THE LADY IN BLUE





THE
LADY IN BLUE
A JOSEPH MULLER STORY
BY
AUGUSTA GRONER AND
GRACE ISABEL COLBRON
Authors of: “The Man with the Black Cord,”
“Joe Muller, Detective,” etc., etc.
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
I 92.2


Copyright, 1922, by
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE CRY AT TWILIGHT . . . .
II. WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT .
III. GRAVE-FLOWERS
IV. BY SOUTHERN WATERS . • -
V. WALTER THORN MAKES A DIscoverY
VI. WAS IT SUICIDEP - - - -
VII. JosEPH MULLER IN THE GREY House
VIII. THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS .
IX. WHO CAME BACK? .
X. CoNCERNING TONY . . .
XI. THE TORN LETTERs . . . . . .
XII. THE LEFT-HANDED MAN . . . .
XIII. “GOLDIE-BOY” • • e • e o e
XIV. IN THE Ivy CoTTAGE . . . . .
XV. WHICH ALSo CoNCERN's ToNY . .
XVI. MULLER GOES To VENICE . . . .
XVII. MULLER DROPs THE FALSE TRAIL .
|XVIII. BACK IN THE Ivy CoTTAGE . . . .
PAGE
I5
29
58
73
EPILoGUE . . . . . . . . .
93
II2
I34
I5I
167
185
2OI
216
233
246
275
285
3O3





THE LADY IN BLUE


CHAPTER I
THE CRY AT TWILIGHT
THERE was something uncanny about the Grey
House, as people thereabouts called it.
Hiding haughtily behind high brick walls, it
turned a forbidding front to the pretty city that
came creeping over flower-strewn meadows to en-
croach on the old mansion's solitude. If one looked
through the great gates of ornately wrought iron that
gave entrance on two sides to the charming garden
with its many flowers, its shrubs and graceful tree-
groups, the place seemed cheery enough. But
houses have personality, a personality of their own,
irrespective of those who dwell therein. And this
house looked out through its tall windows with an
air of affrighted reserve. The ivy that clung here
and there to the bleak walls drooped discouraged, as
if it had long since given up trying to beautify, and
was anxious only to conceal.
The gruesome quality in the place, handsome and
well-built though it was, was never so apparent as on
this stormy evening of late May, thought Mrs. Deis-
ler, the old caretaker and housekeeper, as she walked
down the garden path to open the gate for the post-
man. She shivered and drew her shawl closer around
her shoulders.
3


4 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Nasty evening, ain’t it?” remarked the stout
letter carrier, as he handed her the mail.
“It is that,” she replied. “I'm right sorry for
you walking about in this wind.”
“I’d rather be walking about than living in such
a place on a night like this,” laughed the object of
her solicitude. “It must have been right lonely when
it was first built.”
“It's not so bad now, the city's grown up so
close.”
“Still, it's only strangers from outside will hire
the place. Don't the young lady mind the loneli-
ness?”
“She’s got her maid with her. And she's not
the kind to be minding the stories about the house.”
“No. . . she's right smart and handsome to
look at, isn’t she?”
“Hush . . . here they come.” Mrs. Deisler
turned to greet the two women who came down the
path from the house door, while the letter carrier
lingered for a last look.
The tall girl who came on ahead, struggling to
keep her big hat with its sweeping plumes on her
head in spite of the wind, would have justified any
man lingering to look at her. Her beauty was of
that showy, dazzling sort that seems to create a spot-
light around itself and to focus all eyes on it. She
carried her tall slender figure with an audacious
swing that lent dignity to the ultra modishness of her


THE CRY AT TWILIGHT 5
light blue silk gown and the long black cape that
floated like a dark cloud around her. On her small
head with its blue-black hair massed around a deli-
cate-featured face, the exaggerated size of her hat
melted into harmony as a note in the picture. But
the hat was giving her considerable trouble just at
the moment, for the wind seized on it like a child
on some desired plaything.
“What a perfect nuisance,” the beauty grumbled.
Her tone was not pleasant, but her voice was. She
swept on past the old woman, with the barest nod
in answer to the latter's respectful greeting.
The maid who followed her mistress was more
friendly. “Don’t wait up to let us in,” she said as
they passed through the gate. “I have the keys
with me.” -
The old woman nodded and stood looking after
them until a stronger gust than usual sent a shiver
down her back, and made her hurry to the house.
She felt sorry for Tony, the young lady's maid, for
the girl had been complaining of a headache and it
was no pleasure to have to go out in such a wind,
even to the theatre.
“She’ll not enjoy the play much, poor thing,” she
thought, locking the hall doors before she entered
her own cozy room. Mrs. Deisler was alone in the
house and believed in being safe.
Her labors of the day were over, and she set-
tled down with a sigh of satisfaction to her cup of


6 THE LADY IN BLUE
coffee and the newspaper. She permitted herself
a dip into its excitements before taking up the mend-
ing that lay waiting her hand.
Then she heard a step on the path outside, a quick
eager step. She rose, a bit surprised, and went to
the window that gave out on the path. It was Tony,
the maid, coming rapidly up from the gate. She
entered the house just as Mrs. Deisler came out
from her room. “Forgot something,” Tony called
back as she ran upstairs, breathless.
She came down soon, carrying a long feather boa
over one arm. “I think I’ve got everything now,”
she laughed. “Don’t let me disturb you. I'll just
fasten this shoestring and then I'll lock you safely in
again.”
“How's your headache?” asked the housekeeper.
“Not so bad now, thanks!” With a nod the girl
bent to her shoe and Mrs. Deisler went back to
her room. She heard the light step on the path out-
side, and then the clang of the closing gate.
The old woman took up her paper again. It was
a paper from Linz, her late husband's home town,
for which she continued to subscribe with that al-
legiance to the past that grows stronger in us as
age cuts us off from interest or activity in the pres-
ent. But somehow the local news did not seem as
enthralling as usual this evening. The storm outside
was growing worse. The tree-tops writhed in agon-
ized protest as they strove to shield their new young


THE CRY AT TWILIGHT 7
foliage from the clutching fingers of the raw, wet
wind. The gentle murmur of the little river that
flowed past one side of the house had risen to an
angry brawl, and it spat flecks of foam on the grass-
bordered path on its banks. Yes, it was a nasty
night.
Mrs. Deisler dropped the paper and sat upright,
swallowing hard and staring into space. She had
heard . . . or thought she had heard, a cry from
somewhere in the old house . . . a short, sharp
scream of terror.
But she must have been mistaken . . . she was
all alone in the house . . . her only tenants, the
young lady and her maid, had gone out . . . she
must have been mistaken . . . she did not hear
that scream . . . or if she did, it must have been
something out in the street . . . for there was no
one in the garden either . . . the gates were both
locked and Buchner the gardener had gone off on
some errand, taking his dog with him . •
Mrs. Deisler wished he hadn’t . . . that dog, or
the gardener himself, would have been a great com-
fort to her just at that moment.
With beating heart, and hands that trembled, the
old woman sat motionless, waiting . . . waiting
. . . . But there was no second scream. And
gradually the uproar in her heart and brain sub-
sided. She began to reason with herself again, more
calmly this time. She rose and busied herself about


8 THE LADY IN BLUE
the room. But her feet dragged and her hands were
useless.
“I must have been mistaken,” she murmured again
and again. Then, with a sudden decision, she went
out into the hall, already dim in the growing dusk.
She wanted to look about in the house before it
was quite dark and assure herself that all was as it
should be. She walked with a braggard loudness of
step that gave the lie to her true feelings. She took
her matches and taper, and lit the gas jets as she
went along.
Her tenant, Miss Elise Lehmann, occupied the
right wing of the house, which, like many old houses
in Europe, consisted of a ground floor with kitchen
and servants' quarters, a main story with living and
bedrooms, and a mansard attic. Two corridors ran
to right and left from the gallery that topped
the wide staircase. Four doors opened into each
corridor. There were windows at the end of each
corridor, but the ivy had grown so thick around them
that they gave little light to the halls, even in broad
day.
Mrs. Deisler lit the hall lamps hastily, looking
around with frightened eyes. She tried the doors
of the right wing. They were locked, as usual when
Miss Lehmann and her maid had gone out.
The caretaker breathed relieved, and turned back
to the stairs again. At the top she paused and threw
a shy glance at the left wing corridor. Had the


THE CRY AT TWILIGHT 9
cry come from there? . . . Shivering, she remem-
bered half-heard tales of “something terrible” that
had happened there long years ago. She ran down
the stairs and back into her own bright cheerful
foOnn. -
Then she gave another deep breath of relief, for
a familiar barking broke through the howling of the
wind. That was Pollux . . . which meant that
Buchner was coming home. The gruff-tempered
gardener was no particular pet of Mrs. Deisler's,
but she fairly ran down the path to let him in . . .
which greatly surprised the man.
“Why did you come out in this wind?” he asked.
“I got my key.”
“I thought you’d be cold yourself . . . and it's
a bother to look for the key,” she murmured, stoop-
ing to pat the dog. She couldn't say more, for she
was never very talkative with Buchner and it wouldn't
do to change too suddenly. He had laughed at her
timidity before, and she didn't dare mention the cry
she had heard . . . and her thought that it might
in some way be connected with the mysterious stories
of past happenings in the house. So she said nothing
more and went back to her room.
But it was some comfort to see the light in Buch-
ner's little hut further down the garden. And once
she knew him safely in his house she opened her own
door softly and called in the dog, bidding him lie
on the rug in front of the stove.


10 THE LADY IN BLUE
It was nine o'clock when Buchner's lamp went out.
And the ladies couldn't be home until half-past ten
at the very earliest! Mrs. Deisler sighed, and
shuddered again at the thought of the terror in that
short sharp cry that still rang in her ears. She had
no wish for sleep or even for bed. She would sit
up until her tenants returned, although they never
expected such service.
Ten o'clock came . . . half past ten . . . at
last, the welcome sound of wheels and hoofs outside
as a cab stopped at the gate. Mrs. Deisler caught
up her shawl and hurried down the path.
“Why Mrs. Deisler, did you wait up for us?”
exclaimed Tony, who stood by the box, paying the
driver. “Oh, there . . . I’ve left my opera glass
in the cab . . . will you find it for me?”
Mrs. Deisler felt about in the dark cab, finding
the glass at last. Tony was waiting for her. Miss
Lehmann had gone on, holding her hat down over
her face and her boa well up around her neck to
avoid the raw blasts of the increasing wind. She
was already on the stairs before Mrs. Deisler and
Tony reached the hall door.
“As long as you are up, would you make me a
cup of tea?” asked the girl. “I’m chilled through.”
She shivered as she turned to follow her mistress up
the lighted stairs.
But she was down again before the tea was ready.


THE CRY AT TWILIGHT 11
“My, that didn't take long,” said Mrs. Deisler,
Tony laughed. “She's cross tonight. She wouldn't
let me undress her.”
“Yes, these rich ladies have their moods,” re-
marked the old woman as she lifted the singing ket-
tle from the stove. “Sit right down and take your
tea while it's hot. You look as if you needed it.”
The girl rubbed her hands, they were white and
shaking. “Yes, I'm frozen stiff. Didn't dress
warmly enough, I fancy.”
“And you're right hoarse, too,” said Mrs. Deis-
ler with a note of real sympathy in her voice. “I
do hope you haven't taken cold.”
The pretty modest-spoken girl had long since
won the heart of the old housekeeper, whereas her
mistress had not been so fortunate. Miss Lehmann
had been in the Grey House for three weeks, but
Mrs. Deisler had not yet made up her mind as to
whether she liked the lady or not. She rather
thought she did not, when she thought about it at
all. But she knew she liked Tony. “Shan’t I fix a
cold compress for your throat?” she asked now, in
real concern.
“It would be kind of you,” Tony answered, sip-
ping her tea. “Why doggie, what are you doing in
here?”
“I . . . I thought I'd like to have him here
tonight” . . . the housekeeper began slowly.
“Are you afraid . . . of anything?” Tony's


12 THE LADY IN BLUE
voice showed surprise. “I never noticed that about
you before.”
Mrs. Deisler hesitated. Of course it wasn't the
proper thing to frighten the tenants . . . not while
she was there to protect the owner's interests.
Still, the temptation was strong . . . Tony was
always such a good listener.
And she listened now, with an occasional incredu-
lous shake of the head but with no word of scorn
while the old woman described her experiences of
the evening, and then went on to talk about the
rumors of by-gone happenings . . . stories that
concerned the old house and its past.
Then she paused and there was silence in the
room. “What makes you so thoughtful, Miss
Tony?” she asked, as the girl did not speak but sat
absently patting the dog's head which lay in her
lap. She looked up as if from a day-dream. “Noth-
ing . . . I was just thinking . . . my lady has been
so depressed these last days . . . and last night
she couldn’t sleep and seemed to be frightened about
something. She woke me and wanted me to sit by
her bed. But I don't suppose that has anything to
do with the house. She's been down-hearted for
some days.”
“Now what's she got to be down-hearted about
. . young and pretty as she is, and engaged to a
fine gentleman? Still, I guess you're right. I saw
her crying over a letter in the garden the other day,


THE CRY AT TWILIGHT 13
and then she tore it into bits. I expect she's got
her cares too, like the rest of us.”
“What's that?” whispered Tony hastily, her eyes
staring into the corner. A cold gust seemed to sweep
through the room, making the gas jet flame and
flicker.
“Don’t be scared” soothed Mrs. Deisler. “The
old stove does that frequently on windy days. Hear
it howling in the chimney? And there's an attic
window unfastened. I’ve heard it slamming for
some time . . . there . . . hear that?”
“Is it . . . really an attic window?”
“Why yes . . . what else should it be?”
“In this house? After what you've been telling
me?”
“Why Miss Tony . . . . you're more scared
than I am.”
“It's your fault . . . and now I’ve got to go up
there alone.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“But you'll come down again, and I'll be alone
. after all those stories.”
“Why can't you stay down here?”
“That won't do . . . my lady might ring for me,
and I couldn't hear it here. There . . . hear that?
She's ringing now . . . I wondered why she hadn't
wanted me before this.” Tony rose and hurried to
the door. Then she turned “Why can't you come
up and sleep in my room?” she asked. “Bring your


14 THE LADY IN BLUE
quilt, I have everything else. You can sleep in my
bed and I'll take the sofa. Will you do that?”
“Why certainly.”
Mrs. Deisler herself preferred not to be alone
that night. She puttered about, making her prepa-
rations for bed. Tony returned before she was
ready, carrying a carafe. “Are you ready? I'll
take up some drinking water.”
The housekeeper let out the dog, extinguished the
lights, and followed the girl upstairs, her warm
quilt over her arm. They chatted for a few mo-
ments after going to bed. Then Tony's answers
grew fainter until her deep, quiet breathing told her
companion that the girl had gone to seleep. Mrs.
Deisler slept lightly, as old people often do. She
woke several times during the night, and listened,
with a gentle envy for the sound sleep of youth, to
the soft regular breathing from the sofa. Her
stories had not robbed Tony of a good night's rest.


CHAPTER II
WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT
MRs. DEISLER awoke at her usual hour, five
o'clock. She rose quietly, slipped into her clothes
and stole off as gently as possible, to avoid disturb-
ing Tony. The girl tossed a bit, then went off to
sleep again.
“Young people sleep sound” thought Mrs. Deis-
ler, with a natural touch of envy.
An hour and a half later she was busy in her
cheery kitchen, preparing Buchner's breakfast. She
heard his heavy step on the stones outside and his
whistling, which always annoyed her. “Why does
he have to make that noise? You'd think he
was . . .”
The little milk pitcher fell from her hand, shat-
tering to bits on the floor. But Mrs. Deisler did
not notice it. She stood motionless, trembling, her
eyes wide.
Another cry rang through the house, a long shrill
shriek, the breaking of taut nerves tingling with
horror.
15


WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT 17
Tony halted, and drew a deep breath as if to
gain courage before entering the open door, the
last door on the right side of the right wing cor-
ridor. A large handsomely furnished room lay be-
fore them, bright in the morning sun that fell
through the big bay window wreathed with ivy.
Another door in the room was also open, revealing
a bed-chamber beyond. But on the threshold be-
tween the two rooms lay the body of Elise Lehmann,
rigid in the icy chill of death.
Buchner was kneeling beside her, his hand on the
cold forehead. “There's nothing we can do here”
he said, “she's cold as ice already.”
“Merciful Christ!” screamed the caretaker. “She
did it herself! . . . she stabbed herself! . . . Miss
Tony . . . did you see that?” And her shaking
hand pointed to a dagger which lay on the edge of
the rug, not far from the stiffened right hand of
the corpse.
Tony nodded, while her horror-widened eyes
stared at the shining polished blade. The groove
along its edge and its sharp point were dulled and
stained with brown-black spots. And other spots
marred the border of the big rug.
“Oh, but that's dreadful . . . dreadful . . .”
murmured Mrs. Deisler. Tony, as if incapable of
independent thought, repeated dully, “Dread-
ful—”


18 THE LADY IN BLUE
Buchner rose from his knees “We'll have to notify
the police at once. I'll go.”
“Shall I go too, or do you want me to stay here?”
asked Mrs. Deisler timidly.
“For God's sake, stay with me, I can’t be alone
now.” Tony caught at the housekeeper's arm with
icy hand.
The two women stood motionless for some time
after Buchner had gone. Their eyes and their
thoughts focussed on the one point, the corpse of
the beautiful girl on the floor at their feet.
Finally the housekeeper stirred, and bent down
over the body, drawn by a gruesome curiosity.
“You can see she was frightened. Strange, ain’t
it? She was afraid of death and yet she killed her-
self . . . poor girl . . . so young and beautiful, and
yet so unhappy that she didn't want to live any
longer. It's hard for the likes of us to understand
that.” She put out her hand towards one long
glossy tress, loosened from the heavy coils on the
dead girl's head. It lay like a black snake on the
bright-hued carpet. Mrs. Deisler touched it gently
as if to put it back in its place again.
But Tony caught at her arm. “Don’t touch it
. . . don't touch anything. We have to leave every-
thing just as it was till the police come.” The girl
shook as if in a fever.
Mrs. Deisler put one arm around the trembling
form and led her to the chair in front of the big


WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT 19
window. “Sit down there,” she said gently, “I’ll
sit here on the step beside you.”
Tony dropped her arms on the little table beside
the chair, laid her head on them and sobbed con-
vulsively.
Mrs. Deisler had no tears to relieve her horror.
She had had little liking for her tenant. It was
not merely the girl's arrogant repellant manner.
The simple old soul imagined that all “fine ladies”
behaved that way, and in another case, she might
have accepted it without a further thought. But
she could not help thinking that Miss Lehmann, in
spite of her haughty air and costly clothes, was
not really a “fine lady.” And with this suspicion
in mind Mrs. Deisler resented her tenant's manner
and treatment of herself. With all due commisera-
tion for the girl's untimely death, the good old
woman felt no inclination to weep over it.
When her first horror had subsided, practical
matters claimed her gloomy thought. She couldn't
stay in the house after what had happened, she'd
be too frightened. And it's so hard to find a new
place, when one is old.
The two women sat quiet for some time, as mo-
tionless as the silent corpse on the floor. Tony's
sobs ceased. But her face was still buried on her
folded arms, and an occasional shudder shook her
frame.


20 THE LADY IN BLUE
Steps and voices down stairs startled them out
of their thoughts.
“The police,” whispered Tony with a gasping
sigh.
Mrs. Deisler involuntarily smoothed her apron
and straightened her cap. Then she fell into deep
thought again.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Tony
nervously.
“Shall I mention that scream?”
“What scream?”
“The scream I heard last night.”
Tony raised her head and stared at the old woman
for a moment. Then she spoke, harshly, angrily.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They'd only laugh at such
nonsense. They'd call it women's foolishness.
They'd . . .” She paused, for the men outside had
reached the door. Both women rose and stood
waiting.
The police commissioner, who came in first,
nodded in answer to their respectful bow, and
looked at them sharply. He saw only two excited
women, the younger with eyes red from weeping.
“You are the dead lady's maid?” he asked,
looking at Tony.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are the housekeeper?”
Then the commissioner turned to the body, beside
which the doctor was kneeling. The official fol.


WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT 21
lowed the physician's actions carefully and looked
about the room with keen attention. After he had
examined the dagger, he asked the maid if she had
ever seen the weapon before. Tony replied that
her mistress had used the dagger for a paper-knife
and that she kept it on her desk.
“And you’ve seen this dagger before too?” the
official turned to Mrs. Deisler.
“Oh, yes, sir,” replied the old woman. And
Buchner volunteered the information that he had
had often seen it lying on the desk when he brought
up flowers for the lady.
“How long have you been in this place? . . . in
the lady's service?” The Commissioner turned his
attention to Tony again.
“Scarcely a month, sir.”
“Well?” This to the doctor, who had risen to
his feet.
“Internal hemorrhage. She's been dead for
hours, probably since midnight or longer. It is
evidently a case of suicide.”
“Thanks, doctor” said the commissioner. “If
you'll wait a few minutes we can go down together.
I'll be through here soon. Will you go down stairs
Mr. Buchner, and send up the men with the litter?
They must be here by now. You haven't anything
more to say about the case, I suppose?”
“No, sir, Except that I might mention, how I'd


22 THE LADY IN BLUE
seen the lady crying by herself in the garden a few
days ago.”
“Yes, I saw that too,” said Mrs. Deisler.
“Thanks. You may go then.”
When the gardener had gone the Commissioner
sat down at the table and beckoned to the two wo-
men. He took out his note-book and looked at
Tony.
“Tell me all you know about the dead woman.
What was her name?”
“Elise Lehmann.”
“Has she any relatives?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Didn't she speak to you about her family, or her
affairs?”
“She didn't talk much to me, sir.”
“The gardener tells me you and your lady had
been here only three weeks.”
“Yes.”
“Pull up that chair and sit down, or you'll be
keeling over” said the Commissioner, who had a
soft spot in his heart for women, particularly when
they were young and pretty. When the girl was
seated he continued: “You seem so upset about this
affair! The poor lady wasn't much more than a
stranger to you! Calm yourself my child, and
answer me. Then you've been in her service scarcely
a month?
“About three weeks and four days.”


WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT 23
“Where did the lady engage you?”
Tony did not answer immediately. She wiped
the tears from her eyes and her cheeks before she
spoke. “She hired me in Linz.”
“Is Linz your home?”
“Yes. The lady was there for a few days.”
“Then you don't know much about her affairs?”
“I know only that she was engaged to be mar-
ried.”
“Ah • tes ..” -
“And . . . that she had . . . a friend . . .
besides . . .” -
“Oh . . .”
“Her fiancé was Baron Edmund Wallroth. He
lives in Vienna, at least I think he does, for his
letters came from Vienna.”
“What was the other man's name?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't? Then how do you know that there
is such a man?”
“He was in Linz with my lady.”
“Couldn’t that have been Baron Wallroth?”
“Oh, no, sir. The lady and this gentleman spoke
of the Baron and had a bad quarrel about him. And
besides he was rather heavy-built and blond, and
Baron Wallroth is tall and slender and dark. That's
his picture up there.”
The official looked at the photograph that hung
over the desk, then continued his examination.


24 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Is there anything more you can tell me about
the dead woman?”
“I think the Baron rented this house for her.”
“You can probably give us all information about
that,” said the Commissioner, turning to Mrs.
Deisler.
“Oh yes, sir. The gentleman in the picture up
there came here on May first and took the house
for the summer. He paid the rent in advance and
said that the lady who was moving in was to be
married to him soon. The lady, Miss Lehmann,
came on May seventh with her maid here. The
gentleman hasn’t been here since, nor any other
visitors. But I think the lady liked company for
she was always going out, and went out evenings
often, too. It's lonely in this house for a young
pretty thing like her.”
“What is your name?” The official asked the
maid.
“Antonia Schreiner.”
Two men with a litter came in and raised the
body from the floor, making it ready to carry away.
The physician removed the watch and other jewelry
and handed it to the Commissioner. The latter
had placed the dagger on the mantelpiece.
The men moved off slowly with their sad burden
and the physician followed.
“When did you last see the lady alive?” asked


WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT 25
the Commissioner, after a short examination of the
watch and jewelry.
Mrs. Deisler answered his question. Tony's
widened eyes were fixed on the little procession mov-
ing down the hall.
“I saw her about half-past ten last night,” re-
ported the housekeeper eagerly. “The lady and
Tony came home from the theatre.”
“And you?” The Commissioner looked at the
girl. She turned her face slowly to him.
“I? . . . what? . . . what did you ask, sir?”
“When did you last see your mistress alive?”
“It must have been just after eleven o'clock” Tony
spoke quickly now. “You remember Mrs. Deisler?
The lady sent me down right away, she wouldn't
let me undress her. She was in such a bad humor.
Then she rang for me a little later. I was having
a cup of tea with Mrs. Deisler. . . I went up and
fetched her fresh drinking water. Yes, it must
have been after eleven.”
“When you came down with the water bottle,”
put in Mrs. Deisler, “it was just quarter past eleven
by my clock. And you were asleep before twelve.”
“How do you know that?” asked the official sur-
prised. “Do you room together?”
“Mrs. Deisler slept with me last night” replied
Tony calmly “Because I'd been feeling so miserable
all day. That's why she knows when I went to
sleep.”


26 THE LADY IN BLUE
Commissioner Sennfeld rose and went into the
bedroom. It was in immaculate order. The bed
had been prepared for the night but had not been
slept in. The only thing out of the usual was that
a big black hat with long plumes lay thrown care-
lessly on a chair, and a feather boa, as well as one
long white glove, trailed down from the seat of the
chair to the floor. The door leading from this room
to the corridor was locked and the key was on the
inside. The official returned to the living room,
opened a drawer of the desk and laid the dead wo-
man's watch and jewelry in it.
“Where did she keep her money?” he asked of
Tony. The girl pointed to another drawer. It con-
tained about three hundred crowns in gold and
bills.
“Are there second keys to these doors?”
“No,” answered both women.
“Did the lady have just these two rooms?”
“Oh, no, sir. We had the drawing-room and the
dining-room and a room for me,” replied the maid.
“Well, I've finished here now. We can go down.”
They went out into the hall and the Commissioner
locked the door behind him, putting the key in his
pocket. He looked into the other rooms, which
were all in their usual order, and locked them up
as well. Downstairs, he turned to the girl again.
“I suppose you had better wait until the Baron


WHAT NEXT MORNING BROUGHT 27
comes. He may want to speak to you. And then
you'll want your money, too.”
“I will wait here until the Baron comes,” Tony
answered calmly. Commissioner Sennfeld nodded
to her with a kindly smile and joined the doctor who
was waiting in the garden. The hospital wagon
had driven off and the two men followed in their
cab.
The Grey House lay as quiet as before, in the
circle of its blossoming garden.
Buchner closed the gate behind the officials and
went back to his own cabin, forgetting his breakfast
entirely. -
But Mrs. Deisler was more practical. She be-
lieved in keeping to the day's routine whenever pos-
sible. And she thought that a good hot cup of
coffee would comfort the poor frightened girl.
“Come with me, Miss Tony,” she began . .
then she saw that Tony was not there. Upstairs
in the hall a door closed.
Tony had gone to her own room.
*k x 2k x 2k x 2k x
Commissioner Sennfeld wired the Vienna police
concerning Baron Wallroth. The answer came, giv-
ing the gentleman's address. But a second wire
to his home brought forth the information that the
Baron was away on a trip and that a letter would
reach him in Malmö, Sweden, after the first of
June. The Commissioner wrote to that address,


28 THE LADY IN BLUE
giving all particulars as to the death of Elise Leh-
mann. But before this letter had reached the man
she was to have married, the beautiful woman was
quietly buried in the Salzburg Cemetery. Hospital
attendants carried the coffin and the only mourners
were the gardener and the two women from the
Grey House.
The young clergyman murmured his prayers hast-
ily, with a look almost of anger towards the coffin
where lay the body of the suicide, a being accursed
by the tenets of his religion. He went away as soon
as his office was performed. But the women ling-
ered. Tony sobbed bitterly, and Mrs. Deisler tried
to soothe her.
As far as the public authorities were concerned
the case was closed. An official notice went out to
papers in Salzburg and Vienna asking for relatives
or heirs of Elise Lehmann. And Commissioner
Sennfeld turned to other matters.


30 THE LADY IN BLUE
know,” continued Thorn, his eye lighting with the
passion of the true artist. “This stretch of coast
we are going to . . . Falsterbo, once a thriving
seaport town, then ruined and smothered under
sand by successive storms, is so utterly wonderfully,
silent and desolate that it achieves beauty by that
very quality. It is a great graveyard, with here
and there a half-buried house, what is left of old
patrician mansions, serving as dwelling for some
poor fisherfolk. I'm finishing my picture there.”
“What is it? A portrait?” asked Wallroth.
“Yes. But not a portrait of man or woman,
statesman or beauty, . . . it is a portrait of that
desolate sea-coast. You'll sense it at once . . . the
coast, I mean, its personality, the thing I have tried
to put into my picture. There are fields of immor-
telles there, stretching for miles, waving sadly, like
soft-hued ranks of mourners. That's what I’ve
painted. A field of these grave-flowers, the sand
dune beyond, and the broken wreck of a vessel
drifting forlornly on the waves . . . sadness enough,
in my eyes, to express the soul of that desolation.
But the dear public wants its lessons in words of one
syllable, clear and definite. And as we don't paint
entirely for ourselves, and Mohammed will not come
to the mountain, the mountain must go to Moham-
med . . . all of which means that an artist must
consider the public whether he enjoys doing it or not.
So I have put a woman amid the immortelles, a


G R A V E - F L O W E R S 31
woman walking through flowers as if towards a
grave. Well, you'll see it.”
There was nothing of the desolation of which
Thorn spoke in the landscape through which the
two men were now passing. All was sunshine and
early spring green, cheerful little houses and gar-
dens bright with early flowers. Wallroth leaned
back in his corner, his dark eyes full of a gentle
happiness as he stared out at the clear blue sky.
Thorn smiled and bent towards him.
“I wouldn't wager even a penny on your thoughts,
for I know just where they are wandering. In Salz-
burg, eh? In a certain old grey house?”
“That isn’t hard to guess,” answered Wallroth.
“You know how happy I am, in spite of every-
thing.”
“In spite of everything? Nonsense! Why let
one woman's narrow conventionality spoil your
life?”
“But if that one woman happens to be my mother,
my deeply loved mother?”
“I know. I'm not saying anything against Aunt
Lenore. She is one of those rare women to whom
any man looks up in respect and admiration. But in
this case she has disappointed me. I had thought
her more broad-minded.”
“She judges from her point of view. . . .”
“That's just it. She judges all women from her
point of view, the point of view of a woman of


32 THE LADY IN BLUE
wealth and position who has never had to struggle
with life and its vulgar, sordid problems. She does
not realize what life brings to other women who
have to wade through its turgid stream . . . they
cannot always keep their skirts white and clean.”
“Yes . . . that's just what irks me, when I
think of Elise . . . that turgid stream of vulgar
life . . . that it should besmirch her,” said Wall-
roth slowly, with a deep sigh.
“Which is why you took her off the stage at once,
and hid her in a lonely house outside a small town?
Too bad some kind fairy gardener couldn't charm
up a magic hedge around that house, through which
you alone might pass!” laughed Thorn.
“You are right,” replied Wallroth good-hu-
moredly. “I know I am madly jealous.”
“Justified? Is Elise especially desirous of ad-
miration?”
“Why especially’?”
“Because they're all coquettes . . . which is
fortunate for us men . . . and for the dressmak-
ers. Is your loved one such a sad coquette?”
“I have found her reserved, rather than otherwise,
but . . .”
“Then there's a ‘but'?”
“Her beauty is so extraordinary. It can’t fail
to attract attention.”
“That's its chief reason. What would we poor
artists do without beauty . . . and beauties?”


