<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"></SPAN></p>
<h2> THE CASE OF THE REGISTERED LETTER </h2>
<p>"Oh, sir, save him if you can—save my poor nephew! I know he is
innocent!"</p>
<p>The little old lady sank back in her chair, gazing up at Commissioner von
Riedau with tear-dimmed eyes full of helpless appeal. The commissioner
looked thoughtful. "But the case is in the hands of the local authorities,
Madam," he answered gently, a strain of pity in his voice. "I don't
exactly see how we could interfere."</p>
<p>"But they believe Albert guilty! They haven't given him a chance!"</p>
<p>"He cannot be sentenced without sufficient proof of his guilt."</p>
<p>"But the trial, the horrible trial—it will kill him—his heart
is weak. I thought—I thought you might send some one—some one
of your detectives—to find out the truth of the case. You must have
the best people here in Vienna. Oh, my poor Albert—"</p>
<p>Her voice died away in a suppressed sob, and she covered her face to keep
back the tears.</p>
<p>The commissioner pressed a bell on his desk. "Is Detective Joseph Muller
anywhere about the building?" he asked of the attendant who appeared at
the door.</p>
<p>"I think he is, sir. I saw him come in not long ago."</p>
<p>"Ask him to come up to this room. Say I would like to speak to him." The
attendant went out.</p>
<p>"I have sent for one of the best men on our force, Madam," continued the
commissioner, turning back to the pathetic little figure in the chair. "We
will go into this matter a little more in detail and see if it is possible
for us to interfere with the work of the local, authorities in G—."</p>
<p>The little old lady gave her eyes a last hasty dab with a dainty
handkerchief and raised her head again, fighting for self-control. She was
a quaint little figure, with soft grey hair drawn back smoothly from a
gentle-featured face in which each wrinkle seemed the seal of some loving
thought for others. Her bonnet and gown were of excellent material in
delicate soft colours, but cut in the style of an earlier decade. The
capable lines of her thin little hands showed through the fabric of her
grey gloves. Her whole attitude bore the impress of one who had adventured
far beyond the customary routine of her home circle, adventured out into
the world in fear and trembling, impelled by the stress of a great love.</p>
<p>A knock was heard at the door, and a small, slight man, with a kind,
smooth-shaven face, entered at the commissioner's call. "You sent for me,
sir?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Yes, Muller, there is a matter here in which I need your advice, your
assistance, perhaps. This is Detective Muller, Miss—" (the
commissioner picked up the card on his desk) "Miss Graumann. If you will
tell us now, more in detail, all that you can tell us about this case, we
may be able to help you."</p>
<p>"Oh, if you would," murmured Miss Graumann, with something more of hope in
her voice. The expression of sympathetic interest on the face of the
newcomer had already won her confidence for him. Her slight figure
straightened up in the chair, and the two men sat down opposite her,
prepared to listen to her story.</p>
<p>"I will tell you all I know and understand about this matter, gentlemen,"
she began. "My name is Babette Graumann, and I live with my nephew, Albert
Graumann, engineering expert, in the village of Grunau, which is not far
from the city of G—. My nephew Albert, the dearest, truest—"
sobs threatened to overcome her again, but she mastered them bravely.
