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THE CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET .......................................................................................................1

Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner ..............................................................................................1

Joseph Muller, Secret Service detective of the Imperial Austrian police, is one of the great experts in his

profession. In personality he differs greatly from other famous detectives. He has neither the impressive

authority of Sherlock Holmes, nor the keen brilliancy of Monsieur Lecoq. Muller is a small, slight,

plainlooking man, of indefinite age, and of much humbleness of mien. A naturally retiring, modest

disposition, and two external causes are the reasons for Muller's humbleness of manner, which is his chief

characteristic. One cause is the fact that in early youth a miscarriage of justice gave him several years in

prison, an experience which cast a stigma on his name and which made it impossible for him, for many years

after, to obtain honest employment. But the world is richer, and safer, by Muller's early misfortune. For it was

this experience which threw him back on his own peculiar talents for a livelihood, and drove him into the

police force. Had he been able to enter any other profession, his genius might have been stunted to a mere

Then, the red tape and bureaucratic etiquette which attaches to every governmental department, puts the

secret service men of the Imperial police on a par with the lower ranks of the subordinates. Muller's official

rank is scarcely much higher than that of a policeman, although kings and councillors consult him and the

Police Department realises to the full what a treasure it has in him. But official red tape, and his early

misfortune ... prevent the giving of any higher official standing to even such a genius. Born and bred to such

conditions, Muller understands them, and his natural modesty of disposition asks for no outward honours,

asks for nothing but an income sufficient for his simple needs, and for aid and opportunity to occupy himself

Joseph Muller's character is a strange mixture. The kindesthearted man in the world, he is a human

bloodhound when once the lure of the trail has caught him. He scarcely eats or sleeps when the chase is on,

he does not seem to know human weakness nor fatigue, in spite of his frail body. Once put on a case his mind

delves and delves until it finds a clue, then something awakes within him, a spirit akin to that which holds the

bloodhound nose to trail, and he will accomplish the apparently impossible, he will track down his victim

when the entire machinery of a great police department seems helpless to discover anything. The high chiefs

and commissioners grant a condescending permission when Muller asks, "May I do this? ... or may I handle

this case this way?" both parties knowing all the while that it is a farce, and that the department waits helpless

until this humble little man saves its honour by solving some problem before which its intricate machinery

This call of the trail is something that is stronger than anything else in Muller's mentality, and now and then it

brings him into conflict with the department, ... or with his own better nature. Sometimes his unerring instinct

discovers secrets in high places, secrets which the Police Department is bidden to hush up and leave

untouched. Muller is then taken off the case, and left idle for a while if he persists in his opinion as to the true

facts. And at other times, Muller's own warm heart gets him into trouble. He will track down his victim,

driven by the power in his soul which is stronger than all volition; but when he has this victim in the net, he

will sometimes discover him to be a much finer, better man than the other individual, whose wrong at this

particular criminal's hand set in motion the machinery of justice. Several times that has happened to Muller,

and each time his heart got the better of his professional instincts, of his practical commonsense, too,

perhaps, ... at least as far as his own advancement was concerned, and he warned the victim, defeating his

own work. This peculiarity of Muller's character caused his undoing at last, his official undoing that is, and

compelled his retirement from the force. But his advice is often sought unofficially by the Department, and to

those who know, Muller's hand can be seen in the unravelling of many a famous case.

The following stories are but a few of the many interesting cases that have come within the experience of this

great detective. But they give a fair portrayal of Muller's peculiar method of working, his looking on himself

as merely an humble member of the Department, and the comedy of his acting under "official orders" when

The attendant disappeared, and the commissioner looked up at the clock. It was just striking eleven, but the

fellow official who was to relieve him at that hour had not yet appeared. And if this should chance to be a

new case, he would probably be obliged to take it himself. The commissioner was not in a very good humour

as he sat back to receive the young man who entered the room in the wake of the attendant. The stranger was

a sturdy youth, with an unintelligent, goodnatured face. He twisted his soft hat in his hands in evident

The commissioner sat up and looked interested. He knew Fellner personally and liked him. "What have you

"Yes, sir. I saw him during the night and the key is in the lock on the inside."

The commissioner had his hat in his hand when the colleague who was to relieve him appeared. "Good and

cold out today!" was the latter's greeting. Horn answered with an ironical: "Then I suppose you'll be glad if I

relieve you of this case. But I assure you I wouldn't do it if it wasn't Fellner. Goodbye. Oh, and one thing

Horn opened the door and passed on into the adjoining room, accompanied by Johann. The commissioner

halted a moment as his eyes fell upon a little man who sat in the corner reading a newspaper. "Hello, Muller;

"Well, come with me, then. If this should turn out to be anything serious, we may need you."

The three men entered one of the cabs waiting outside the police station. As they rattled through the streets,

Commissioner Horn continued his examination of the, valet. "When did you see your master last?"

"No, it is not, sir," he growled. "I only did it this time because I was anxious about the master. He's been so

worked up and nervous the last few days. Last night I went to the theatre, as I always do Saturday evenings.

When I returned, about halfpast ten it was, I knocked at the door of his bedroom. He didn't answer, and I

walked away softly, so as not to disturb him in case he'd gone to sleep already. The hall was dark, and as I

went through it I saw a ray of light coming from the keyhole of the Professor's study. That surprised me,

because he never worked as late as that before. I thought it over a moment, then I crept up and looked through

"I didn't dare, sir. The Professor never wanted to be disturbed when he was writing."

"I got up at the usual time this morning, set the breakfast table, and then knocked at the Professor's bedroom

door to waken him. He didn't answer, and I thought he might want to sleep, seeing as it was Sunday, and he

was up late last night. So I waited until ten o'clock. Then I knocked again and tried the door, but it was

locked. That made me uneasy, because he never locked his bedroom door before. I banged at the door and

Horn was evidently as alarmed as was the young valet. But Muller's cheeks were flushed and a flash of secret

joy, of pleasurable expectation, brightened his deepset, grey eyes. He sat quite motionless, but every nerve

in his body was alive and tingling. The humblelooking little man had become quite another and a decidedly

"Nearly everybody," answered Muller gently, as the cab stopped before an attractive little villa surrounded by

its own garden, as were most of the houses in this quiet, aristocratic part of the town.

