, or-
“For God's sake, stop-stop-I'll do anything you
his was
sredni
✓ atka
- seven
say.”
ngs this
et me
The girl sank back on her chair pale and trembling,
while the peddler resumed his pose of a tired old
man leaning against the stove. When George re-
turned with a large basket, Nanette had calmed her-
self sufficiently to go about the unpacking of the
articles in the hamper.
“ George, won't you please keep Lena out in the
kitchen. Ask her to make some tea for us," asked
Nanette with well feigned assurance. George smiled
a meaning smile and disappeared.
“I am particularly interested in the dead lady's
gloves,” said the peddler when they were alone
again.
Nanette looked at him in surprise but was still
too frightened to offer any remarks. She opened sev-
eral boxes and packages and laid a number of pairs
of gloves on the table. The old man looked through
them, turning them over carefully. Then he shook
his head: “There must be some more somewhere,”
he said. Nanette was no longer astonished at any-
thing he might say or do, so she obediently went
through the basket again and found a little box in
which were several pair of grey suede gloves, fastened
ant sro
1000
then a
end packages athe old man Then he shoes
drom
Startet
Of the
d the
Atsile


324
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
half-aloud the thoughts that rushed through his
brain. “Yes, I am convinced of it, but can I find
the proofs ? ” the words came again and again, and
in spite of the comfortable warmth in the compart-
ment, in spite of his tired and half-frozen condition,
he could not sleep.
He reached the capital at midnight and took a room
in a small hotel in a quiet street. When he went out
next morning, the servants looked after him with
suspicion, as in their opinion a man who spent most
of the night pacing up and down his room must surely
have a guilty conscience.
Muller went to police headquarters and looked
through the arrivals at the hotels on the 21st of No-
vember. The burial of Mrs. Kniepp had taken place
on the 20th. Muller soon found the name he was
looking for, “Forest Councillor Leo Kniepp," in the
list of guests at the Hotel Imperial. The detective
went at once to the Hotel Imperial, where he was al-
ready well known. It cost him little time and trouble
to discover what he wished to know, the reason for
the Councillor's visit to the capital.
Kniepp had asked for the address of a goldsmith,
and had been directed to one of the shops which had
the best reputation in the city. He had been in the
capital altogether for about twenty-four hours. He
had the manner and appearance of a man suffering
under some terrible blow.
Muller himself was deep in thought as he entered
the train to return to his home, after a visit to the
goldsmith in question. He had a short interview
with Chief of Police Bauer, who finally gave him the
golden bullet and the keys to the apartment of the
murdered man. Then the two went out together.
An hour later, the chief of police and Muller stood
in the garden of the house in which the murder had
occurred. Bauer had entered from the Promenade


CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 327
“To-morrow, then.”
“May I now continue to unfold my theories ? "
Bauer nodded and Muller continued: “The crim-
inal wanted Fellner's blood, no matter how.”
“Even if it meant murder," said Bauer.
Muller nodded calmly. “It would have been
nobler, perhaps, to have warned his victim of his ap-
proach, but it might have all come to nothing then.
The other could have called for help, could have bar-
ricaded himself in his room, one crime might have
been prevented, and another, more shameful one,
would have gone unavenged.”
“Another crime? Fellner a criminal?”
“To-morrow you shall know everything, my kind
friend. And now, let us make the trial. Please
lock the door behind me as it was locked then.”
Muller left the room, taking the pistol with him.
Bauer locked the door. “Is this right?” he asked.
“Yes, I can see a wide curve of the room, taking
in the entire desk. Please stand to one side now.”
There was deep silence for a moment, then a slight
sound as of metal on metal, then a report, and Muller
re-entered the study through the bedroom. He found
Bauer stooping over the picture of the French soldier.
There was a hole in the left breast, where the bullet,
passing through, had buried itself in the back of the
chair.
“Yes, it was all just as you said," began the chief
of police, holding out his hand to Muller. “But-
why the golden bullet?”.
“To-morrow, to-morrow," replied the detective,
looking up at his superior with a glance of pleading.
They left the house together and in less than an
hour's time Muller was again in the train rolling
towards the capital.
He went to the goldsmith's shop as soon as he ar-
rived. The proprietor received him with eager in-


328
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
set aboutall locked s
e objects.
terest and Muller handed him the golden bullet.
“Here is the golden object of which I spoke,” said
the detective, paying no heed to the other's astonish-
ment. The goldsmith opened a small locked drawer,
took a ring from it and set about an examination
of the two little objects. When he turned to his vis-
itor again, he was evidently satisfied with what he
had discovered. “These two objects are made of
exactly the same sort of gold, of a peculiar old
French composition, which can no longer be produced
in the same richness. The weight of the gold in the
bullet is exactly the same as in the ring."
"Would you be willing to take an oath on that if
you were called in as an expert?”
“I am willing to stand up for my judgment."
"Good. And now will you read this over please,
it contains the substance of what you told me yester-
day. Should I have made any mistakes, please cor-
rect them, for I will ask you to set your signature to
it."
Muller handed several sheets of close writing to
the goldsmith and the latter read aloud as follows:
“On the 22nd of November, a gentleman came into
my shop and handed me a wedding ring with the
request that I should make another one exactly like
it. He was particularly anxious that the work should
be done in two days at the very latest, and also that
the new ring, in form, colour, and in the engraving on
the inside, should be a perfect counterpart of the
first. He explained his order by saying that his wife
was ill, and that she was grieving over the loss of
her wedding ring which had somehow disappeared.
The new ring could be found somewhere as if by
chance and the sick woman's anxiety would be over.
Two days later, as arranged, the same gentleman ap-
peared again and I handed him the two rings.
"He left the shop, greatly satisfied with my work