"Albert is now in prison, accused of the murder of his friend, John
Siders, in the latter's lodgings in G—."</p>
<p>"Yes, that is the gist of what you have already told me," said the
commissioner. "Muller, Miss Graumann believes her nephew innocent,
contrary to the opinion of the local authorities in G—. She has come
to ask for some one from here who could ferret out the truth of this
matter. You are free now, and if we find that it can be done without
offending the local authorities—"</p>
<p>"Who is the commissioner in charge of the case in G—?" asked Muller.</p>
<p>"Commissioner Lange is his name, I believe," replied Miss Graumann.</p>
<p>"H'm!" Muller and the commissioner exchanged glances.</p>
<p>"I think we can venture to hear more of this," said the commissioner, as
if in answer to their unspoken thought. "Can you give us the details now,
Madam? Who is, or rather who was, this John Siders?"</p>
<p>"John Siders came to our village a little over a year ago," continued Miss
Graumann. "He came from Chicago; he told us, although he was evidently a
German by birth. He bought a nice little piece of property, not far from
our home, and settled down there. He was a quiet man and made few friends,
but he seemed to take to Albert and came to see us frequently. Albert had
spent some years in America, in Chicago, and Siders liked to talk to him
about things and people there. But one day Siders suddenly sold his
property and moved to G—. Two weeks later he was found dead in his
lodgings in the city, murdered, and now—now they have accused Albert
of the crime."</p>
<p>"On what grounds?—oh, I beg your pardon, sir; I did not mean—"</p>
<p>"That's all right, Muller," said the commissioner. "As you may have to
undertake the case, you might as well begin to do the questioning now."</p>
<p>"They say"—Miss Graumann's voice quavered—"they say that
Albert was the last person known to have been in Siders' room; they say
that it was his revolver, found in the room. That is the dreadful part of
it—it was his revolver. He acknowledges it, but he did not know,
until the police showed it to him, that the weapon was not in its usual
place in his study. They tell me that everything speaks for his guilt, but
I cannot believe it—I cannot. He says he is innocent in spite of
everything. I believe him. I brought him up, sir; I was like his own
mother to him. He never knew any other mother. He never lied to me, not
once, when he was a little boy, and I don't believe he'd lie to me now,
now that he's a man of forty-five. He says he did not kill John Siders.
Oh, I know, even without his saying it, that he would not do such a
thing."</p>
<p>"Can you tell us anything more about the murder itself?" questioned Muller
gently. "Is there any possibility of suicide? Or was there a robbery?"</p>
<p>"They say it was no suicide, sir, and that there was a large sum of money
missing. But why should Albert take any one else's money? He has money of
his own, and he earns a good income besides—we have all that we
need. Oh, it is some dreadful mistake! There is the newspaper account of
the discovery of the body. Perhaps Mr. Muller might like to read that."
She pointed to a sheet of newspaper on the desk. The commissioner handed
it to Muller. It was an evening paper, dated G—, September 24th, and
it gave an elaborate account, in provincial journalese, of the discovery
that morning of the body of John Siders, evidently murdered, in his
lodgings. The main facts to be gathered from the long-winded story were as
follows:</p>
<p>John Siders had rented the rooms in which he met his death about ten days
before, paying a month's rent in advance. The lodgings consisted of two
rooms in a little house in a quiet street. It was a street of simple
two-story, one and two family dwellings, occupied by artisans and small
tradespeople. There were many open spaces, gardens and vacant lots in the
street. The house in which Siders lodged belonged to a travelling salesman
by the name of Winter. The man was away from home a great deal, and his
wife, with her child and an old servant, lived in the lower part of the
house, while the rooms occupied by Siders were in the upper story. Siders
lived very quietly, going out frequently in the afternoon, but returning
early in the evening. He had said to his landlady that he had many friends
in G—. But during the time of his stay in the house he had had but
one caller, a gentleman who came on the evening of the 23rd of September.
The old maid had opened the door for him and showed him to Mr. Siders'
rooms. She described this visitor as having a full black beard, and
wearing a broad-brimmed grey felt hat. Nobody saw the man go out, for the
old maid, the only person in the house at the time, had retired early.
Mrs. Winter and her little girl were spending the night with the former's
mother in a distant part of the city. The next morning the old servant,
taking the lodger's coffee up to him at the usual hour, found him dead on
the floor of his sitting-room, shot through the heart. The woman ran
screaming from the house and alarmed the neighbours. A policeman at the
corner heard the noise, and led the crowd up to the room where the dead
man lay. It was plain to be seen that this was not a case of suicide.