The house was two stories high, but the upper windows were closed and tightly curtained. This upper story

was the apartment occupied by the owner of the house, who was now in Italy with his invalid wife. Otherwise

the dainty little villa, built in the fashionable Nuremberg style, with heavy wooden doors and

lozengedpaned windows, had no occupants except Professor Fellner and his servant. With its graceful

outlines and wellplanned garden, the dwelling had a most attractive appearance. Opposite it was the broad

avenue known as the Promenade, and beyond this were open fields. To the right and to the left were similar

Dummel opened the door and the three men entered the house. The commissioner and the valet went in first,

Muller following them more slowly. His sharp eyes glanced quickly over the coloured tiles of the flooring,

over the white steps and the carpeted hallway beyond. Once he bent quickly and picked up something, then

he walked on with his usual quiet manner, out of which every trace of excitement had now vanished.

The dull winter sun seemed only to make the gloom of the dark vestibule more visible. Johann turned up the

light, and Horn, who had visited the Professor several times and knew the situation of the rooms, went at

once to the heavy, carved and iron trimmed door of the study. He attempted to open the door, but it resisted

all pressure. The heavy key was in the inner side of the big lock with its medieval iron ornamentation. But the

key was turned so that the lower part of the lock was free, a round opening of unusual size. Horn made sure

"You are right," he said to the valet, "the door is locked from the inside. We'll have to go through the

bedroom. Johann, bring me a chisel or a hatchet. Muller, you stay here and open the door when the doctor

Muller nodded. Johann disappeared, returning in a few moments with a small hatchet, and followed the

commissioner through the diningroom. It was an attractive apartment with its high wooden paneling and its

dainty breakfast table. But a slight shiver ran through the commissioner's frame as he realised that some

misfortune, some crime even might be waiting for them on the other side of the closed door. The bedroom

door also was locked on the inside, and after some moments of knocking and calling, Horn set the hatchet to

With a cracking and tearing of wood the bedroom door fell open, and in the same moment Muller and the

physician passed through the diningroom. Johann hurried into the bedroom to open the windowshutters,

and the others gathered in the doorway. A single look showed each of the men that the bed was untouched,

and they passed on through the room. The door from the bedroom to the study stood open. In the latter room

the shutters were tightly closed, and the lamp had long since gone out. But sufficient light fell through the

open bedroom door for the men to see the figure of the Professor seated at his desk, and when Johann had

opened the shutters, it was plain to all that the silent figure before them was that of a corpse.

"Heart disease, probably," murmured the physician, as he touched the icy forehead. Then he felt the pulse of

the stiffened hand from which the pen had fallen in the moment of death, raised the drooping head and lifted

The others looked on in silence. Horn was very pale, and his usually calm face showed great emotion. Johann

seemed quite beside himself, the tears rolled down his cheeks unhindered. Muller stood without a sign of life,

his sallow face seemed made of bronze; he was watching and listening. He seemed to hear and see what no

one else could see or hear. He smiled slightly when the doctor spoke of "heart disease," and his eyes fell on

the revolver that lay near the dead man's hand on the desk. Then he shook his head, and then he started

suddenly. Horn noticed the movement; it was in the moment when the physician raised up the sunken figure

"Yes, that was it," replied the doctor. With the raising of the body the dead man's waistcoat fell back into its

usual position, and they could see a little round hole in his shirt. The doctor opened the shirt bosom and

pointed to a little wound in the Professor's left breast. There were scarcely three or four drops of blood

"It's strange that he should have found time to lay down the revolver before he died," remarked Horn. Johann

put out his hand and raised the weapon before Horn could prevent him. "Leave that pistol where it was,"

The doctor turned quickly. "You think it was a murder?" he exclaimed. "The doors were both locked on the

"I don't pretend to see him myself yet. But our rule is to leave things as they are discovered, until the official

"Yes, sir. One more, that is, for the third was lost some months ago. The Professor's own key ought to be in

Muller went into the bedroom and soon returned with the key, which he handed to the commissioner. The

detective had found something else in the little table drawer a tortoiseshell hairpin, which he had carefully

Horn turned to the servant again. "How many times have you been out of the apartment since last night?"

Horn and Muller both looked the young man over very carefully. He seemed perfectly innocent, and their

suspicion that he might have turned the key in pretense only, soon vanished. It would have been a foolish

suspicion anyway. If he were in league with the murderer, he could have let the latter escape with much more

safety during the night. Horn let his eyes wander about the rooms again, and said slowly: "Then the murderer

Johann had laid the pistol down again. Muller stretched forth his hand and took it up. He looked at it a

moment, then handed it to the commissioner. "We have to do with a murder here. There was not a shot fired

from this revolver, for every chamber is still loaded. And there is no other weapon in sight," said the detective

"Yes, he was murdered. This revolver is fully loaded. Let us begin the search at once." Horn was more

Johann looked about in alarm, but when he saw the others beginning to peer into every corner and every

cupboard, he himself joined in the manhunt. A quarter of an hour later, the four men relinquished their

"Doctor, will you have the kindness to report to the head Commissioner of Police, and to order the taking

away of the body? We will look about for some motive for this murder in the meantime," said Horn, as he

"But what do you think about it you, who have the gift of seeing more than other people see, even if it does

"Muller, Muller, you must keep better watch over your imagination and your tongue! It is a dangerous thing

to spread rumours about persons high in favor with the Archduke. But you had better tell me what you think

about this affair," continued the doctor, pointing back towards the room they had just left.

"Aha! you are romancing again. Well, they won't be so sensitive about this matter, but take care that you

don't make a mistake again, my dear Muller. It would be likely to cost you your position, don't forget that."

The doctor left the house. Muller smiled bitterly as he closed the door behind him, and murmured to himself:

"Indeed, I do not forget it, and that is why I shall take this matter into my own hands. But the Kniepp case is

When he returned to the study he saw Johann sitting quietly in a corner, shaking his head, as if trying to

understand it all. Horn was bending over a sheet of writing paper which lay before the dead man. Fellner

must have been busy at his desk when the bullet penetrated his heart. His hand in dying had let fall the pen,

which had drawn a long black mark across the bottom of the sheet. One page of the paper was covered with a

"He challenged me pistols it means life or death. My enemy is very bitter. But I am not ready to die yet.