G R A V E - F L O W E R S 33
“You’ll be charmed with Elise when you meet
her.”
“I hope so. But you need not turn your jealousy
my way. I have some principle, and I have fur-
thermore a predilection for blondes. Your sweet-
heart is safe, where I am concerned.”
“Don’t call her sweetheart in that tone.”
“Whew, you are sensitive.”
“I know what people think, about what they
call a 'chorus girl. They'll accept a star, and
they'll be kind even to the second or third grade
actress. But when it comes to the poor beginners
in the chorus or small parts, our sort refuses to
believe that such girls can have any refinement or
decency at all. It's cruel and unjust.”
“I’ll do my best to be just,” murmured Thorn,
a bit amused at his cousin's intensity of feeling.
Wallroth did not notice it. “I have always treated
Elise as I would treat any lady,” he continued
eagerly. “And, at least since I have known her,
she's always behaved like a lady.”
There was a few moments of silence as the
wheels crushed the sandy road. Then Thorn
spoke, more seriously than before.
“Are you convinced that she always . . . be-
haved like a lady . . . even before you knew
her, or at least before you wooed her?”
Wallroth raised his head a bit stiffly. He opened
his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again until


34 THE LADY IN BLUE
the lips formed a firm straight line. It was some
little time before he spoke. “Yes. I am convinced
of that.”
Thorn did not answer. But he began to under-
stand that his aunt might have some justification
for her stubborn opposition to Edmund's marriage.
The moment of hesitation before the latter's an-
swer showed Thorn his cousin was not entirely
convinced that his beautiful future wife had al-
ways led the immaculate life she was now leading.
There must have been something in her past that
Wallroth knew of, but which he preferred to ig-
nore or keep hidden.
And Thorn was more annoyed at the thought
than he would have believed himself. He was no
prude, but a gay-hearted artist who took life as
it came. Had it been a mere passing infatuation
on Edmund's part, or the usual “affair,” Thorn
would have felt it to be no concern of his or of
any member of the family but Edmund himself.
But this was a question of marriage. Thorn be-
longed to a fine old patrician family which yielded
to none in point of pride. When his father's sister
had married the Austrian nobleman, her family
accepted the latter not because of his title and
wealth, but because of his sterling character and
true nobility of heart and brain. Many such mar-
riages there had been in the family, but never


G R A V E - F L O W E RS 35
one in which the shadow of a doubt could be cast
on the bride's past life.
Would Edmund be the first to break this rule
of generations? The thought was not only un-
pleasant to Thorn, but decidedly surprising as
well. Edmund had always, from a boy, been
so sensitive, so keenly proud, so over-delicate in
thought and feeling. Was it possible that such
a man could be so madly infatuated with this girl's
beauty that he was willing to marry her even
though he doubted her purity?
Thorn came to the conclusion that he had done
his Aunt Lenora an injustice. Her judgment
was tempered by worldly wisdom and possibly by
information unknown to him. He decided that he
would get into touch with his aunt very soon. If
she knew anything definite that made Elise Leh-
mann undesirable or even impossible as Edmund's
wife, he, Walter Thorn, would give her all pos-
sible aid in breaking off the match. Not only
from family pride, but because of his genuine affec-
tion for Edmund. He knew that a sudden sharp
wrench would be easier to bear than a lifetime of
disillusion.
But he wanted to drop the subject now, and
turned toward the western skyline, where a far-off
silver strip of water sparkled and glittered.
“There's the Sound already, we'll soon be in
Falsterbo.”


36 THE LADY IN BLUE
The wagon rolled on over sandy roads, past
isolated fisher-huts where the people stared out
at the motor as if at some strange wierd sight.
“They don't see many such hereabouts,” said
Thorn. “Few people come here. For there's
nothing to see or do except for a crazy painter
like myself. And there's scarcely anything to eat
and drink either, except what you take with you.”
“Is that why we're so loaded down with pack-
ages?” asked Wallroth. “I thought it was merely
because you were too particular.”
“I didn't see you lunching on fish and dry black
bread,” laughed Thorn. “I always load up like
this when I go down here for a night or so, or
even just for the day. It's more than primitive.
There . . . look at that house. See how ridicu-
lously wide the door is, in proportion to its height.
Half of it is buried under the steadily encroaching
sand. Most of the houses here are like that, the
fisher folk camping in the remains of half-buried
stately homes of yore. The place is really quite
fascinating. Here we are.”
They stopped at another wide low doorway,
where a blonde young woman stood bowing humbly.
Edmund looked around the big, plainly furnished
but immaculately clean old room.
“It is fascinating. It has atmosphere. I begin
to understand your liking for it. Is that the pic-


G R A V E - F L O W E RS 37
ture?” He walked over to the easel that stood
before one of the broad windows.
Thorn busied himself at unpacking and laying
out the good things he had brought, with the help
of their landlady. When all was ready he turned
to Edmund.
Wallroth was standing in front of the picture, his
eyes fixed on the canvas with an odd expression in
them. They were focussed on the figure of the
woman in the center of the picture. Her face
could not be seen, but the fine lines of cheek and
chin spoke for beauty. Her head drooped. One
delicate hand gathered the folds of her blue gown
more closely around her, the other was stretched
out as if to hide some horrible sight. Before her,
amid the flowers, was a long trench, newly dug,
beside which lay a spade. Immortelles everywhere,
the sand dune beyond, a derelict floating dismally
on the heavy grey sea, and a heavy grey sky over
it all.
“Do you like it?” asked Thorn, laying his hand
lightly on his cousin's shoulder.
“What does it mean? Why did you do this?
Who is this woman?” Wallroth passed his hand
over his brow, as Thorn looked at him in surprise.
He seemed just awakening from a trance. “Pardon
me . . . I . . . I don't know what happened
to me. I seemed to see through and beyond this
picture. It was like a window . . . and it was


38 THE LADY IN BLUE
Elise . . . Elise! . . . looking into a grave
... and starting back in horror from it! Oh,
I am absurd . . . What can it mean?” His
eyes were full of a queer frightened pleading, as
he looked at his cousin.
Walter felt a queer thrill himself as he listened.
But he shook it off and laughed lightly. “It means
that my picture caught you, that it did just what I
want it to do. You paid me a fine compliment.”
Wallroth smiled faintly and followed Thorn to
the table. He was silent during the meal, finding
it hard to shake off the queer feeling that had come
over him as he looked at the picture.
It came again and stronger as he strolled out
after lunch, leaving Walter at his easel for the
finishing touches on the big canvas. The painter
had in very truth caught the sad soul of these great
stretches of faint-hued immortelles, with the heather
beyond, the wide sea hemming in it. And again
Wallroth seemed to see, faint and faraway, a vision
of the beautiful woman whom he loved . . . to
see her walking through these sad-colored grave-
flowers in the light blue she wore so often, and to
see her stopping, startled, at the open grave that
yawned before her. Sensitive though he was Wall-
roth was not in the least superstitious, nor given to
such imaginings. He could not understand it now.
He was glad when Thorn's cheery voice told
him the picture was finished and that they could


G R A V E - F L O W E RS 39
drive back to the greater comfort of the Malmö
Hotel.
“Are you as tired as you look?” Thorn asked
through the open door between their rooms in the
hotel, as they were brushing up after their drive.
“Shall we go down, or have dinner sent up here?”
“Oh no, let's go down,” replied Wallroth, “I’m
not used to the sea air, and it's made me sleepy,
that's all. Come in,” he added, as there was a
knock at the door.
A hallboy came in. “This letter came this morn-
ing after you'd gone, sir,” he said, laying the letter
on the table, as both Wallroth's hands were occu-
pied with the tying of his cravat.
“A letter already?” teased Thorn, standing in
his doorway. “Must have come on the wings of
love.”
Wallroth laughed. “Elise doesn't know where
I am yet. The letter must be from mother. She
wasn't well when I left, and I wouldn't go until
she had promised to write the very next day. She's
so good . .” *
“She is indeed, Why Edmund . . . what's
the matter?”
Wallroth, still busy with his tie, stooped to look
at the letter, then snatched it up hastily. “It's
an Austrian stamp,” he said with a touch of irri-
tation that Thorn did not quite understand, “post-
marked Salzburg.”


40 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Well? Doesn’t that mean it's from your be-
loved?”
Wallroth looked nervous. “No. It's from the
Salzburg Police Headquarters, what the deuce can
they have to write me about?” He cut the en-
velope hastily and took out a big official-looking
communication. That queer pulling at his heart
that had come over him at Falsterbo almost choked
him now. Black mist gathered before his eyes as
he read the lines. Ghastly pale he staggered back
to the table for support.
“Good God, Edmund ! What's the matter?”
Hastily Thorn pushed up a chair. Wallroth sank
into it and handed the letter to his cousin.
“Edmund ! Oh! How terrible! My poor boy!”
There was true emotion in the painter's voice as he
took the trembling hand Wallroth held out to him
in mute appeal.
“How could she? . . . Oh why . . . why
should she? . . . Why?” Wallroth's voice trailed
away to an inarticulate murmur which was like a
moan of pain. Then he raised his eyes to Thorn
and the latter shuddered at the horror and the
suffering in them.
“Can we start to-morrow? You'll go with me?”
Wallroth's tone was dull and numb with grief.
“Surely. Surely . . . I'll go with you.” Thorn
hurried into his own room and returned with a rail-


GRAVE FLOWERS 41
way guide. “We can get a boat to-morrow. We'll
be in Salzburg in two days.”
“Walter . . .” Wallroth's voice, still
strangely dull, broke the pause. “Was that . . .
what . . . I saw in your picture today? . . . I
saw . . . her . . .”
A sudden chill struck even to Walter Thorn's
gay heart. He pressed his cousin's hand in silence.
And before the mental vision of both men, touched
now into dreadful life, appeared the picture of a
beautiful woman, helplessly drawn toward the open
grave, yet starting back from it in horror.


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 43
was a rich Viennese manufacturer, and he himself
held an easy well-paid position in a big bank. His
present experience as inmate of Marchesa Mantini's
select establishment was a novelty for the gay
young city man. But his doctor had insisted on
early hours, regular meals and all the other accom-
paniments of the “simple life.” Richard kicked
over the traces now and then, to the good Mar-
chesa's great anxiety. But as he managed to come
home fairly early from his dips into the night life
of Venice, she contented herself with a motherly
admonition.
She was prepared to deliver one now, as she
climbed the stairs to the tower-room, for Richard
had sent down to ask when he might see her. Her
own room was in disorder, and she preferred to
go up to the tower.
“Why Marchesa, how good of you to come up,”
exclaimed Volkner as she opened the door in re-
sponse to his “Come in.” “I didn't expect this.”
“The paperhangers are busy in my room and
the salon was full,” explained the Marchesa as he
led her courteously to the sofa.
“Oh, but you are the polite young gentleman
to-day. You must want something very big of
me.”
“Marchesa! Am I not always polite?” Richard
smiled into her still handsome eyes.
“Oh, signor, would you teach me to know men,


44 THE LADY IN BLUE
especially gay young men like yourself? Save such
glances for younger ladies who will appreciate
them. When you smile that way at an old woman,
I tremble to think what you could want of me.”
“It's not so very much.”
“Oh well, I know I shall say yes. But,” the
Marchesa grew suddenly serious, “you must not
ask secrecy from me again. If you go away on
another little trip I will tell the good doctor. I will
not keep it a secret as you made me promise to do
last time! For your own sake I must not. These
four days you have been away have done you no
good. You look very ill again, and I know you
are feverish. No, I will not be your accomplice
again. If you will commit such follies, when you
are here to get well, you must do it without my
assistance.”
Richard's face darkened suddenly while the
Marchesa was speaking, his black brows drew to-
gether, and his cheek was a shade paler. But he
overcame the passing emotion with a quick effort,
and smiled his sweetest as he answered: “Oh, no,
dear Marchesa, it's no such matter this time. I
shall go no further than Venice.”
“O, I see. Then you want my prettiest gondola
again and Achille?”
“Excellent guess! You're a mind-reader, dear
lady.”
“Didn't you know that? Very well then, you in-


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 45
sist on disobeying the doctor? For you know your-
self that these little . . . hm . . . diversions,
make your recovery much slower. I wish I could
prevent them. But if I don't give you my gondola
you can get twenty others, and I can’t tell those
boatmen to bring you back at twelve o'clock, as
I can tell Achille.”
“And that worthy man is uncomfortably obedi-
ent.”
“Naturally, or he'd be discharged. Dear boy,
can't you get along for a few weeks without these
—without staying out all night?”
“I’m not a baby, Marchesa.”
“O yes you are, a great big baby with a neat
little moustache. You'll never grow up. You're
just a schoolboy, and quite as lively as a schoolboy
in spite of your bad cough and your pale cheeks.
I wish I could put some color into them. Well,
never mind, I suppose I'll say yes this time too,
and let you have the gondola and Achille. But
you must take a warm rug also.”
“Delighted, I'm sure.”
“When do you start?”
“About eleven.”
“So late?”
“And we can't possibly be back here before one.”
“We?”
“The lady who comes with me. She's arriving
on the midnight express.”


46 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Hm.” The Marchesa sat up a bit stiffly. “May
I ask who this lady is?”
“The wife of a good friend of mine.”
“Indeed?”
“A charming young lady.” -
“Indeed? Her husband comes later, I hope?”
“No. He can’t leave his work,” answered Volk-
ner with a most demure air.
“But she can leave him?” The Marchesa's
tone was quite sharp.
Volkner's eyes drooped and he whispered shyly.
“Oh, yes. She just wired me that she's coming.”
“How nice of her.”
“She is nice, and so pretty too.” Volkner's tone
was all confidential discretion. “She's so fond of
me . . . we're very intimate, you see.”
“Apparently.” The Marchesa moved to the far
corner of the sofa, but Volkner followed, as he
continued with an embarrassed air, “She asks me
to engage a room as near mine as possible .
adjoining mine, if it's to be had. Now since that
chilly Englishman has just moved out of the room
next door . . . it will suit us exactly.”
The Marchesa rose, her voice was icy. “My
dear Mr. Volkner, I prefer chilly Englishmen to
young women who go about visiting intimate
friends, without their husbands.”
“Why dearest Marchesa, you surely are .
“I am a woman of the world, young sir, and I
99
•


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 47
do not expect young men of your sort to lead the
lives of Trappist monks. But there is a limit to
what I permit in my house.”
Volkner rose also, and looked very sad and a
bit defiant.
“I don't understand you at all, Marchesa. Can't
a sister visit her brother?”
She looked her surprise and relief. “Your sis-
ter? Why didn't you say so?”
Volkner laughed merrily. The Marchesa joined
in the laughter and tweaked his ear. “You wanted
to make a fool of me, didn't you, you naughty boy
. . even if you had to tell a little fib?”
“How so. . . fib?” -
“The wife of a good friend of mine,” quoted
the Marchesa.
“But it's true. My brother-in-law, Major von
Wiedener, is a very good friend of mine.”
“Oh, I see, that's how you twist it?”
“I don’t twist it, that's the way it is. And now
you'll be nice to me and love me again? And
Milla can have the room next door? And I can
have the gondola to-night and Achille? and . . .
most especially, don't forget the rug.”
“I shan’t forget anything although you don't de-
serve it. But I'll tell your sister to look after you
while she is here. You went in swimming to-
day when you were all heated up after running about
the sand. Simonides told me.”


48 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Simonides is a Greek. You can’t trust a Greek,
we learn that in high school.” Volkner offered his
arm to the Marchesa and led her ceremoniously to
the door, pausing there long enough to smile deep
into her eyes. “But I am a dear boy, Marchesa?
Am I not?”
“You are,” she laughed, then, more serious,
“you're one of those favorites of fortune whom all
the world loves and pets, and who suffer doubly
when fate or the world goes against them.”
Volkner's gayety vanished when the door closed
behind the Marchesa. He turned to the window
again, looking out with eyes that did not see the
rich glow of evening illuming all the world out-
side. His teeth were set tight and he shivered as
if in fever.
“If I could only forget that hour . . . it will
haunt me . . . forever!” he murmured, his face
ghastly pale. He raised his clenched fists and
shook them threateningly toward the distant moun-
tains to the north.
But an hour later he was at the dinner table,
the center of attraction and the gayest of all the
guests.
The Marchesa stood waiting to receive her new
guest when the gondola returned at one o'clock
that night. The good lady's doubts were quite set
at rest by the resemblance between the two young


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 49
faces that smiled an answer to her welcoming
words.
“How charming,” exclaimed Milla von Wiedener
as she looked around the room that was to be
hers. “I’m in a state of delight at everything to-
night, for it's my first visit to Venice. Where's
Richard?”
“Looking after your luggage probably,” replied
the Marchesa.
“That won't tax him much. We army women
travel light. Oh, there he is . . .”
Volkner stepped into the radius of light from
the hanging lamp. “Now let's have a good look
at you, little girl, and a good hug.” He came
forward with arms outstretched. But his sister
started back in alarm. “Why Richard | You're
so pale, and so thin. Oh, I didn't know you'd
been so ill.”
“He won't take care of himself,” put in the
Marchesa. “He was a bit better but . . . but
you see he has the fever again. I'll send you up
a pot of hot tea.” She finished rather hurriedly
and went out.
“Do I look as bad as all that?” asked Volkner,
with an attempt at a smile, as he dropped into a
chair.
Milla von Wiedener laid aside her hat and
coat, then came to her brother and stood looking
down at him, her hands on his shoulders. “You


50 THE LADY IN BLUE
lied to us, didn't you?” she asked. “You were
much sicker than you told us?”
“Naturally.”
“Oh . . . then it's quite natural to lie to your
sister? And you didn't tell mother the truth
either?”
“There are times when one can’t tell a woman
the truth. You go off the handle right away.”
“Mamma and I aren't that kind. And why
didn't you tell father? Or Bertie? You never
let him know either.”
“Dad's ill himself. I wouldn't dare let him get
excited, or nervous.”
“Bertie's not nervous.”
“No, your Bertie doesn't own a nerve. But he's
so up to his ears in work just now.”
“Then there's no one in your own family you
could confide in?” Milla sobbed. Volkner rose
and took her in his arms. “Why Milly dear, don't
be so upset. I couldn't tell the old people, you
know that, and I didn't want to unload my cares
onto your husband or on you.”
“Why couldn't you?” she sobbed as she stroked
his heavy dark hair. “Anybody'd think you'd been
doing something wrong instead of just getting so
sick and never letting your family know how bad it
was.”
“It was a bit my own fault,” said Volkner with
a smile.


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 51
“How was it your fault? What did you do to
get this lung trouble?”
Volkner turned his head, for which a bad fit
of coughing might have been sufficient excuse.
Milla's thoughts were busy at something. Sud-
denly she gasped, caught his face and turned it to
hers, looked him straight in the eyes.
“Richard; it was a duel. I remember now . . .
I heard something but I wouldn't believe it. Was
that it?”
He nodded. “Yes, I got a bullet near enough
to the lung to . . . bring this on.” He leaned
back coughing.
Milla dropped into a chair, as pale as her
brother. “No, you couldn't tell the family,” she
murmured. “But oh, why didn't you send for me,
and Bertie? You let strangers take care of you
when—when you might have died. You look as
if there was the danger . . . you look as if
death had come very near you.”
“Death did come . . . very near me,” the
young man repeated, his eyes looking into space.
Milla was startled at his expression. “What is
it? What is the matter?”
“Hush, here's the maid.” Volkner rose and
walked to the window.
The servant set the big tray on the table and
went out again. Milla busied herself with the
dishes, her thoughts elsewhere. It was some little


52 THE LADY IN BLUE
while before she called her brother to the table.
He turned and strolled across the room, quite
calm now.
“Aren't you eating anything?” he asked, as
he helped himself liberally. “If you haven’t had
anything since leaving Pontafel, you must be hun-
gry. The Marchesa has looked after us nicely.
But then she always does that. She's a motherly
old soul.”
His sister caught at his hand. “What does your
doctor say, Richard? Tell me the truth . . .
please.”
“Still harping on that foolish little affair?” he
replied lightly. “You needn't worry. The doc-
tor says it will take a good deal harder knock to
kill me, and that in six weeks at most I can go
back to the bank. They’ve given me leave until
the middle of July, the governor sends me all the
money I want, and mother chips in a bit herself
on the quiet every now and then . . . when she
thinks the old man isn't watching. The weather
is persistently glorious here, likewise the women.
What more could anyone want? And best of all
are these fruit tartlets, the good Marchesa's own
invention. I advise you to take one at once if
you want to try them, for otherwise I shall eat
them all.”
“Same old Richardl” said his sister, laughing
against her will.


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 53
“Which I intend to remain for several hundred
years yet, little sister.”
“But you'll tell me all about it, to-morrow?”
“You really want to hear it? Well, to-morrow
then, or rather to-day. Look at that clock! We
ought to be in bed!”
But they sat together for some time, chatting
about family matters. They were very close
friends, these two, and they had been separated
for over a year.
In spite of their late hours, they were out on
the sands early next morning, running along the
beach like two happy children. Milla's delight in
moonlit Venice was capped by her awe and won-
der at the sparkling stretch of blue water. To the
inland dweller the sea is a great and ever-new
mystery.
They walked along the sands toward Malamocco.
When Milla's first burst of delight was over, she
began to feel more like an everyday mortal. Her
thoughts came back to her own personal interests
and she reminded her brother that he had promised
to give her all the details concerning the duel
that had so nearly ended fatally for him.
“A woman in the case, I suppose?” she added.
“Women are the cause of most of your troubles.”
“Quite so,” he nodded. But his eyes were seri-
ous. “Yes, it would have been better for me if


54 THE LADY IN BLUE
I'd never met that Lehmann girl. Funny, too, she
wasn't the one I was interested in at first.”
“Who Was?”
“Another girl in the same company.”
“An actress? Or a chorus girl?”
“Now Milla, you needn't lift that little nose of
yours so high . . . at least not at that other
girl. She was dead straight, much too straight
for me. I'll confess to you that she turned me
down hard.”
“Then you took up with the other one? And
she wasn’t . . . dead straight?”
“The less said about that the better.” Richard
turned from his sister and stared out over the wide
waters. Milla took the opportunity to have an-
other good look at him, and her heart ached to
see how thin he was. After a pause he continued:
“Elise and I became . . . very good friends
. put it that way. It cost me a pretty penny
—cost the old man, would be nearer the truth I
suppose. That girl's extravagance was unbeliev-
able. It was too much for me. I quit after a
few months.”
“I can imagine a man would tire of that sort
of girl very soon,” said Milla with a scornful curl
of her lip.
Richard's eyes flashed and he seemed about to
speak. But he waited a moment with set lips.
Finally he spoke, almost harshly. “You don't


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 55
know anything about it. That's just the sort of
woman that drives us quite mad.”
“Oh, why will men be such fools.” Milla was
angry herself now. “They go around with . . .
with that sort and then they expect a decent girl
to . . . Oh, it's horrid, horrid!”
Richard's tension relaxed and he smiled at her
vehemence. “Oh, come now Milly, you're not a
young girl. You know all the men of our class
live that way. Your own highly respectable Bertie
was a gay young lieutenant once, remember.”
“Bertie never . . .”
“Got mixed up in a scandal or even a duel, as
far as we know. Granted. But he's always seemed
quite normal to me, so I daresay he has a few lit-
tle memories of the days before he met you tucked
away in his mind. And you know he's none the
less a good husband and useful citizen because of
it. So what's the use? It'll always be that way
and you can’t change it.”
“I suppose not,” Milla sighed deeply, “but go
on about your own story.”
“There's no more. I told you, I broke off with
her.”
“Then why did you fight a duel? Was she the
cause?”
“No, my loose tongue was the cause of that.”
“How?”


56 THE LADY IN BLUE
“There's a man so crazy about Elise that he
wants to marry her.”
“Dear me! Why not let him if he's that silly?”
“He will, don't worry. But we had a little
falling-out first. He knows that I know her and
he began to rave about her, and let slip the fact
that he intended to marry her. I didn't mean to,
but it just slipped out. I mean, I remarked that
one didn’t have to marry that sort of girl. Then
I saw that it was a dead serious matter for him.
I really felt sorry for the poor chap, he was so
cut up. And I was sorry for what I'd said, for I
thought that maybe the girl would be all right and
perfectly straight once she got her chance, once
she was a rich woman with a good social position.
I tried to get out of it somehow and calm him down
again. But it was no use. He insisted on an
abject apology, or a duel. And I couldn't bring
myself to a direct official lie, you know. The girl
wasn't worth that to me. Although, except for
what he could offer her, I felt she was too good
for a sickly sentimental fool like that chap. Well,
that's all. Don't let us mention the matter again.
You can imagine I'm not anxious to talk about
it.”
* * x *
But the subject did come up again between the
two, although not of their own volition.
Richard, tired and a bit depressed, had settled


BY SOUTHERN WATERS 57
down in a big chair on his balcony, as he usually
did after lunch. He liked to sit there in the full
warmth of the southern sun, and doze for an hour
or so. Milla tucked him in carefully and then
went into her own room to unpack and straighten
out her belongings. When this was done, she
took up the last home paper she had bought en
route, but had not had a chance to look over.
Glancing down the headlines, she saw something
that attracted her attention. She read the short
notice, then went into her brother's room.
“What was that girl's name?” she queried hast-
ily.
“What girl?” asked Richard, dropping his book.
“The girl for whose sake you nearly got killed?”
“Oh . . . Elise Lehmann.”
“Elise Lehmann?” Milla handed him the paper.
“Could this be your friend?” The little lady's
tone was scornfully bitter.
Volkner glanced down the column. His cheek
grew even paler, his eyes widened.
“Why, Richard, it surely doesn’t mean anything
to you now?” exclaimed his sister, quite alarmed.
He did not answer. His staring eyes were fixed
on the report of the Salzburg suicide. The paper
rattled in his trembling hands.


CHAPTER V
WALTER THORN MAKES A DISCOVERY
AT THREE o'clock on the afternoon of June
fourth a cab containing two men drew up at the
door of the Grey House in Salzburg, the house
where Elise Lehmann died.
The sun shone warmly on the gravel paths, but
one of the men shivered as if in a chill. The
other threw a sympathizing glance at him as he
pulled the bell at the gate.
“I'm afraid coming here will be bad for you,
Edmund,” he said. “You are so excited already.”
Wallroth shrugged his shoulders. “It would be
too cowardly not to come,” he answered somewhat
brusquely.
Mrs. Deisler came down the path from the
house. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she
asked. Then without waiting the answer, she ex-
claimed: “Oh, it's the baron! Oh, my poor dear
sir . . . isn't it terrible?” She hastened to open
the gate. “But I can't let you upstairs. The
police commissioner has the keys.”
“We have the keys with us,” said Thorn, lead-
ing the way to the house. At the door he handed
Mrs. Deisler the keys and they followed her up
58


WALTER THORN’S DISCOVERY 59
the broad stairway. The little window in the door
of her own room was hung with a dimity curtain
which moved slightly, as if held aside by a cautious
hand, as the men passed up the stairs.
The housekeeper opened the door of the corner
room, then retired and waited at the head of the
stairs in case she should be needed. A door opened
below and Tony came out. She had been living
in Mrs. Deisler's room since the catastrophe.
She stood at the foot of the stairs and called
gently to the old woman. Tony's face was partly
hidden in the white cloth that was wrapped about
her head. She had been suffering from tooth-
ache since early that morning.
“Who's up there?” she whispered.
“The baron.”
“There were two of them.”
“The other gentleman seems to be a close friend,
or a relative.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Aren't you coming upstairs?”
“Why should I? They'll call me if they want
me.”
“What are you so excited about?”
“I’m not excited. But I'm glad the baron's
come, so that I can get my money and go away.”
“You could have gone away any time. I'd have
sent the money to you.”
Tony murmured something that Mrs. Deisler


60 THE LADY IN BLUE
didn't quite catch, then she returned to the kitchen.
The sun flooded the big cheerful room as the
two men entered it, Wallroth last. His eyes wan-
dered from point to point, with a touch of fear in
them, as if he expected to see something gruesome.
His heart drew itself together in the grip of an
almost overwhelming grief. A deep groan forced
its way from his lips. He pressed his hands to
his temples and sank down on the nearest chair.
Thorn, whose robust nature had little sympathy
with weakness in another man, tried to keep his
voice gentle.
“You knew what awaited you here,” he said
quietly. “Why did you come, if you felt you
could not endure it?”
“It's so hideous, so incomprehensible,” groaned
Wallroth. “Here, where she lived, I feel more
strongly than ever what has gone out of my life.
God, why did she do it? What could have driven
her to such a step?”
“You may find the answer to that question in
her desk. A letter that was not posted, or some
message. She must have had something to tell
you.”
There was a long pause. Wallroth half rose,
then sank down again. Finally he whispered, in
a tone that was half a sob, “I can't do it. Will
you look?” -
Thorn gave a sigh of impatience. “Very well,”


62 THE LADY IN BLUE
wisdom of leaving the excited man to himself.
Still, it might be the best thing to do.
“Think of your mother, Edmund,” he said
gravely. “When a man has a mother like yours,
he shouldn't say he has lost everything.’” He
laid his arm over the other's shoulders and led
him downstairs and out to the waiting cab. “Cour-
age!” he whispered, as Edmund pressed his hand
in farewell. *
When Thorn entered the house again, a simply
clad woman with careworn face met him in the
hall.
“You wish to speak to me?” he asked, as she
stopped before him. “What can I do for you?”
“It's my wages, sir . . . would you tell the
baron, when he comes back?”
“He’s not coming back.”
“Oh . . .”
“But I can give you your money. You were
in the dead lady's service?”
“I was her personal maid.”
“How much is owing you?”
“Thirty crowns.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“But you should have something for the days
you have been unemployed, through no fault of
your own.”
“I’m not asking anything for that.”