Everywhere were signs of a terrible struggle. The furniture was
overturned, the dressing-table and the cupboard were open and their
contents scattered on the floor, one of the window curtains was torn into
strips, as if the victim had been trying to escape by way of the window,
but had been dragged back into the room by his murderer. An overturned ink
bottle on the table had spattered wide, and added to the general
confusion. In the midst of the disorder lay the body of the murdered man,
now cold in the rigour of death.</p>
<p>The police commissioner arrived soon, took possession of the rooms, and
made a thorough examination of the premises. A letter found on the desk
gave another proof, if such were needed, that this was not a case of
suicide. This letter was in the handwriting of the dead man, and read as
follows:</p>
<p>Dear Friend:</p>
<p>I appreciate greatly all the kindness shown me by yourself and your good
wife. I have been more successful than I thought possible in overcoming
the obstacles you know of. Therefore, I shall be very glad to join you day
after to-morrow, Sunday, in the proposed excursion. I will call for you at
8 A.M.—the cab and the champagne will be my share of the trip. We'll
have a jolly day and drink a glass or two to our plans for the future.</p>
<p>With best greetings for both of you,</p>
<p>Your old friend,</p>
<p>John</p>
<p>G——, Friday, Sept. 23rd.</p>
<p>An envelope, not yet addressed, lay beside this letter. It was clear that
the man who penned these words had no thought of suicide. On the contrary,
he was looking forward to a day of pleasure in the near future, and laying
plans for the time to come. The murderer's bullet had pierced a heart
pulsing with the joy of life.</p>
<p>This was the gist of the account in the evening paper. Muller read it
through carefully, lingering over several points which seemed to interest
him particularly. Then he turned to Miss Babette Graumann. "And then what
happened?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Then the Police Commissioner came to Grunau and questioned my nephew.
They had found out that Albert was Mr. Siders' only friend here. And late
that evening the Mayor and the Commissioner came to our house with the
revolver they had found in the room in G—, and they—they—"
her voice trembled again, "they arrested my dear boy and took him away."</p>
<p>"Have you visited him in prison? What does he say about it himself?"</p>
<p>"He seems quite hopeless. He says that he is innocent—oh, I know he
is—but everything is against him. He acknowledges that it was he who
was in Mr. Siders' room the evening before the murder. He went there
because Siders wrote him to come. He says he left early, and that John
acted queerly. He knows they will not believe his story. This worry and
anxiety will kill him. He has a serious heart trouble; he has suffered
from it for years, and it has been growing steadily worse. I dare not
think what this excitement may do for him." Miss Graumann broke down again
and sobbed aloud. Muller laid his hands soothingly on the little old
fingers that gripped the arm of the chair.</p>
<p>"Did your nephew send you here to ask for help?" he inquired very gently.</p>
<p>"Oh, no" The old lady looked up at him through her tears. "No, he would
not have done that. I'm afraid that he'll be angry if he knows that I have
come. He seemed so hopeless, so dazed. I just couldn't stand it. It seemed
to me that the police in G—— were taking things for granted,
and just sitting there waiting for an innocent man to confess, instead of
looking for the real murderer, who may be gone, the Lord knows where, by
now!" Miss Graumann's faded cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she
straightened up in her chair again, while her eyes snapped defiance
through the tears that hung on their lashes.</p>
<p>A faint gleam twinkled up in Muller's eyes, and he did not look at his
chief. Doctor von Riedau's own face glowed in a slowly mounting flush, and
his eyes drooped in a moment of conscious embarrassment at some
recollection, the sting of which was evidently made worse by Muller's
presence. But Commissioner von Riedau had brains enough to acknowledge his
mistakes and to learn from them. He looked across the desk at Miss
Graumann. "You are right, Madam, the police have made that mistake more
than once. And a man with a clear record deserves the benefit of the
doubt. We will take up this case. Detective Muller will be put in charge
of it. And that means, Madam, that we are giving you the very best
assistance the Imperial Police Force affords."</p>
<p>Miss Babette Graumann did not attempt to speak. In a wave of emotion she
stretched out both little hands to the detective and clasped his warmly.