And as I know that I would be the one to fall, I have refused the duel. That will help me little, for his revenge

will know how to find me. I dare not be a moment without a weapon now his threats on my refusal let me

fear the worst. I have an uncanny presentiment of evil. I shall leave here tomorrow. With the excuse of

having some pressing family affair to attend to, I have secured several days' leave. Of course I do not intend

to return. I am hoping that you will come here and break up my establishment in my stead. I will tell you

everything else when I see you. I am in a hurry now, for there is a good deal of packing to do. If anything

should happen to me, you will know who it is who is responsible for my death. His name is "

Muller and Horn looked at each other in silence, then they turned their eyes again toward the dead man.

"He was a coward," said the detective coldly, and turned away. Horn repeated mechanically, "A coward!" and

his eyes also looked down with a changed expression upon the handsome, softfeatured face, framed in curly

blond hair, that lay so silent against the chairback. Many women had loved this dead man, and many men

The commissioner and Muller continued their researches in silence and with less interest than before. They

found a heap of loose ashes in the bedroom stove. Letters and other trifles had been burned there. Muller

raked out the heap very carefully, but the writing on the few pieces of paper still left whole was quite

illegible. There were several envelopes in the wastebasket, but all of them were dated several months back.

The letter written by the murdered man was sufficient proof that his death had been an act of vengeance. But

who was it who had carried out this secret, terrible deed? The victim had not been allowed the time to write

Horn took the letter into his keeping. Then he left the room, followed by Muller and the valet, to look about

the rest of the house as far as possible. This was not very far, for the second story was closed off by a tall iron

"Has it ever happened that any one got into the house from this side door without your knowing it?"

"No, sir. The garden has a high wall around it. And there is extra protection on the side toward the

"We never use the key for that, sir. It has a trick lock that you can't open unless you know how."

"You said you went to the theatre yesterday evening. Did your master give you permission to go?"

"Yes, sir. It's about a year now that he gave me money for a theatre ticket every Saturday evening. He was

"Did you come into the house last night by the front door, or through the garden?"

"No, sir. I didn't notice anything unusual. We shut the side door, the garden door, every evening, also. It was

closed yesterday and I found the key we've only got one key to the garden door in the same place where I

"Yes, sir; the Professor told me. He'd go out in the evening sometimes, too, I suppose, and he wanted to be

"No one else, sir. It's nearly a year now that we've been alone in the house. Who else should know of it?"

"When you looked through the keyhole last night, are you sure that the Professor was still alive?"

"Why, yes, sir; of course I couldn't say so surely. I thought he was reading or writing, but oh, dear Lord! there

he was this morning, nearly twelve hours later, in just the same position." Johann shivered at the thought that

"He must have been dead when you came home. Don't you think the sound of that shot would have wakened

"Yes, sir, I think likely, sir," murmured Johann. "But if the murderer could get into the house, how could he

"There must have been a third key of which you knew nothing," answered Horn, turning to Muller again. "It's

stranger still how Fellner could have been shot, for the windowshutters were fastened and quite uninjured,

As he said these words, Horn looked sharply at his subordinate; but Muller's calm face did not give the

slightest clue to his thoughts. The experienced police commissioner was pleased and yet slightly angered at

this behaviour on the part of the detective. He knew that it was quite possible that Muller had already formed

a clear opinion about the case, and that he was merely keeping it to himself. And yet he was glad to see that

the little detective had apparently learned a lesson from his recent mistake concerning the death of Mrs.

Kniepp that he had somewhat lost confidence in his hitherto unerring instinct, and did not care to express

any opinion until he had studied the matter a little closer. The commissioner was just a little bit vain, and just

Muller shrugged his shoulders at the remark of his superior, and the two men stood silent, thinking over the

case, as the Chief of Police appeared, accompanied by the doctor, a clerk, and two hospital attendants. The

chief commissioner received the report of what had been discovered, while the corpse was laid on a bier to be

Muller handed the commissioner his hat and cane and helped him into his overcoat. Horn noticed that the

detective himself was making no preparations to go out. "Aren't you coming with us?" he asked, astonished.

"I hope the gentlemen will allow me to remain here for a little while," answered Muller modestly.

"But you know that we will have to close the apartment officially," said Horn, his voice sharpening in his

"Don't let them disturb you, my dear Muller; we will allow your keenness all possible leeway here." The

Head of Police spoke with calm politeness, but Muller started and shivered. The emphasis on the "here"

showed him that even the head of the department had been incensed at his suggestion that the beautiful Mrs.

Kniepp had died of her own free will. It had been his assertion of this which, coming to the ears of the

bereaved husband, had enraged and embittered him, and had turned the power of his influence with the high

authorities against the detective. Muller knew how greatly he had fallen from favour in the Police

Department, and the words of his respected superior showed him that he was still in disgrace.

But the strange, quiet smile was still on his lips as, with his usual humble deference, he accompanied the

others to the sidewalk. Before the commissioners left the house, the Chief commanded Johann to answer

"He'll find something, you may be sure," said Horn, as they drove off in the cab.

"Let him that's his business. He is officially bound to see more than the rest of us," smiled the older official

goodnaturedly. "But in spite of it, he'll never get any further than the vestibule; he'll be making bows to us

"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 hard on him to be transferred to this small town, now that he is growing old.

"He never will," replied the Chief. "He may win more fame he may still go on winning triumphs, but he

will go on in a circle; he'll never forge ahead as his capabilities deserve. Muller's peculiarity is that his genius

for the man has undeniable genius will always make concessions to his heart just at the moment when he

Horn looked up at his superior, whom, in spite of his good nature, he knew to be a sharp, keen, capable police

official. "I forgot you have known Muller longer than the rest of us," he said. "What was that you said about

"I said that it is one of those inconvenient hearts that will always make itself noticeable at the wrong time.

Muller's heart has played several tricks on the police department, which has, at other times, profited so well

by his genius. He is a strange mixture. While he is on the trail of the criminal he is like the bloodhound. He

does not seem to know fatigue nor hunger; his whole being is absorbed by the excitement of the chase. He

has done many a brilliant service to the cause of justice, he has discovered the guilt, or the innocence, of

many in cases where the official department was as blind as Justice is proverbially supposed to be. Joseph

Muller has become the idol of all who are engaged in this weary business of hunting down wrong and

punishing crime. He is without a peer in his profession. But he has also become the idol of some of the

criminals. For if he discovers (as sometimes happens) that the criminal is a good sort after all, he is just as

likely to warn his prey, once he has all proofs of the guilt and a conviction is certain. Possibly this is his way

of taking the sting from his irresistible impulse to ferret out hidden mysteries. But it is rather inconvenient,

and he has hurt himself by it hurt himself badly. They were tired of his peculiarities at the capital, and

wanted to make his years an excuse to discharge him. I happened to get wind of it, and it was my weakness

"Yes, you brought him here when they transferred you to this town, I remember now."