WALTER THORN'S DISCOVERY 63
“That's your affair, my good girl. But I am
sure my cousin would want you to have full justice.
I am representing him here. Will another thirty
crowns compensate you for the loss of time?”
“That is very generous. For I have another po-
sition waiting for me.”
“I am glad to hear that. Will you stay in Salz-
burg?”
“No. I'm going traveling with my new lady.”
She blushed deeply. “I wonder why?” thought
Thorn. Then he realized that he had been staring
at her with a deeper interest than the situation
warranted. For he had just discovered that the
girl was exceedingly pretty. It was more than
mere prettiness, although her beauty had nothing
showy or conspicuous in it. It lay in the pure oval
of her face, in the well-cut features and above all
in the expression of her lovely golden-brown eyes.
But there were deep rings beneath those eyes, and
a look of suffering in their clear depths. Her face
was young but its pallor made it look almost faded.
Back of the evident suffering, mental and physical,
which Thorn, with an artist's keen eye, read in
that face, he saw marks of an unusual strength
of character. Neither in body or mind could this
young woman be classed with the average of human
beings. She interested him and he lingered in the
hall.
“You’re going traveling? Are you sure you are


64 | THE LADY IN BLUE
strong enough? I know from some experiences of
my own, that ladies are even more exacting when
away from home. And besides, constant traveling
is fatiguing.”
He was talking against time, yielding to his
wish to study her face.
But it was evidently not her wish that he
should. “Oh, yes, I'm strong enough.” She an-
swered rather shortly, drawing back with a touch
of stiff reserve that made him regret his rashly
revealed interest. He said no more just then,
took out the money and handed it to her. She
thanked him politely then turned toward the door
of the housekeeper's room.
“One moment please,” he called after her.
“Could you come upstairs after a while? I may
want to ask you some questions about Miss Leh-
mann before I report to my cousin.”
“If you ring for me sir, I will come up at once.
The bell button is to the right of the fireplace.”
Then she disappeared into the door.
“Have to handle her carefully, I see,” thought
Thorn as he mounted the stairs. “I suppose she
has had unpleasant experiences with the male ani-
mal and doesn’t trust any of us. Don't worry
about me, Miss Touch-Me-Not! It's mighty easy
to keep me away. And my intentions were strictly
honorable. You looked so ill I felt sorry for you,


WALTER THORN’S DISCOVERY 65
that's all.” He laughed lightly, for he had said
the last words aloud.
Then he set about his duty of examining Elise
Lehmann's desk, in the hope of finding some word
of explanation, some message for her lover that
might throw light on her desperate deed. He had
to pass the fireplace on his way to the desk. He
stopped there, took up the dagger and looked at
it thoughtfully. Then he went on and sat down
at the desk.
It was a big old-fashioned “secretary,” a hand-
some antique, with many drawers and pigeon-holes.
There was a miscellaneous assortment of objects
on its top and writing shelves, a feminine confusion
of things thrown or placed there by some one who
had not even utilized the few useful articles in
the mass. A pretty little daily calendar still bore
the date of May 5th on its uppermost leaf. And
beside it stood a bunch of dried violets in an
absurd basket shaped like a boat.
The painter felt sorry for the poor flowers. For
their term of existence was evidently shortened by
their sojourn in that unsuitable resting-place rather
than in any of the many vases on desk or table.
There was more such evidence on the desk to
show Thorn that Elise Lehmann had neither taste
nor refinement.
Then he opened the drawer in which hung a
little bunch of keys. It was the drawer in which


66 THE LADY IN BLUE
Commissioner Sennfeld had placed the dead wom-
an’s jewelry and money. There were some sheets
of paper there, closely covered with writing. Thorn
took them out and began to study them. The lines
on them had been written by a woman, but a
woman who was not at ease with a pen.
Thorn smiled involuntarily as he read the words.
They were not the expression of original thought,
but a mass of quotations, culled from many sources,
and all pertaining to love.
He wondered whether Elise Lehmann had com-
piled this list to assist her in writing her love
letters, or to give herself the appearance of a cul-
tivation she evidently did not possess. For her
awkward handwriting and the many mistakes she
had made, even in copying her quotations, proved
that her education was of the most elementary sort.
Thorn was amused, and annoyed too. For he
thought of his over-refined and ultra-sensitive
cousin, and rebelled against Edmund's infatuation
for such a woman. He had not imagined that mere
physical beauty could so hold a man of that type.
“Must have been because he knew so little about
women anyway,” he murmured as he opened the
other drawers one after the other.
There was little to reward his search. A few
memoranda of money spent, and a short letter to
a dressmaker, written and then forgotten, showed
the same childish unfinished handwriting. As the


WALTER THORN’S DISCOVERY 67
letter bore a signature, Thorn knew that Elise had
written the other notes as well.
She had left no word of any kind for her lover.
But she had kept all his letters, carefully tied to-
gether, in a separate drawer.
During his search, Thorn found an envelope
containing several small photographs. When he
saw that it contained no writing he laid it aside
until later, as his first desire was to find some mes-
sage for Wallroth. Now, when he was sure there
was no such message, he took up the envelope and
shook out its contents.
When he held the first picture to the light he
started and then puckered his lips for a low long-
drawn whistle, a habit of his at any sudden surprise.
This surprise must have been a bit startling.
For the blood shot up into Thorn's face and he
rose hastily and paced the room for a few mo-
ments, so absorbed in his thoughts that he scarcely
noticed when he ran foul of the furniture as he
passed it. It took him some little time to come to
himself again. -
When he did, he looked about the room with a
renewed interest, taking in its details more care-
fully. He went into the bedroom and looked about
carefully there as well. Then he returned to the
sitting room, somewhat calmer, and rang for the
maid. He sat down in the bay window to await
her coming.


70 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Not many. Still she did write a few letters
since I have been with her.”
“Do you know to whom she wrote?”
“No, Miss Lehmann always posted her own
letters.”
“And she received letters?”
“Yes. Many letters came from Baron Wallroth.
But she received other letters, too, she went to the
General Delivery for them.”
“Did she destroy those letters?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Had she many visitors, or friends hereabouts?
You can imagine that Baron Wallroth is anxious
to know what could have driven the lady to this
desperate step. All my questions are for the pur-
pose of trying to help him, trying to throw some
light on the subject.”
There was a short pause. A dash of color came
into the girl's cheeks and she timidly asked whether
the lady had not written her fiancé some word of
farewell. She may have thought it presuming to
ask such a question, for her tone was hesitating
and uncertain. She seemed surprised when she
heard that there had been no message.
“The lady had no visitors here in the house. A
dressmaker, who came several times, was the only
stranger who ever came here. I couldn't tell wheth-
er Miss Lehmann ever met anyone outside the


WALTER THORN'S DISCOVERY 71
house. She went out every day, generally during
the forenoon, and usually alone.”
“What was her mood? Cheerful?”
“No, she was frequently depressed and melan-
choly. I’ve seen her crying several times, particu-
larly the last days. The very day she—killed her-
self—I urged her to go to the theatre, I thought it
might cheer her up. She did, and took me with
her. We went to the theatre frequently.”
“How did she seem that evening?”
“Quiet and apathetic.”
“What play did you see?”
“A farce called ‘Charley's Aunt.’”
“But that's very funny.”
“Yes, sir. I laughed a lot, but my lady didn't
seem to care about it. And she didn’t say a word
to me as we drove home.”
Then the girl gave an account of the happenings
of that night and the following morning. She spoke
hastily, a bit feverish. Thorn listened attentively.
“Is there anything more I can do, sir?” she
asked, when she had finished her story.
“No, my dear child.”
“Then I can go?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, I can leave Salzburg? My new lady
is waiting for me in Munich.”
“Certainly, you may leave whenever you like.”
“Then I will go to-night.”


72 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Bon voyage, and good luck to you.”
“Thank you, sir.” The girl bowed and went out.
As she passed the fireplace Thorn saw her give a
light shudder. He did not wonder at it. The dag-
ger on the mantelpiece must have called up unpleas-
ant memories.
He left the room himself shortly, locking it be-
hind him. He went first to the police station to give
up the keys. The inspector in charge told him that
Miss Lehmann's step-brother, her only relative and
heir, had been notified as soon as Baron Wallroth
had given the police his address, and had wired that
he would arrive in Salzburg in a day or two.
Thorn gave Wallroth the packet of his own let-
ters when he met him at the hotel. But he did not
show him the envelope with the photographs. He
kept that in his own inner pocket.
Mrs. Deisler sat watching Tony as the latter was
packing her few belongings.
“You are a bit vain, though,” said the old
woman, apropos of nothing. “Why do you think
so?” asked the girl, with a laugh.
“When you went upstairs to that nice-looking
gentleman, you took off your bandage.”
Tony did not answer, but bent over her bags with
renewed energy.


CHAPTER VI
WAS IT suICIDE *
THE night train for Vienna leaves Salzburg sta-
tion at 8:50.
While Edmund Wallroth and Walter Thorn
were making themselves comfortable in their re-
served compartment, in anticipation of the long
night journey, a woman came out from the waiting-
room, glided down the platform in the shadow of a
heavily laden baggage truck and slipped quickly into
the corner of a third-class compartment further
down the train. She wore a veil and had her coat
collar turned up around her throat.
The elderly peasant woman who was the only
other occupant of the compartment was asleep dur-
ing the stop at Salzburg. When she awoke a little
later, the newcomer was curled up in her corner fast
asleep, her face still hidden by the heavy veil and
the coat collar. The old woman wondered at this,
for it was a warm night. But she was not greatly
interested and soon fell asleep again.
The two cousins did not sleep, although this was
their second night on a train.
Wallroth was much calmer now. His visit to
73


74. THE LADY IN BLUE
Elise's grave had quieted him. He could speak of
her without the intensity of grief that had shaken
him in the house at Salzburg. And he had a great
desire to speak of her.
Edmund von Wallroth had never known the
struggle with life's problems that steels other men's
nerves and character. Frail from childhood, he was
the petted son of a loving mother and a wealthy
father. This was the first blow that fate had dealt
him and it was the harder because the first. He
had no strength with which to meet it. He sunk
himself in bitter-sweet memories of the woman who
had won his love by storm and who had then robbed
him of the awaited happiness in such cruel and in-
comprehensible manner. He talked on, half to him-
self, half to his cousin. Thorn listened patiently,
even attentively, to the unhappy lover's memories
of the dead woman's extraordinary beauty and
charm. Wallroth spoke of her proud reserve and
the noble gravity of her character, of how cold and
haughty she was toward the men who swarmed
around her, of how well she could keep them at a
distance.
At times, while he listened, an odd gleam came
into Walter Thorn's eyes, an expression mingled of
pity, scorn and anger. He turned his head so that
Wallroth might not notice it. Finally when Ed-
mund paused, Thorn began to question him con-


WAS IT SUICIDEP 75
cerning the dead girl's short theatrical career. He
asked where she had acted.
“Only in small theatres here and there,” replied
Wallroth. “She never got out of the provinces.”
“But she was in Vienna—at the Carl Theatre?”
“That was where she began. She was only in the
chorus there. She sang small parts in the other
towns.” -
“And yet, as you describe her to me, she would
have created a sensation in some big city—Berlin,
for instance.” Thorn threw out the casual sugges-
tion. “She's never been there, you say?”
“No. It's only a certain sort of girl who can
advance so quickly—the girl who is ready to pay for
it. Elise was too proud for that.”
It was some time before Thorn spoke again. He
lit a cigar and persuaded Wallroth to do likewise.
They smoked in silence as the train sped on through
the night. Then Thorn knocked the ashes from his
cigar with great deliberation, turned to Wallroth
and looked him straight in the eye, saying: “Are you
quite sure that it was suicide?”
Wallroth took the cigar out of his mouth. He
stared at his cousin, rigid as an automaton, wide-
eyed. Finally he murmured, “What—what do you
mean—by that?”
Thorn continued calmly. “Haven't you thought
how very improbable it is that a beautiful young
woman should deliberately take her own life on the


76 THE LADY IN BLUE
eve of a brilliant marriage? What you have to
offer this girl was a chance she would not lightly
throw away.”
“Walter l—I—give me time to think— No, that
idea never came to me for a moment. Oh, it is too
absurd! Who could have murdered her? And
why? There was no robbery. Elise had no enemies
who could hate her—enough to murder her.”
“Love can murder as well as hate—scorned love
can lead a weak mind into anything. You yourself
know what it is to be jealous.”
“Walter l’”
“Yes, Edmund, we ought to give thought to
this matter. The girl was very fair to look upon.
She must have aroused love—passion, in other men.
Is it so incredible that there might be one who would
prefer to see her dead rather than in the arms of a
rival? This neurasthenic generation cannot control
its impulses as readily as did the men of a hardier
age. And the morals of our time are rotten. How
do you know that it might not have been hatred,
paired with the desire for revenge, or jealousy made
up of mingled hate and love, that struck the dagger
to this woman's heart?”
There was another long pause, during which
Thorn studied his cousin closely.
Edmund's face mirrored the sad chaos of his
thoughts. The doubt that had clouded his mind
for a fleeting moment on the drive to Falsterbo must


78 THE LADY IN BLUE
“There are other ways of breaking an undesired
engagement—other ways than suicide. Was Elise
usually so eccentric in her behavior?”
“Oh, no. She was calm and tactful and hated
anything sensational. She was very sensitive, too,
and knew how she attracted attention everywhere.
She was so particular that she wouldn't go to a little
dance at the Artists’ Club with me because we
weren't married yet.”
“I can understand that,” said Thorn, this time
quite unable to control a short laugh. Wallroth
looked at him, surprised and hurt. But Walter was
serious again in a moment and continued: “All
that speaks for my idea. No, Edmund, I do not
believe this girl wanted to escape marriage with
you. I do not think you need have any fear that she
—did not love you enough to marry you.” His
voice took on a kinder note with the last words.
“But all the evidence pointed to suicide, the police
and the coroner seemed sure of it.”
“That's no reason why we should believe it. I
think there should be an investigation made. I
would hire a good detective if I were you.”
“You think I ought to do that?”
“Who else? The case is closed as far as the
Salzburg police are concerned. They are not likely
to go to any trouble to prove themselves mistaken.
You are the only person interested in discovering
the truth. Of course there is Elise's step-brother.


WAS IT SUICIDEP 79
But you've often said there was little love lost be-
tween them, and after all he is only concerned with
the actual fact that she is dead. Besides, he's a
poor man with a wife and child dependent on him.
You alone have an interest in why or how she died.
You could free yourself from these torturing doubts
if it is clearly proven that she did not die by her
own hand. I do not believe that she did.”
“But all this excitement—it will torture me so.”
“Oh, come, be a man! But I am ready to attend
to all that for you, if you prefer it. I am really
anxious to prove that I am right. I will take up
the case in your name if you wish it.”
“Oh, do, please do! I couldn't rest now unless
something were done. I wouldn't know a minute's
peace if she has been murdered and I have not done
all I could to bring the criminal to justice. Hire a
detective, give him all the money he needs. Oh,
God, when I think 9?
“Don’t think! Don't think of anything con-
nected with it. You keep out of it from now on.
The last days have upset you terribly. You had
best join your mother in the country and keep as
quiet as you can. I will stay here and report fre-
quently.”
“Thank you, thank you, Walter.” said Wallroth.
“Do whatever you think necessary.”
The train pulled into Vienna early next morning. .


80 THE LADY IN BLUE
The two men drove to the Wallroth mansion, fresh-
ened themselves after their journey and Thorn, at
least, ate a hearty breakfast.
Then, leaving Edmund at home, he drove to po-
lice headquarters and had a long consultation with
the chief of the secret service.
“Whom can you suggest?” said Thorn, after he
had put his case before the official. “I must have
a man of the highest intelligence and the utmost
discretion.”
“There is no one filling that description who is at
liberty in our service for the moment,” said the
Chief. “But a private detective would do just as
well. You might get Joseph Muller to take it.”
“Muller P”
“Formerly our star detective,” said the official.
“He is retired now, but still takes cases that interest
him. If you can arouse his interest I can pledge you
that you will have certainty one way or the other
within a couple of weeks.”
“You seem very sure of your man.”
“You will be, too, when you see him at work.
He's an odd chap, though. You must not be de-
ceived by his kindly, casual manner. He is an un-
assuming elderly gentleman, but a veritable human
bloodhound once he is on the trail. And don’t be
surprised at anything you see in his house. His ser-
vants are all former jailbirds, and he gets more
faithful service out of them than any of the rest of


WAS IT SUICIDEP 81
us do, no matter what we pay on good recommenda-
tions.”
“You begin to interest me,” said Thorn. “I sin-
cerely hope I will get this Mr. Muller to take our
case.”
He set out again, stopping finally in front of a
modest little villa in a suburban side street.
The door was opened by a young man of about
twenty, whose dark eyes, staring furtively from a
white face, almost startled the painter.
“That must be one of the jailbirds,” thought
Thorn, as he asked whether Mr. Muller was at
home. The lad murmured something and then shut
the door again and went off through the vestibule.
His oddly dragging and uneven steps sounded
wierdly through the stillness.
“Looks like a Russian, too,” was Thorne's next
thought.
The lad returned after some little time and asked
the visitor to come in. He led him first through a
small square anteroom, so lined with lockers and
file cases that it was scarcely more than a narrow
corridor. Then he opened the door at the farther
end and Thorn found himself in a large, light, com-
fortable room. Both windows were open and a
slender, elderly man was just shutting one of them.
He motioned to the boy to finish it while he himself
turned and came forward slowly to meet his guest.


82 THE LADY IN BLUE
He pulled forward a chair beside a big desk, and
seated himself at the desk.
“Mr. Muller?” asked Thorn.
The man nodded, then spoke over his shoulder:
“A bit quicker, Ossip. Oh, no, sir, you need not
hurry,” he said to his visitor. “I am at your dis-
posal for”—here he looked at his watch—“for
forty-six minutes. You may go now, Ossip. Put
out my gray jacket.” *
The Secret Service Chief had cautioned Thorn
that Muller was a very busy man, and that it was
well to come to the heart of the matter one wanted
to lay before him with as little loss of time as
possible.
The painter took out his pocketbook and found
a card on which the Chief had written a few words.
Another larger card slipped from his pocket. Thorn
picked it up before handing his own card to Muller.
“This tells you who I am,” he said. “And that
the Chief has sent me to you. We need a skilled
man to take up our case at once. We have lost
nearly a week, unfortunately. We should have
started the investigation last Sunday morning.”
“We?” queried the detective? “Then you are
not the only person interested in this case?”
“No. It is really no affair of mine at all. I am
here as agent for my cousin, Baron —”
“Wallroth, Edmund Wallroth,” cut in Muller
quite calmly


84 THE LADY IN BLUE
looking into a forgery affair, a most interesting
case.”
“Is that the only reason you will not undertake
ours?”
“You can understand that a more important case
would interest me most, can't you? As you see, I
am an old man. I undertake no case now that does
not really interest me.”
“Then I have come all the way from Salzburg in
vain?”
“And by way of Sweden and Germany, too.”
“You know that?” gasped Thorn.
“I take it for granted, as your pocketbook was
full of Swedish and German notes.”
“Your eyes are sharp.”
“I need sharp eyes in my business. But it was
an easy guess this time. Swedish and German paper
money is easily recognized by its color. We’ve been
talking for seventeen minutes now,” Muller added,
taking out his watch.
But Walter Thorn was not easily discouraged.
“I have twenty-nine more minutes,” he said calm-
ly, “and I'll wager that you will be ready to give
twenty-nine hours or days or even weeks to our case,
if necessary. For with all due respect to your forger
friends, this affair seems to me more worthy a man
of your ability.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because of something that is known only to me


WAS IT SUICIDE7 85
thus far—and will remain known only to me until
you have looked into the case and found out a few
things for yourself. I have come to ask you, not to
find out why Miss Lehmann died by her own hand—
but to determine whether she did die by her own
hand or not. I am convinced that she did not.”
Muller looked more interested. “You do not
think it was suicide?”
“No, I think it was murder. A murder from
jealousy, possibly. That is for you to find out.”
Muller sat bolt upright now. “A murder,” he
murmured—“a human life cut down cruelly?” He
sat absolutely silent for a few moments while Thorn
watched him with great interest. It was so quiet
in the room that the buzzing of a fly at the window
sounded like the droning of a distant aeroplane.
“If it is a murder,” Muller murmured, as if talk-
ing to himself, “I will find the murderer. He will be
the ninety-fourth murderer whom I have brought to
justice. The hundred will soon be full. And then
I can rest, for I will have fulfilled my vow.”
The emotion passed and his features settled back
to their usual calm. He leaned back in his chair,
remarking casually: “I’ll have to begin in Salzburg,
of course.”
Thorn drew a deep breath of relief. This famous
hunter of criminals had accepted the case. The
mystery would soon be solved. “And soon,” said
Thorn to himself, “poor Edmund will know what


86 THE LADY IN BLUE
he has lost in Elise. The knowledge will help heal
his grief.”
Then he said aloud to Muller: “You may call on
us for any amount you need.”
He took out his pocketbook again, and laid ten
hundred-crown bills on the table. Beside them he
placed a thick envelope. Muller took this up first.
“Photographs!” he exclaimed. Then examining the
first picture carefully: “A beauty—yes—but not a
lady!”
When he had studied another of the pictures he
looked over at Thorn. “Is this Miss Elise Leh-
mann?”
“Why, yes. Why didn't you guess it at once?”
replied Thorn in surprise.
“For several reasons. First, on these two pic-
tures the hair looks blonde. Of course they're cos-
tume pictures, but I understood from the Salzburg
paper that Miss Lehmann was a brunette.”
Thorn smiled. “She was. But when these pic-
tures were taken she had the fad of powdering her
hair.”
“I see. And then this—this costume ! It looks
like those worn by the singers in cheap cabarets.”
“That is just what she was at that time. She was
known as ‘La Belle Elise, and was the star of a
third-class amusement hall in Berlin.”
“And yet—she was to be Baroness Walroth?”
“My cousin knew nothing about that period of


WAS IT SUICIDE P 87
her life. He believed her to be absolutely straight.”
“That explains the engagement. I take it she was
not—what he thought her.”
Thorn smiled and the detective smiled, too, as his
eyes rested on the pictures of the scantily clad
beauty. “Had she any real talent?”
“She must have been a good actress in private
life,” answered Thorn, with a shrug, “or my cousin
would not have thought of marrying her. He is of
sound mind.”
“He must have been very much in love with her.
Love can make the most sensible man foolish, while
it lasts.”
“You’re right. And besides, my cousin is not
very strong and has never taken much part in the
usual amusements of men of his class. It was all
the easier for him to fall into the toils of this sort
of woman. Particularly as he knew her family,
who were simple but perfectly respectable people.”
“Yes. Only a case-hardened man of the world is
fit to deal with these women. They can always drag
the other sort down to any folly, or even to more.
To murder for instance,” Muller continued after a
pause. “Still, it may have been unpremeditated—a
killing in a moment of passion.”
Thorn started, then shut his lips tight. After
a moment he opened them. “Yes, it might well have
been accidental. A man goaded into anger by jeal-
ousy?”


88 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Yes, it might. And, for the moment at least, if
it is such a case, my sympathies are on the side of
the slayer.” Muller turned the second picture over
and looked at the reverse side. There were some
words written there. “To my darling R Hm |
—the pen sputtered and she didn't send him the
picture. Is this Miss Lehmann's handwriting?” He
held the card so that Thorn could see it.
“I think so. It looks like some of the writing I
saw in her desk.”
“Can you imagine who the darling R'. is?”
“No,” replied Thorn, but Muller's keen ear had
caught a slight hesitation. He let the matter drop,
however, and turned to the railway guide, always at
hand on his desk.
“If I leave here at 3:35 I can reach Linz at 7:23.
A local train from there will get me into Salzburg
quarter past eleven. I usually wake about five, so
that I can be on the spot about six.”
“In the Grey house, you mean?”
“Yes. Who has the key, or at least the keys to
the rooms where Miss Lehmann lived?”
“They are still at the police station, unless her
brother has taken them.”
“She had a brother?”
“A step-brother. He lives here.”
“Has he been notified?”
“A wire went to him yesterday. Miss Lehmann
had not mentioned this brother to any of those who


WAS IT SUICIDE * 89
were around her these last weeks. The Salzburg
police did not know of his existence until Baron
Wallroth gave them his name and address. He is
her only relative.”
“What is his name and address?”
“His name is Hubert Lohr. He lives in the 13th
District, Red Hill Lane, No. 27. He may have
started for Salzburg already.”
“I hope not,” said Muller. “For if there are any
clues at all they must be very slight or the police
would have noticed them. This Mr. Lohr, if he
pokes about in the rooms and removes her belong-
ings, may destroy them altogether.”
“Yes, it is likely. For unless Edmund's messenger
found him still at home he doesn't know of this new
development.”
“Well it can't be helped,” said Muller rising. “Do
I report to the Baron or to you?”
“To me.”
“And where can letters or telegrams reach you?”
Thorn was silent a moment. “Couldn't I go to
Salzburg with you?” he asked finally.
“No, I prefer to work alone. But we can go to
my former Chief now. Does he know about the
case?”
“Yes, you need only fetch your credentials. Then
you don't want me in Salzburg?”
“No.”


90 THE LADY IN BLUE
“In that case I shall be here till June 8th. I am
stopping with the Wallroths.”
“And after June 8th ?”
“I shall be wandering about,” answered Thorn,
evasively. “You can write or wire me to the Wall-
roth house. They will always know where I am.”
Muller could not help smiling at this touch of mys-
tery. Thorn saw it and continued defiantly: “You
know all I can tell you with a clear conscience. You
must not think that I have any definite suspicion of
anyone—that I know anything about this case that
I haven't told you already.”
“Did I say that I thought you had?” asked Mul-
ler, with a smile.
“You seem to think something of the kind, even
if you didn't say it,” replied Thorn. “What gave
me my first suspicion of what I believe to be the truth
were these pictures. I had not met my cousin's fian-
cée, but this woman I had known at the time she was
singing in the music hall in Berlin. I knew what
her life was then and I realized that she must have
deceived Edmund as to its details. I realize also
that such a girl must have known many men who
paid court to her. Let anyone of them take it a bit
more seriously than she did, and we have a motive
for this act, particularly if it were committed in a
moment of insane rage and jealousy.”
“Yes, that is well thought out,” said Muller, after
a pause. “I can handle this case alone. And I even


WAS IT SUICIDE? 91
promise you of my own free will not to do what I
might so easily do—to find out where you go when
you leave Vienna.”
“What good would that do you?” said Thorn, in
a flash of annoyance.
“If I had you shadowed I could soon discover
whether you have any particular person in mind,”
replied Muller, “but don’t worry, I shall not do
this.”
“May I take the pictures?” asked Thorn.
“If you want them. I have the photographer's
name and address and can get more if I need them.”
“Where can I reach you to send you money?”
asked the painter.
Muller named a Salzburg hotel, then pressed a
button near his desk. The Russian lad came in in
a few moments. “My traveling bag, raincoat and
tweeds,” said Muller. The boy's face showed in-
terest and a tense suspense.
“Well?” asked Muller, “what is it?”
“Will you take me with you, sir?” asked the lad,
timidly.
Muller looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
,Ossip's face grew almost handsome in his keen de-
light. But he said no word of thanks. He slipped
out of the door like a shadow.”
“Is that a confidential servant?” asked Thorn.
“He is my creature,” replied Muller gravely. “I
made a man of him again and he is as devoted as a


92 THE LADY IN BLUE
faithful dog.” He held out his hand to the painter
who pressed it and then left the house.
Out in the clear sunshine again Thorn felt as if
he had emerged from another and a hitherto un-
known world.


CHAPTER VII
JOSEPH MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE
THE young green of the willows and beeches
sparkled in the early morning sun as Joseph Muller
walked slowly along the riverside path that led out
to the Grey house. It was not yet six o'clock and
few people were stirring. All around him lay the
quiet of early morning, the gentle sounds of Na-
ture's awakening which were the veteran detective's
best aids to constructive thinking. He stopped at
an attractively placed bench and took out a clipping
from a newspaper. As he read he smiled at its
flowery wording, the elaborate verbiage of the small
town editor.
“Mysterious Suicide,” was the heading.
“The so-called “Grey House” is the scene of this
unexplained happening. This handsome old man-
sion in its charming garden behind the tall grey walls
has an ill reputation in the popular mind. Rumors
cluster around it, and in spite of its aristocratic ap-
pearance there is something sinister about the house
chosen by a rich man for his future wife's present
home. If the Grey House has had secrets to guard
before this, it has now one secret more, a secret
93


94 THE LADY IN BLUE
which will never be revealed, for the Dead are
Silent.”
Again Muller smiled. “Yes, the Dead are Silent,
but inanimate things talk louder than the average
person knows. One must be able to understand
their language, that's all. But yonder must be the
Grey House.” He walked on until he stood under
the high walls.
“A veritable fortress—may have been necessary
when the house was built—it stood lonely then. But
now, with the city so close, these forbidding walls
do give an unpleasant air of mystery.”
He walked around the house on the meadow
path, then back to the stream side. The house
looked more attractive here, for the wide gate re-
vealed the garden at its prettiest.
Muller examined the big portal of elaborately
wrought iron, a fine specimen of a craft which is
rapidly passing into the discard in favor of cheap
factory output. It was a gate easy to climb in spite
of its height, for the pattern of thistles afforded
many a foothold. In the right wing was a small
gate for foot passengers. Its heavy lock was clev-
erly fashioned as part of the general design. “Big
key needed for that,” thought Muller.
Then he walked around to the front of the house,
which opened on a little street that ran out from the
main avenue. It could hardly be called a street, for
it went no further than the big iron gate. The


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 95
house was certainly sheltered from curious passers-
by. For with the exception of the footpath along
the river, there was no road that led by the house.
Few people who had no business there, went by the
Grey House.
Muller looked through the front gate. He saw
an old woman come from the house with a basket
of wet clothes, and turn off into the garden. A big
dog came up and sniffed through the gate at the
stranger, with a low, threatening growl. “Good
watch dog,” was Muller's further comment, pigeon-
holed in his own brain for future reference.
He made no further examination now, but re-
turned to the town for breakfast. Then he went to
the police station for a consultation with Commis-
sioner Sennfeld, who seemed mildly surprised that
the celebrated Joseph Muller should have come to
Salzburg in connection with such a simple and clear
case as the Lehmann suicide. But he greeted Mul-
ler politely and informed him that the dead girl's
stepbrother had not yet arrived. Muller took the
keys of the Grey House and asked that a constable
be detailed to accompany him. He did not wish to
be delayed by distrust on the part of the two care-
takers at the mansion.
It was still early, not yet nine o'clock, when he
and his escort rang the bell at the street gate.
The dog was the first to greet them, barking
loudly.