"Oh, thank you," she said at last. "I thank you. He's just like my own boy
to me; he's all the child I ever had, you know."</p>
<p>"But there are difficulties in the way," continued the commissioner in a
business-like tone. "The local authorities in G—— have not
asked for our assistance, and we are taking up the case over their heads,
as it were. I shall have to leave that to Muller's diplomacy. He will come
to G—— and have an interview with your nephew. Then he will
have to use his own judgment as to the next steps, and as to how far he
may go in opposition to what has been done by the police there."</p>
<p>"And then I may go back home?" asked Miss Graumann. "Go home with the
assurance that you will help my poor boy?"</p>
<p>"Yes, you may depend on us, Madam. Is there anything we can do for you
here? Are you alone in the city?"</p>
<p>"No, thank you. There is a friend here who will take care of me. She will
put me on the afternoon express back to G—."</p>
<p>"It is very likely that I will take that train myself," said Muller. "If
there is anything that you need on the journey, call on me."</p>
<p>"Oh, thank you, I will indeed! Thank you both, gentlemen. And now
good-bye, and God bless you!"</p>
<p>The commissioner bowed and Muller held the door open for Miss Graumann to
pass out. There was silence in the room, as the two men looked after the
quaint little figure slowly descending the stairs.</p>
<p>"A brave little woman," murmured the commissioner.</p>
<p>"It is not only the mother in the flesh who knows what a mother's love
is," added Muller.</p>
<p>Next morning Joseph Muller stood in the cell of the prison in G——
confronting Albert Graumann, accused of the murder of John Siders.</p>
<p>The detective had just come from a rather difficult interview with
Commissioner Lange. But the latter, though not a brilliant man, was at
least good-natured. He acknowledged the right of the accused and his
family to ask for outside assistance, and agreed with Muller that it was
better to have some one in the official service brought in, rather than a
private detective whose work, in its eventual results, might bring shame
on the police. Muller explained that Miss Graumann did not want her nephew
to know that it was she who had asked for aid in his behalf, and that it
could only redound to his, Lange's, credit if it were understood that he
had sent to Vienna for expert assistance in this case. It would be a proof
of his conscientious attention to duty, and would insure praise for him,
whichever way the case turned out. Commissioner Lange saw the force of
this argument, and finally gave Muller permission to handle the case as he
thought best, rather relieved than otherwise for his own part. The
detective's next errand was to the prison, where he now stood looking up
into the deep-set, dark eyes of a tall, broad-shouldered, black-bearded
man, who had arisen from the cot at his entrance. Albert Graumann had a
strong, self-reliant face and bearing. His natural expression was somewhat
hard and stern, but it was the expression of a man of integrity and
responsibility. Muller had already made some inquiries as to the
prisoner's reputation and business standing in the community, and all that
he had heard was favourable. A certain hardness and lack of amiability in
Graumann's nature made it difficult for him to win the hearts of others,
but although he was not generally loved, he was universally respected.
Through the signs of nagging fear, sorrow, and ill-health, printed clearly
on the face before him, Muller's keen eyes looked down into the soul of a
man who might be overbearing, pitiless even, if occasion demanded, but who
would not murder—at least not for the sake of gain. This last
possibility Muller had dismissed from his mind, even before he saw the
prisoner. The man's reputation was sufficient to make the thought
ridiculous. But he had not made up his mind whether it might not be a case
of a murder after a quarrel. Now he began to doubt even this when he
looked into the intelligent, harsh-featured face of the man in the cell.