"I'm afraid it wasn't such a good thing for him, after all. Nothing ever happens here, and a gift like Muller's

needs occupation to keep it fresh. I'm afraid his talents will dull and wither here. The man has grown

perceptibly older in this inaction. His mind is like a highbred horse that needs exercise to keep it in good

"No, there's not much chance for a police detective to get rich. I've often wondered why Muller never had the

energy to set up in business for himself. He might have won fame and fortune as a private detective. But he's

gone on plodding along as a police subordinate, and letting the department get all the credit for his most

brilliant achievements. It's a sort of incorrigible humbleness of nature and then, you know, he had the

"The stigma stuck to his name, and finally drove him to take up this work. I don't think Muller realised, when

he began, just how greatly he is gifted. I don't know that he really knows now. He seems to do it because he

While the commissioners drove through the streets to the police station the man of whom they were speaking

"How long is it since the Professor began to give you money to go to the theatre 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

Muller took a little calendar from his pocket and turned its pages. "It was May sixteenth," volunteered the

"Quite right. May sixteenth was a Saturday. And since then you have gone to the theatre every Saturday

"No, sir; the Professor did not like animals. But he must have been thinking about buying a dog, because I

"Somebody might have left it there. One usually buys the dog first and then the whip."

"Yes, sir. But there wasn't anybody here to forget it. The Professor did not receive any visits at that time."

Oh, then, we won't bother about the whip. Can you tell me of any ladies with whom the Professor was

"Ladies? I don't know of any. Of course, the Professor was invited out a good deal, and most of the other

Johann thought the matter over, then confessed that he knew very little about writing and couldn't read

handwriting very well anyway. But he remembered to have seen a letter now and then, a little letter with a

"Have you any of these envelopes?" asked Muller. But Johann told him that in spite of his usual carelessness

in such matters, Professor Fellner never allowed these letters to lie about his room.

Finally the detective came out with the question to which he had been leading up. "Did your master ever

Johann looked extremely stupid at this moment. His lack of intelligence and a certain crude sensitiveness in

his nature made him take umbrage at what appeared to him a very unnecessary question. He answered it with

a shake of the head only. Muller smiled at the young man's illconcealed indignation and paid no attention to

"I never saw her. The only way I knew about her was when the Professor's friends spoke of her."

"Yes, sir." Muller took his hat and coat and followed the valet into the garden. 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't you remember seeing any footsteps in the

garden, leading away from the house?" asked Muller, as they stood on the snowcovered paths.

Johann thought it over carefully, then said decidedly, "No. At least I don't remember anything of the kind.

There was a strong wind yesterday anyway, and the snow drifts easily out here. No tracks could remain clear

The men walked down the straight path which led to the little gate in the high wall. This gate had a secret

lock, which, however, was neither hard to find nor hard to open. Muller managed it with ease, and looked out

through the gate on the street beyond. The broad promenade, deserted now in its winter snowiness, led away

in one direction to the heart of the city. In the other it ended in the main county highroad. This was a broad,

wellmade turnpike, with footpath and rows of trees. A halfhour's walk along it would bring one to the little

village clustering about the Archduke's favourite hunting castle. There was a little railway station near the

Muller did not intend to burden his brain with unnecessary facts, so with his usual thoroughness he left the

further investigation of what lay beyond the gate, until he had searched the garden thoroughly. But even for

his sharp eyes there was no trace to be found that would tell of the night visit of the murderer.

"In the first pail on the right hand side. But be careful, sir; there's a nail sticking out of the post there. The

The warning came too late. Muller's sleeve tore apart with a sharp sound just as Johann spoke, for the

detective had already plunged his hand into the pail. The bottom of the bucket was easy to reach, as this one

hung much lower than the others. Looking regretfully at the rent in his coat, Muller asked for needle and

"Oh, don't bother about sewing it; I'll lend you one of mine," exclaimed Johann. "I'll carry this one home for

you, for I'm not going to stay here alone I'd be afraid. I'm going to a friend's house. You can find me there

any time you need me. You'd better take the key of the apartment and give it to the police."

The detective had no particular fondness for the task of sewing, and he was glad to accept the valet's friendly

offering. He was rather astonished at the evident costliness of the garment the young man handed him, and

when he spoke of it, the valet could not say enough in praise of the kindness of his late master. He pulled out

several other articles of clothing, which, like the overcoat, had been given to him by Fellner. Then he packed

up a few necessities and announced himself as ready to start. He insisted on carrying the torn coat, and Muller

permitted it after some protest. They carefully closed the apartment and the house, and walked toward the

As they crossed the square, it suddenly occurred to Johann that he had no tobacco. He was a great smoker,

and as he had many days of enforced idleness ahead of him, he ran into a tobacco shop to purchase a

Muller waited outside, and his attention was attracted by a large grey Ulmer hound which was evidently

waiting for some one within the shop. The dog came up to him in a most friendly manner, allowed him to pat

its head, rubbed up against him with every sign of pleasure, and would not leave him even when he turned to

go after Johann came out of the shop. Still accompanied by the dog, the two men walked on quite a distance,

when a sharp whistle was heard behind them, and the dog became uneasy. He would not leave them,

however, until a powerful voice called "Tristan!" several times. Muller turned and saw that Tristan's master

It was impossible to recognise his face at this distance, for the snowflakes were whirling thickly in the air.

But Muller was not particularly anxious to recognise the stranger, as he had his head full of more important

When Johann had given his new address and remarked that he would call for his coat soon, the men parted,

It is but a few days since we announced to our readers the sad news of the death of a beautiful woman, whose

leap from her window, while suffering from the agonies of fever, destroyed the happiness of an unusually

harmonious marriage. And now we are compelled to print the news of another equally sad as well as

mysterious occurrence. This time, Fate has demanded the sacrifice of the life of a capable and promising

young man. Professor Paul Fellner, a member of the faculty of our college, was found dead at his desk

yesterday morning. It was thought at first that it was a case of suicide, for doors and windows were carefully

closed from within and those who discovered the corpse were obliged to break open one of the doors to get to

it. And a revolver was found lying close at hand, upon the desk. But this revolver was loaded in every

chamber and there was no other weapon to be seen in the room. There was a bullet wound in the left breast of

the corpse, and the bullet had penetrated the heart. Death must have been instantaneous.