96 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Come back here, Pollux,” called a gruff voice, as
Buchner came up to investigate.
“Can I see Mrs. Deisler?” asked Muller. But
that lady was already on her way to the gate. “My
name is Joseph Muller,” he continued, addressing
the two servants. “The constable here will tell you
that I have police permission to go into those upper
rooms.”
The constable nodded to the two, who looked
surprised and not a little alarmed at this further
invasion of their solitude. Buchner went back to
his work. Mrs. Deisler shut the gate behind the re-
treating constable, then led Muller into the house.
“Are you a relative of the dead lady, sir?” she
asked timidly. “No, I am a detective,” he replied.
“Detective?— Is—is there—is there anything
more to find out—about why she did it?”
“That's what I'm here for. And you would fa-
cilitate my work if you would not mention to anyone
that I am here or that there is a police investigation
still going on.”
“No, indeed, sir,” replied the caretaker some-
what irritated. “The less said about that matter
and about the house itself, the better. People talk
too much about this place.”
“Hm—what do they say?” asked Muller, halting
on the stairs.
But the bell at the gate pealed loudly. “That


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 97
must be the baker,” said Mrs. Deisler. “Shall I
come back to you, sir? Will you need me?”
“No, I'll ring if I do.”
“It's the last door on the right, sir. That's where
it happened.”
The old woman shuddered as she went off down
the stairs.
Muller opened the door of the sitting-room which
lay bright and attractive in the morning sun. The
big handsomely furnished room gave no hint of
holding dread secrets. The air was close, as the
windows had not been opened for several days.
Muller stood at the threshold, looking carefully
around the room. The dagger on the mantelpiece
and a few dark spots on the light-colored border of
the big rug were all that revealed the tragedy that
had taken place one short week before.
Muller moved forward to the big bow window
and opened that. Then he stepped down off the
raised platform and walked to the bedroom door,
stopping at the spot where the body had been found.
He had the police report in his pocket and took it
out now. The woman's head had rested on the
threshold of the bedroom door, while her body lay
stretched out, partly on the hardwood floor and
partly on the rug of the sitting-room. The dagger
had lain near her hand, on the edge of the rug.
“On the edge?” repeated Muller. Then he bent
to examine the carpet. He started once, and moved


98 THE LADY IN BLUE
forward a bit, gazing at the rug with keen attention.
He rose, but still looked down at a certain spot of
the intricate pattern, lost in deep thought.
“On the edge of the rug?” he said again, this
time with a slightly scornful smile. Then he
turned and went into the bedroom.
This room, too, was immaculately neat. The bed
had been opened for the night, but its usual occu-
pant had not touched it. The pillow and the cover-
let with its turned-back corner lay smooth and un-
wrinkled.
The detective knew that the dead girl had been
fully dressed when found. But she had taken off
her hat, her feather boa, her gloves, and probably
her cloak. She must have had a coat of some kind.
For the month had been cool for May and Muller
remembered that the 29th had been particularly dis-
agreeable and stormy, at least in Vienna. He made
a note to inquire as to temperature and weather in
Salzburg on that day.
But it was safe to take for granted that a well-
dressed woman would wear some outer covering
over her light blue silk dress when she went to the
theatre. He knew she had not worn a coat when
found. The coat must be somewhere hereabouts
therefore.
He looked about the room, but saw only the big
hat, the boa and one long white glove, trailing out
from under the hat, where the latter lay as if care-


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 99
lessly flung down on a chair. Muller took up the
hat. It was one of the largest decreed by the fash-
ion of the moment. Three costly ostrich feathers
hung from it, and a big veil of curiously spotted net,
a hideous fashion fad. A rhinestone buckle held
the feathers.
“She had money to spend, but little taste,”
thought Muller. “And she was careless with her
things.” One of the long feathers had been broken
halfway up its stem by the force with which the hat
was flung down. “Or else her emotion of the mo-
ment made her careless. That might have been so.
But if she was so excited that she forgot a woman's
natural instinctive care for a costly hat like this, why
did she put her coat away? Why isn't that on some
chair, as the other things are?”
A fan and a silk reticule lay on the chair under
the hat. Muller opened the latter at once. He had
been struck by the fact that there was only one glove
with the other things. Its companion might be in
the bag. But the little trifle of light blue silk con-
tained only a delicate batiste handkerchief, a gilt
bonbonnière and a small folded opera glass in a case.
The detective started out on a search for that
second glove, but it was nowhere to be found. What
he did find, however, was a long hat pin with a big
rhinestone head. It lay near the dagger on the
mantelpiece.
The weapon did not interest Muller for the pres-


100 THE LADY IN BLUE
ent. He was far more absorbed in the apparently
unimportant fact that the hatpin was in the sitting-
room, while the hat lay in the bedroom. Of course,
whoever found the dagger and laid it on the man-
telpiece might have found the pin and placed it in its
present resting-place. But Muller took no chances
as to the importance of any fact, however slight.
He reserved judgment on this one until he could
learn where both hat and pin had been when the
body was discovered. The missing coat and second
glove were factors of importance. He must find
them. But there were other things to do first.
The old detective locked the door from the sit-
ting-room into the hall, and sat down at the desk.
Before he touched anything he let his eyes wander
over the meaningless jumble on its top and writing
leaf. He, too, saw the calendar with its date of
May 5th and the dried violets. He felt as Walter
Thorn had felt, about the woman who used this
desk. Beautiful as she was, she had lacked refine-
ment and cultivation.
But the keen grey eyes that now passed slowly
over the objects on the desk saw something Walter
Thorn had not seen. The painter's eye had read
human character, the veteran detective saw facts.
He looked at the calendar again, then took it up
and turned it better towards the light. At the very
bottom of the date-leaf was a line of writing in pen-
cil, the letters very small but still distinct.


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 101
“For the last time” was what was written there.
And Muller knew that the calendar had been pur-
posely left untouched after May 5th. There was
some significance attached to this date for Elise
Lehmann, who may not have been quite so heartless
as Thorn believed.
“What was it, that happened for the last time on
May 5th ? Have these violets anything to do with
it? Hm, what dates does a woman remember
longest — a meeting with — or parting from, a
lover? We are coming nearer the possible solu-
tion of this mystery. Find that lover—but there's
more to do now.”
And Muller continued his examination of the
desk. There was nothing in any of the drawers but
what was mentioned in the police report and in
Walter Thorn's own narrative.
One wall of the bedroom was almost entirely
taken up by a long built-in wardrobe with four
doors. Muller next turned his attention to this.
The shelves behind the first door contained a few
pieces of expensive silk lingerie, highly perfumed.
On one shelf stood a lacquered box. The detective
opened it with one of the small keys he had found
in the opera bag, but it contained only a fan, some
pieces of lace and a few bits of jewelry. There were
two keys on the string and Muller set about looking
for the lock that belonged to the other one. He


102 THE LADY IN BLUE
found it on another shelf, under a pile of underwear,
another smaller box.
This contained what he was seeking, letters in a
neat little package. He sat down by the window and
began to read them. They were love letters, as he
had expected, letters written by a man of only fair
education and very commonplace point of view. But
what the writer lacked in mentality he made up in
passion, the crude passion of a lover who has found
a response to his pleading. He was evidently the
man in possession.
The writing was the round business hand taught
in commercial schools, and some of the letters were
scribbled on bits of paper in pencil. “Written on a
train,” murmured Muller. Others were on hotel
paper of various towns. There were seven letters
altogether, and all written within a year, the ma-
jority during the previous winter months. They
were arranged by dates, and the last interested Mul-
ler most. It was one of those scribbled in pencil
and bore no date nor place.
“Mousey dear!
“Then you're really coming? At last! Am curi-
ous to hear what you have to tell me. But why
must it be in Linz? I thought you were stopping
with your brother. But of course I'll go anywhere
to meet you, even to the end of the world. A few
hours train ride is mighty little trouble when it


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 105
foot is no crime in a tall woman. But she wore her
shoes too small.” The leather of one of the pumps
showed signs of strain over the ball of the foot.
“Woman's vanity.” And Muller went on to an ex-
amination of the big box of gloves. But the missing
white glove, the mate of the single one on the chair,
was not there.
In the further and last compartment were large
boxes containing theatrical costumes and, on hooks
below the shelves, several coats and wraps. A long
black cape, trimmed with fur and heavy braid, hung
on the last hook. Or rather, half of it hung on
the hook, the rest dragged on the floor as if the
coat had been thrust in hastily by a careless hand.
“This was probably the coat she wore that eve-
ning. But why did she take the trouble to hang this
up, even thus hastily, when she threw the other
things about outside?”
The other rooms gave Muller no clues to add to
his list. He went down the stairs slowly, noting the
arrangement of the house. The wide and hand-
some staircase rose well back in a square hall which
received its light from above and from a big rose
window over the front door. There was another
door which stood open, separating the hall from a
sort of vestibule into which the front door opened.
There was glass above this door too. To the left
was another smaller door, well back of the staircase.
Near it was a water tap. The key of the door was


106 THE LADY IN BLUE
in the lock. Muller opened it and saw that it gave
out on a short paved walk, a few steps only in
length, which led to the garden gate on the river
side of the house. Just inside the door hung a large
key, evidently the key to the gate outside.
Then Muller turned to the hall again, and saw
that the door to the housekeeper's apartment opened
to the right, out of the vestibule.
“She could hardly hear anyone going up or down
stairs, unless her door were open.” This was Mul-
ler's observation as he went towards the door at
which Mrs. Deisler stood waiting.
“I thought you might be coming down stairs and
maybe couldn't find me,” she said. “Do you need
me, now, sir?”
“Yes; I'd like to have a little talk with you.”
“Come in please,” she led the way into her cheer-
ful room and placed a chair for him. She sat down
at her sewing table herself.
“Now will you please tell me all you know about
the case.” Mrs. Deisler settled comfortably in her
chair, as if she expected to enjoy herself.
“Very well, sir—the two went out that after.
11OOn ” she began.
“The two P Who was the other?”
“Why, that was Tony, her maid.”
“Of course. I beg your pardon, go on.”
“They came home in a cab, after the theatre, and
went upstairs. The lady was in bad spirits and cap-


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 107
tious. She wouldn't let Tony help her undress.
Tony came down here and we had a cup of tea to-
gether. The young lady rang for Tony to fetch her
some drinking water. Then when Tony came back
again we chatted a bit and went up to bed. I slept
with Tony that night—it was a nasty night and the
wind was howling around the place and Tony was
frightened.”
“Yes?”
“Then, it must have been about seven next morn-
ing, I heard a dreadful scream—then Buchner
shouted and came running in here, saying something
must have happened upstairs. We ran up and Tony
was there, white as wax, and fell over into Buchner's
arms just as he got there. When she came to, she
cried out that the young lady was dead.”
“Yes, yes, go on,” said Muller, as the old woman
halted in her report, with a reminiscent shudder.
Encouraged she went on, told of the finding of the
rigid body and the other details of that morning.
Muller listened attentively. Then he rose.
“Come upstairs with me,” he said. When they
reached the upper room he had Mrs. Deisler show
him just where the body and the dagger had lain.
“Who put the dagger on the mantelpiece?”
“The doctor did that.”
“Did he put this hatpin there, too?”
“No, that was there before.”
“Are you sure?”


108 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Oh, yes, sir; I wondered why the young lady
hadn't put the second pin there with it. She had
such expensive hatpins, they looked like jewelry.
She took good care of them.”
“Then she had a second one?”
“Oh, yes; you couldn't keep a big hat on without
two, especially in such a storm.”
“I see. Oh, there's another thing. Did you find
a long white glove anywhere next morning? She
might have lost it in the cab or on the way from the
gate to the house.”
“No, sir, I didn't find anything. But she couldn't
have lost it between the house and the garden; she
had enough to do to hold her hat on and her boa
up around her neck in that wind. There'd been a
sharp shower, too, and the path was wet, so she'd
be careful about not dropping anything into the
puddles. And if she'd dropped it in the cab I'd have
seen it. I had to look for Tony's bag and I came up
the path after the two of them— I'd have seen any-
thing lying on the path.”
“Yes, I suppose so. The young lady wore a cloak
that evening, didn't she?”
“Why, yes, sir; it was cold and stormy. She had
her long black cape on.”
Muller went into the bedroom, motioning the
woman to follow. He opened the wardrobe and
showed her the cape. “Is this the one?”


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 109
“Yes, sir, that's the cloak she wore.” The old
woman's tone was quite definite.
The detective stood silent a moment, in thought.
“You said it had rained that evening?”
“Yes, sir, there was a sharp shower about ten
o'clock or maybe earlier. It stopped before the
ladies came in, but the path was still wet. And
it was awful windy.”
“Yes, yes, that's of no importance.” Mrs. Deis-
ler started to say something but Muller continued:
“What sort of a gown did she wear that evening?
The papers said something about light blue silk.”
“Yes, sir, she always wore light blue, she looked
mighty handsome in it. And she liked to have peo-
ple call her ‘The Lady in Blue.’ It amused her
to get so many light blue dresses and then have
them all different. Tony told me.”
“Was she as particular about shoes too?”
“No, sir. But she generally wore those shiny
black shoes, low ones, she had lots of pairs of them.
Tony says they're the easiest to keep clean.”
“Yes, apropos, this Tony . . . where is she
now? Do you still see her?”
“No, sir, she's gone to Munich.”
“Why to Munich?”
“Well, when the young lady died, Tony put an
advertisement in the paper saying a trained lady's
maid wanted a place. She's lucky, that girl.
'Twasn’t two days later before someone sent for


MULLER IN THE GREY HOUSE 111
gent and undeniably honest of eyewitnesses will vary
in their statements as to any given fact. But his
practised mind could strike the average from the
number of variations. Most of his witnesses here,
however, agreed in fixing the position of the dagger
as partly on the wood floor, partly on the carpet.
It was the blade that had rested on the border of
the carpet.
Then Muller asked whether the lady had been
buried in the clothes she wore at the time of her
death. Buchner thought she had.
Alone again, Muller went into the bedroom and
took another look at the spattered front of the
light blue silk gown trimmed with old gold lace,
and at the shoes with muddy heels. Then he left
the place, locking all the doors behind him.
As he walked on into the town he whistled softly
to himself. Anyone listening would have recognized
stray bars of the popular Radetzky March. And
anyone knowing Joseph Muller well, would have
also known that the old detective was pleased about
something.


CHAPTER VIII
THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS
Muller was not greatly surprised when his en-
quiries at the Golden Horn Hotel brought forth the
information that no lady answering the description
of a “colonel's widow” had stopped at that hotel
for months. Also that no lady traveling alone had
arrived or departed during the first week in June.
The hotel was small, the guests easily known. The
entire force of servants was positive that no lady
had engaged a maid, or that any girl looking for
employment had come to the house during the days
in question.
And there was no advertisement in the Salzberg
Gazette, for the days mentioned, that could in any
way be construed as the one Antonia Schreiner
claimed to have inserted. Muller whistled slowly
as he walked out of the newspaper office. Some-
thing was developing in this case that intrigued the
veteran man-hunter and yet whetted his appetite for
the chase. It looked as though it might turn out far
more interesting even than Professor Thorn had
seemed to think. *
At the police station Muller authorized the send-
112


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 113
ing of an official telegram to the Department of
Records in Linz. The message asked whether any
information could be given concerning Antonia
Schreiner, servant, about twenty-six years old, who
claimed to have come from Linz and to have been
there from the end of April until the sixth of May.
Then Muller went in search of Commissioner
Sennfeld, whom he knew to be at Headquarters,
on office duty for the day.
The Commissioner looked up with eager interest
as the old detective came in. “Well?” he asked,
with a gesture toward the chair in front of his desk.
“It may be necessary to exhume the body,” said
Muller, sitting down.
The Commissioner looked surprised. “But there
was no doubt about the cause of death?”
“Oh no, there is no doubt about that,” replied
Muller calmly. “I’m not interested in examining
the body at all. But I want to look at the shoes, and
the front and bottom of the skirt.”
Commissioner Sennfeld sat up, interested. Sen-
sible officials did when Muller made such remarks.
He waited for a moment or two, then as the veteran
detective did not speak, Sennfeld asked; “Then you
have grounds to believe it was not a suicide?”
Muller did not answer, but asked a question him-
self; “Was there an autopsy?”
“Yes.”
“But not a very thorough one?”


114 THE LADY IN BLUE
Sennfeld could not resist a laugh. “I admit it
was a mere formality. Dr. Panzer was able to
determine the cause of death at once, internal hem-
orrhage from a stab wound. So there was really
nothing else necessary.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Why ?”
“I’m assuming that the body was not even un-
dressed.”
“No, it did not seem necessary.”
“Excellent! Then the shoes and the gown are
exactly as they were when Elise Lehmann returned
to her home that evening.”
“Not quite. The gown was pierced by the dag-
ger.”
“The bodice, yes, that doesn't interest me. The
effect on the gown would be the same in either case.
I mean in case of suicide or murder. What I want
to see is her skirt and her shoes.”
“Why? If I may ask?”
“I’ll show you in the Grey House. Can you
meet me there today?”
“Any time after six.”
“Good! I'll expect you there at six.”
There was a knock at the door, a constable
brought in a despatch.
“I hope that's the answer from Linz,” said Mul-
ler. “I had them wire to ask some particulars con-
cerning the dead woman's maid.”


116 THE LADY IN BLUE
ing at the old detective with genuine admiration.
Muller bowed. “Praise from the profession is
indeed gratifying. But these things always come to
light sooner or later.”
“Especially if Joseph Muller helps,” laughed
Sennfeld, who was a good sort. “Now let's see
what the Linz people have to say.” He read the
despatch, then handed it to Muller.
Muller read it and nodded. “No record of any
such person; I thought so. Then she has something
to do with the murder.” He folded the wire and
put it in his pocket. “Too bad that carpet had
such an elaborate pattern.”
Sennfeld's eyes and mouth opened. Muller went
on calmly. “Because, if the pattern had been sim-
pler, or plainer, and if everyone else had as good
eyes as I have . .”
Sennfeld's hand was on the detective's arm and
he asked quickly, “What then?”
“Then this Antonia Schreiner, about whose real
name, antecedents and position we know absolutely
nothing, would have been kept under observation,
and we would have been several steps nearer the
solution of the mystery.”
The Commissioner's fresh-colored face took on
a deeper red. He felt thoroughly ashamed of him-
self, more so than ever before in his official career.
He realized it was his place to have discovered some-
thing of the truth of this case. But he had taken


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 117
the simple obvious explanation for granted. And
instead of suspecting this girl in the slightest, or
even considering the possibility that suspicion might
attach to her, he had treated her with sympathetic
courtesy, and had taken a greater interest in her
appearance than in her possible connection with the
case. And he had left it to an outsider to discover
that the girl had lied in every detail that concerned
herself. She would naturally have good reasons for
doing so. Sennfeld realized that his conduct had
been inexcusable in a police official.
“How could I have been so blind?” he said, low
and humbly. -
Muller hastened to comfort him. “Oh no. You
saw everything that several other people saw who
were not at all blind. Because you didn’t see one
tiny little detail, which was not easy to see, you had
good and valid reasons for accepting the version of
suicide. But I’ll show it to you this afternoon, show
you why I know it was not suicide. And by the
way, I knew that this morning, before this “Tony”
got into the picture. It was the sitting-room carpet
that told me the truth, and it will tell you too, when
you question it closely. But now please tell me every-
thing you know about this girl. For I, too, paid lit-
tle attention to her and to what you have already
told me about her.”
Muller noted down what the Commissioner told
him. The latter had to hunt around in his memory


118 THE LADY IN BLUE
a bit, to supplement the bare statements on the
police blotter with more personal details, such as
did not particularly concern the girl's looks .
sk x * x
Muller had his dinner served upstairs in his own
room at the hotel. To the very correct waiter's
surprise he insisted on having his servant at the
table with him. The shy Russian with his furtive
eyes in which constant terror seemed to lurk, and
his unspecified position of something between valet
and secretary, was a mystery to the hotel force.
They did not like him, and had already made up
their minds that there was something suspicious
about the lad.
Ossip paid no attention to their distrustful looks.
His attitude toward his master was one of doglike
devotion, his manners, when he could forget his
continual suspicion and distrust, were those of a
man of education.
“You’re not eating,” said Muller kindly, looking
over at Ossip's pale face.
The young Russian blushed. “Do you remember,
sir, it's just a year to-morrow.” His voice trembled.
Muller looked at him, then his face brightened
into a smile of deep sympathy. “Just a year since
you have been with me—a year to-morrow. I had
nearly forgotten. And yet, I had planned to tell
you something when the year was up, something


THE ROSE WITH Two STEMS 119
that may please you. I want to tell you that I have
never for one instant, regretted the fact that I went
into Nicola Pludoff's barn that stormy night.”
“Oh! Mr. Muller,” his voice choked with emo-
tion, Ossip left his place, and knelt beside Muller,
bending his face over the old detective's hand.
“There, there, boy, don't be so upset,” Muller
crooned softly, as if to a child, passing his hand
over the boy's rough dark hair.
Muller's relations with Ossip Jewleff, and the
boy's position in his house, as his assistant, had a
story back of them, a story very characteristic of
the famous detective's good heart and unerring
judgment of human nature.
One of his man-hunts had taken him far afield,
into Siberia. Stopping a good day's drive from the
railway to change horses at a little toll-station, the
station master had told him of a boy hiding out in
his shed. The lad was a fugitive from prison, drawn
by anxiety to see his mother again. Nicola Pludoff
had found him in the snow, so nearly dead that
there seemed little hope for him. He had come
several hundred miles on foot, suffering incredible
hardships. The good people had nursed him back
to health, but had no money to help him on his
journey. They trusted this kind-faced stranger and
asked him to befriend the unfortunate lad.
Muller went to the shed and questioned the boy.
Ossip acknowledged that he had committed a mur-


120 THE LADY IN BLUE
der. In uncontrollable rage he had struck down the
man who insulted his mother and defiled her
name. He had endured two years in a Siberian
prison until word had come to him somehow that his
mother was ill. Then he managed to escape and
started out on a mad journey that nearly cost him
his life. With tears in his eyes the lad begged the
stranger to help him get to his home. Could he
but see his mother again, he would return voluntarily
to the prison to serve the remaining half year of
his sentence.
Muller's heart was as kind as his judgment was
sound. He took the boy with him as his valet. But
Ossip reached home too late. His mother was dead.
In his deep pity Muller kept him with him, and
would not allow him to return to the horrors of
Kara. Joseph Muller had his own ideas about
people who had been in prison. Under certain con-
ditions he thought them the best sort of material
from which to train up assistants for his own work.
And this boy had been a college student, possessing
a keen intelligent mind.
There was no further interest in life for Ossip
except the one feeling of devotion to the man who
had trusted and befriended him. He proved an apt
pupil and Muller gave him as much work as pos-
sible, trying to bring the healing influence of an
active interest into the mind darkened by sad and
terrible memories. Ossip cared little for peo-


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 121
ple generally. He found it hard to overcome the
years of humiliation and the continuous whip of
fear that had accompanied him on his mad flight
through the Siberian wilderness. But for Muller's
sake he tried to be like other people, and did suc-
ceed sometimes. Muller had told him it was more
valuable for his work.
“Men in our profession,” the detective said now,
“have to keep themselves as inconspicuous as pos-
sible. The less people notice and talk about us, the
better for the success of our work. For the less
they notice us, the easier can we observe and study
them. So cheer up, Ossip and eat your dinner. For
the waiter will wonder why two grown men can’t
make way with this simple meal. We don’t want
anybody wondering about us in this town just yet.
You're young, that's cause enough to be cheerful.”
Muller turned to his own plate with a light sigh.
He had felt, of late, that the burden of years
weighed on him more than he liked.
After dinner they sat down by the window to the
enjoyment of algood cigar. While the waiter was
in the room they talked of indifferent things, the
interesting buildings of the fine old city, its famous
mountain surroundings, quite like any ordinary tour-
ists. But as soon as they were alone Muller told
Ossip that he wanted him to go to the Grey House
and hang about there, particularly on the side
toward the river, most of the afternoon. He could
*


122 THE LADY IN BLUE
take a book and sit by the river on one of the
numerous benches. He might see something or
some one that would be worth noting. To test the
boy, Muller's description of the house and its loca-
tion was short and rather casual. They were to
meet by the river about seven o'clock.
“But first of all, there is a telegram to despatch,
then come back for a letter I must write.”
The telegram was addressed to Walter Thorn
and read as follows:
“Your suspicion seems justified. Letter follows.
Please wire me at once any information you may
have that would aid in finding the lady's personal
servant. Then send, by letter all possible details
concerning this person. The girl has spread a web
of lies about herself and seems to have something
to do with the case.”
It was a lengthy message but Muller believed in
long telegrams where necessary. He had had ex-
perience with messages that were misunderstood be-
cause too condensed.
An hour later Muller had finished a lengthy
letter to the same address which he turned over
to Ossip to post. The boy then set out for the Grey
House.
Muller remained in his room for some little while,
pacing up and down slowly. The old detective was
irritated. He had struck a trail which his unerring


THE ROSE WITH Two STEMS 123
instinct told him should be followed at once. And
yet he had to depend on others, or lose much valu-
able time in a difficult search for what any of sev-
eral people could have found out if they had kept
their wits about them.
“Don’t suppose I'll get much help from Thorn
either,” he thought. “Deucedly pretty . . . ex-
tremely interesting . . . yes, they all fall for that,
like flies for a honey-pot. Our good commissioner
seems to have paid far more attention to the girl's
looks than to her words during his ‘investigation'
. . hm, fine investigation! He was a lot more
interested in the living woman than in the dead one.
So of course he had no time for consideration of
the simple fact that a rose doesn't usually have two
stems. It was left to old Muller to point that out,
eh? We may be growing old, but we can still see
a thing or two. And we would not have let this
‘deucedly pretty and extremely interesting Miss
X throw sand in our eyes.
“Of course, Professor Thorn . . . well, he has
a professional right to forget everything else over
beauty wherever he finds it. He'd hardly be likely
to notice anything about the girl that would give us
a clue to find her. I'll have a play a lone hand on
this hunt for her less beautiful qualities.”
Muller grumbled to himself as he prepared to
go out. He went to the cemetery, famous for its
location. But Muller was interested only in Elise


124 THE LADY IN BLUE
Lehmann's grave. He found a couple of men busy
planting flowers on the newly raised mound. Stop-
ping to talk to them he learned that the dead lady's
fiancé had ordered a splendid stone for the grave.
“It must ha’ been the gentleman who was here a
day or so ago,” said one of the men. “He cried real
hard, as if he felt awful bad about her death.”
“Probably the only person who did feel that way,”
suggested Muller.
The old workingman shook his head. “Oh, no,
sir, there's a pretty young lady been here twice since
the funeral. She cried too, I saw her.”
Muller was interested. “A young woman?”
“Yes, sir. Maybe you know who she was, if you
know the dead lady's friends.”
Muller wondered if his idea was the right one.
“Was it a young woman in the twenties, pretty but
sickly looking?”
“Yes, sir, that's she. She wasn't what you'd call
sickly looking, not that way, I mean she was a well-
built sort, but pale and looked as if she was awful
sorry for the poor dead lady. She left this nice
rosebush and asked me to plant it on the grave.”
“Hm . . . when was she here last?” asked the
detective thoughtfully.
“Day before yesterday—’twas dark already when
she came in to go to the grave. She gave me three
gulden for letting her in after the doors was
closed.”


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 125
“Oh, that's why you remembered so well?” said
Muller with a smile, which was met by an answering
one on the wrinkled face before him.
“Yes, sir. I don’t often get such tips. And I
ain’t so old but what I can notice a nice-looking
wench yet, sir.”
“I see. Anything more you can tell me about
her.”
“No, sir, except that she told me she was goin'
away on the train that evenin’.”
“But she didn't say where she was going?”
“No, sir.”
Muller dropped a coin into the man's hand, and
went on his way. He was so absorbed in his
thoughts that he nearly fell over a wheelbarow in
the path. “She came to the grave several times and
cried there and brought a rose bush and gave a tip
of three gulden—rather generous for a servant! If
she was a servant, which I doubt.” Muller walked
on slowly, taking one of the fine promenades along
the river bank, until he came in sight of the Grey
House. Ossip came to meet him, waving his hat.
“So you found the house, did you?” asked Muller.
“That was easy. I’ve done much harder things.”
“Have you found anyone or anything interest-
ing?”
“There's a man, a young man, has passed the
house several times. When I first saw him, he was
standing looking up at one of the windows through


126 THE LADY IN BLUE
the gate on the river side. He seemed interested.”
“Most people in the town are interested in this
house just now.”
“But this young man seemed particularly inter-
ested. I saw his eyes while he looked at the house,
there was so much expression in them. Oh, there he
is again.”
Muller, Ossip at his side, started to walk again,
keeping to the path along the river bank. A man
was coming along this path from the opposite di-
rection, a young man. He carried his hat in his
hand and the afternoon sun gilded his fair hair.
“Goldie-Boy?” flashed through Muller's mind. The
man was deeply absorbed in thought and his lips
were moving as if he were talking to himself.
Just as they got near enough to see him well he
stopped, took out pencil and paper from a case he
carried and began to write eagerly. Muller gave a
short laugh, a laugh at his own supposition. “Goldie-
Boy,” whom he intended to look up when he had
enough data to go by, was evidently a business man
of some kind, probably a traveling salesman. He
could not have been very young, for his letters
proved him an experienced lover. But this lad was
youth and innocence itself, very evidently a college
student. And at the present moment he seemed to
be eagerly writing a poem of his own composition.
He was so absorbed that he did not see the men
approaching.