But Muller had the gift of putting aside his own convictions, when he
wanted his mind clear to consider evidence before him.</p>
<p>Graumann had risen from his sitting position when he saw a stranger. His
heavy brows drew down over his, eyes, but he waited for the other to
speak.</p>
<p>"I am Detective Joseph Muller, from Vienna," began the newcomer, when he
had seen that the prisoner did not intend to start the conversation.</p>
<p>"Have you come to question me again?" asked Graumann wearily. "I can say
no more than I have already said to the Police Commissioner. And no amount
of cross-examination can make me confess a crime of which I am not guilty—no
matter what evidence there may be against me." The prisoner's voice was
hard and determined in spite of its note of physical and mental weariness.</p>
<p>"I have not come to extort a confession from you, Mr. Graumann," Muller
replied gently, "but to help you establish your innocence, if it be
possible."</p>
<p>A wave of colour flooded the prisoner's cheek. He gasped, pressed his hand
to his heart, and dropped down on his cot. "Pardon me," he said finally,
hesitating like a man who is fighting for breath. "My heart is weak; any
excitement upsets me. You mean that the authorities are not convinced of
my guilt, in spite of the evidence? You mean that they will give me the
benefit of the doubt—that they will give me a chance for life?"</p>
<p>"Yes, that is the reason for my coming here. I am to take this case in
hand. If you will talk freely to me, Mr. Graumann, I may be able to help
you. I have seen too many mistakes of justice because of circumstantial
evidence to lay any too great stress upon it. I have waited to hear your
side of the story from yourself. I did not want to hear it from others.
Will you tell it to me now? No, do not move, I will get the stool myself."</p>
<p>Graumaun sat back on the cot, his head resting against the wall. His eyes
had closed while Muller was speaking, but his quieter breathing showed
that he was mastering the physical attack which had so shaken him at the
first glimpse of hope. He opened his eyes now and looked at Muller
steadily for a moment. Then he said: "Yes, I will tell you: my life and my
work have taught me to gauge men. I will tell you everything I know about
this sad affair. I will tell you the absolute truth, and I think you will
believe me."</p>
<p>"I will believe you," said Muller simply.</p>
<p>"You know the details of the murder, of course, and why I was arrested?"</p>
<p>"You were arrested because you were the last person seen in the company of
the murdered man?"</p>
<p>"Exactly. Then I may go back and tell you something of my connection with
John Siders?"</p>
<p>"It would be the very best thing to do."</p>
<p>"I live in Grunau, as you doubtless know, and am the engineering expert of
large machine works there. My father before me held an important position
in the factory, and my family have always lived in Grunau. I have traveled
a great deal myself. I am forty-five years old, a childless widower, and
live with my old aunt, Miss Babette Graumann, and my ward, Miss Eleonora
Roemer, a young lady of twenty-two." Muller looked up with a slight start
of surprise, but did not say anything. Graumann continued:</p>
<p>"A little over a year ago, John Siders, who signed himself as coming from
Chicago, bought a piece of property in our town and came to live there. I
made his acquaintance in the cafe and he seemed to take a fancy to me. I
also had spent several years in Chicago, and we naturally came to speak of
the place. We discovered that we had several mutual acquaintances there,
and enjoyed talking over the old times. Otherwise I did not take
particularly to the man, and as I came to know him better I noticed that
he never mentioned that part of his life which lay back of the years in
Chicago. I asked a casual question once or twice as to his home and
family, but he evaded me every time, and would not give a direct answer.
He was evidently a German by birth and education, a man with university
training, and one who knew life thoroughly. He had delightful manners, and
when he could forget his shyness for a while, he could be very agreeable.
The ladies of my family came to like him, and encouraged him to call
frequently. Then the thing happened that I should not have believed
possible. My ward, Miss Roemer, a quiet, reserved girl, fell in love with
this man about whom none of us knew anything, a man with a past of which
he did not care to speak.</p>
<p>"I was not in any way satisfied with the match, and they seemed to realise
it. For Siders managed to persuade the girl to a secret engagement. I
discovered it a month or two ago, and it made me very angry. I did not let
them see how badly I felt, but I warned Lora not to have too much to do
with the boy, and I set about finding out something regarding his earlier
life. It was my duty to do this, as I was the girl's guardian. She has no
other relative living, and no one to turn to except my aunt and myself. I
wrote to Mr. Richard Tressider in Chicago, the owner of the factory in
which I had been employed while there. John had told me that Tressider had
been his client during the four years in which he practiced law in
Chicago. I received an answer about the middle of August. Mr. Tressider
had been able to find out only that John was born in the town of Hartberg
in a certain year. This was enough. I took leave of absence for a few days
and went to Hartberg, which, as you know, is about 140 miles from here.