The most mysterious thing about this strange affair was discovered during the autopsy. It is incredible, but it

is absolutely true, as it is vouched for under oath by the authorities who were present, that the bullet which

was found in the heart of the dead man was made of solid gold. And yet, strange as is this circumstance, it is

still more a riddle how the murderer could have escaped from the room where he had shot down his victim,

for the keys in both doors were in the locks from the inside. We have evidently to do here with a criminal of

very unusual cleverness and it is therefore not surprising that there has been no clue discovered thus far. The

The entire city was in excitement over the mystery, even the police station was shaken out of its usual

businesslike indifference. There was no other topic of conversation in any of the rooms but the mystery of

the golden bullet and the doors closed from the inside. The attendants and the policeman gathered whispering

in the corners, and strangers who came in on their own business forgot it in their excitement over this new

That afternoon Muller passed through Horn's office with a bundle of papers, on his way to the inner office

occupied by his patron, Chief of Police Bauer. Horn, who had avoided Muller since yesterday although he

was conscious of a freshened interest in the man, raised his head and watched the little detective as he walked

across the room with his usual quiet tread. The commissioner saw nothing but the usual humble businesslike

manner to which he was accustomed then suddenly something happened that came to him like a distinct

shock. Muller stopped in his walk so suddenly that one foot was poised in the air. His bowed head was

thrown back, his face flushed to his forehead, and the papers trembled in his hands. He ran the fingers of his

unoccupied hand through his hair and murmured audibly, "That dog! that dog!" It was evident that some

thought had struck him with such insistence as to render him oblivious of his surroundings. Then he finally

realised where he was, and walked on quickly to Bauer's room, his face still flushed, his hands trembling.

But the commissioner, with his now greater knowledge of the little man's gifts and past, could not forget the

incident. During the afternoon he found himself repeating mechanically, "That dog that dog." But the words

When the commissioner left for his home late that afternoon, Muller reentered the office to lay some papers

on the desk. His duties over, he was about to turn out the gas, when his eye fell on the blotter on Horn's desk.

He looked at it more closely, then burst into a loud laugh. The same two words were scribbled again and

again over the white surface, but it was not the name of any fair maiden, or even the title of a love poem; it

Several days had passed since the discovery of the murder. Fellner had been buried and his possessions taken

into custody by the authorities until his heirs should appear. The dead man's papers and affairs were in

excellent condition and the arranging of the inheritance had been quickly done. Until the heirs should take

possession, the apartment was sealed by the police. There was nothing else to do in the matter, and the

commission appointed to make researches had discovered nothing of value. The murderer might easily feel

The day after the publication of the article we have quoted, Muller appeared in Bauer's office and asked for a

"In the Fellner case?" asked the Chief with his usual calm, and Muller replied in the affirmative.

Two days later he returned, bringing with him nothing but a single little notice.

"Marie Dorn, now Mrs. Kniepp," was one line in his notebook, and beside it some dates. The latter showed

that Marie Dorn had for two years past been the wife of the Archducal ForestCouncillor, Leo Kniepp.

And for one year now Professor Paul Fellner had been in the town, after having applied for his transference

from the university in the capital to this place, which was scarce half an hour's walk distant from the home of

And Fellner had made his home in the quietest quarter of the city, in that quarter which was nearest the

Archducal hunting castle. He had lived very quietly, had not cultivated the acquaintance of the ladies of the

town, but was a great walker and bicycle rider; and every Saturday evening since he had been alone in the

house, he had sent his servant to the theatre. And it was on Saturday evenings that ForestCouncillor Kniepp

went to his Bowling Club at the other end of the city, and did not return until the last train at midnight.

And during these evening hours Fellner's apartment was a convenient place for pleasant meetings; and

nothing prevented the Professor from accompanying his beautiful friend home through the quiet Promenade,

along the turnpike to the hunting castle. And Johann had once found a dogwhip in his master's roomand

Councillor Leo Kniepp, head of the Forestry Department, was the possessor of a beautiful Ulmer hound

Furthermore, in the little drawer of the bedside table in the murdered man's room, there had been found a

tortoiseshell hairpin; and in the corner of the vestibule of his house, a little motherofpearl glove button, of

the kind much in fashion that winter, because of a desire on the part of the ladies of the town to help the home

industry of the neighbourhood. Mrs. Marie Kniepp was one of the fashionable women of the town, and

several days before the Professor was murdered, this woman had thrown herself from the secondstory

window of her home, and her husband, whose passionate eccentric nature was well known, had been a

It was his deep grief at the loss of his beloved wife that had turned his hair grey and had drawn lines of

terrible sorrow in his face said gossip. But Muller, who did not know Kniepp personally although he had

been taking a great interest in his affairs for the last few days, had his own ideas on the subject, and he

decided to make the acquaintance of the Forest Councillor as soon as possible that is, after he had found out

Just a week after the murder, on Saturday evening therefore, the snow was whirling merrily about the gables

and cupolas of the Archducal hunting castle. The weathervanes groaned and the old trees in the park bent

their tall tops under the mad wind which swept across the earth and tore the protecting snow covering from

their branches. It was a stormy evening, not one to be out in if a man had a warm corner in which to hide.

An old peddler was trying to find shelter from the rapidly increasing storm under the lea of the castle wall. He

crouched so close to the stones that he could scarcely be seen at all, in spite of the light from the snow.

Finally he disappeared altogether behind one of the heavy columns which sprang out at intervals from the

magnificent wall. Only his head peeped out occasionally as if looking for something. His dark, thoughtful

eyes glanced over the little village spread out on one side of the castle, and over the railway station, its most

imposing building. Then they would turn back again to the entrance gate in the wall near where he stood. It

was a heavy ironbarred gate, its handsome ornamentation outlined in snow, and behind it the body of a large

The peddler stood for a long time motionless behind the pillar, then he looked at his watch. "It's nearly time,"

he murmured, and looked over towards the station again, where lights and figures were gathering.