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 127
“Swan Song,” he exclaimed, as he put what seemed
to be a last flourish to the title. But just then he
stumbled over a rock in the path, and the pencil
flew out of his hand.
It recalled him to actuality, and when he had re-
covered his property he found himself looking into
the faces of two strange men, the elder of whom
was frankly smiling at him in friendly sympathy.
The youth blushed deeply, bowed and passed on.
“I think you’d better follow him, Ossip,” whis-
pered Muller, “I want to know who he is, I may
need to question him later.”
The Russian nodded and strolled off down the
path after the disappearing poet.
Muller had taken the gate key with him that
morning and slipped into the garden unseen by Mrs.
Deisler in her kitchen. The detective knew Buchner
was not at home, for he had passed the gardener
going toward the town some time back. He could
roam about the garden and study the outside of the
house at will.
There was a window open in Buchner's little cabin,
up some distance from the ground. But Muller was
still agile in spite of his sixty years, and he climbed
in easily. He wanted to obtain some insight into
the character and habits of this one man around
the Grey House, the one man who had easy access
to the house and grounds at any time. Buchner's
somewhat gruff manner did not prepossess people


128 THE LADY IN BLUE
in his favor. But the interior of his neat cabin,
and the condition of the few papers and belongings
in the room showed him to be orderly and thrifty.
Muller's short examination convinced him that
he could put the gardener entirely out of his mind
as far as any possible connection with the case was
concerned. The detective climbed out of the win-
dow again and walked toward the house.
The gardener came in at the gate just then and
Muller went to meet him with unusual friendliness,
feeling that he owed the man an apology for his
suspicions. As they stood chatting Commissioner
Sennfeld came up, and the two officials went up-
stairs.
The death room lay in bright sunshine, every
line on the carpet clear and definite in spite of the
intricacy of the pattern.
“I’m most curious to know what it is you're going
to show me,” said the Commissioner.
Muller smiled without speaking, moved a few
steps forward and looked down at the floor. Senn-
feld stepped up beside him, followed his glance, and
saw what he had not seen on that fateful morning.
The big Axminster carpet rug had a light ground
on which was a pattern of entwining roses with long
stems. Sennfeld knelt beside one of these sprays and
bent down over it. Although he bent deep enough
to have sent the blood to his face, his cheeks were
noticeably pale. His eyes stared down at the carpet.


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 129
And yet it was such a little thing he was staring
at, nothing but a narrow red-brown line. It ran
parallel to an almost similar line, differing from it
only in that the other line was a graceful broken
curve and this particular line was stiff and straight.
The curved line was the stem of a deep yellow rose.
And one end of the straight line touched the center
of a rose petal.
“Then she did die by another's hand!” murmured
the Commissioner.
“Yes, she died by another's hand,” said Muller,
who had moved to the mantelpiece and 'taken up
the dagger that lay there. He stooped and placed
the dagger on the straight red-brown line. The
line in the carpet was exactly the length of the
stained portion of the steel blade.
While Sennfeld looked at the dagger, then at
his companion, Muller stared off into vacancy, his
lips moving softly. Finally he spoke: “I imagine
it was something like this . . .” his voice was
low and monotonous. “The man, I feel sure it was
a man, struck Elise Lehmann down and then stag-
gered back against the wall here, horrified at what
he had done. He still holds the dagger tightly in
his clenched fist. He stares down at the dead
woman, as the realization of his cruel deed, the com-
prehension of its full import, presses into his heart
and brain. Suddenly he notices the weapon in his


130 THE LADY IN BLUE
hand and, shuddering, casts it from him . . . it
falls to the floor . . . here.”
“Yes, that is where it fell,” repeated Sennfeld
softly, as he rose to his feet.
“Where did they find it next morning?” asked
Muller in more natural tone. “Can you show me
the exact spot?”
Sennfeld lead the way to the bedroom door, stood
a moment in thought, then pointed to a spot on the
edge of the rug. It was very nearly the exact spot
indicated by both the housekeeper and the gardener.
“There's no mark of blood here,” said Muller.
“Which proves that the dagger was quite dry by the
time the murderer placed it there, to give the ap-
pearance of suicide. He must have remained here
with the body for some time. Blood does not dry
easily, particularly not on a cold wet night .
and we know it was cold and wet on the night of
May 29th. I can't understand . . . yet .
why the murderer should stay here, with his victim.
The impulse is usually to flee, to get away from the
horror and the possible danger. I can see no rea-
son for his lingering all that time.”
“But if the house was closed,” suggested Senn-
feld.
Muller shook his head. “There are plenty of
windows here, and most of them are surrounded by
heavy old ivy. An active man could easily climb
down into the garden. Besides, the key to the side


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 131
door is in the lock and the big conspicuous key of
the river gate hangs near the door in the hall. You
could hardly miss it. The gates are easy to climb.
No, there are ways enough of easy escape from
these rooms. I cannot understand why he should
have stayed here until the blood dried on that dag-
ger. If I could find out why . . .”
“I can see but one answer,” said Sennfeld slowly,
“and that is that the maid . . .”
“Is the murderer?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find out what money or jewelry the
dead woman had in her possession?”
“I went through the desk hastily. There was
nothing of any value to be found.”
“There are about three hundred crowns there
now,” said Muller.
“Yes,” continued Sennfeld. “Baron Wallroth
told me that he had given Miss Lehmann six hundred
crowns on May first. As far as he knew she had no
other money and very little jewelry.”
“Then it doesn't look like a robbery. There
might have been a quarrel, and a moment of mad
rage. But that hardly seems possible, when the
two women came home together, quite peaceably
and . . .”
“And were together only a few minutes after
that,” cut in Sennfeld. “The housekeeper is wit-
ness that the girl was not near her mistress all


132 THE LADY IN BLUE
night. Why, what's the matter? What . . .
What?”
Muller's head had gone sharply erect, his eyes
were half closed. He held his breath as if listen-
ing to some far away sound. Sennfeld stared at
him, equally breathless, until the tense moment
passed and Muller smiled his familiar smile again.
“She arranged her alibi neatly, didn't she?” he
remarked lightly. “Your deucedly pretty, extremely
interesting Miss Unknown looks to me like a very
slick specimen. Good Lord!” Muller's voice had
a sharp note of anger in it now. “To think you
let her get away!”
Sennfeld's head drooped and he looked so un-
happy that Muller felt sorry for his little outburst
of temper.
“Don’t worry,” he said kindly, “that's happened
to others before you. And you are all the more ex-
cusable in this case, as you are still young enough to
feel the power of feminine charm. The woman
must have something very attractive about her.
Even the wrinkled old cemetery attendant admired
her.”
Muller told his companion of his visit to the
cemetery. Then he led him to the wardrobe closet
and showed him the blue silk gown and the muddy
shoes. “Do you think this charming Unknown would
be so careless with her mistress' good clothes? Look,
there's mud on the bottom of this skirt, too, at one


THE ROSE WITH TWO STEMS 133
spot, as if it had been dragged over a dirty carriage
step. Would any trained maid put clothes away in
such a condition? Or . . . did Miss Lehmann
change her clothes before she was killed? Why
should she have done this? There may be some
meaning in the fact that these articles, the silk gown,
muddied, the muddy shoes and this long black
cloak”—Muller opened that part of the wardrobe
—“were thrust in hastily and carelessly while all
the other garments hang in orderly rows. You
laugh? Let me tell you, Commissioner, it is just
little things like this, trifles, seemingly of no import-
ance, that have led me to some of my greatest tri-
umphs.”
“Is that why you want the body exhumed?” asked
the Commissioner.
“Yes, that is why. But now, if you don’t mind,
I’d like to be alone.”
“You mean . . . I am to go?”
“If you don't mind?”
“Not in the least,” replied Sennfeld cheerfully.
“For it's you who belong here, not I. We’ve
proved that conclusively. If you need me, you'll
find me in the Bellevue Café after 8 o'clock.” The
Commissioner held out his hand to the old detective
and walked slowly out of the room.
Muller scarcely noticed his going. He sat still,
in deep thought for some time. Then he rose, looked
around and remarked, “No, I am sure it was a
man.”


WHO CAME BACK? 135
her cosy room and pulled out a chair for the detec-
tive.
Muller sat down and waited until the house-
keeper had settled herself opposite him. Then he
began again, in a tone of polite interest; “You say
there's been more things happening in this house?”
“There has indeed.” Mrs. Deisler was pleased
to talk to such a sympathetic listener. “It takes
some courage to stay here I can tell you, sir. And
if they hadn’t given me more money, as I said,
I—”
“You wouldn't have stayed?” Muller smiled.
“You needn’t smile, sir.” Mrs. Deisler was a bit
offended. “The likes of us has to endure a lot for
a decent living. Still, I must say there hasn’t been
anything much lately.”
“How lately?”
“Oh, for the last week or so.” -
“But before that? Did you hear anything . . .
unusual then?”
“Oh, yes indeed, ever so often l. It would sound
as if someone were creeping about in the house, and
then again there'd be a rattling in the walls.”
“It's an old house, and old houses are apt to talk
to themselves,” said Muller.
Mrs. Deisler leaned over toward him and asked,
mysteriously, “Do they scream, too?”
Muller looked surprised. “What do you mean by
that?”


136 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Because, there's Something that screams, in this
house.”
“Hm, often?” Muller could not resist a faint
smile at the old woman's superstitious fears.
She saw it and turned away offended. Then his
kind heart reasserted itself and he showed a flatter-
ing interest, and a desire to hear more that soon
soothed her.
“No, sir, I didn't hear it but once, that queer
scream that's never been explained. And wasn't it
strange, sir? It was the very night the . . . the
poor lady died . . . as if it was Something that
knew what was goin’ to happen . . . a sort of omen
. and it was so queer anyway. When Tony
found her next morning, and she screamed . . . that
was different. Then I knew who it was, and why.
But that other scream . . . the evening before . . .
why, sir . . . what's the matter? You look so
queer!”
The old woman stopped, startled, and stared at
the little man who sat opposite her. His usually
pale old face was flushed by waves of color, his
nostrils quivered and his chest heaved with his
quick panting breath. He paid no attention to her
question but leaned forward and laid his hand on
her arm with a quick excited pressure. “When did
you hear that scream? Think carefully please . . .
just when did you hear it?” he asked. His gentle
voice was almost harsh.


WHO CAME BACK? 137
“But why?”
“Answer me please. Tell me just that and noth-
ing else.”
“But I told you.”
“Quicker, please, quicker.”
“Well, it must have been about seven, or maybe
half-past six . . . no, nearly seven.”
“The evening before the body was found?”
“Yes.”
“About seven?”
“Yes. I was all alone in the house.”
“Hm, were you? Are you sure about that?”
“Why, sir, what . . .”
“Yes, yes, you're right. I must try to get at this
thing calmly. I’ll only confuse you otherwise. I
want you to tell me all about it.”
“But there's nothing more to tell, sir. That's all
there is to it.”
“Oh, no, my good woman, that's not all there is
to it, not by a good deall That was only the be-
ginning, but we'll come to the end now. Yes, I am
sure we'll find the end, the true end of this story.”
There was a gleam in Muller's eyes and his nostrils
still quivered slightly. Otherwise he was as calm as
before.
Mrs. Deisler looked at him in growing alarm,
but he nodded reassuringly. “We'll talk this mat-
ter over quite calmly,” he began. “I’ll ask
questions and you'll tell me just what you really


WHO CAME BACK7 139
told you yet, I heard just one loud, shrill scream.”
“Just one?”
“Yes, sir, and the ladies had been gone at least
half an hour or more.”
“And you're sure one of them was Miss Leh-
mann?”
“Why, Mr. Muller! Didn't I open the gate for
them myself, and wasn't it broad daylight? I saw
the young lady plainly and heard her speak too. I
can't understand what you mean by all these ques-
tions?”
Muller did not answer. “Queer . . . queer
. .” he murmured half to himself.
“Oh, I forgot, Tony came back once . . .
“Came back?”
“The young lady had forgotten her feather boa,”
“Was that before you heard the scream?”
“Oh, yes, sir, they'd been gone but a few minutes
before she came back for the boa.”
“Did you let her in?”
“No, she had her own keys. They always took
the keys when they went to the theatre.”
“Did they go often?”
“Every two or three days. The young lady was
bored most to death here. But she didn't want to
go out alone at night so she took Tony along, and
let her sit with her too, in the best seats. They al-
ways sat right down front.”
“Tell me, are there two keys to the river gate?”
99


WHO CAME BACK? 141
“No, sir, he'd only have laughed at me.”
Muller sat a moment in thought, then continued;
“And then, when the . . . two . . . came
home?” he lingered on the word “two.”
“The two ladies? They drove up in a cab about
half-past ten.”
“Did you notice the number of the cab?”
“No.”
“Did you know the driver, by any chance?”
“No.”
“Now listen . . . and answer carefully. Are
you quite sure that it was Miss Lehmann who came
home with Tony? Did you see her plainly?”
Mrs. Deisler looked up surprised. Then her face
went white and her hands began to shake. “Steady
now . . . keep cool . . . don't be frightened.”
“Then you think . . . ?” stammered the woman.
“I want to know what you think. Was it surely
Miss Lehmann who came back with Tony? Did
you see her plainly?”
“No . . I did not.”
“Why not?”
“It was dark down at the gate, in spite of the
lights on the cab.”
“But it was light enough in the house?”
“Yes . . . but . . . Tony had forgotten her
opera glass in the cab and asked me to find it. Be-
fore I found it, and came up to the house, the lady
was almost at the top of the stairs.”


142 THE LADY IN BLUE
“And Tony? Was she in such a hurry to get
out of your sight?”
“Oh, no. She waited for the glass, and then
asked me if I'd make her a cup of tea, she'd come
right down again.”
“Did she P”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you notice anything about her, anything
. . different from the usual?”
“Only that she was pale and looked tired. But
she'd had a headache all day. She was shivering
too, and real hoarse, and she asked me why I had
the dog in the room with me?”
“Oh, the dog was in here? Not out in the gar-
den?”
“I had him in here the whole evening. I was
frightened, after what I'd heard.”
“Yes, yes, go on.”
“I told Tony what I'd heard and the stories about
the house. She said her lady must have heard
something of late, because she was frightened, too,
the night before. And then Tony got scared and
asked me if I’d sleep upstairs with her.”
“And you did?”
“Yes, sir. I didn't mind having some one with
me that night myself. We were talking it over
when the young lady rang . . .” Mrs. Deisler
stopped talking and wriggled uneasily in her chair.
“The young lady . . . or whoever it was . . .”


JWHO CAME BACK P 143
she continued with a shiver, “rang the bell and Tony
went up.”
“Did she stay long?”
“No, she came right back. She'd forgotten to
put out the drinking water . . . for . . . for
the lady . . . at least that's what she said. She'd
brought her own water bottle to fetch water for
herself. Then we went up and Tony was asleep in
less than half an hour.”
“You think so ”
“But I heard her breathing, sir, the way one
breathes in sleep!”
“Or if one wants to pretend sleep?”
“Then you think . . . ?”
“I don't think. I am quite sure that Tony didn't
sleep fifteen minutes during that whole night.” -
“But why shouldn't she?”
“It's not easy to sleep when you know that scarcely
two doors away there's a murdered woman lying
9?
“Murdered!” Mrs. Deisler half rose from her
chair . . . then sank back, shaking pitifully. “Mur-
dered?” she repeated dully.
“Yes, Mrs. Deisler, Elise Lehmann did not kill
herself. She was murdered, and your Tony had
something to do with it. I don’t just know what
yet, but she was concerned in it somehow.”
Mrs. Deisler still sat staring at him, trying to
understand what she had just heard. Then, as his


144 THE LADY IN BLUE
last words penetrated her consciousness, she sprang
to her feet and almost screamed; “No, Mr. Muller
... that isn’t true! I'll never believe that! I'll
never believe Tony had anything to do with it!
She's innocent, you can take my word for it. You
can't look that way and act that way, the way she
does and be concerned in a murder. Tony's so seri-
ous and so sad, and so gentle and she's pious too,
and prays so hard. No, no. I don't know what
you've found out, but Tony is innocent and that's
gospel truth, Tony never did anything wrong.”
The woman stood looking down at him, her
old face almost handsome in the fine flush of right-
eous indignation that suffused the faded cheeks.
Muller smiled gently up at her.
“Are you sure it isn’t just Tony's pretty face that
has charmed you, as it did the others?” he asked.
The woman laughed, a short hard laugh. “Non-
sense,” she replied angrily, “that girl's much better
than just pretty. She's a good woman, you can trust
me. One woman finds that out mighty quick, about
another. We don’t let ourselves be fooled by a
pretty face, like the men folks.” There was an-
other pause, during which Muller made a mental
note of the fact that everyone who had spoken of
this Tony thus far had been prejudiced in her favor.
Then he continued his questions as to that night
and next morning, asked about every detail of Tony's
behavior, and had to acknowledge that she had


146 THE LADY IN BLUE
The corridors with their ivy-shaded windows, were
already dim in the gathering dusk as Muller passed
through to the corner room.
His first concern was to look about for some glass
or other vessel in which Tony might have brought
the water she said Miss Lehmann had rung for.
There was nothing there. But he must first find
out whether any such vessel had been moved from
the rooms since the discovery of the body. If it
had not, then Tony had lied again.
The ringing of the bell, which Mrs. Deisler had
heard, proved to Muller that Elise Lehmann's mur-
derer was still in the house at eleven o'clock that
evening. He had rung to notify his accomplice,
Tony, that he needed her. He may have left the
house then, and she had opened the door for him,
locking it after he had gone. That need not have
taken much time. The side door key was in the
lock, and the garden gate only a few steps from the
house. It could all have been done in three minutes.
And the girl must have been absent from Mrs. Deis-
ler's room longer than that. She had even had
time enough to recover from any excitement those
minutes might have brought.
But it was remarkable, that knowing just what
had happened upstairs she could have sat there
calmly drinking tea with the old woman.
Of course, as the murder had been committed
at seven o'clock, Tony had had nearly five hours


148 THE LADY IN BLUE
Muller was already convinced that some one else
had worn Elise Lehmann's clothes on that late
homecoming. He took up the cloak as if to return
it to its place. Suddenly he stiffened, and dropped
the garment on the table again. His mouth tight-
ened to a straight line. He looked at one spot on
the fine-textured expensive cloth, then his hand
moved slowly over it.
It was a spot which had been torn and mended,
... not carefully mended, but hastily, as if done
by a trembling hand. The tear was not conspicuous,
for it would have been quite hidden by the heavy
lace that hung from the front of the collar when
the cloak was in use. But it came in a peculiar posi-
tion, in the left side, just breast high.
Under this spot Elise Lehmann's heart beat in
life, . . . and under this spot . . . Muller was
now convinced, her heart had ceased to beat.
“Yes, she wore this coat when she was killed,”
he murmured. “The dagger must have left some
spots of blood here. Whoever mended this coat
washed away the blood, for the cloth is dulled here
and the light silk lining darkened.”
The mending was more noticeable on the lining,
and a few minute dark spots were still visible under
the criss-crossed threads.
Muller hung up the coat and turned to go, when
his attention was again arrested, this time by some-


WHO CAME BACK? 149
thing that blinked at him like an angry red eye from
under a little table between the windows.
He reached down and picked it up. It was the
second hatpin, a big red crystal. The murderer's
hand must have tossed it into that dark corner
where the daylight did not reach it. It was the light
from the table lamp that had struck it into fire.
“No . . . this was not premeditated murder,”
thought Muller. “This man was beside himself
when he realized what he had done. He must have
had a moment of sheer insanity, as he threw these
things about. But what came after was remarka-
bly well planned . . . ah, yes . . . the instinct of
self-preservation always triumphs at the last, but
never quite perfectly. These two were clever, but
not quite clever enough.”
Mrs. Deisler assured Muller that nothing had
been moved in the rooms upstairs except by the po-
lice. And she was sure no one had taken a glass
from the rooms.
Buchner could not tell just where the lady had
torn up her letter, but he thought it was somewhere
near the fountain. Muller promised that he himself
would come the next day, or someone who would
bring credentials from him.
Ossip was waiting for him at the hotel, with the
name and address of the young poet they had met
by the river and with a telegram which had just
come from Professor Thorn.


150 THE LADY IN BLUE
It read:
Can do nothing to help find person you mention.
Think you are mistaken. Girl was taken on in
Linz. Knows nothing of her mistress' past life.
Has gone to Munich, now traveling with new em-
ployer. Looks sickly. Letter follows.
Thorn.
“She told him the same lies and he believes them,”
thought Muller. “He probably thinks her interest-
ing, too. A strange woman! Everybody is for her
and everything is against her.”


CHAPTER X
CONCERNING TONY
MULLER instructed Ossip to be at the Grey House
early next morning to search the garden for bits of
the torn letter. Then, after a light supper, he
turned his own steps towards the City Theatre. He
asked the secretary whether the latter had by any
chance noticed two young women who were fre-
quent visitors at the theatre during the month of
May. They usually took front seats, and one of
them was a strikingly handsome brunette, the sort of
woman whom one does not easily overlook or for-
get.
“Oh, yes, indeed, I’ve noticed them,” answered
the man, without a moment's hesitation. “Business
has been pretty dull this month and it's easy enough
to remember the few people who come regularly,
particularly if they are in anyway conspicuous. Why
are you so interested in these two young ladies?”
he asked with a smile as he pulled forward a chair
for Muller.
“At my age, you mean?” replied the detective,
with a laugh. “Yes, they do interest me in spite of
my grey hairs. But I might as well confess that my
interest is entirely official and not personal.”
151


154 THE LADY IN BLUE
companion of the Lady in Blue was in the theatre
on the evening of May 29th. The seat beside her,
which had been bought and paid for that morning,
remained vacant. The young woman looked pale
and suffering and stayed only until the close of the
first act.
The links in the chain of evidence fitted perfectly.
In the Café Bellevue Muller found Commissioner
Sennfeld deep in a game of cards. He sat down to
wait, but Sennfeld, now thoroughly aroused to a
sense of his own omissions and to a desire to make
good on the Lehmann case, could not keep his mind
on the game. He made his excuses and left the
table.
“Anything new?” he asked, in an undertone, as
he reached up for his hat.
“Yes, and no,” replied Muller. “Come out
where we can talk.”
They strolled along the embankment until they
came to an empty bench.
“Well?” queried Sennfeld, a bit impatient.
“I’ve found out one thing,” said Muller, slowly.
“This Tony is only an accomplice, an accessory after
the fact.”
Sennfeld gave a deep sigh of relief.
“Also, I know now that the murder, or the killing,
took place before seven o'clock on the evening of
May 29th.”


CONCERNING TONY 155
“But the two came home after the theatre, at
10:30–”
“Two people came home, but not the two women
who went out together. The killer came home with
Tony.”
“I don’t understand. I can’t follow you.”
“Very well, I'll picture it for you, in proper order,
at least what I believe to have happened on that
evening.”
“Please do.”
“Elise Lehmann and this Tony, who posed as her
maid, left the house a little before six o'clock. Very
shortly after that Tony returned alone, opened the
gate and house door with her own keys. She told
the housekeeper that she had come for her lady's
feather boa. But in reality she came back to open
the side garden gate and side housedoor for the
Lehmann girl and a man whom the women met
shortly after they left the house. It was easy
enough to do. Mrs. Deisler was in her own rooms,
and the gardener had gone off, taking his dog with
him. I imagine this unknown man to have been a
lover of the Lehmann girl. I found letters which
are very evidently from a successful lover who signs
himself “Goldie-Boy,” and from whom the dead
woman parted ‘forever as she believed, on May 5th
in Linz. This man does not seem to have been
quite reconciled to the thought of losing her. The
letter carrier brought Elise Lehmann a letter a day


156 THE LADY IN BLUE
or two before her death, which she did not open
immediately, as she usually did. She took it to a
quieter spot in the garden, read the letter, wept bit-
terly over it and tore it into bits. She thought her-
self alone, but the incident was seen by Buchner, the
gardener. I intend to have the garden searched for
those pieces to-morrow.”
“You think that letter was from ‘Goldie-Boy'?
Hideously sentimental title, eh?”
“Yes, cheap sentiment. Throws a light on the
mental calibre of the future Baroness Wallroth,
doesn’t it?”
“You think that letter was from Goldie-Boy’?
“I imagine it. I am sure only that some man
came, whom she wanted to receive with all secrecy.
For of course Baron Wallroth must not know that
he was there. Let us take for granted that it was
‘Goldie-Boy. That makes all the sections fit, with
one exception.”
“And that?”
“Is Tony,” replied Muller thoughtfully. “I can-
not understand why this woman, the sort of woman
Tony seems to be from all I hear, should have aided
and abetted the man and gone through with this
elaborate apparatus of deception. There are sev-
eral possible hypotheses, but we can go over those
later.”
“You think the girl was an eye-witness of the
deed?”


CONCERNING TONY 157
Muller shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure
of that. But I know she helped the man in every
way.”
“But why should he return to the house? And in
Miss Lehmann's clothes?”
“He had to do this to clear Tony of all suspicion,
and also to put off the discovery as long as possible,
which would help him in his own escape. And Tony
had to arrange her alibi, had to be able to call the
Deisler woman as witness that she could not have
murdered her mistress. As the facts stand, the only
possible time she could have committed the deed
was in the morning between five and seven. And the
condition of the body when found, proved that
death had taken place many hours before. The
physician who came with you, examined the body at
7:30. And besides, the body was fully dressed.
Miss Lehmann had not been to bed at all that night.
She could not have been killed that morning. And
from the moment of her return after the last call
from her mistress, until five next morning, Tony
was under Mrs. Deisler's eyes.” W
“Couldn’t it have been 99
“The moment she was upstairs, you mean?
Hardly likely. She came down almost immediately,
and looked no different from before. This Tony
seems to be a woman of strong and determined will,
but no human being has that much self-control.”


158 THE LADY IN BLUE
“You're sure the killing took place during the
early evening?”
“Absolutely. The housekeeper heard the girl's
death-cry at seven o'clock or shortly before.”
“What? She heard a cry? Then why the deuce
didn't she tell me?”
“Because our mysterious friend Tony, who
thought of everything, told the old woman that she
would only make herself ridiculous if she bothered
the police with such old wives' tales.”
“Oh—”
“You believe me now?” Sennfeld nodded.
“When his victim was dead,” continued Muller, “the
murderer removed her hat, cloak and gloves. Or,
rather,” Muller halted a minute and then went on,
“I should not say murderer. I find no signs of pre-
meditation, but every evidence that the man acted in
a fit of uncontrollable rage and then went through
a moment of horror amounting to insanity after
the deed. The girl must have goaded or taunted
him.” He paused, looking off into distance as if
trying to reconstruct some scene.
“Yes,” said Sennfeld softly, not to disturb his
companion's thoughts. “I can imagine it now my-
self. A cold-hearted beautiful woman has a thou-
sand ways of striking a man to the heart, if he is
foolish enough to love her.”
“And this woman utilized men's passions to draw


CONCERNING TONY 161
own shoes might have looked inappropriate under a
light silk gown. They went to work carefully, those
two. And I am inclined to think the idea of the
masquerade was Tony's. It sounds more like a
woman. But this is merely a surmise; I have no
proof of that yet, only that there was a masquerade.
I must find out whether anyone was seen carrying
a bundle in the neighborhood of the Grey House
that evening. Or he may have taken a bag from the
girl's closet, a valise or something like that. I can
easily ascertain if that is true.”
“Then they didn't either of them—the women—
go to the theatre that evening?”
“Oh, yes; Tony did. That girl is astoundingly
intelligent. She realised that something might have
happened at the theatre, some incident that would
make talk next day, and it might have looked queer
if neither of the women knew of this. Of course,
up to that point, Tony did not know what had hap-
pened. She merely wanted to cover the other girl's
tracks, to make it appear they had both been there.
But she must have been uneasy, for she looked “ill,”
and left after the first act. Then she must have met
the man somewhere . . . I can't just yet see how or
why, but she must have met him and learned what
had happened. Then the comedy of the home-
coming was arranged.”
“Maybe she expected to meet Miss Lehmann


162 THE LADY IN BLUE
again, so that no one would know the latter had
been with her lover.”
“Yes, yes—that is an idea—that may have been
it. But the man came alone . . . and . . . yes . .
in that case the idea of the clothes was his. Queer,
anyway, they came home. He took off the clothes,
but there had been a shower and the blue silk skirt
was spattered and muddied in spots, the shoes were
muddy. He stuffed them in the closet and left the
cloak out to be cleaned and mended.”
“Couldn't it have been mended some other time
—I mean before that evening?”
“I doubt it. The dagger had pierced the cloak.
And the killer would hardly want to have the body
found in hat and cloak . . . or else . . . you can
imagine he would have dreaded to touch her . . .
that was human and natural. The cloak had to be
mended and cleansed, so that the truth would not
be known . . . at least as long as the guilty
parties were within reach of the authorities.”
“But the truth did come out,” remarked Senn-
feld, with a blush, “although I had very little to do
With it.”
“You thought it suicide, as did the others,” said
Muller, soothingly.
“What must we do now?”
“We must find this ‘Goldie-Boy'! And most of all
we must find Tony. I have hunted all sorts of crim-
inals in all sorts of places, but I confess this woman


CONCERNING TONY 163
intrigues me more than most of them have done.
Back of these actual facts, which must have been
more or less as I have pictured them, there is some
story, some relationship between these three which
will explain much—once we know it. And which,
if we only knew it now, would help us measurably in
finding the people we must seek.”
“The girl seemed very refined for a servant,”
said Sennfeld, seeking about in his memory. “But
she was simply dressed and humble in demeanor.”
“The secretary of the theatre, who did not know
anything about the women, except their appearance,
said he imagined them to be actresses. We know
Miss Lehmann had been on the stage, and in the
variety houses, too. But why should a fellow-pro-
fessional masquerade as her maid' if Tony was an
actress? Of course, if she was, that would show
why she played her part so well.”
“Maybe she was in league with the Lehmann girl
to help her see her former lover?”
“Yes; the fact that she helped in the secret meet-
ing would speak for that. But what came later
refutes the theory. And besides, Commissioner, I
have discovered, in the course of many years of
work, that the actions of a man or woman must be
read in the light of character rather than of mere
surface facts. When we have no direct evidence
to tell us whether a certain person has or has not,
done a certain thing, we must fall back on what we


164 THE LADY IN BLUE
*
know or can learn about this person's character and
habit of life. That is the only safe guide. And
that is why I regret more than I can say, that I did
not see and speak to this Tony myself. But from
all I hear, from all sorts of people . . . tell me
yourself, Commissioner . . . do you think her the
sort of woman who would help another in a low
intrigue to betray the trust of the man who was to
have given Elise Lehmann wealth and assured po-
sition for the rest of her life?”
Sennfeld hesitated, then spoke slowly and humbly.
“I'm afraid my observations are of little value. I
remember only that the girl was very pretty in a
quiet, refined, dignified sort of way, and very mod-
est and gentle, although intelligent and definite in
her answers. More I could not say without trying
to cover my own stupidity.”
“Still, that is of value, what you have just said.
Now, why should such a woman go to such lengths
of danger for herself? Later, why should she stay
on here, and why should she play into this man's
hands as she did? Love is of course the usual ex-
planation for a woman's sacrifices for a man. But
if Tony loved this man, would she have arranged
his meeting with a woman who had been his mis-
tress, and then help him escape? A woman will do
much for love. Still she doesn't usually help the
man she loves to a tête-à-tête with another woman
whom he loves.”


