answercarefully any questions Muller might put to him.
"He'll find something, you may be sure," said Horn, as they drove off inthe cab.
"Let him that's his business. He is officially bound to see more thanthe rest of us," smiled the older official good-naturedly. "But in spiteof it, he'll never get any further than the vestibule; he'll be makingbows to us to the end of his days."
"You think so? I've wondered at the man. I know his fame in the capital,indeed, in police circles all over Austria and Germany. It seems hardon him to be transferred to this small town, now that he is growing old.I've wondered why he hasn't done more for himself, with his gifts."
"He never will," replied the Chief. "He may win more fame--he may stillgo on winning triumphs, but he will go on in a circle; he'll never forgeahead as his capabilities deserve. Muller's peculiarity is that hisgenius--for the man has undeniable genius--will always make concessionsto his heart just at the moment when he is about to do somethinggreat--and his triumph is lost."
Horn looked up at his superior, whom, in spite of his good nature, heknew to be a sharp, keen, capable police official. "I forgot you haveknown Muller longer than the rest of us," he said. "What was that yousaid about his heart?"
"I said that it is one of those inconvenient hearts that will alwaysmake itself noticeable at the wrong time. Muller's heart has playedseveral tricks on the police department, which has, at other times,profited so well by his genius. He is a strange mixture. While he is onthe trail of the criminal he is like the bloodhound. He does not seem toknow fatigue nor hunger; his whole being is absorbed by the excitementof the chase. He has done many a brilliant service to the cause ofjustice, he has discovered the guilt, or the innocence, of many in caseswhere the official department was as blind as Justice is proverbiallysupposed to be. Joseph Muller has become the idol of all who are engagedin this weary business of hunting down wrong and punishing crime. Heis without a peer in his profession. But he has also become the idol ofsome of the criminals. For if he discovers (as sometimes happens) thatthe criminal is a good sort after all, he is just as likely to warn hisprey, once he has all proofs of the guilt and a conviction is certain.Possibly this is his way of taking the sting from his irresistibleimpulse to ferret out hidden mysteries. But it is rather inconvenient,and he has hurt himself by it--hurt himself badly. They were tired ofhis peculiarities at the capital, and wanted to make his years an excuseto discharge him. I happened to get wind of it, and it was my weaknessfor him that saved him."
"Yes, you brought him here when they transferred you to this town, Iremember now."
"I'm afraid it wasn't such a good thing for him, after all. Nothingever happens here, and a gift like Muller's needs occupation to keepit fresh. I'm afraid his talents will dull and wither here. The man hasgrown perceptibly older in this inaction. His mind is like a high-bredhorse that needs exercise to keep it in good condition."
"He hasn't grown rich at his work, either," said Horn.
"No, there's not much chance for a police detective to get rich. I'veoften wondered why Muller never had the energy to set up in business forhimself. He might have won fame and fortune as a private detective. Buthe's gone on plodding along as a police subordinate, and letting thedepartment get all the credit for his most brilliant achievements. It'sa sort of incorrigible humbleness of nature--and then, you know, he hadthe misfortune to be unjustly sentenced to a term in prison in his earlyyouth."
"No, I did not know that."
"The stigma stuck to his name, and finally drove him to take up thiswork. I don't think Muller realised, when he began, just how greatlyhe is gifted. I don't know that he really knows now. He seems to do itbecause he likes it--he's a queer sort of man."
While the commissioners drove through the streets to the police stationthe man of whom they were speaking sat in Johann's little room in closeconsultation with the valet.
"How long is it since the Professor began to give you money to go to thetheatre on Saturday evenings?"
"The first time it happened was on my name day."
"What's the rest of your name? There are so many Johanns on the calendar."
"I am Johann Nepomuk."
Muller took a little calendar from his pocket and turned its pages. "Itwas May sixteenth," volunteered the valet.
"Quite right. May sixteenth was a Saturday. And since then you have goneto the theatre every Saturday evening?"
"Yes, sir.
"When did the owner of the house go away?"
"Last April. His wife was ill and he had to take her away. They went toItaly."
"And you two have been alone in the house since April?"
"Yes, sir, we two."
"Was there no janitor?"
"No, sir. The garden was taken care of by a man who came in for theday."
"And you had no dog? I haven't seen any around the place."
"No, sir; the Professor did not like animals. But he must have beenthinking about buying a dog, because I found a new dog-whip in his roomone day."
"Somebody might have left it there. One usually buys the dog first andthen the whip."
"Yes, sir. But there wasn't anybody here to forget it. The Professor didnot receive any visits at that time."
"Why are you so sure of that?"
"Because it was the middle of summer, and everybody was away."
"Oh, then, we won't bother about the whip. Can you tell me of any ladieswith whom the Professor was acquainted?"
"Ladies? I don't know of any. Of course, the Professor was invited outa good deal, and most of the other gentlemen from the college weremarried."
"Did he ever receive letters from ladies?" continued Muller.
Johann thought the matter over, then confessed that he knew very littleabout writing and couldn't read handwriting very well anyway. But heremembered to have seen a letter now and then, a little letter with afine and delicate handwriting.
"Have you any of these envelopes?" asked Muller. But Johann told himthat in spite of his usual carelessness in such matters, ProfessorFellner never allowed these letters to lie about his room.
Finally the detective came out with the question to which he had beenleading up. "Did your master ever receive visits from ladies?"
Johann looked extremely stupid at this moment. His lack of intelligenceand a certain crude sensitiveness in his nature made him take umbrage atwhat appeared to him a very unnecessary question. He answered it with ashake of the head only. Muller smiled at the young man's ill-concealedindignation and paid no attention to it.
"Your master has been here for about a year. Where was he before that?"
"In the capital."
"You were in his service then?"
"I have been with him for three years."
"Did he know any ladies in his former home?"
"There was one--I think he was engaged to her."
"Why didn't he marry her?"
"I don't know."
"What was her name?"
"Marie. That's all I know about it."
"Was she beautiful?"
"I never saw her. The only way I knew about her was when the Professor'sfriends spoke of her."
"Did he have many friends?"
"There were ever so many gentlemen whom he called his friends."
"Take me into the garden now."
"Yes, sir." Muller took his hat and coat and followed the valet into thegarden. It was of considerable size, carefully and attractively planned,and pleasing even now when the bare twigs bent under their load of snow.
"Now think carefully, Johann. We had a full moon last night. Don'tyou remember seeing any footsteps in the garden, leading away from thehouse?" asked Muller, as they stood on the snow-covered paths.
Johann thought it over carefully, then said decidedly, "No. At least Idon't remember anything of the kind. There was a strong wind yesterdayanyway, and the snow drifts easily out here. No tracks could remainclear for long."
The men walked down the straight path which led to the little
gate inthe high wall. This gate had a secret lock, which, however, was neitherhard to find nor hard to open. Muller managed it with ease, and lookedout through the gate on the street beyond. The broad promenade, desertednow in its winter snowiness, led away in one direction to the heart ofthe city. In the other it ended in the main county high-road. This wasa broad, well-made turnpike, with footpath and rows of trees. Ahalf-hour's walk along it would bring one to the little villageclustering about the Archduke's favourite hunting castle. There was alittle railway station near the