At the same time the noise of an opening door was heard, and steps creaked over the snow. A man, evidently

a servant, opened the little door beside the great gate and held it for another man to pass out. "You'll come

"Come back here, Tristan," called the servant, pulling the dog in by his collar, as lie closed the door and

The Councillor took the path to the station. He walked slowly, with bowed head and uneven step. He did not

look like a man who was in the mood to join a merry crowd, and yet he was evidently going to his Club. "He

wants to show himself; he doesn't want to let people think that he has anything to be afraid of," murmured the

peddler, looking after him sharply. Then his eyes suddenly dimmed and a light sigh was heard, with another

murmur, "Poor man." The Councillor reached the station and disappeared within its door. The train arrived

and departed a few moments later. Kniepp must have really gone to the city, for although the man behind the

pillar waited for some little time, the Councillor did not return a contingency that the peddler had not

About half an hour after the departure of the train the watcher came out of his hiding place and walked

noisily past the gate. What he expected, happened. The dog rushed up to the bars, barking loudly, but when

the peddler had taken a silk muffler from the pack on his back and held it out to the animal, the noise ceased

and the dog's anger turned to friendliness. Tristan was quite gentle, put his huge head up to the bars to let the

The young man who had opened the door for the Councillor came out from a wing of the castle. The peddler

looked so frozen and yet so venerable that the youth had not the heart to turn him away. Possibly he was glad

"Yes, that's it; that's why I came. For I don't suppose there's much chance for any business with my cigar

"Cigar holders? Why, I don't know; perhaps we can make a trade. Come in with me. Why, just see how

"Oh, indeed he is. He usually won't allow anybody to touch him, except those whom he knows well. I'm

They had reached the door by this time. The peddler laid his hand on the servant's arm and halted a moment.

"These fevers come on quickly sometimes," remarked the old man wisely, and added: "This case interests the

entire neighbourhood and I will show you that I can be grateful for anything you may tell me of course,

only what a faithful servant could tell. It will interest my customers very much."

"You know all there is to know," said the valet, evidently disappointed that he had nothing to tell which could

win the peddler's gratitude. "There are no secrets about it. Everybody knows that they were a very happy

couple, and even if there was a little talk between them on that day, why it was pure accident and had nothing

"I've heard some things said. They even say that this quarrel was the reason for her death."

"It's stupid nonsense!" exclaimed the servant. The old peddler seemed to like the young man's honest

While they were talking, they had passed through a long corridor and the young man laid his hand on one of

"I know that," said the stranger, who seemed to be initiated into all the doings of this household. "And I am

an old man all I meant was that I would rather not have any of the other servants about."

"That would be a good idea. It isn't easy to talk, business before others," remarked the old man as they

entered the room. It was a comfortably furnished and cozily warm apartment. Only two people were there, an

old woman and a pretty young girl, who both looked up in astonishment as the men came in.

"Why, yes, you wanted a thimble, didn't you, Lena?" asked Nanette, and the cook beckoned to the peddler.

"Let's see what you've got there," she said in a friendly tone. The old man pulled out his wares from his pack;

thimbles and scissors, coloured ribbons, silks, brushes and combs, and many other trifles. When the women

had made their several selections they noticed that the old man was shivering with the cold, as he leaned

against the stove. Their sympathies were aroused in a moment. "Why don't you sit down?" asked Nanette,

pushing a chair towards him, and Lena rose to get him something warm from the kitchen.

The peddler threw a look at George, who nodded in answer. "He said he'd like to see the things they gave you

"Well, I'll get the things for you if you want me to," offered George and turned to leave the room. The door

had scarcely closed behind him when a change came over the peddler. His old head rose from its drooping

"Are you really fond of him?" he asked of the astonished Nanette, who stepped back a pace, stammering in

"Never mind that, my dear child, but just answer the questions I have to ask, and answer truthfully, or it

might occur to me to let your George know that he is not the first man you have loved."

The peddler laughed. "Oho, then he's jealous! All the better for me the Councillor was jealous too, wasn't

"The truth, therefore, you must tell me the truth, and get the others away, so I can speak to you alone. You

must do this or else I'll tell George about the handsome carpenter in Church street, or about Franz Schmid,

The girl sank back on her chair pale and trembling, while the peddler resumed his pose of a tired old man

leaning against the stove. When George returned with a large basket, Nanette had calmed herself sufficiently

"George, won't you please keep Lena out in the kitchen. Ask her to make some tea for us," asked Nanette

"I am particularly interested in the dead lady's gloves," said the peddler when they were alone again.

Nanette looked at him in surprise but was still too frightened to offer any remarks. She opened several boxes

and packages and laid a number of pairs of gloves on the table. The old man looked through them, turning

them over carefully. Then he shook his head: "There must be some more somewhere," he said. Nanette was

no longer astonished at anything he might say or do, so she obediently went through the basket again and

found a little box in which were several pair of grey suede gloves, fastened by bluish motherofpearl

"These are the ones I was looking for," said the peddler, putting the gloves in his pocket. Then he continued:

"I supposed she must have taken some one into her confidence. Well, and what do you think about the

"The Councillor was greatly excited and very unhappy when he discovered this affair, I suppose?"

"They tell me that he went about his duties just the same that he went away on business."

"It wasn't business this time, at least not professional business. But before that he did have to go away

"And it was then that your mistress was most interested in her lonely walks, eh?"

"Quite sure. He went two different times. I thought it was because he couldn't stand it here and wanted to see

"Good! Pull yourself together now. I'll send your George in to you and tell him you haven't been feeling well.

The peddler left the room and Nanette sank down dazed and trembling on the nearest chair. George found her

still pale, but he seemed to think it quite natural that she should have been overcome by the recollection of the

terrible death of her mistress. He gave the old man a most cordial invitation to return during the next few

days. The cook brought the peddler a cup of steaming tea, and purchased several trifles from him, before he

When the old man had reached a lonely spot on the road, about half way between the hunting castle and the

city, he halted, set down his pack, divested himself of his beard and his wig and washed the wrinkles from his

face with a handful of snow from the wayside. A quarter of an hour later, Detective Muller entered the

railway station of the city, burdened with a large grip. He took a seat in the night express which rolled out

As he was alone in his compartment, Muller gave way to his excitement, sometimes even murmuring

halfaloud the thoughts that rushed through his brain. "Yes, I am convinced of it, but can I find the proofs?"

the words came again and again, and in spite of the comfortable warmth in the compartment, in spite of his

He reached the capital at midnight and took a room in a small hotel in a quiet street. When he went out next

morning, the servants looked after him with suspicion, as in their opinion a man who spent most of the night

Muller went to police headquarters and looked through the arrivals at the hotels on the 21st of November.