CONCERNING TONY 165
“No—not usually.”
“There are other combinations, I must think
them out. This Tony is going to give me a sleep-
less night or two, that I know. But I'll try and
trace ‘Goldie-Boy.’ And, by the way, there will be
no need to exhume the body. I know now that Elise
Lehmann did not come home with Tony that eve-
ning. But if you can do so, I wish you would find
the driver of the cab that brought them home. The
man may have seen or suspected something. I
would like to know where they picked him up.”
Muller rose and Sennfeld followed suit.
“Oh, yes, I forgot,” said the Commissioner as
they turned toward the center of the town again.
“There's been a letter from Hubert Lohr, Elise
Lehmann's stepbrother. He had wired that he was
coming soon. But he writes now to say that, as the
burial is over, he will not be here after all. He
makes no claim to whatever she may have left. He
is a poor man, a teacher of music, and finds it im-
possible to take the time from his work. He doesn’t
mention the expense, but I fancy that's the chief ob-
jection. He says that he may come later in the
summer, on his vacation, and visit her grave.”
“Not what you'd call a loving brother, is he?”
remarked Muller.
“No. But he was only her stepbrother. And at
least he's not mercenary. But I don't suppose she
had much to leave . . . nothing perhaps but just
what is in the Grey House, her clothes and the bit


166 THE LADY IN BLUE
of money, which really belongs to Baron Wallroth.
Hardly enough to pay for what such a journey
would cost a poor man.”
“True. Good night,” said Muller, giving the
Commissioner his hand. Then he turned and walked
off quickly.
As the detective passed through the lobby of the
hotel on his way to his room, after having stopped
for a word with the attendant at the door, a young
man rose from one of the big chairs as if to speak
to him. But when Muller halted expectant, the
young man blushed, stammered something about a
“mistake” and sat down again, raising his paper so
that his embarrassed face could not be seen. Mul-
ler smiled, bowed slightly and passed on. He had
seen a strongly built blond young man, with nothing
to mark him from hundreds of other well-clad
youths. Still Muller, who never neglected any-
thing, stopped at the desk and asked, in an under-
tone, “Who’s that man?”
“He's registered as George Brantschli from Wi-
enna,” replied the clerk. “And he was asking for
you this evening.”
“Asking for me?”
“Well, I don’t know. He asked if a Mr. Muller
from Vienna was stopping here?”
“He must have wanted some other Muller, that's
why he was so embarrassed when he discovered his
mistake. Good night.”


CHAPTER XI
THE TORN LETTERS
MULLER had prophesied truly. Tony, the Mys-
terious, did cost him a restless night. Hour after
hour passed while the veteran detective turned over
in his mind all the possible combinations of human
relationship that could give him a clue to the mo-
tives of this girl’s conduct. The facts he knew; that
she had aided the secret meeting of Elise Lehmann
with the unknown man, and that she had then helped
this man in the masquerade which threw the police
off the track and gave color to the suicide theory
... these facts could not be explained altogether
by the supposition that the man was Elise Leh-
mann's lover. But if he were not, why should he
have been goaded into killing her? Who else but a
lover, angry at her desertion, could have had any
cause for so fatal a rage?
The fact that Tony's conduct did not fit into the
easy and natural supposition was just what aroused
Muller's keenest ardor. Easy cases did not interest
him, and this had seemed too easy at first.
He fell asleep so late that it was long past his
usual rising hour when he finally woke. Ossip's
167


168 THE LADY IN BLUE
room was empty, and Muller knew he would find
the lad in the Grey House.
He did, but not exactly as he had expected. Os-
sip was sitting on the chopping-block in the locked
woodshed, cheerfully smoking a cigarette. Pollux
was on guard outside in an attitude of extremely
watchful waiting while Buchner was working near
by.
“Does this young man belong to you?” asked
the gardener, as Muller came up. “I was takin' no
chances so I locked him up. He must ha’ got into
the garden by climbing the gate.”
“Of course I did,” remarked Ossip lightly. “How
else could I get in? There wasn't anyone awake at
three o'clock to open the gate for me.”
“Mercy on us, were you here at three?” ex-
claimed Muller. “How did you get out of the hotel
without attracting attention at that hour?”
“Down the water pipe from my window.”
“Two stories up?”
“Oh, Mr. Muller, the walls of the Kara Prison
are higher than that! And it's well I came so early.
For I hadn't but two hours to look for the papers
before this chap got me by the collar.”
“Which he had a perfect right to do,” laughed
Muller. “He didn't expect my messenger to come
at that hour or in that way.”
“No, sir, you said yourself I was to hold up any


THE TORN LETTERS 169
one poking around here, except on your orders,”
explained Buchner.
“Quite right, keep that up. Did you find any-
thing?” Muller asked of his young assistant.
“This much !” The Russian opened his pocket-
book and laid a tiny handful of torn bits of paper
in Muller's palm. “It took me the two hours to
gather those.”
Muller reassured Buchner as to his actions of the
morning, and cautioned him anew to do the same by
anyone whom he found trespassing on the grounds
of the Grey House. The experienced detective
hoped for some assistance in this puzzling mystery
from the well-known psychology of the criminal
which drives him back to the scene of his crime.
Thus far it had been of little help to him, how-
ever. For the only person who had been seen lin-
gering around the house was the innocent-looking
young student whom Ossip had followed recently
at Muller's orders. He had ascertained that the
lad's name was Franz Moser, and that he was a
pupil at the Teachers' Seminary in the town.
Muller and his assistant went into the house. The
detective asked the housekeeper if she would giye
them some breakfast. Then he questioned her con-
cerning Miss Lehmann's luggage. Did she remem-
ber any small pieces the lady may have had?
“Oh, yes, sir. She had her big trunks and two
hand pieces, a brown bag and a light-colored valise


THE TORN LETTERS 171
as if he was goin' to push me aside and go in. And he
was a strong looking young man too. I was most
afraid of him, he was so excited, although he was
well dressed and not like a rough at all.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Muller quickly.
“I told him you were in charge and that he could
see you at the hotel.”
“You didn't tell him anything more?”
“No, sir. The less those stories get about, the
better for me.”
“Quite so. What sort of a looking man was he?”
“Why, young, and strong looking and nicely
dressed. He thought I'd take money to let him in
too. But then I got angry and shut the gate on
him.”
“Good. But if he comes while I am here you can
let him up. And if he comes when I am not here
. . yes, let him go up and lock him in the room.
Then send Buchner for me at once, in a cab.”
“Oh, Mr. Muller, I'd be scared.”
“I may leave my young friend here to protect
you. Anyway I want to see this man very much.”
Muller's mind went back to the little incident at
the hotel the previous evening, and he decided
to make the acquaintance of this Mr. George
Brantschli. If it were he who had tried to bribe and
terrorize an old woman in his anxiety to get into the
Grey House, and yet lacked courage to speak to a
detective, the reasons for his being there might prove


172 THE LADY IN BLUE
worth investigating. If it were “Goldie-Boy?”
“Please open the door, Ossip. The key is in my
right coat pocket,” said Muller when he realised
they were standing in front of the corner room. He
went straight to the table in the bay window.
“Antonia K?” he murmured. “Her name prob-
ably is Antonia, Tony for short. It's too risky to
take another given name, you're so apt to overhear
it. But she was not Antonia Schreiner. You might
look for the traveling bags in the bedroom closet,
Ossip. I’ll puzzle out these papers.”
Ossip returned in a few minutes with one brown
bag. Seeing that his master was already absorbed
in his task of sorting the bits of torn paper, the
young Russian stood motionless. His great dark
eyes alone seemed alive. They swept the room
carefully, taking in every detail. Once the boy
shuddered, and turned his eyes away hastily. They
had fallen on the blood-stained dagger, wakening
terrible memories of the past that had darkened his
young years. To avoid the unpleasant sight Ossip
looked down at the carpet. Then he looked again,
with a fixed stare of sudden interest.
When Muller looked up from his papers, his
young assistant was crouching on the floor, carefully
measuring the straight red-brown line that ended
in the heart of a big yellow rose.
The old detective looked at the boy with a
pleased smile. One of his greatest pleasures in life


THE TORN LETTERS 173
was to discover, and then to train, a mind akin to
his own, a mind gifted with the power to see keenly
and to reason on the things seen.
Ossip felt his master's eye on him and rose to his
feet, blushing deeply. “Of course you've seen this,
sir?” he asked timidly.
“Yes. That first put me on the right trail,” re-
plied Muller. “What have you seen now?” Ossip
had made a quick movement toward the fireplace.
It was not a genuine open grate of the English
type, but the usual Continental tiled stove. Only in
this case the stove had been built in the form of a
Renaissance mantel. The firebox had the usual en-
trance on the narrow side of the stove, but was open
toward the room and protected by a handsome brass
railing, so that the fire could be seen, as in a grate.
Ossip stood staring at the stove for a minute or
two. Then he spoke, slow and timidly. “You’ve
seen that too, sir, of course? I mean . . . that
there are papers in the stove?”
Then the boy blushed again as he saw a wave of
deep color shoot up into the old detective's cheeks.
But Joseph Muller was too big a man to lie to save
his face. “No, I did not see it,” he admitted
frankly. “I didn't even see the opening on the side
of the stove. My eyes are getting old, like the rest
of me, Ossip. I need youth beside me.”
“Shall I?” began Ossip. But Muller cut in


174 THE LADY IN BLUE
quickly. “No, one thing at a time. We tackle that
stove later. I must finish this now.”
The returns from Muller's labor with the bits
of paper were not great. He was disappointed in
that he had expected or hoped to find the torn letter
was from a man. But what bits of the writing was
decipherable were clearly penned by a woman. The
scent that still lingered about the paper was too
strong to be called refined, and the writing was as
inelegant as the style and the orthography. Here
and there only could a full sentence be pieced to-
gether . . . otherwise it was only scattered words.
“In Venice on . . .” “I couldn't love that pie-
face,” “. . . sure weak in the upper story,”
“don’t see why you have to . . .” “probably never
see you again.”
If this was the letter that had so upset Elise Leh-
mann when she received it a day or so before her
death, it must in some way concern Edmund Wall-
roth, and possibly also “Goldie-Boy.” Muller won-
dered whether the writer was alluding to her
friend's aristocratic betrothed with the words “pie-
face” and “weak in the upper story.”
“I’m getting old,” sighed Muller. “There may
be some clue in this letter but my brain doesn't leap
to it as it once did.”
“I found only one bag,” said Ossip, as Muller
looked over at him. “There is no valise there.”
“Then we have one thing to go by. We must find


THE TORN LETTERS 175
that valise, or some trace of a man who was seen
carrying it. And a woman whose initials are A. K.
Now for the stove.”
Ossip poked into the dark interior of the firebox
and brought out the usual assortment of odds and
ends that are apt to be thrown into a stove during
the summer months. There was a broken ivory
paper knife, a small torn lampshade, bonbon pa-
pers, scraps of newspapers and a number of torn
letters. These last Ossip laid carefully to one side
until he had them all together. Then he handed
them up to Muller who smoothed them out.
There were in all three sheets of writing paper,
of three different colors, and they had been just
torn through once. One seemed part of another
letter, a second sheet. It began near the top with-
out any heading:
“It's beastly dull in this old hole. I wish you'd
• e •
Then the pen sputtered so badly that the writer
had torn the sheet and thrown it away. The writ-
ing was Elise Lehmann's.
The next letter, on rose-tinted paper, began sol-
emnly with a quotation.
“And therein lies the magic power of love,


176 THE LADY IN BLUE
That it ennobles with its lightest breath.”
Grillparzer. SAPPHO 1.5
“Nothing like being definite,” murmured Muller.
The letter read:
“My own dearly beloved Edmund:
“When will those happy days come again . . .
the days when you can be with me . . .”
A spot, as if from a finger stained with moist
chocolate, put an end to this effusion.
The third letter, on very heavy light-green paper,
began:
“Honey Bunch:
“Do be good again. . . I know you won't do
anything to spoil my good luck . . .”
A big blot was the reason for tearing up this
sheet.
Muller threw the first two letters back on the
heap of litter and looked at the third again. It
was the only one of any importance. For it proved
that Elise Lehmann was still corresponding with a
former lover even after her official engagement to
Baron Wallroth. And it proved also that this lover
was angry and had made some threat that disturbed
the girl.


THE TORN LETTERS 177
“That fits the theory of the discarded lover's
anger,” thought Muller. “But then there is Tony
... this young woman is very troublesome . . .
very.” The detective leaned back in his chair while
a sentence in Goldie-Boy's letter and one on the
torn scraps from the garden pieced themselves to-
gether in his mind to a clearer line of thought.
“The firm might send me off in the opposite di-
rection,” wrote the lover. And the friend spoke
of some one who was “In Venice on . . .” If it
was “on business” it might be Goldie-Boy. And if
Goldie-Boy was in Venice he would be easier to lo-
cate there, being a foreigner, than he would be in
his own country.
But if Goldie-Boy was in Venice, who was the
excited young man who tried to force his way in
last evening? Of course he might have come home
from Venice on the news of Elise Lehmann's death.
“We’ll investigate that young man, and then, if
need be, we can go to Venice.”
When he came to this spot in his thoughts, Muller
rose. “We can go now. I may have to leave Salz-
burg to-night.”
Ossip did not speak, but his eyes asked a question.
Muller locked the door and handed the key to the
boy before he spoke again. “You are to stay here,
in this house. I still hope that one or the other of
those we seek, the man or the woman, may come
back here. If I do find the man elsewhere, you


178 THE LADY IN BLUE
might find the woman or some trace of her. It
would help me greatly.”
Ossip reddened with pride and delight, but grew
pale again as Muller continued. “It is a true say-
ing that he who has shed blood is drawn back, often
against his will, to the scene of his crime. You
know how true . . . from your own experience.”
“Oh, Mr. Muller, why did you remind me?”
“To spur you on to greater effort,” replied Mul-
ler, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. “We
do not conquer our sins by trying to forget them,
but by facing them bravely and rising superior to the
memory. I shall need you more and more, Ossip,
and I want you to become a worthwhile man and
dedicate yourself to the service of justice. If you
do this you will make me glad of my moment of
weakness, that day a year ago, when I helped outwit
the law of your country. But don't ever let me feel
sorry that I took you from Nicola Pludoff's barn.”
Ossip's big eyes, clear to the depths now, looked
straight at his master. “You shall never repent it,
Mr. Muller,” he replied solemnly. “I will serve
justice and make up, a thousandfold, for my sin.
All I ask is hard work. Men with such memories
deserve nothing else and should be thankful for
that. I am thankful.”
“Come, come now, keep a cool head,” soothed
Muller. “We’ve tackled a far more difficult job
here than I thought at first. We must keep calm


THE TORN LETTERS 179
and have all our wits about us. And let me tell
you, our work is full of fascination and can bring
the sweetness of triumph. It can make us forget
... much.” The last words were spoken low
and Muller's eyes looked off into distance. The
young Russian remembered snatches of stories heard
concerning Muller's life . . . of how early per-
sonal misfortune had given the world a great detec-
tive because this man had been ostracized from the
everyday walks of life. The impressionable boy
silently vowed that he too would let the errors of his
youth lead him into the paths of service.
They walked downstairs without another word,
and sat down at Mrs. Deisler's invitingly cheery
breakfast table.
“You won’t be alone in the house now, Mrs. Deis-
ler,” began Muller, sipping his tea. “I'm going to
leave my young friend Ossip Jewleff here to keep
you company. He can have Tony's room.”
Mrs. Deisler tried to look pleased. But she did
not like the young man's look, he was too “foreign”
for her taste. Also, she preferred people who came
and went by the door rather than by the windows
and walls. But she promised to make things com-
fortable for him.
When Muller returned to the hotel he learned
that the blond young man, George Brantschli, had
gone out. He still retained his room, however.
The clerk at the desk, who knew Muller's position,


180 THE LADY IN BLUE
told the detective that he thought the man was a
traveling salesman for a jewelry house, or some-
thing similar. Muller gave him some instructions,
and then took the letters that were waiting for him.
Among them was a long letter from Walter Thorn.
A stout red-faced individual, who had been stand-
ing in the hall, came up at the clerk's nod and in-
troduced himself as a cab driver who had been sent
to see Mr. Muller from Police Headquarters. It
was he who had taken the couple to the Grey House
on the evening of May 29th.
Muller took the man to his room and had him
repeat the story he had narrated, under oath, at
Headquarters. J
“Yes, sir, it was me. I was driving in slow, I’d
been out across the river, and just as I was passin'
the Artillery Barracks I see a young woman comin'
toward me and wavin' her hand at me. I stop,
and up she comes with another lady all dressed up
swell in a light dress and dark cloak.”
“Did you see this lady's face?” asked Muller.
“No, she had a powerful big hat on, and a heavy
veil and she was hangin' onto the veil as if it was
some trouble to keep her hat on, which I dassay it
was, cos there was some wind that night.”
‘What time was it when they took your cab?”
“It must ha’ been about quarter past ten, I'm
thinking, 'cos I heard a church clock strike just be-
fore that. The tall lady didn't say a word till they


THE TORN LETTERS 181
got into the cab. Then they both talked a lot. And
I remember thinkin’ what a deep voice the tall lady
had 'cos I could hear it every now and then and it
was different from the other one, from the young
woman that hailed me.”
“Did you notice anything more about the two?”
“No, sir. We drove to the Grey House, and the
tall lady went right in. The other, she paid my fare
and talked to an old woman who came out and
opened the gate for them.”
“Didn't it occur to you,” asked Muller, “that
there may have been some connection between this
drive and the suicide of the young lady in the Grey
House, that very same night?”
“No, sir,” the man shook his head. “I thought
they wos just goin' home like so many people that
time o’ night. If I'd thought anything about it,
I'd 'a' 'gone to the police before now and not had
them come huntin' me like I’d been doin' some-
thing wrong.”
“Pie-face,” thought Muller, remembering the let-
ter of the garden. This time the word seemed to
fit.
He dismissed the cabman and opened Walter
Thorn's long letter.
The painter went over in detail all he had seen
in the Grey House and the impressions he had re-
ceived there.


182 THE LADY IN BLUE
“I’m sorry I can't be of any more assistance,”
the letter went on. “I have no suggestion to make
that can be of any value at all.
“You ask for information as to any mutual ac-
quaintances my cousin and his fiancée might have
had. That question is easily answered. My cousin,
always of frail health, has lived very quietly and
spent much time in the south. His mother, Baron-
ess Wallroth, is one of the most exclusive of Wi-
enna's wealthy women and, particularly since the
death of her husband, she has devoted herself so
entirely to her son that she might almost be said
to have dropped out of society altogether. The few
friends who come to her formal dinners are people
for whom such a girl as Elise Lehmann simply does
not exist, the women that is. And the men are
most of them old enough to be counted out in this
matter.
“When they are at home my aunt and her son
give a musical evening now and then, to a small and
select gathering. Hubert Lohr, Elise's brother, is
a frequent performer at these affairs. He is a
gifted composer and was a protégé of the late Baron
Wallroth who gave him his education. This, with
one exception, is the only connection between Elise
Lehmann and my cousin's home circle.
“The exception is a young man by the name of
Richard Volkner, son of a business friend of my
uncle. The two families were very intimate at one


THE TORN LETTERS 183
time, but there has been a coolness between them of
late, due to a falling-out between the two young
men. To my great astonishment I learned only yes-
terday that my cousin Edmund had had a duel with
Richard Volkner some time during the past winter
and that the cause of it was a remark Volkner had
made concerning Elise Lehmann. It seems he had
been a lover of the dead girl at one time. Edmund
must have more temperament than I have given him
credit for or Volkner must have angered him
greatly—anyway the upshot was a pistol duel. My
cousin was not hurt but Volkner was badly wounded
and is still in the south, somewhere in Italy, I think,
recuperating. Neither my aunt nor Volkner's par-
ents know anything of this duel. Volkner is sup-
posed to be recuperating from an attack of influ-
CI122.
“I am telling you this in detail for I do not want
you to go off on a false trail. You may hear some-
thing of Richard Volkner's former affair with the
Lehmann girl and you may also hear about the duel.
But my cousin does not think that Richard Volkner
can possibly have anything to do with the murder.
He has been in Italy since early in the year and his
connection with Elise is a matter of a year or so
back and was over long before Edmund met the
girl. My cousin is sure of this.
“He is still terribly upset over the sad affair and
I have persuaded him to go to Berlin with me for


CHAPTER XII
THE LEFT-HANDED MAN
OssiP resumed his hunt for torn bits of paper in
the garden, but without much success. One tiny
scrap gleamed out amid the thick ivy leaves that
clothed the grey wall. Ossip reached up after it
and the big limbs of a great elm tempted him to pur-
sue his investigations further. He climbed to the
level of the wall top, and sat there, looking up and
down the river path, eagerly scanning the fringe
of bushes. Suddenly he smiled.
A young man was strolling along the path, read-
ing as he walked. It was the student, Franz Moser.
“Good morning,” remarked Ossip, as the lad
came past his post of observation.
Moser started and looked up surprised, but
could not locate the voice.
“Lift your eyes to the stars,” said Ossip. “A
poet should always look upward.”
Moser saw him, and laughed merrily. “Looks
comfortable up there.”
“It is,” said Ossip. “But if you wait a minute
I'll join you. I'm going in your direction.”
The young Russian looked down longingly at the
easy jump. But remembering the distrust with
185


186 THE LADY IN BLUE
which the two guardians of the house had received
his first informal entrance, he resolved to do the
proper thing this time. He slipped down the tree
trunk, and came out of the garden gate toward the
waiting Moser. A sheet of paper lay before him
and Ossip snatched it up eagerly. But after a hasty
glance at it, he handed it to Moser. “Did you lose
this?”
“Oh, yes . . . thank you so much,” exclaimed
the student with a vivid blush. “I . . . I should
have regretted losing it.”
“It looks like a poem . . . one of your own?”
Moser nodded to the young stranger, with the
free-masonry of youth.
“Yes,” he admitted, his cheeks a deeper red, “but
I wouldn’t like anyone to see it. I’m such an ama-
teur yet. And people laugh at us . . . older peo-
ple.”
Ossip smiled an acquiescence. Moser looked at
him as if greatly interested. Suddenly he asked:
“You are a Russian, aren't you?”
“Do I look it?”
“Why, yes; you look as if you might be 9?
“Might be what?”
“One of the people that Tolstoi, or Gorki write
about. I imagined they might look that way.”
Ossip's smile faded, his face grew dark again,
his eyes tragic. “Yes, I am one of those people.”
“Do all Russians look as if they had experienced


THE LEFT-HANDED MAN 187
so much that is tragic?” asked Moser timidly, after
a pause.
“Yes, for life brings tragic experiences to most
of my people. Our great writers have told the
world something of what we suffer.” Ossip paused.
He suddenly remembered that he wanted to talk
to Moser about other matters rather than his own
life and destiny. But the blond lad was still ab-
sorbed in the interesting subject. “Are you a col-
lege man?” he asked.
“I was.” Ossip set his lips tight; then continued
more lightly: “But you are—?”
Moser realized now that his new acquaintance did
not care to talk about himself. So he began to tell
of his own studies and plans for the future.
“There's one interest you haven’t mentioned,”
said Ossip after a while.
“The Grey House.” The two were stretched out
on the soft grass by the river. Moser blushed again
and pulled up a bit of grass.
“Why, yes. I've always been interested in this
old house.”
“Particularly since it had two charming inmates?”
“Two? Oh, yes; there were two. But the other
was merely her shadow. Did you ever see the dead
lady?”
“No.”
“She was the most beautiful woman I have ever
seen. I used to catch a glimpse of her occasionally,


188 THE LADY IN BLUE
when I came here alone to the river bank to study.”
“And write poems?” put in Ossip, with a smile.
“Has your Swan Song anything to do with Miss
Lehmann?”
Moser looked up startled. “What do you . . .
how did you know about my poem?” he asked, as
he rose to his feet. Ossip rose, too, and they started
on towards the town.
“We saw you here before, my employer and I.
The day the paper fell out of your hand, your Swan
Song.”
“Yes; I remember now. It was written to her.
I saw her, heard her singing, the very evening, be-
fore she killed herself. I heard her Swan Song.”
“She was in good spirits then?”
“Yes and no. When I first saw her, she was
singing merrily. But later, when she came back,
with the gentleman, she looked annoyed, almost
angry.”
Ossip's hand fell on the student's arm with such
a sudden sharp pressure that Moser stopped,
startled. “When did she come back? She, and the
man?” asked the Russian, eagerly.
“Why should it interest you?” queried Moser.
“Answer, please, I beg of you.”
“Why surely, if you want to know. It was a lit-
tle past six, I think.”
“And it was that Saturday, you're sure?”


THE LEFT-HANDED MAN 189
“It was that very Saturday. They found her
dead next morning.”
“Come with me, please.” Ossip quickened his
pace, his hand still on Moser's arm.
“What's the hurry, and where are you taking
me?” asked the latter.
Ossip realized he would have to give some ex-
planation of his excitement. He slowed to a more
normal pace. “Don’t think me quite crazy,” he re-
plied, “but this is a serious matter. It concerns the
. . the truth about a crime, a murder.”
“Murder? Then she did not kill herself?”
“No; she did not. And what you have said may
be of the very greatest value in tracking down the
murderer. That is why I ask you to come with me.”
“Who are you?” Moser looked at his compan-
ion with a rising distrust.
Ossip smiled. “I? Oh, I am only his shadow—
the shadow of a great man—my master.”
“Who is he?”
Ossip's face softened. “He is the best man in all
the world. He saved me. He gave me my chance.
As far as the rest of the world goes, he is a cele-
brated man, in his way. You've probably never
heard of him, but there are many who know him
and respect him, and many others who know him
and fear him. I am just an humble servant of the
famous detective, Joseph Muller.
“Oh, a detective? How interesting.”


190 THE LADY IN BLUE
“And here he comes.” Ossip quickened his pace
again to meet the slight, grey-haired man, whose
gentle, kindly face did not at all fill Moser's idea of
a famous detective. But his second look disclosed
the fact that the keen grey eyes now fixed on him
had something in them which belied the everyday
appearance of this elderly gentleman. To the sen-
sitive lad they seemed to read down into his very
soul.
But Muller held out his hand with a friendly
smile.
“Isn't this Mr. Moser? I thought so. And as
my young assistant here seems to have you in cus-
tody, I am taking for granted that you have some-
thing to tell us, something of importance concerning
the matter that brings us to Salzburg. How about
it, Ossip?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Muller,” exclaimed the Russian,
eagerly. “Mr. Moser tells me that he saw Miss
Lehmann going back into the house about six that
Saturday evening with a man.”
Muller's eyes flashed, then grew very serious.
“That is indeed important. But we don't want to
hold you up here, on the hot and dusty street. Is
there any good restaurant near where we can have
our dinner and talk undisturbed?”
“The place across the way is good,” replied
Moser, “and has a big garden where we can find a
secluded table.”


192 THE LADY IN BLUE
bush which sheltered me from the wind. I read
for some little time; then I heard voices coming
from the direction of the meadow. I looked up,
and to my great surprise I saw Miss Lehmann. I
didn't know her name then, but it was the Lady in
Blue, coming along between the trees. There was a
gentleman with her and they were talking rather
excitedly.”
“In what way? As if they had met unexpectedly
and were glad to see each other?”
“No. It looked to me as if they were quarrel-
ing. But I can't say for certain, for I couldn't un-
derstand the words.”
“Were they so far away?”
“No, but the wind blew the sound of their voices
away from me.” d
“And they went into the garden from the river-
side?”
“I think it very likely. If I hadn't known just
why you were questioning me, I should have said
they did go in. But I want to tell you only such
facts as I am certain of. I couldn't see the path
that far from my bush. They may have gone
around to the main gate.”
“No, they went in the side gate,” said Muller.
“Did you see anything of the other woman, the
maid, Tony?” Moser shook his head. “How long
did you sit under your bush?”
“About half an hour, I think, or it may have been


THE LEFT-HANDED MAN 193
a bit longer. Then I felt cold. I got up and walked
along the river for some distance, then back across
the meadow to the brook—and then 99
Moser halted. Muller laid his hand on the
young man's arm, while he and Ossip studied his
face eagerly. Moser seemed struggling to recall
some memory.
“And then?” asked Muller softly.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with the
case,” continued Moser in some excitement. “And
I'm not sure whether I can tell you anything very
definitely. I didn’t pay much attention. But I re-
member seeing a man standing by the brook, near
the little bridge. It seemed to me that it was the
same man whom I had seen with Miss Lehmann,
but I couldn't be at all sure. I'm a little near-sighted
and I didn't look at the man very closely the first
time I saw him. I was—” Moser stopped again
and then went on bravely in spite of his blushes. “I
was looking at the lady.”
“Quite natural,” said Muller, with an encourag-
ing smile. “Ninety-nine men out of a hundred
would have done the same.”
Moser nodded gratefully and went on. “But I
do know that the man who went into the house with
Miss Lehmann had nothing in his hand except a
cane, or maybe it was a tightly rolled umbrella. I
couldn't see surely. But the man by the brook was


THE LEFT-HANDED MAN 195
something white, I thought at first it was a piece of
paper.”
A slow flush rose to Muller's cheek. “No, it was
not paper.” *
“I saw that later,” went on Moser. “It must
have been a piece of cloth of some kind, something
soft. The man put down his cane, leaned it against
the railing of the bridge and threw the white object
into the brook. It spread out when it struck the
water. The brook was full and flowing swiftly. It
carried off the white thing and I watched its gyra-
tions for some little time. When I looked up again
the man had gone on and I soon lost sight of him.
I don’t know why I watched that white object . . .
one does sometimes.”
“Too bad you hadn't watched the man,” said Os-
sip, low. “He had just killed Elise Lehmann.”
Moser's jaw dropped, his eyes opened wide. He
stared at the young Russian in horror. “Are you
sure of that?” he gasped, but Ossip motioned him
to be quiet for Muller was speaking. He seemed
to be thinking aloud rather than addressing them.
“It was not a piece of cloth,” he murmured. “It
was a right hand glove. He must have taken it
from the corpse, and torn the leather even more
than on the other glove. It was safest to get it out
of the way altogether. That's why he threw it into
the brook.” Muller passed his hand over his eyes,


196 THE LADY IN BLUE
then turned to Moser. “Did you notice the color
of his hair, by any chance?”
Moser shook his head. “I have an idea it was
brown.”
“And his age? What impression did you get?”
“He was not very young, not a lad. But he
wasn't old, his walk was quick and springy.”
“Is there anything more you can tell us about
him?”
“No.”
“Nor about the dead woman?”
“I saw her about a dozen times in all, either in
the garden or at the window. I thought her extra-
ordinarily beautiful. I had never seen anyone like
that before. And her clothes were so rich—a bit
fantastic, to my thinking—she always wore light
blue. You see, I come from up in the mountains,
from a little village. We don’t see such women
there. I confess I thought of her often.”
“Do you know, or did you notice, her maid, who
was with her so often?”
“Only that she, too, was very pretty. Only not so
striking.”
“And looked ill, did she not?”
“Why, no; she looked strong and vigorous. But
she was so grave and quiet, not as bright and gay as
the other.”
“Did you ever see either of the women outside
the house?”