330
JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
the Chief. He sent in his name and was told to wait
in the little study. He sat down quietly in a corner
of the comfortable little room beyond which, in a
handsomely furnished smoking room, a number of
guests sat playing cards. From the drawing rooms
beyond, there was the sound of music and many
voices.
It was all very attractive and comfortable, and the
solitary man sat there enjoying once more the pleas-
ant sensation of triumph, of joy at the victory that
was his alone and that would win him back all his old
friends and prestige. He was looking forward in
agreeable anticipation to the explanations he had to
give, when he suddenly started and grew pale. His
eyes dimmed a moment, then he pulled himself to-
gether and murmured: “No, no, not this time. I
will not be weak this time.”
Just then the Chief entered the room, accompanied
by Councillor Kniepp.
“Won't you sit down here a little?" asked the
friendly host. “You will find it much quieter in
this room.” He pulled up a little table laden with
cigars and wine, close to a comfortable armchair.
Then, noticing Muller, he continued with a friendly
nod: “I'm glad they told you to wait in here. You
must be frozen after your long ride. If you will
wait just a moment more, I will return at once and
we can go into my office. And if you will make
yourself comfortable here, my dear Kniepp, I will
send our friend Horn in to talk with you. He is
bright and jovial and will keep you amused."
The chief chattered on, making a strenuous en-
deavour to appear quite harmless. But Kniepp, more
apt than ever just now to notice the actions of others,
saw plainly that his genial host was concealing some
excitement. When the latter had gone out the Coun-
cillor looked after him, shaking his head. Then his


G
CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET 333
horout
of the la
- Muie
ser.
wichon
er's word
the price
zat is pour
ly as if shit
Of, as it
name.
chank c
e first song
loir: "7
y account
Теѕе на:
air again
way, and it was nearly another hour before Bauer
knew that the man for whose name he had been wait-
ing so long was Leo Kniepp.
The knowledge came as a terrible surprise to him.
He was dazed almost. “And 1,—I've got to arrest
him in my own house?” he exclaimed as if horrified.
And Muller answered calmly: “I doubt if you will
have the opportunity, sir.”
“ Muller! Did you, again-
“Yes, I did! I have again warned an unfortunate.
It's my nature, I can't seem to help it. But you will
find the Councillor in his house. He promised me
that."
“And you believe it?"
“ That man will keep his promise,” said Muller
quietly.
Councillor Kniepp did keep his pronrise. When
the police arrived at the hunting castle shortly after
midnight, they found the terrified servants standing
by the body of their master.
“Well, Muller, you had better luck than you de-
served this time," Bauer said a few days later.
“This last trick has made you quite impossible for the
service. But you needn't worry about that, because
the legacy Kniepp left you will put you out of reach of
want."
The detective was as much surprised as anybody.
He was as if dazed by his unexpected good fortune.
The day before he was a poor man bowed under the
weight of sordid cares, and now he was the posses-
sor of twenty thousand gulden. And it was not his
clever brain but his warm heart that had won this
fortune for him. His breast swelled with gratitude
as he thought of the unhappy man whose life had been
ruined by the careless cruelty of others and his own
passions. Again and again he read the letter which
had been found on Kniepp's desk, addressed to him
ents late
Se in na
enjoy bi
the rucs
he ghast
for it ni
out Mule
caught
deep sa
friencia
the post
mg-mei"
an hoe
Timself
his out


334 JOE MULLER: DETECTIVE
and which had been handed out to him after the in-
quest.
My friend:-
You have saved me from the shame of an open trial. I thank
you for this from the very depth of my heart. I have left you a
part of my own private fortune, that you may be a free man,
free as a poor man never can be. You can accept this present
for it comes from the hand of an honest man in spite of all.
Yes, I compelled my wife to go to her death after I had com-
pelled her to confess her shame to me, and I entered her lover's
house with the knowledge I had forced from her. When I
looked through the keyhole and saw his false face before me,
I murdered him in cold blood. Then, that the truth might not
be suspected, I continued to play the sorrowing husband. I
wore on my watch chain the ring I had had made in imitation
of the one my wife had worn. This original ring of hers, her
wedding ring which she had defiled, I sent in the form of a
bullet straight to her lover's heart. Yes, I have committed a
crime, but I feel that I am less criminal than those two whom
I judged and condemned, and whose sentence I carried out as
I now shall carry out my own sentence with a hand which will
not tremble. That I can do this myself, I have you to thank
for, you who can look into the souls of men and recognise the
most hidden motives, you who have not only a wonderful brain
but a heart that can feel. You, I hope, will sometimes think
kindly of your grateful
LEO KNIEPP.
Muller kept this letter as one of his most sacred
treasures.
The “Kniepp Case” was really, as Bauer had
predicted, the last in Muller's public career. Even
the friendliness of the kind old chief could not keep
him in his position after this new display of the un-
reliability of his heart. But his quiet tastes allowed
him to live in humble comfort from the income of his
little fortune.
Every now and then letters or telegrams will
come for him and he will disappear for several days.
His few friends believe that the police authorities,
who refused to employ him publicly owing to his
strange weakness, cannot resist a private appeal to
his talent whenever a particularly difficult case arises.


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