The burial of Mrs. Kniepp had taken place on the 20th. Muller soon found the name he was looking for,

"Forest Councillor Leo Kniepp," in the list of guests at the Hotel Imperial. The detective went at once to the

Hotel Imperial, where he was already well known. It cost him little time and trouble to discover what he

Kniepp had asked for the address of a goldsmith, and had been directed to one of the shops which had the

best reputation in the city. He had been in the capital altogether for about twentyfour hours. He had the

Muller himself was deep in thought as he entered the train to return to his home, after a visit to the goldsmith

in question. He had a short interview with Chief of Police Bauer, who finally gave him the golden bullet and

An hour later, the chief of police and Muller stood in the garden of the house in which the murder had

occurred. Bauer had entered from the Promenade after Muller had shown him how to work the lock of the

little gate. Together they went up into the apartment, which was icy cold and uncanny in its loneliness. But

the two men did not appear to notice this, so greatly were they interested in the task that had brought them

there. First of all, they made a most minute examination of the two doors which had been locked. The keys

were still in both locks on the inside. They were big heavy keys, suitable for the tall massive heavilypaneled

and ironornamented doors. The entire villa was built in this heavy old German style, the favourite fashion of

When they had looked the locks over carefully, Muller lit the lamp that hung over the desk in the study and

closed the window shutters tight. Bauer had smiled at first as he watched his, protege's actions, but his smile

changed to a look of keen interest as he suddenly understood. Muller took his place in the chair before the

desk and looked over at the door of the vestibule, which was directly opposite him. "Yes, that's all right," he

Bauer had sat down on the sofa to watch the proceedings, now he sprang up with an exclamation: "Through

"Yes, yes, you do it." Even the usually indifferent old chief of police was breathing more hastily now. Muller

took a roll of paper and a small pistol out of his pocket. He unrolled the paper, which represented the figure

of a French soldier with a marked target on the breast. The detective pinned the paper on the back of the chair

"Yes, but it was turned so that the lower part of the hole was free. Johann saw the light streaming through and

could look into the room. If the murderer put the barrel of his pistol to this open part of the keyhole, the bullet

would have to strike exactly where the dead man sat. There would be no need to take any particular aim."

Muller gazed into space like a seer before whose mental eye a vision has arisen, and continued in level tones:

"Fellner had refused the duel and the murderer was crazed by his desire for revenge. He came here to the

house, he must have known just how to enter the place, how to reach the rooms, and he must have known

"Coward? Is a man a coward when he refuses to stand up to a maniac?" interrupted Bauer.

Muller came back to the present with a start and said calmly, "Fellner was a coward."

Muller nodded. "Yes, I do," he answered with a smile. "But I will tell you more only when I have all the

"Yes. But you will pardon me my present reticence, even towards you? I I don't want to be thought a

"As in the Kniepp case," repeated the little man with a strange smile. "So please allow me to go about it in

"May I now continue to unfold my theories?" Bauer nodded and Muller continued: "The criminal wanted

Muller nodded calmly. "It would have been nobler, perhaps, to have warned his victim of his approach, but it

might have all come to nothing then. The other could have called for help, could have barricaded himself in

his room, one crime might have been prevented, and another, more shameful one, would have gone

"Tomorrow you shall know everything, my kind friend. And now, let us make the trial. Please lock the door

Muller left the room, taking the pistol with him. Bauer locked the door. "Is this right?" he asked.

"Yes, I can see a wide curve of the room, taking in the entire desk. Please stand to one side now."

There was deep silence for a moment, then a slight sound as of metal on metal, then a report, and Muller

reentered the study through the bedroom. He found Bauer stooping over the picture of the French soldier.

There was a hole in the left breast, where the bullet, passing through, had buried itself in the back of the chair.

"Yes, it was all just as you said," began the chief of police, holding out his hand to Muller. "But why the

"Tomorrow, tomorrow," replied the detective, looking up at his superior with a glance of pleading.

They left the house together and in less than an hour's time Muller was again in the train rolling towards the

He went to the goldsmith's shop as soon as he arrived. The proprietor received him with eager interest and

Muller handed him the golden bullet. "Here is the golden object of which I spoke," said the detective, paying

no heed to the other's astonishment. The goldsmith opened a small locked drawer, took a ring from it and set

about an examination of the two little objects. When he turned to his visitor again, he was evidently satisfied

with what he had discovered. "These two objects are made of exactly the same sort of gold, of a peculiar old

French composition, which can no longer be produced in the same richness. The weight of the gold in the

"Would you be willing to take an oath on that if you were called in as an expert?"

"Good. And now will you read this over please, it contains the substance of what you told me yesterday.

Should I have made any mistakes, please correct them, for I will ask you to set your signature to it."

Muller handed several sheets of close writing to the goldsmith and the latter read aloud as follows: "On the

22nd of November, a gentleman came into my shop and handed me a wedding ring with the request that I

should make another one exactly like it. He was particularly anxious that the work should be done in two

days at the very latest, and also that the new ring, in form, colour, and in the engraving on the inside, should

be a perfect counterpart of the first. He explained his order by saying that his wife was ill, and that she was

grieving over the loss of her wedding ring which had somehow disappeared. The new ring could be found

somewhere as if by chance and the sick woman's anxiety would be over. Two days later, as arranged, the

"He left the shop, greatly satisfied with my work and apparently much relieved in his mind. But he left me

uneasy in spirit because I had deceived him. It had not been possible for me to reproduce exactly the

composition of the original ring, and as I believed that the work was to be done in order to comfort an invalid,

and I was getting no profit, but on the contrary a little extra work out of it, I made two new rings, lettered

them according to the original and gave them to my customer. The original ring I am now, on this seventh

day of December, giving to Mr. Joseph Mullet, who has shown me his legitimation as a member of the Secret

Police. I am willing to put myself at the service of the authorities if I am called for."

"You are willing to do this, aren't you?" asked Muller when the goldsmith had arrived at the end of the notice.

Several hours later, Muller reentered the police station in his home town and saw the windows of the chief's

apartment brilliantly lighted. "What's going on," he asked of Baner's servant who was just hurrying up the

Muller grumbled something and went on up to his own room. He knew it would not be pleasant for his patron

to be disturbed in the midst of entertaining his guests, but the matter was important and could not wait.