THE LEFT-HANDED MAN 197
“I never saw Miss Lehmann away from the house.
But I saw the maid once, talking to the old woman
who has the apple stand near the Public Bath. She
was sitting down and had the old woman's grand-
child on her lap. She was holding up a bunch of
cherries and the little girl was trying to catch them.
The child is blind, they say, but it was laughing and
reaching up with its little hands. It was a pretty
sight. A man going past stopped just as I did to
look at it. ‘Madonna of the Cherries, he called
her.”
“Was that your thought, too?”
“No, not exactly, although the girl was very
pretty. But I imagine a Madonna gentler, softer.
This girl I don't think she was a girl, somehow;
she was more a Valkyrie type, strong, firm, self-con-
tained, if you know what I mean.”
Muller nodded. A neighboring church clock
struck loudly and Moser rose.
“I’m afraid I will have to leave you. I have a
pupil; but if there is anything else 95
“Oh, no; don’t let me disturb you in your day's
work. But I would like to have you keep in touch
with my young friend here, he's living in the Grey
House just now.”
Muller and Ossip sat silent for some little time
after Moser had gone.
“Well?” asked the detective, finally.
Ossip threw the bread-ball he had been forming


198 THE LADY IN BLUE
at a nearby sparrow, and began: “Normal figure,
quick and springy gait. That's not much to go on,
is it? But the dark grey sport suit brings us nearer.
We must find out who, of Miss Lehmann's intimate
friends, owns such a suit. He must have been an
intimate friend, or she would not have taken him
into her house, alone, by the side gate.”
“Exactly. And what else?”
“He must be left-handed.”
“Good boy. How did you get that?”
“He carried his cane in his left hand and set it
against the railing when he took the glove from his
pocket—left pocket, probably—and threw it into
the brook. That brook over there is narrow and
the reeds on the banks come out far into the stream.
If a man wanted to be sure of letting some object
float away on the current he'd have to throw it well
out into the center of the stream. He couldn't just
let it drop. And a right-handed man wouldn't de-
liberately throw with his left hand.”
“Good! that's very good. You are learning rap-
idly, Ossip. You are a real help to me. Remem-
ber then, we are looking for a man of normal figure,
somewhere between twenty-five and forty years of
age, who is left-handed, and has feet that are small
and slender, for a man. Also, he is an intimate
friend of the Lehman girl, and owns a dark grey
bicycle or hiking costume. His hair is probably
brown; anyway, it is neither noticeably blond nor


202 THE LADY IN BLUE
river!” he exclaimed, turning quickly, and throwing
off his coat as he ran from the room. Muller, from
the window, watched his young assistant tear out of
the gate, stop to loosen and kick off his shoes and
then plunge into the swiftly flowing stream, swim-
ming with powerful strokes towards a blotch of pink
that rose and fell with the movement of the water.
Muller walked downstairs, calmly. Ossip was an
excellent swimmer, if he could reach the child in
time it was safe. Buchner and Mrs. Deisler had
preceded him, and the gardener was among those
who helped draw the young Russian and the uncon-
scious child to the bank.
“It's all right now, I think,” said Ossip, when he
saw Muller. The boy himself was bleeding from a
bad knee wound that showed red and raw through
the hole in his torn trouser leg. They disentangled
themselves from the group around the little form on
the grass, when they saw the child's eyes open again.
Buchner and Mrs. Deisler joined them, the house-
keeper loud in her praise of Ossip's quickness and
courage. Both she and the gardener busied them-
selves around him, binding up his wound with skill-
ful care.
Suddenly Mrs. Deisler looked up, and turned to
Muller.
“Did you leave the windows open upstairs, sir?
There's one slamming now.”
“How can it slam? There's no wind . . . still


“GOLDIE-BOY” 205
of letters written by you to Miss Lehmann? Maybe
I can help you there.”
“Did your master send you here to snoop around
and poke into a poor girl's past? Why can’t he let
her rest in her grave? He'd better not have too
much investigating done, or he might find several
reasons why she preferred death to marriage with
him. Fool! Does he think that just because he has
money and a title he can buy a girl like that and
keep her heart for himself.” He broke off, set his
teeth and turned aside to avoid the eyes that seemed
to burn into his. -
“Don’t be so excited, young friend.” Muller's
tone was calm and kindly. “You are doing Baron
Wallroth an injustice, in several ways. Let's sit
down and talk calmly.”
“What about?”
“Matters that interest you. Are you Goldie-
Boy?”
The man flushed, but did not answer.
“If you are, you may have your letters, I think.”
“You found them? Give them to me.” He fol-
lowed on Muller's heels as the detective went into
the bedroom.
Muller unlocked the lacquered box and took out
the package of letters. The young man started when
he saw them, and made a sudden snatch at them.
“One moment, please,” said the detective. “I
have some questions to ask you first.”


“GOLDIE-BOY” 207
could not resist a deep breath of relief. Then he
threw himself down into his chair.
“Your name?” asked Muller, as the other did not
speak.
“George Brantschli, traveling salesman, with
Haas Brothers, in Vienna.” -
“You knew Elise Lehmann well ?”
Brantschli nodded, without looking up. “You
read those letters.”
“Exactly; that answers that question. How long
had you known her?”
“About a year, but it was only the last six months
that—that we'd been such friends.”
“And you didn't like the idea of giving her up?”
“Don’t see how that concerns you?”
“It may concern the reason for my being here.
Answer please.”
“Did you know her? Elise?”
“No.” Muller could not resist a faint smile.
“But I hear she was very handsome.”
“She was a wonder—a stunner—and when she
cared for a man 99
“I see. Did you want to marry her?”
Brantschli started up with an oath. “I’m not
going to stand for any such—”
“Oh, yes, you are. Come now, man to man, an-
swer my question.”
“You must know something of how things go in
the world, if you belong to the police force. You


“GOLDIE-BOY” 209
looked up in a slight alarm. The detective con-
tinued:
“Didn't you feel sure, knowing Elise Lehman and
her affection for you, that even as Baroness Wall-
roth she might have found a chance to meet you now
and then? And would you not have taken advan-
tage of that chance?”
Brantschli sprang to his feet. “I’m not going to
answer any such questions. That's my own affair—
and hers—and no one's else, and—”
“And the more you give way to that violent tem-
per of yours the worse it will be for you,” cut in
Muller. “I know it doesn't put either you or the
dead girl in a very good light. But we're all human.
She is dead; it cannot harm her now. And as for
yourself, wouldn't you rather be thought a bit of a
cad than to be arrested under suspicion of murder?”
“Murder?”
“Yes. I know that Elise Lehmann did not kill
herself. She was murdered, or killed, by some man
—presumably, some discarded lover.”
Brantschli's face worked; he did not speak for a
moment. Then, in an outburst of mingled jealousy
and rage, he exclaimed: “Then there were others?
And she told me I was the only one that she really
cared for—the only one she hated to give up when
she married the Baron! God, but you can't trust
any one of them! Not a woman but will lie to a man
any time, and all the time! Then there was some


“GOLDIE-BOY” 211
pulse you've shown since we've been talking here.”
“It seemed sort of silly.”
“Yes, we're inclined to hide our good impulses
and boast of the meanest ones. No; I do not think
you are the man I am looking for. Here are your
letters. You have not seen Elise Lehmann since she
and you parted in Linz on May 5th ?”
“No.” Brantschli glanced hastily at the letters
and slipped them into his pocket.
“Come here; this may comfort you.” Muller led
him to the little desk calendar open at May 5th, and
pointed out the line of writing at the bottom of the
leaf. “You see; she kept that date.”
“Yes, but who; who?—”
“The other may have been as jealous of you as
of the Baron. Have you any idea who he is? We
know that he is a man of normal height and size.
By the way, that lets you out, for you are noticeably
sturdy. He is between 25 and 40, and he is left-
handed. You are not. I have seen that.”
“But I tell you I—” Brantschli turned with a
start. He had been looking at the calendar and
seemed only just now to grasp the import of the
detective's words.
“We detectives have to convince ourselves,” said
Muller, with a smile. “Now tell me, did you know
the dead woman's maid, whom she engaged in
Linz?”
“Why, no. Elise told me she had a new maid, but


212 THE LADY IN BLUE
she did not say much about her. I saw the girl once
or twice. Rather good-looking, I thought, but stand-
offish for a servant.”
“Hm! yes. And you don't know of any other
man.”
“No.” Brantschli was surly again, his wounded
vanity uppermost.
“Do you know of any gossip?”
“There was some talk in the cafés, lately, about
a duel between the Baron and some other chap—
some other rich young fellow—about Elise. I
asked her, but she said it wasn’t true. They said
the other chap had been a friend of hers, too. He
was badly wounded and went away.”
“Have you ever been to Italy?”
“No; they keep me in this country. I don't speak
Italian, so I’d be of no use to the firm there.”
“Thanks. No, Mr. Brantschli, you are not under
suspicion. Will you let me know of anything you
hear and see that might bring some light into this
affair? And otherwise—please say nothing about
it.”
“Why, certainly. By the way, Elise had a brother
—stepbrother—Hubert Lohr.”
“Yes, I know. Do you know him?”
“No. He and Elise weren't over friendly. He
was sort of uppish and wanted her to live like a nun,
far as I can make out. She wasn't going to stand


“GOLDIE-BOY” 213
for any such nonsense. But he may know more
about her other friends.”
“Yes. I think I'll ask him about them. It can
do no harm. Oh, dear me!” Muller went to the
window and leaned out. “It’s all right, Buchner;
you may go back to your work. Tell the others.
The gentleman is coming down with me.”
“What's all that? You had—constables?”
“Oh, dear, no, only the gardener and my young
assistant. You see you came in rather unconven-
tionally.”
“Well, you all went out and left all the doors
open. I didn't see anybody to announce me.”
Brantschli grinned, in spite of his serious eyes.
“There, didn't I tell you we'd be good friends?”
said Muller, holding out his hand.
The young man's eyes turned towards the desk
again. “But it's terrible.”
“Yes. Still, isn’t it better than that she should
have taken her own life, even if it does hurt you?”
“You’re right.” Brantschli turned towards the
door. “No need of my staying here any longer, is
there?”
“No, nor of my staying, either.”
Muller went downstairs with Brantschli, nodding
to the watchful Ossip on a bench by the door. They
went out to the gate. Muller waited there after
the other had gone on, for he saw Commissioner
Sennfeld approaching.


214 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Who was that?” asked Sennfeld.
“Another false clue,” answered Muller, a bit
ruefully. “That was ‘Goldie-Boy, and he is as in-
nocent as you and I. And knows as little about it,
which is a sad confession for us to make.”
“I’ve had to make so many such confessions in
this affair that I haven’t a bit of shame left,” laughed
Sennfeld. “Can't he give you any help?”
“No, the girl played her cards well. This man
was the lover she threw over to marry the Baron.
But he does not know of any other man except him-
self and the Baron in her life. The mystery deep-
ens with everything we find out. But what brings
you here?”
“I phoned the hotel; they told me you were out.
We've found the valise.”
“Ah! Where?”
“Just as you thought, in the pond behind the Ar-
tillery Barracks. They dredged the pond and found
it, weighted with stones.”
“Well, that only confirms our surmise that the
man we seek changed his clothes, with Tony's help,
just before they hailed the cab. It does not tell us
any more than we know already; nor does it tell us
who this man is, or who and what Tony really is.”
“But you'll find out?” said Sennfeld, cheerily.
Miller shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll have a look
at the pond.”
He had already examined it earlier in the day,


CHAPTER XIV
IN THE IVY COTTAGE
REFRESHED by an hour in his own comfortable
home next morning, Muller started out towards the
suburb of Hietzing. He walked by choice, for he
could think best that way. He turned over in his
mind the sum of what he had already learned and
found it was really more than he had thought in his
hour of discouragement. When he came to an open
space in the thinning rows of houses, he even in-
dulged in a gentle whistle.
Park and meadow land shone in the freshness of
early morning, the sun-laden air was rich with the
fragrance of myriad flowers. Muller halted on
the summit of “Red Hill,” as it was popularly
called, and drank in the beauty of the glistening
city in its ring of woodland and meadows. The
Red Hill deserved its name more from the color of
its rocky soil than from its height. But it was high
enough to afford one of the most charming views of
a neighborhood rich in landscape beauty.
A wild apple tree, heavy with pink-tinted blos-
soms, caught the detective's eye. He glanced about
cautiously, then reached up and plucked a long twig
thickly sown with the exquisite flowers. The old
216


218 THE LADY IN BLUE
ready at work giving lessons, early as it was. Mul-
ler regretted the interruption his visit must cause,
but he felt such a natural desire to see the woman
whose voice had so charmed him that he did not
hesitate.
His hand was on the bell at the little gate of
the front yard when he heard the same voice, speak-
ing now, from the house.
“Don’t bother about it, Hubert. I know it well
enough, and you're overworked as it is.”
Muller pulled the bell. A woman appeared at
a window and asked what he wanted. She was a
very attractive young woman. The keen-eyed de-
tective read in the noble lines of her face, the expres-
sion of her great eyes, that same quality that had so
charmed him in her singing.
“Could I speak to Mr. Lohr?” he asked, raising
his hat.
“Surely. I'll let you in at once.”
The woman disappeared from the window and
came out of the house door a moment later. She
opened the catch of the gate to let him in. Muller
followed her graceful movements with keen pleas-
ure, noting the while that her well-shaped hands
showed marks of hard work.
“Will you come in? My husband is at home.
May I ask the name?”
“Joseph Muller. I would like to speak to Mr.
Lohr on a matter of official business.”


220 THE LADY IN BLUE
dim corner as his wife entered. He was just light-
ing a cigar.
“Hubert, this gentleman is a detective who wants
to ask you for some information . . .” Mrs.
Lohr ushered Muller in, then went out herself, clos-
ing the door behind her.
The detective laid his hat and the apple blossoms
on the piano and turned toward the man who stood
waiting by the ivy-shaded window.
“I hope I am not interrupting your work, Mr.
Lohr. It would be a sorry return for the very real
pleasure Mrs. Lohr's singing has just given me.”
“Oh . . . you heard the Ave Maria?” said
Hubert Lohr, with a gesture of invitation toward
one of the big armchairs.
“Heard it . . . and felt it deeply.” Muller
sat down. “Whose composition was it? I thought
I knew most good church music, but that song was
new to me.”
“You really liked it?”
“It touched me deeply.”
“I am very glad to hear that. But, of course, I
suppose I shouldn't tell you . . . now . . . that
I wrote it myself.”
“You did? My heartiest congratulations! But
... won't you let me see your face? I want to
look into the eyes of a man who can feel such music
and give it shape and form.”
Muller had risen and grasped the young com-


IN THE IVY COTTAGE 221
poser's hand. He drew him to the piano and smiled
up at the face now full in the light from the other
window. “Don’t think me foolish . . . it's odd,
but with all the people I have met in my long life, I
have never yet known . . . never yet stood face
to face, like this . . . with a really great creative
artist! How wonderful it must be to have such
thoughts visit you . . . and form themselves into
beauty in your brain and hand . . . ah, yes . . .”
The detective released the other's hand with a
light sigh.
“I hardly know whether I . . . am what you
speak of . . . at least the world doesn't seem to
think so yet,” said Hubert Lohr lightly. “My art
. means poverty as yet, as you see.”
“The more sincere your art, the harder the road
it must travel,” said Muller in a tone of true sym-
pathy, as his eye swept the modest room. “But I
have no right to take your time like this. I must
come to the reason for my visit.”
“Yes, I am greatly interested,” said Lohr quickly.
“Did I understand my wife aright? You are a de-
tective, and come to me for information? Informa-
tion about what?” -
Hubert Lohr looked at his guest sharply. The
keen straight glance of his intelligent eyes suited the
firm lines of an attractive face which showed de-
termination and the ability to feel deeply and pas-
sionately. He pushed the cigar box toward Mul-


IN THE IVY COTTAGE 223
Professor Thorn. Do you happen to know him?”
“Not personally. But how did he . . . ?”
“Doubt the suicide, you mean? Professor Thorn
knew your sister and could not believe that a hand-
some young woman, gay, pleasure-loving as she was,
should have deliberately sought death.”
There was another longer pause, until Lohr, who
had been leaning back in his chair, straightened him-
self up and spoke, his voice harsh with feeling;
“Elsie was not merely pleasure-loving, she was
greedy for enjoyment, greedy for all life had to
offer . . . selfish . . . and rotten to the very
heart of her. A woman like that may well find her-
self in situations that show no other way of escape
. . especially a woman as haughty and arrogant
as she was. You wonder that I speak so of my
sister? I feel more than I say. My father was a
simple man, a gardener . . . but upright and
honest. My mother, after his death, married a
handsome worthless vagabond whose best deed was
that he soon deserted her. Elise is his daughter.
From him she inherited her beauty . . . and her
worthlessness. I know her character . . . and
. I did not doubt that she had killed her-
self.” Lohr's breast rose and fell heavily; he
dropped back into his chair again.
“I do not know just how Baron Wallroth looks
at it,” said Muller finally. “He has not dealt with
me personally. Has he said anything to you?”


IN THE IVY COTTAGE 225
really believe I could not live without it .
without devoting my whole life to it.”
“You love your art so deeply.”
“It is my very life,' replied Lohr simply.
Muller nodded in sympathy. “Then indeed I can
understand your devotion to this family.”
“Oh, if that were all . . .” exclaimed Lohr.
Then he paused, and continued in a calmer tone.
“But we are forgetting our chief subject. You can
imagine that it interests me most now. Then Pro-
fessor Thorn does not believe that my sister killed
herself?”
“No. He thinks it a case of murder from re-
venge or jealous passion. It was he who called me
in.”
“How did he come to know Elise? He has not
been here much of late years.”
“He made her acquaintance in some Berlin dance-
hall.”
“Ah . . . then she was in Berlin too? She
never told us . . . but then I knew mighty little
of her life . . . thank God . . .” Lohr laughed,
a short harsh laugh. “And you? Do you believe
that Elise did not kill herself? You say you come
from Salzburg. Have you found any clue, anything
that would prove Professor Thorn's supposition a
true one?”
“I have found every evidence to prove that your
sister was killed by another's hand.”


IN THE IVY COTTAGE 227
ability of such a death at her own hand, the entire
matter might have rested there. There would have
been no investigation, and the incontestible proofs
I have discovered would never have been known.
My long experience has taught me that very many
crimes would remain unsolved mysteries . . . or
would never have been recognized as crimes, but for
this wonderful faculty of intuition . . . as it lives
in a keenly sensitized mind.”
“But there is no suspicion . . . that . . .
that Elise's maid . . . might be the . . . crim-
inal?” asked Lohr tensely.
Muller shook his head. “No, none at all. Al-
though she is undoubtedly connected with the crime
in some way.”
“Where is she? Have they found her?”
“No. She has completely disappeared. We can-
not find any trace of her nor any information as to
who she was . . . we do not even know her real
name. She called herself Tony Schreiner in Salz-
burg, but left behind her two handkerchiefs with the
monogram A. K. And everything she had said
about herself, after the murder, proved to be false.
She must have been a rather remarkable woman
though, and a very attractive one. For the few
people who had anything to do with her there, are
quite enthusiastic about her.”
“Indeed? Queer, isn’t it?” remarked Lohr, with
an odd smile. “Then she is only an accomplice?”


228 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Undoubtedly. But her behavior was most mys-
terious. And I will confess to you that I haven't
the faintest idea where to look for her.”
“You don't think she's hiding somewhere in Salz-
burg?”
“The police have made a thorough hunt for her,
and published her description far and wide. I had
hoped to find the killer through her, for there is
undoubtedly some connection between them. But it
looks now as if I could find her only when I have
found him. We know something of what he looks
like . . . and this is where I want your help. Do
you know of any intimate friend of your sister who
could be roughly described as a man of average or
normal figure, probably brown-haired, and between
25 and 40 years of age. It's not much to go on I
realize, but we have one valuable peculiarity to help
us. He is left-handed. And he is probably either a
mountain climber, or a cyclist, for when he was seen
he wore sport clothes, knickerbockers and golf
stockings. His suit was dark grey. Can you get
anything from this that might help you remember
some particular person?”
Lohr had listened carefully, and sat silent in
thought. “No . . .” he said finally. “I can't
seem to remember any friend of Elise, of those
whom I know, who would fit the description. The
use of the left hand is the important point, of


230 THE LADY IN BLUE
that he was avoiding women . . . that sort of
woman, for the time being.”
“Did he write you from Venice?”
“How did you know he was in Venice? I thought
I was the one person who knew his hiding-place.
You see, he does not want the truth about his health
to get out . . . the reason for his trouble. He's
afraid of how it might affect his father, who is very
ill. But . . . for your purpose, you needn't
bother about Richard Volkner. He's had nothing
to do with that affair.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” asked Muller
with a smile. “By the way, the doorbell is ringing.”
Lohr rose and went to the window. A fresh
young voice outside called: “Hello there, nobody
home? Oh, Lohr . . . aren't you going to let
me in? Where's the Missus?”
“Gone marketing, I fancy,” answered Lohr, as he
went out, after a murmured excuse to Muller. “It's
a friend who's come to take me to a quartette re-
hearsal.”
There was a burst of voices in the hall, and Mul-
ler heard the newcomer saying eagerly: “Hubert,
what did I tell you? The French courts acquitted
that woman who killed her husband . . . they
have some sense about that sort of thing in France.
It seems to me that to kill some one we care for,
when he hasn't the courage to end his own worth-
less life, is a deed to be praised, not blamed.”


IN THE IVY COTTAGE 231
By this time the two young men were back in the
room, and the stranger stopped startled, when he
saw Muller.
“Don’t be so reckless with your statements, Rai-
mund,” said Lohr after introducing the two. “This
gentleman is a detective and will hardly be particu-
larly enthusiastic about your ideas on the subject of
murder.”
Muller smiled at the newcomer, but his eyes were
grave as he spoke. “I too have often felt the deep-
est sympathy for those whom the law, and the
world, call criminal. Many a deed, which the law
must punish, has seemed noble and right to me.
So you see, our ideas are not so very far apart. But
I must go now. I have taken far too much of your
time, Mr. Lohr. May I ask you to give these apple
blossoms to your wife, with the assurance of my
warmest esteem? I regret that I cannot do it my-
self.”
Lohr took the flowers with an odd smile, and
placed them in a vase on the table. Then he nodded
to his wife's elderly admirer. “She will appreciate
them.”
Lohr locked the door of the house behind him,
and the three men walked off up the lane.
But the little house was not untenanted. A hand
parted the ivy at the window, very cautiously, and
young Mrs. Lohr’s pretty but now ghastly pale face
appeared in the opening. Her soft eyes, full of a


232 THE LADY IN BLUE
wordless horror, stared after the three figures in
the lane.
Then she let the leaves fall back again, swayed,
and put out her hand toward the nearest chair. But
before she could reach it, the room went dark before
her eyes, and she crumpled up on the floor, uncon-
scious.


234 THE LADY IN BLUE
and I thought I'd step in to the poor young lady's
grave for a minute. And Mrs. Crumpholz told
me . . . she knows me . . . that she got all
that money from the same young woman who was
at the funeral with me.”
“When did she get the money?” said Ossip, reach-
ing out for his hat.
Mrs. Deisler laughed a rather bitter laugh, “Oh,
don't exert that sore knee of yours for nothing.
You won't catch Tony now and I'm right glad of it.
For I'll never never believe that she did anything
wrong . . . never . . .”
“Please answer me,” insisted Ossip.
“Yes, yes, I'm telling you. And I don't mind
doing it either, for it can only help Tony. She
came to the cemetery the day she went away, June
4th; it was last Friday. Crumpholz is sure of the
date, 'cause there was a big funeral that day, the
old general . . . lots of people and soldiers, and
all that. And I think it can't possibly hurt Tony
if I tell you this. It isn't so easy for a poor girl to
give away a whole month's wages. It shows she
was trying to make up for whatever she did .
although you can't make me think she did anything
wrong . . . whatever you say. But anyway, she
wouldn't keep the money the Baron paid her .
and I think that's wonderful of her l’”
Ossip gave a light shrug. “At the cemetery gate,
you say?”


WHICH ALSO CONCERNS TONY 235
“Yes. But you ain't going there are you? Your
knee's real bad to-day. I don't like the looks of it.”
“I must talk to the old woman.”
“She can’t tell you any more than she told me.”
“I’m not so sure about that. And don't worry, it
takes a good deal to kill me.”
Ossip was out of the door before Mrs. Deisler
could enter another protest. But he had a longer
walk than he thought. For the old beggar had gone
to her home on the outskirts of the city, beyond
the tramway lines. When Ossip finally found her,
she was disinclined to talk about the money, for she
seemed to fear it would be taken from her. But
when the Russian showed her a ten-crown gold piece
which would be hers if she told him the story, she
was quite willing to do what he asked. It wasn't
much that she had to say. The young woman who
had given her the money, had come out of the ceme-
tery after all the people from the big funeral had
gone . . . it might have been about half-past six
on the evening of June 4th. She had stopped and
pressed something into her hand, a tiny packet
wrapped in a torn piece of newspaper.
“Pray for two souls in Purgatory,” she had whis-
pered. Then she walked on rapidly. It was some
few minutes before the old beggar had been able to
examine the packet, for others stopped to talk to
her. When she finally unwrapped it she was aghast
at the sum. She imagined it must have been a mis-


238 THE LADY IN BLUE
rant, with full description, out against this Tony
for the past two days. If they do get her, it won't
be altogether my fault . . . or my credit. So
you see you needn't turn your back on me like that.”
“I can't abide you snoopers . . . they're up to
no good, believe me . . . snooping round and in-
terfering with decent people. They can't be good
men that do that sort of work.”
Ossip sighed. “There's one of them, is the best
man that ever lived . . . you may take my word
on that.”
Ossip sent Buchner to the police station with a
letter for Commissioner Sennfeld. An hour later
many house walls and fences bore a placard, asking
that whoever took charge of a light-brown shawl-
roll and a black valise, during the hour between
five-thirty and six-thirty on the afternoon of June
4th, said articles being the property of a young
woman whose description was appended .
should come at once to Police Headquarters. The
evening paper bore the same notice.
The midday meal in the Grey House was eaten in
a strained silence on the part of Mrs. Deisler, and
considerable suppressed amusement on the part of
Ossip. To the latter's great surprise, Franz Moser
dropped in shortly after dinner.
“I thought you were at the seminary this time
of day,” said the Russian pushing forward a chair
for his guest.


WHICH ALSO CONCERNS TONY 239
“I should be. But I suddenly remembered some-
thing which I think I ought to tell you.”
“Is it so important?”
“I don’t know. But Mr. Muller said that any-
thing which had a bearing on this case might be im-
portant. So when I remembered this incident I
came at once.” Ossip nodded and the student con-
tinued, “I remember passing the garden gate here,
a few days before . . . the murder . . . and
hearing Miss Lehmann talking in the garden with
some one . . . I could not see who . . . but
some one with whom she seemed to be on a footing
of intimacy, for this person called her ‘Elise.’”
“Hm, that is interesting. Was it a man?”
“No. It was a woman's voice.”
“What did you hear?”
“Just a few sentences. Miss Lehmann . . . I
know it was she for I had heard her voice before
. said, ‘You can go away at once if you want
to.” and the other woman answered, ‘Oh, Elise,
... all I want is to be with my two dear ones
again.'” Moser rose and took up his hat. “That
was all but I thought you ought to know.”
“Thank you, it may mean a good deal.”
An hour or so later, a message came from Police
Headquarters, asking Ossip to call on Commissioner
Sennfeld.
The Commissioner wanted to know Muller's ad-
dress in Venice.