Three days later I knew all that I wanted to know. John Siders was not the
man's real name, or, rather, it was only part of his name. His full name
was Theodor John Bellmann, and his mother was an Englishwoman whose maiden
name was Siders. His father was a county official who died at an early
age, leaving his widow and the boy in deepest poverty. Mrs. Bellmann moved
to G——to give music lessons. Theodor went to school there,
then finally to college, and was an excellent pupil everywhere. But one
day it was discovered that he had been stealing money from the banker in
whose house he was serving as private tutor to the latter's sons. A large
sum of money was missing, and every evidence pointed to young Bellmann as
the thief. He denied strenuously that he was guilty, but the District
Judge (it was the present Prosecuting Attorney Schmidt in G—)
sentenced him. He spent eight months in prison, during which time his
mother died of grief at the disgrace. There must have been something good
in the boy, for he had never forgotten that it was his guilt that struck
down his only relative, the mother who had worked so hard for him. He had
atoned for this crime of his youth, and during the years that have passed
since then, he had been an honest, upright man."</p>
<p>Graumann paused a moment and pressed his hand to his heart again. His
voice had grown weaker, and he breathed hard. Finally he continued: "I
commanded my ward to break off her engagement, as I could not allow her to
marry a man who was a freed convict. Siders sold his property some few
weeks after that and moved to G—. Eleonora acquiesced in my
commands, but she was very unhappy and allowed me to see very little of
her. Then came the events of the evening of September 23rd, the events
which have turned out so terribly. I will try to tell you the story just
as it happened, so far as I am concerned. I had seen nothing of John since
he left this town. He had made several attempts before his departure for G——
to change my opinion, and my decision as to his marriage to my ward. But I
let him see plainly that it was impossible for him to enter our family
with such a past behind him. He asserted his innocence of the charges
against him, and declared that he had been unjustly accused and
imprisoned. I am afraid that I was hard towards him. I begin to understand
now, as I never thought I should, what it means to be accused of crime. I
begin to realise that it is possible for every evidence to point to a man
who is absolutely innocent of the deed in question. I begin to think now
that John may have been right, that possibly he also may have been accused
and sentenced on circumstantial evidence alone. I have thought much, and I
have learned much in these terrible days."</p>
<p>The prisoner paused again and sat brooding, his eyes looking out into
space. Muller respected his suffering and sat in equal silence, until
Graumann raised his eyes to his again. "Then came the evening of the 23rd
of September?"</p>
<p>"Yes, that evening—it's all like a dream to me." Graumann began
again. "John wrote me a letter asking me to come to see him on that
evening. I tore up the letter and threw it away—or perhaps, yes, I
remember now, I did not wish Eleonora to see that he had written me. He
asked me to come to see him, as he had something to say to me, something
of the greatest importance for us both. He asked me not to mention to any
one that I was to see him, as it would be wiser no one should know that we
were still in communication with each other. There was a strain of nervous
excitement visible in his letter. I thought it better to go and see him as
he requested; I felt that I owed him some little reparation for having
denied him the great wish of his heart. It was my duty to make up to him
in other ways for what I had felt obliged to do. I knew him for a nervous,
high-strung man, overwrought by brooding for years on what he called his
wrongs, and I did not know what he might do if I refused his request. It
was not of myself I thought in this connection, but of the girl at home
who looked to me for protection.</p>
<p>"I had no fear for myself; it never occurred to me to think of taking a
weapon with me. How my revolver—and it is undoubtedly my revolver,
for there was a peculiar break in the silver ornamentation on the handle
which is easily recognisable—how this revolver of mine got into his
room, is more than I can say. Until the Police Commissioner showed it to
me two or three days ago, I had no idea that it was not in the box in my
study where it is ordinarily kept." Graumann paused again and looked about
him as if searching for something. He rose and poured himself out a glass
of water. "Let me put some of this in it," said Muller. "It will do you
good." From a flask in his pocket he poured a few drops of brandy into the
water. Graumann drank it and nodded gratefully. Then he took up his story
again.</p>
<p>"I never discovered why Siders had sent for me. When I arrived at the
appointed time I found the door of the house closed. I was obliged to ring
several times before an old servant opened the door. She seemed surprised
that it had been locked. She said that the door was always unlatched, and
that Mr. Siders himself must have closed it, contrary to all custom, for
she had not done it, and there was no one else in the house but the two of
them. Siders was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, calling down a
noisy welcome.</p>
<p>"When I asked him finally what it was so important that he wanted to say
to me, he evaded me and continued to chatter on about commonplace things.