The detective laid off his outer garments, made a few changes in his toilet and putting the goldsmith's

declaration, with the ring and the bullet in his pocketbook, he went down to the first floor of the building, in

one wing of which was the apartment occupied by the Chief. He sent in his name and was told to wait in the

little study. He sat down quietly in a corner of the comfortable little room beyond which, in a handsomely

furnished smoking room, a number of guests sat playing cards. From the drawing rooms beyond, there was

It was all very attractive and comfortable, and the solitary man sat there enjoying once more the pleasant

sensation of triumph, of joy at the victory that was his alone and that would win him back all his old friends

and prestige. He was looking forward in agreeable anticipation to the explanations he had to give, when he

suddenly started and grew pale. His eyes dimmed a moment, then he pulled himself together and murmured:

"Won't you sit down here a little?" asked the friendly host. "You will find it much quieter in this room." He

pulled up a little table laden with cigars and wine, close to a comfortable armchair. Then, noticing Muller, he

continued with a friendly nod: "I'm glad they told you to wait in here. You must be frozen after your long

ride. If you will wait just a moment more, I will return at once and we can go into my office. And if you will

make yourself comfortable here, my dear Kniepp, I will send our friend Horn in to talk with you. He is bright

The chief chattered on, making a strenuous endeavour to appear quite harmless. But Kniepp, more apt than

ever just now to notice the actions of others, saw plainly that his genial host was concealing some excitement.

When the latter had gone out the Councillor looked after him, shaking his head. Then his glance fell by

chance on the quietlooking man who had risen at his entrance and had not sat down again.

"Please sit down," he said in a friendly tone, but the other did not move. His grey eyes gazed intently at the

Kniepp grew uneasy under the stare. "What is there that interests you so about me?" he asked in a tone that

"It belonged to my dead wife. I have worn it since she left me," answered the unhappy man with the same

iron calm with which he had, all these past days, been emphasizing his love for the woman he had lost. Yet

the question touched him unpleasantly and he looked more sharply at the strange man over in the corner. He

saw the latter's face turn pale and a shiver run through his form. A feeling of sympathy came over Kniepp and

he asked warmly: "Won't you take a glass of this wine? If you have been out in the cold it will be good for

you." His tone was gentle, almost cordial, but the man to whom he offered the refreshment turned from him

The Councillor rose suddenly from his chair. "Who are you? What news is it you bring?" he asked with a

Muller raised his head sharply as if his decision had been made, and his kind intelligent eyes grew soft as

they rested on the pale face of the stately man before him. "I belong to the Secret Police and I am compelled

to find out the secrets of others not because of my profession no, because my own nature compels me I

must do it. I have just come from Vienna and I bring the last of the proofs necessary to turn you over to the

courts. And yet you are a thousand times better than the coward who stole the honour of your wife and who

hid behind the shelter of the law and therefore, therefore, therefore " Muller's voice grew hoarse, then

Kniepp listened with pallid cheeks but without a quiver. Now he spoke, completing the other's words: "And

therefore you wish to save me from the prison or from the gallows? I thank you. What is your name?" The

"Muller, Muller," repeated the Councillor, as if he were particularly anxious to remember the name. He held

out his hand to the detective. "I thank you, ab, indeed, it thank you," he said with the first sign of emotion he

had shown, and then added low: "Do not fear that you will have trouble on my account. They can find me in

my home." With these words he turned away and sat down in his chair again. When Bauer entered the room a

"Now, Muller, I'm ready. Horn will be in in a moment, friend Kniepp; I know you will enjoy his chatter." The

chief led the way out of the room through another door. He could not see the ghastly pale face of the guest he

left behind him, for it was almost hidden in a cloud of thick smoke, but Muller turned back once more at the

threshold and caught a last grateful glance from eyes shadowed by deep sadness, as the Councillor raised his

"Dear Muller, you take so long to get at the point of the story! Don't you see you are torturing me?" This

outburst came from the Chief about an hour later. But the detective would not permit himself to be

interrupted in spinning out his story in his own way, and it was nearly another hour before Bauer knew that

The knowledge came as a terrible surprise to him. He was dazed almost. "And I, I've got to arrest him in

my own house?" he exclaimed as if horrified. And Muller answered calmly: "I doubt if you will have the

"Yes, I did! I have again warned an unfortunate. It's my nature, I can't seem to help it. But you will find the

Councillor Kniepp did keep his promise. When the police arrived at the hunting castle shortly after midnight,

"Well, Muller, you had better luck than you deserved this time," Bauer said a few days later. "This last trick

has made you quite impossible for the service. But you needn't worry about that, because the legacy Kniepp

The detective was as much surprised as anybody. He was as if dazed by his unexpected good fortune. The

day before he was a poor man bowed under the weight of sordid cares, and now he was the possessor of

twenty thousand gulden. And it was not his clever brain but his warm heart that had won this fortune for him.

His breast swelled with gratitude as he thought of the unhappy man whose life had been ruined by the

careless cruelty of others and his own passions. Again and again he read the letter which had been found on

Kniepp's desk, addressed to him and which had been handed out to him after the inquest.

You have saved me from the shame of an open trial. I thank you for this from the very depth of my heart. I

have left you a part of my own private fortune, that you may be a free man, free as a poor man never can be.

You can accept this present for it comes from the hand of an honest man in spite of all. Yes, I compelled my

wife to go to her death after I had compelled her to confess her shame to me, and I entered her lover's house

with the knowledge I had forced from her. When I looked through the keyhole and saw his false face before

me, I murdered him in cold blood. Then, that the truth might not be suspected, I continued to play the

sorrowing husband. I wore on my watch chain the ring I had had made in imitation of the one my wife had

worn. This original ring of hers, her wedding ring which she had defiled, I sent in the form of a bullet straight

to her lover's heart. Yes, I have committed a crime, but I feel that I am less criminal than those two whom I

judged and condemned, and whose sentence I carried out as I now shall carry out my own sentence with a

hand which will not tremble. That I can do this myself, I have you to thank for, you who can look into the

souls of men and recognise the most hidden motives, you who have not only a wonderful brain but a heart

The "Kniepp Case" was really, as Bauer had predicted, the last in Muller's public career. Even the

friendliness of the kind old chief could not keep him in his position after this new display of the unreliability

of his heart. But his quiet tastes allowed him to live in humble comfort from the income of his little fortune.

Every now and then letters or telegrams will come for him and he will disappear for several days. His few

friends believe that the police authorities, who refused to employ him publicly owing to his strange weakness,

cannot resist a private appeal to his talent whenever a particularly difficult case arises.