242 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Surely you've thought that out . . .” Ossip
stopped short as he saw the flash in Sennfeld's eyes.
“I . . . I didn't mean to be presuming, sir
99
“It's all right, my lad. Muller calls you his
‘right hand so I shouldn't be offended if you do re-
mind me of my duty. . . as he has done several
times,” said the Commissioner with a good-natured
laugh. “But as a matter of fact, I have reasoned
it out somewhat, and I might as well tell you the
results. Tony was in the bakery at 8 o'clock. She
could not have reached the station for any train
earlier than 8.30. Now there is a train that leaves
for Vienna at 8.50 and reaches its destination . . .
without change . . . at 5.50 next morning, ex-
actly nine hours later.”
“Are there any other night trains?”
“One leaves at 10.43, but lands nine hours later
. after a change at a junction, in a little Ty-
rolean town. This girl was no peasant. It's far
more likely that she belongs in Vienna, and returned
there. She could not have gone to Munich as she
said, for she could not have reached Munich in
nine hours from here, and not without several
changes, by any night train. I think it is safe to
assume that Tony went to Vienna. I have notified
Headquarters there, as I shall tell Mr. Muller.”
The Commissioner rose and held out his hand to
Ossip. The lad took it with a deep flush of grati-


244 THE LADY IN BLUE
news. M. performed Maria Stiegen this week.”
Ossip studied the lines again and again, then went
over to the table and took down the papers of the
last two weeks. He had hard work to suppress an
exclamation when he found another “Personal”
“Enns Valley” in the copy of May 30th. This one
read:
“Arrangement stands. Then we can be sure of
the situation. Let me hear from you.”
And Ossip found one more “Enns Valley” per-
sonal, this one, on June 3rd, was quite short:
“Day after to-morrow, early morning. Don't
come for me.”
“Day after to-morrow?” murmured Ossip. “That
was June 5th. This girl arrived in Vienna on the
morning of June 5th and she was communicating
through this paper with a man . . . it must have
been a man, women don't usually climb the Tamisch-
peak . . . a man who is a mountain climber, and
has some connection with Vienna. For there is a
well-known church, “Maria Stiegen, in Vienna.
We are getting warmer and warmer. Mr. Muller
can't help finding them both now.”
&


CHAPTER XVI
MULLER GOES TO WENICE
JosepH MULLER sat by the car window looking
out on the landscape that sped past the train. His
lips moved softly. “I shall find what I seek—
down there by the southern sea.” He paused with
a start and sat up straight, but his thoughts ran
on, somewhat amused just now. “I wouldn't dare
let anyone know how much I trust these intuitions.
It would injure my reputation! We poor mortals
think we have to be so intensely practical. We
hate to acknowledge that all our best conscious brain
effort is not worth half as much as one flash of this
mysterious something we call intuition. Something
that whispers to us from outside of ourselves. Facts
are all very well in their way but—and by the way,
there is some fact connected with the name of Volk-
ner which is trying to edge itself into my memory.
What is it? Yes, it's something connected with that
forgery case I laid over—we'll look into that later.”
At the next station Muller sent off a despatch to
Police Headquarters in Vienna, then put everything
else out of his mind except the case on which he
was now engaged.
That is, he tried to. But in spite of the iron
246


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 247
discipline his trained will exerted over body and
brain, one charming recent memory would persist
in pushing to the foreground . . . The memory
of a rich-toned voice, the memory of an unusual per-
sonality. “If I were younger,” thought Muller
with a smile and a half sigh, “I might envy Hubert
Lohr his wife.”
sk x 2k xk >k sk *k sk
Venice! Sunshine, colors, joyous noise, a press
of eager gondoliers, a swift passing over green
waters between peering old houses . . .
Signor Grunwald, genial host of the Hotel
d'Italie, doffed his famous black velvet cap (one of
the sights of Venice), and greeted Muller with en-
thusiasm.
“Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed aloud, then
whispered, as he helped his guest up the steps:
“What is it this time? Embezzlement, or murder?”
“Murder, friend Grunwald,” replied Muller.
“But I do not yet know who the murderer is or
what his motive.”
“You will know—you will!” said Grunwald confi-
dently.
He himself escorted Muller to the comfortable
room that had been his on former visits. “You’ll
find it out soon,” he repeated as he threw open the
windows.
“How cozy it looks here,” said Muller, glancing
about the room. “I feel so at home. No, friend,


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 249
Muller's gravity relaxed in a smile. “I never
was more comfortable, never was better served, nor
more honestly. I never lock up anything now.
Once in a while I do remember to close my safe, but
that's all. When I took Katie from prison I said
to her: ‘If I miss a single piece of paper or a single
lead pencil, you'll leave my house at once. And if
you should take anything of value and try to get
away with it, you know that it would only be a few
days or at most a few weeks before you’d be behind
prison bars again.' I was more sure of myself in
those days. But it helped, believe me. Katie's
been with me for eleven years and I never had a
better servant or ever expect to.”
“Mercy me!” exclaimed Grunwald. “I wish I
were a detective and could get my servants out of
the prisons! Then I might have some peace and
comfort. Have you been doing any more of that
sort of thing?”
Muller opened his bag and took out some papers
which he slipped in his pocket. Then he turned to
his host. “If you don’t give me away, I'll tell you
that I have had a chance to save a human life, to
save a human soul. I'm afraid I . . . shall we
say, evaded the law a little, in doing it. For I took
under my care a young lad who had killed his
mother's defamer, after he had escaped from prison.
And believe me I did well. Ossip Jewleff has talents
along my own line which are well worth cultivating


250 THE LADY IN BLUE
He is now a capable assistant and will prove a
worthy successor. Are there any letters for me,
Grunwald?”
“Nothing yet,” said the hotel keeper. “I’ve been
watching the mail like an impatient lover ever
since I heard you were coming. But I'll get it to
you whenever it comes. What are you going to do
now?” \
“My gondolier and a native secret-service man
are waiting for me outside. I'm going over to the
Lido.”.
“Just like a regular tourist? Your man's over
there, is he? Poor chap!”
“Yes,” said Muller. “I do feel sorry for him, if
he is my man.”
“Hello! . . . you don't even know it yourself?”
“No. I’ve never known so little, after finding
out so much, as I do about this case.”
“Is the case of long standing?”
“It happened on the 29th of May, an apparent
suicide which, however, is a murder. And today
is the 9th of June.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Grunwald, “that's
not two weeks. Most detectives would take a
month on a matter like that, and then pride them-
selves on their cleverness.”
“I don't,” said Muller, “and I know I'm grow-
ing old.”
When they landed on the Lido Muller told his


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 251
companion, the secret-service man whom the Ital-
ian police had put at his disposal, to wait near the
wharf while he himself went to the Pension Man-
tini. He walked through the garden and was just
about to touch the bell at the door when he heard
voices coming from behind a clump of bushes that
concealed the entrance to the kitchen.
“Don’t be so mad about it,” said a man laugh-
ingly, and an angry woman's voice answered:
“Why shouldn't I be mad when I get fired for no
reason at all? 'Tisn't true that I went through his
desk! I never touched a thing in his old room.
But there's no pleasing this Mr. Volkner of late.
He's scared of anybody.”
A door slammed somewhere and Muller thought
to himself that things were coming his way. An
angry discharged servant is a valuable ally. He
rang the bell and the door was opened by a trim
little maid with snapping black eyes. Muller in-
quired whether the Marchesa Mantini was at
home.
“No, sir,” answered the girl. Her irritation of
a moment back still sounded through her voice.
“That doesn't matter,” said Muller kindly. “You
may be able to give me the information I need.
You belong to the household, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir. I belong to it yet,” she snapped.
Muller smiled at the sharpness of her tone and
laid a few silver pieces in her hand. The anger


258 THE LADY IN BLUE
and waited at the head of the steps leading to the
water until Volkner should come.
Finally he saw the young man coming down the
hall between the dressing-rooms. In his scanty
black Jersey suit, his extreme thinness, contrasting
with his well-knit, broad shouldered frame, was far
more noticeable than in his street clothes.
“This man is terribly run down,” thought Mul-
ler, “it can't be just his wound and the subsequent
illness. Can it be . . . mental trouble, too? Poor
chap! I shall really be very sorry if you are the
man I'm after.”
And yet as the detective followed Volkner
down the steps into the ocean he said to himself,
rather sadly: “And I'm terribly afraid you are the
man I want! It would have been too strange a co-
incidence. He was away from the 26th to the 31st
and since then, he has been upset and nervous.”
Muller dived into the waves that rose up to
meet him. When he came up again Volkner was
just ahead of him, shaking the water off his hair
and breathing quickly as if his lungs still troubled
him. He looked around as he heard a friendly
voice saying: “Isn't the water delightful here?”
Volkner nodded to the kindly-faced elderly man
opposite him, for the free-masonry of sea bathing
permits what the more formal life on land would not
allow. They clung side by side to the rope, while
Volkner explained that he had just been seriously


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 259
ill and was not allowed to swim yet, although the
daily dip in the ocean did him a world of good.
His new friend introduced himself as Mr. Muller
from Vienna, dealer in antique weapons and armor.
He said that he, too, didn't care very much for
swimming, because he so seldom had the oppor-
tunity for sea-bathing that he was getting rather
rusty at the art. He would dart off with a few
swift strokes now and then but returned at once to
his young compatriot. By the time they climbed
out of the water they were such good friends that
Volkner himself invited Muller to spend the rest
of the evening with him and with his sister.
Muller had cleverly manoeuvred to bring about
this invitation.
“It's hard to enjoy oneself alone,” said the
young man with a pleasant smile, “and to tell you
the truth I’m very glad to have someone else with
us. My poor sister is here only for a few days,
too, and I know I’m boring her to death with my
nervousness and my melancholy. There's been too
much on my mind of late, and I know I'm wretched
company. So I'd be very glad if you will have
supper with us and listen to the music for a while
before you return to Venice. Won't you go for a
little walk with us now, to warm up after the
bath P”
Volkner spoke with all the easy charm of an
amiable man of the world, but even while he was


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 261
him completely. Sometimes I think his mind must
have suffered as well as his body.”
“It looks to me as if he were worrying about
something,” replied Muller sympathetically.
“Couldn't you find out what the trouble is? It
may be quite easy to help him if you only knew.”
Milla sighed deeply. “Ah, yes, if I only knew
what the trouble was ! But Richard won't give me
the slightest intimation. Oh, how much easier life
would be if we only could, and would, trust those
near to us!”
Muller exerted himself to the utmost in his de-
sire to please these new friends and to win their
confidence. He was so interesting that even Volk-
ner began to join in the conversation here and
there, and would occasionally laugh heartily at
some sally. When the first stars appeared on the
blue-black sky above them, and the fresh evening
breeze came up from over the water, the three re-
turned to the concert garden the best of friends.
“We have some little time yet before supper,”
said Milla von Widener, “so if you don't mind I'll
run home and scribble off a couple of letters. I'll
get my coat, too, and I'll send or bring something
for you, Richard. You'll keep him indoors, won't
you, Mr. Muller? Don't let him even go out on
the terrace, until he gets his overcoat.” She walked
quickly off down the broad street and the two men


262 THE LADY IN BLUE
went into the big hall, which was now almost
empty.
The Italian secret service man strolled in a
moment or two later and sat down a little distance
away. -
“Here's a nice, comfortable table, Mr. Volkner,
and not a bit of a draft anywhere,” said Muller
cheerily, taking the young man's arm and leading
him to the corner, near the big window. His com-
rade of the police remained standing talking to a
waiter, until the others were seated. Then he
chose his own table and settled down to a bottle
of wine and a big black cigar.
Muller ordered Chianti for himself and tea for
Volkner.
“Make it hot,” said the latter to the waiter who
took the order. He shivered as he settled back in
his chair.
“Are you chilly?” said Muller.
“I get shivery so often now,” answered Volkner.
“Those sudden shivers, they're so unpleasant.”
“Yes, I know. I had a feeling like that just the
other day,” said Muller, looking keenly at the
young man's face. He had placed the chairs so
that the light fell full on Volkner.
He paused for a moment, and Volkner, evi-
dently feeling that some remark was demanded of
him, inquired politely: “What made you shiver?”
As he spoke, his eyes followed two fine-looking


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 263
women who passed them, followed them with but
very mild interest.
Muller spoke slow and calmly: “I held a dagger
in my hand, the blade of which was dulled with
recent blood stains.” \
“That was interesting. I suppose you do meet
queer things in your business. Did you just happen
in on a quarrel? They use that romantic weapon
in this country more than they do in our home.”
Volkner spoke with the same absent-minded
calmness, while his eyes still followed the women.
But his thoughts were neither with them or with
the words his companion had just uttered.
Muller had held his breath for a moment or
two, now he let it out with a faint sigh of relief.
He had made the first test and Volkner had passed
it well. No, this was not the man who but a few
days before had thrown the blood-stained dagger
away in horror.
It could not be. For Richard Volkner was so
utterly run down, so utterly unnerved, that the
sudden scream of a sea-gull made him start and a
child running too near the water had turned him
ghastly pale. No man whose nerves were so little
under control could have heard Muller's words so
calmly, if these same words had awakened in his
mind the memory of the hideous hour in the Grey
House.
Muller was too experienced a psychologist not


264 THE LADY IN BLUE
to realize that he had followed a false trail. In
his own preoccupation with the one important bit
of evidence against Volkner, his secret absence
from the Pension on the critical day, the old de-
tective had overlooked one point . . . and he
blushed as he remembered that now. All his own
discoveries in the Grey House had shown him that
it was not a premeditated murder but a hasty act
of violence. When Volkner left the Lido . . . if
he had gone to Salzburg to see Elise Lehmann, he
had no reason whatsoever for keeping his depar-
ture a secret. His departure, his absence and the
secrecy connected with it—as well as his first ner-
vousness, must have some other cause.
Muller felt convinced of this. But he would not
let go this trail until he had made one or two
more tests. For even if Volkner were not the man
he was after, he might be able to give him valuable
information.
His own attention was diverted just now by the
appearance of an old man with a cap of the Hôtel
d’Italie. The man came in the hall, looked around
and then came towards Muller. “Oh, Mr. Mul-
ler,” he exclaimed, “I’ve been looking for you for
nearly two hours. Mr. Grunwald sends this tele-
gram and these two letters. They came about an
hour after you'd left.”
Muller thanked the old man whom he knew well
from former visits, gave him money and told him


266 THE LADY" IN BLUE
to say. Then he took up his young assistant's
letter.
Ossip repeated what Sennfeld had said, also
Moser's story of the conversation in the garden
between Elise Lehmann and some other woman
with whom she was evidently on terms of intimacy.
Then Ossip told the story of his visit to the old
beggar and its scanty result. But there was one
thing that he had to say, of which the Commis-
sioner had evidently known nothing. For the very
good reason that Ossip had not told him. And it
was this very point that interested Muller more
than anything else in the letter.
In talking to Ossip about Tony, Mrs. Deisler
had said one day that it was queer how even the
most intelligent women were vain. When Ossip
asked for an explanation, the housekeeper told
how, on the day when Baron Wallroth and Pro-
fessor Thorn had come to the house, Tony had
had her face wrapped up in a cloth on account of
a bad toothache. But when the good-looking Pro-
fessor had sent for her to come up stairs, Tony
had taken off the disfiguring bandage.
Ossip's letter went on to say:
“I asked Mrs. Deisler how long Tony had worn
the cloth and also, when the telegram had arrived
announcing that the men were coming. It seems
that the telegram arrived about eleven o'clock in


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 267
the morning. Tony's toothache came on right
after lunch, about twelve, and the gentlemen came
to the Grey House about three o'clock. It was
about half-past three when the Baron drove away
and Tony took off her bandage when she went up-
stairs to see Professor Thorn. It looks to me as
if Tony had pretended this toothache so that she
might hide her face from Baron Wallroth. But
she did not mind showing it to Professor Thorn.
Evidently he did not know her. But if the Baron
did know her and she did not want him to recog-
nize her — why did she linger on in the Grey
House? Why did she run the risk of having him
recognize her?
“I found one of these personals' in the piece of
paper in which Tony had wrapped the money she
gave the beggar. It was the Linz Gazette of the
31st of May. The other two personals were in
the same paper in the copy of June 2nd and 3rd.
There was no other similar personal before the
31st of May or after the 3rd of June. I do not
think I have missed anything and I hope I have
been able to serve you usefully. I am going to
Linz tonight in the hope of finding out who put
that personal in the paper.
Your deeply grateful
OSSIP.”
Salzburg, June 8th.


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 269
*
others. Then he rose, and to Volkner's great
astonishment, he walked over to the man who sat
at the table near them and spoke to him. They
shook hands and the man at the table called up
the waiter, paid his bill and strolled out of the
hall.
When Muller returned to his table Volkner
looked at him with interest. “Was that man a
friend of yours? I didn't notice that you greeted
him.”
“I didn’t,” said Muller, “but I told him now
that I no longer needed him, that he could take
my gondola and go back to the city.”
“Need him? What would you need him for?”
asked Volkner with youthful curiosity. But he did
not wait for the answer, for there was another in-
terruption. Louisa, the maid from the Pension,
came up to the table and handed Volkner a letter
and his overcoat.
“The lady sends these,” she said, “and she'll be
here herself in less than half an hour.” Volkner
snatched the letter hastily with a murmured thanks
to the girl. He looked with an instant's surprise
at her sudden flush and start when she saw Muller.
But a moment later he had forgotten everything
and was immersed in the letter he held in his
trembling hands.
The girl stared at Muller, who looked at her
as if he had never seen her before. But when he


270 THE LADY IN BLUE
realized that Volkner was completely absorbed, he
motioned to her to go away. Then an exclamation
across the table drew his attention to his com-
panion again. Volkner had dropped the letter in
his lap, his hands were clasped and he looked up
almost as if praying. “Oh, thank God, thank
God!” he murmured. Then he straightened up,
stretched his young frame and the color flooded
his pale cheeks. He looked ten years younger. His
eyes met Muller's, and the latter smiled in deep
sympathy.
“You’ve had good news?” he said.
“Yes, indeed!” exclaimed Volkner, “the best
of all news. I can now live like a human being
... not trembling in terror of what the next
moment might bring . . . in terror of . . .”
He paused, then shook his head. “No, I can’t
talk about it now, not even to my sister. You
won't mention it to her . . . I mean the effect
this letter had on me? Can I depend on you, Mr.
Muller?” *
“Most people find they can depend on me,” said
Muller. “And besides, I'm leaving Venice to-
morrow morning and I have my head full of my
own affairs, so that you need not fear any indis-
cretion on my part. But there is something I must
say to you before Mrs. von Wiedener's return,
and I, too, must ask for your discretion. Mr.
Volkner, I have deceived you as to my person. I


272 THE LADY IN BLUE
cost me dear! Oh, I beg your pardon, you may
not know . . .” *
“Of your duel with Baron Wallroth? Yes, I
do know that,” replied Muller calmly. To him-
self he said, “I am following a false trail. This
man is absolutely innocent. He knows nothing
whatever about the killing.” Then he continued
aloud: “No, the Baron did not send me to you.
The conduct of the investigation is entirely in my
own hands.”
“But what is there to investigate about a sui-
cide?”
“That is what I am to find out. Would you
mind answering me a few questions?”
Volkner nodded with a light shrug and a half
laugh. “If they're not too personal.”
“No, I am not concerned with your relations
with Miss Lehmann. But you may be able to tell
me something about her friends, male and female.
There's a girl, for instance, who wrote to her
during May and mentioned you, saying that you
were here.”
“Oh, yes. I know who that was,” said Volkner
immediately. “Her name is Rita Egghart. She's
a little actress who was engaged at the same thea-
tre in Vienna with Elise Lehmann. She was in
Venice for a few days in May. I met her on the
street and talked to her.”
Muller took down the name and address, then


MULLER GOES TO VENICE 273
he said: “Do you know a man she called ‘Goldie-
Boy’ and “Honeybunch’?”
Volkner flushed and gave an embarrassed laugh.
“She called me “Honeybunch too. The other one
must have been after my time.” -
“Yes, he was the man in possession when she
became engaged to the Baron. I’ve met him.”
“What sort of a person was he?” asked Volk-
ner.
“Sort of a traveling salesman, I think. No
great mental light. Husky young animal.”
“That was mainly what Elise was after—that
and money,” said Volkner bitterly.
“Don’t be unjust.” Muller's tone was grave.
“Did you, or any of the others . . . except pos-
sibly Baron Wallroth, ask anything of this girl,
except that she should amuse you with her gayety
and charm you with her beauty? You never
bothered much about the brain that was inside
that beautiful head, or the heart that beat in her
shapely body.” Volkner's eyes drooped and his
cheeks flushed.
Muller continued in a more kindly tone: “But
all this is beside the point. Can you tell me of any
other woman with whom Elise Lehmann was on
terms of intimacy? I am thinking now of a very
pretty, highly intelligent young person whose first
name is probably Tony and whose last name be-
gins with K.” -


280 THE LADY IN BLUE
He is still my friend in spite of the fact—or pos-
sibly because of it—I mean because he is so en-
tirely different from me. And I'm still in love
with his wife and always shall be—in the very
best way. So if you want to hear good of those
two people, you can question me all you like.”
“I do,” replied Muller, with a strange smile. “I
want to hear every possible favorable thing you
can say about them.”
“We used to call Hubert ‘Don Quixote’ at
school—those who weren't quite so well acquainted
with literature contented themselves by saying that
he was crazy. Possibly he was, as far as any
creative artist is crazy. I remember when he
beat one of the boys black and blue, because he
had made an indecent caricature of an old apple
woman who had a stand outside the school. And
another time, when our history professor made a
rather slurring remark about Schiller's rewriting
of history, Lohr exclaimed aloud: “God bless
him for that. Where would we be without
ideals?” Most of the boys hooted, but the pro-
fessor rose, went to Lohr's bench and shook his
hand. I could tell you a hundred such stories,
and Hubert Lohr hasn't changed in the slightest.
His quarrel with his benefactor, the late Baron
Wallroth, was quite characteristic of him. It
was Baron Wallroth who helped him to study
and sent him to the Conservatory.


MULLER DROPS FALSE TRAIL 281
Muller nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard that. What
was the trouble between them?”
“Lohr’s whole life is an expression of gratitude
to the Wallroth family and yet he refused to sell
himself even to please his benefactor. It was this
way. The Baron had a friend, a rich business
man whose only daughter and heiress fell desper-
ately in love with Lohr—Hubert's mighty good-
looking. Her father had never refused her any-
thing she wanted before, so she thought of course
he could buy this husband for her. The Baron
thought it would be a wonderful thing for Lohr to
come into so much money, and the girl was ex-
tremely pretty although very self-willed, so he
wanted to help it along. But Lohr refused to
have anything to do with it. He didn't like the
girl and he was too honest to buy himself a career
on such terms.”
“That was great,” exclaimed Muller. “He
must be a real man.”
“He is indeed,” continued Volkner, “but it
cost him Baron Wallroth's friendship. Hubert
was sorry for it too. Still he could not accept such
a marriage. But I know that he was very un-
happy, and that his most ardent wish was that
some opportunity might come for him to show his
deep and lasting gratitude for the Wallroth
family.”


MULLER DROPS FALSE TRAIL 283
“And he is a composer,” continued Muller with
a certain sad persistence.
Volkner's eyes shone. “He is a composer of
eminent ability.”
“Yes,” said Muller. “He is a true, creative
artist. But let's talk of something else now. Here
comes your sister.”
Milla von Widener came quickly through the
now rapidly filling room, came straight to her
brother and laid both hands on his shoulder.
“Robert wrote you?” she exclaimed, and her soft
eyes shone through tears.
Her brother nodded and drew her down to the
chair beside him. “What's the matter, Milly?”
he exclaimed softly.
“Mamma wrote me all about it. Oh, you won-
derfully wise boy, you. You're so good—so good
. and you paid all those notes! . . . You
saved Robert's life, his whole existence. And
papa's life, too, I am sure.”
“Hush, dear. It's all over now and it's all
right,” said Volkner, looking over at Muller. But
the latter had tactfully subsided behind a railway
guide which he was studying with apparent in-
terest.
The evening passed off pleasantly, although
Volkner fell into a brown study now and then, his
brows wrinkling as if some problem were worrying
him. The old detective was chatty and cheerful.


284 THE LADY IN BLUE
But Milla von Widener had known him only for
a few hours, so she could not realize that Joseph
Muller seemed to have grown ten years older in
the few short hours. Once he laid his hand on
Volkner's arm and asked suddenly: “They have
a child, haven't they?”
“Who?” exclaimed Volkner in surprise.
“Lohrs.”
“Oh, yes, surely.”
“A little girl? Who is blind?”
“She is threatened with blindness. But how did
you know that? The child had scarlet fever which
left her eyes very weak. They have taken her
to Tony's mother, up in the mountains, for the
summer.”
“Thanks. I must leave you now,” said Muller,
rising. “I must be getting back to Venice.”
“Where are you going? What are you going to
do now? Why did you want to know about
Lohrs?” A sudden uneasy fear tugged at Volk-
ner's heart. But Muller did not answer. He was
already making his farewells to Mrs. von Widener
and he soon slipped away into the outer darkness.


CHAPTER XVIII
BACK IN THE IVY COTTAGE
ON THE morning of June 10th Muller was back
in his own home. After a hasty breakfast he
wrote a few words on a card and addressed them
to Professor Walter Thorn. Then he got into the
waiting cab and drove to the Wallroth house, leav-
ing the card to be given to Professor Thorn as
soon as he arose.
The detective drove on out towards the sub-
urbs. At the foot of the Red Hill he called to
the driver to halt.
“Wait here,” he said as he got out and walked
slowly up the hill.
It was another glorious morning, as fresh and
fragrant as when he had passed that way a few
days before. But Muller's heart was sad and heavy
and he scarcely seemed to see the beauty around
him. He paused by the blossoming apple tree
again and put out his hand. Then he dropped it,
shook his head and went on for about a hundred
paces. He halted again, turned back and walked
quickly to the tree. He cut off three of the most
beautiful blossom-laden twigs, and nodded to them
285


286 THE LADY IN BLUE
with a sad smile in his eyes. His lips were
tightly set.
As he neared the Lohr cottage he saw the young
composer standing at the window. The detective
paused, half hidden by a bush, and studied the
man who stood there. Yes, there was pride and
firm determination on this handsome face. This
man could live up to his ideals, even though it
cost him dear. There was a hint of passion, too,
noble passion that might well carry him away at
times and lead him into a deed which he had
not sought.
Lohr was staring out at the distant sky. His
eyes were grave and sad, his pale lips pressed
tight together. As Muller watched, another figure
came to the window—a woman's figure, tall and
graceful. On her arm Tony Lohr carried a
child, a pale, frail little creature its eyes hidden be-
hind a green shade. The little head drooped onto its
mother's shoulder. She bent over it and kissed
the soft curls. Then she put her free arm around
her husband's neck.
He started up from his sad thoughts and their
eyes met in a long look. Hubert Lohr put both
his arms around his wife and child and caught
them to him with passionate pressure. It was at
this moment that Muller came out from behind
the bush and walked toward the little house.
Lohr saw him—and smiled a welcome. He was


292 THE LADY IN BLUE
Hubert was quite right in his insistence that Wall-
roth should be saved from a marriage with her,
by force if necessary, and that I could not stay
with her any longer. She pretended to be ter-
ribly repentant, and told me that I ought to realize
it was not easy for her to find her way back into
a respectable life. She asked me if I would stay
a few days longer until she found someone to
take my place. She insisted that I must keep the
two hundred gulden she had already given me for
Rosie, and then we made plans for my departure.”
“You were talking that over, out in the garden,”
cut in Muller.
The others looked at him in surprise. Tony
nodded and continued. “But the very next day
I found her writing a glowing love letter to ‘Goldie-
Boy, and kissing the violets he had given her when
they parted. That was too much for me. I
brought the hundred gulden I still had left from
the money she had given me, laid it down in front
of her and then—then I wrote my husband.”
Mrs. Lohr sighed deeply, then covered her face,
sobbing. Lohr took one hand gently and held it in
his own.
“You did quite right, Tony,” he said. “You
couldn't imagine it would—turn out as it did.”
“It was on receipt of that letter that you went
to Salzburg?” asked Muller of Lohr.
“Yes,” he replied. “I arrived about five o'clock


296 THE LADY IN BLUE
that my degradation began with all the hocus
pocus that was necessary to hide my deed. As to
the deed itself, I do not repent it. I would do
the same again under the same circumstances.
That can't hurt me—the inner me. I did not
kill Elise in my anger at her insulting words about
my wife. Nothing that she could say can harm
Tony! What made me mad and blind with rage
was the absolute truth of her assertion that Ed-
mund Wallroth was hopelessly in love with her,
and that he would marry her in spite of all I could
do. Her tone and manner as she said this put
her on the level of any courtesan of the streets
who knows her power over the lowest instincts in
man. It was that—the thought of the degrada-
tion she had brought to our honest family—and
the degradation she was to bring to the family to
whom I owe so much—I struck out blindly. I
had the dagger in my hand. I knew it when I
struck—that is all that you need to know.”
Lohr rose. “We can go now, can we not?”
His wife rose, too and stood beside him. “I’ll
be ready in a few moments,” she said, although
she caught at her husband as if to save her from
falling.
“No, no. We don't need you now,” replied
Lohr as he pressed her gently down into the chair
again. “We can let you stay with Rosie for a
while yet. Can't we, Mr. Muller? You won't


BACK IN THE IVY COTTAGE 297
run away We can't run away. It's only the
hardened criminal who can escape.”
Lohr kissed his wife and child and took up his
hat. “I am ready, Mr. Muller,” he said with a
touch of impatience.
Muller was on his feet too. “Yes, Mrs. Lohr,
you must stay with your little girl,” he said, “and
if you permit it, I will look in now and then—
to bring you news—until you see your husband
again.”
Tony Lohr rose, controlling herself with a
strong effort. She went to the door with her hus-
band, kissed him once more, laid the little girl in
his arms for a moment, and held out her hand
to Muller.
“You are so kind,” she said low. “Stay with
him, don't forsake him.”
She went to the window again, and parting the
ivy, looked out after them as she had that other
day. But this time she was strong.
>k >k >k >k >k
Ten minutes later Muller and Lohr were in the
cab, which set out rapidly toward the city. Lohr
leaned back, absorbed in his own thoughts. Sud-
denly he looked out of the window.
“How is he driving?” he exclaimed. “This isn’t
the way to Police Headquarters.”
“We're not going there,” replied Muller calmly.
“Where are we going?”


300 THE LADY IN BLUE
“Discovered him and brought him right with
me,” replied Muller. “Here he is.”
Thorn gasped and the detective continued
calmly. “Let me introduce Mr. Hubert Lohr.
Elise Lehmann's stepbrother. In him, you will
learn to know one of those rare human beings
who have the courage to follow the promptings
of higher morality, even though it may bring them
into conflict with the letter of the law. Mr. Lohr,
this gentleman is Professor Walter Thorn, Baron
Wallroth's cousin. As I have already told you, it
is entirely his fault that there was any investigation
of this case. But do not blame him for it. He,
too, was only following the promptings of his con-
science.”
Lohr stood quietly with a sad smile. Smaller
matters did not seem to touch him now. He
turned wearily to the painter who stood staring at
him, still bewildered. “Yes, Professor, Mr. Mul-
ler is speaking the truth. I killed my stepsister—
killed her in a moment of insane anger, with the
mad thought that I must prevent the disgrace and
unhappiness she would bring to this house. You
may not know how much I owe this family.”
“Yes, yes,” replied Thorn holding out both
hands to Lohr. “I do know something of it.
You are wonderful! Wonderful!”
“Who are you raving about now?” asked Wall-
roth coming in. “Oh, Lohr, you're here. I can


BACK IN THE IVY COTTAGE 301
understand my cousin. Yes, you are wonderful,
for you have the courage to tell the truth.”
“I’ve always told the truth, Baron. Oh, if you
had only believed me!”
Wallroth looked at Lohr surprised, but stag-
gered back against the table at the young composer's
next words.
“For then I would not—have needed—to kill
Elise.” -
>k x x *k x * * x
The four men sat together in earnest conversa-
tion for nearly two hours.
Finally Muller spoke. “This is a case out of
my private practice. I am not compelled to give
an accounting to anyone, except you two gentlemen
who have engaged me. My conscience certainly
does not compel me to sacrifice this man . . .”
here he laid his hand on Lohr's shoulder, “and
the wonderful woman who loves him . . . to
sacrifice such people to a paragraph of law. No
one else will discover the true trail. And the few
who know that there is a trail to follow—well I
do not mind that they shall think I have failed
this time. I can afford it. As far as I am con-
cerned, Mr. Lohr, you will have no further
bother about this matter.”
“I shall say nothing,” said Thorn.
“And I am willing—that it shall rest right
here,” said Wallroth.





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