Finally I insisted upon knowing why he had wanted me to come, and he
replied that the reason for it had already been fulfilled, that he had
nothing more to say, and that I could go as soon as I wanted to. He
appeared quite calm, but he must have been very nervous. For as I stood by
the desk, telling him what I thought of his actions, he moved his hand
hastily among the papers there and upset the ink stand. I jumped back, but
not before I had received several large spots of ink on my trousers. He
was profuse in his apologies for the accident, and tried to take out the
spots with blotting paper. Then at last, when I insisted upon going, he
looked out to see whether there was still a light on the stairs, and led
me down to the door himself, standing there for some time looking after
me.</p>
<p>"I was slightly alarmed as well as angry at his actions. I believe that he
could not have been quite in his right mind, that the strain of
nervousness which was apparent in his nature had really made him ill. For
I remember several peculiar incidents of my visit to him. One of these was
that he almost insisted upon my taking away with me, ostensibly to take
care of them, several valuable pieces of jewelry which he possessed. He
seemed almost offended when I refused to do anything of the kind. Then, as
I parted from him at the door, not in a very good humour I will
acknowledge, he said to me: 'You will think of me very often in the future—more
often than you would believe now!'</p>
<p>"This is all the truth, and nothing but the truth, about my visit to John
Siders on the evening of September 23rd. As it had been his wish I said
nothing to the ladies at home, or to any one else about the occurrence.
And as I have told you, I destroyed his letter asking me to come to him.</p>
<p>"The following day about noon, the Commissioner of Police from G——
called at my office in the factory, and informed me bluntly that John
Siders had been found shot dead in his lodgings that morning. I was
naturally shocked, as one would be at such news, in spite of the fact that
I had parted from the man in anger, and that I had no reason to be
particularly fond of him. What shocked me most of all was the sudden
thought that John had taken his own life. It was a perfectly natural
thought when I considered his nervousness, and his peculiar actions of the
evening before. I believe I exclaimed, 'It was a suicide!' almost without
realising that I was doing so. The commissioner looked at me sharply and
said that suicide was out of the question, that it was an evident case of
murder. He questioned me as to Siders' affairs, of which I told only what
every one here in the village knew. I did not consider it incumbent upon
me to disclose to the police the disgrace of the man's early life. I had
been obliged to hurt him cruelly enough because of that, and I saw no
necessity for blackening his name, now that he was dead. Also, as
according to what the commissioner said, it was a case of murder for
robbery, I did not wish to go into any details of our connection with
Siders that would cause the name of my ward to be mentioned. After a few
more questions the commissioner left me. I was busy all the afternoon, and
did not return to my home until later than usual. I found my aunt somewhat
worried because Miss Roemer had left the house immediately after our early
dinner, and had not yet returned. We both knew the girl to be still
grieving over her broken engagement, and we dreaded the effect this last
dreadful news might have on her. We supposed, however, that she had gone
to spend the afternoon with a friend, and were rather glad to be spared
the necessity of telling her at once what had happened. I had scarcely
finished my supper, when the door bell rang, and to my astonishment the
Mayor of Grunau was announced, accompanied by the same Police Commissioner
who had visited me in my office that morning. The Mayor was an old friend
of mine and his deeply grave face showed me that something serious had
occurred. It was indeed serious! and for some minutes I could not grasp
the meaning of the commissioner's questions. Finally I realised with a
tremendous shock that I—I myself was under suspicion of the murder
of John Siders. The description given by the old servant of the man who
had visited Siders the evening before, the very clothes that I wore, my
hat and the trousers spotted by the purple ink, led to my identification
as this mysterious visitor. The servant had let me in but she had not seen
me go out.</p>
<p>"Then I discovered—when confronted suddenly with my own revolver
which had been found on the floor of the room, some distance from the body
of the dead man, that this same revolver had been identified as mine by my
ward, Eleonora Roemer, who had been to the police station at G——
in the early afternoon hours. Some impulse of loyalty to her dead lover,
some foolish feminine fear that I might have spoken against him in my
earlier interviews with the commissioner had driven the girl to this step.
A few questions sufficed to draw from her the story of her secret
engagement, of its ending, and of my quarrel with John. I will say for her
that I am certain she did not realise that all these things were
calculated to cast suspicion on me. The poor girl is too unused to the
ways of police courts, to the devious ways of the law, to realise what she
was doing. The sight of my revolver broke her down completely and she
acknowledged that it was mine. That is all. Except that I was arrested and
brought here as you see. I told the commissioner the story of my visit to
John Siders exactly as I told it to you, but it was plain to be seen that
he did not believe me. It is plain to be seen also, that he is firmly
convinced of my guilt and that he is greatly satisfied with himself at
having traced the criminal so soon."</p>
<p>"And yet he was not quite satisfied," said Muller gently. "You see that he
has sent to the Capital for assistance on the case." Muller felt this
little untruth to be justified for the sake of the honour of the police
force.</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm surprised at that," said Graumann in his former tone of
weariness. "What do you think you will be able to do about it?"</p>
<p>"I must ask questions here and there before I can form a plan of
campaign," replied Muller. "What do you think about it yourself? Who do
you think killed Siders?"</p>
<p>"How can I know who it was? I only know it is not I," answered Graumann.</p>
<p>"Did he have any enemies?"</p>
<p>"No, none that I knew of, and he had few friends either."</p>
<p>"You knew there was a sum of money missing from his rooms?"</p>
<p>"Yes, the sum they named to me was just about the price that he had
received for the sale of his property here. They did me the honour to
believe that if I had taken the money at all, I had done so merely as a
blind. At least they did not take me for a thief as well as a murderer. If
the money is really missing, it was for its sake he was murdered I
suppose."</p>
<p>"Yes, that would be natural," said Muller. "And you know nothing of any
other relations or connections that the man may have had? Anything that
might give us a clue to the truth?"</p>
<p>"No, nothing. He stood so alone here, as far as I knew. Of course, as I
told you, his actions of the evening before having been so peculiar—and
as I knew that he was not in the happiest frame of mind—I naturally
thought of suicide at once, when they told me that he had been found shot
dead. Then they told me that the appearance of the room and many other
things, proved suicide to have been out of the question. I know nothing
more about it. I cannot think any more about it. I know only that I am
here in danger of being sentenced for the crime that I never committed—that
is enough to keep any man's mind busy." He leaned back with an intense
fatigue in every line of his face and figure.</p>
<p>Muller rose from his seat. "I am afraid I have tired you, Mr. Graumann,"
he said, "but it was necessary that I should know all that you had to tell
me. Try and rest a little now and meanwhile be assured that I am doing all
I can to find out the truth of this matter. As far as I can tell now I do
not believe that you have killed John Siders. But I must find some further
proofs that will convince others as well as myself. If it is of any
comfort to you, I can tell you that during a long career as police
detective I have been most astonishingly fortunate in the cases I have
undertaken. I am hoping that my usual good luck will follow me here also.
I am hoping it for your sake."</p>
<p>The man on the cot took the hand the detective offered him and pressed it
firmly. "You will let me know as soon as you have found anything—anything
that gives me hope?"</p>
<p>"I will indeed. And now save your strength and do not worry. I will help
you if it is in my power."</p>
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