CHAPTER XI. IN THE POLICE COURT
Commissioner Von Riedau sat at his desk late that evening, finishingup some important papers. The quiet of an undisturbed night watch hadsettled down on the busy police station. An occasional low murmur ofwhispering voices floated up from the guardroom below, but otherwise thestillness was broken only by the scratching of the commissioner's penand the rustle of the paper as he turned the leaves. It was a silence socomplete that a light step on the stair outside and the gentle turningof the doorknob was heard distinctly and the commissioner looked up withalmost a start to see who was coming to his room so late. Joseph Mullerstood in the open door, awaiting his chief's official recognition.
"Oh! it's you, Muller. So late? Come in. Anything new?" asked thecommissioner. "Have you succeeded in drawing a confession from thatstubborn tramp yet? You've been interviewing him, I take it?"
"Yes, I had a long talk with Johann Knoll to-day."
"Well, that ought to help matters along. Has he confessed? What couldyou get out of him?"
"Nothing, or almost nothing more than he told us here in the station,sir.
"The man's incredibly stubborn," said the commissioner. "If he couldonly be made to understand that a free confession would benefit him morethan any one else! Well, don't look so down-cast about it, Muller. Thisthing is going to take longer than we thought at first for such a simpleaffair. But it's only a question of time until the man comes to hissenses. You'll get him to talk soon. You always do. And even if youshould fail here, this matter is not so very important, when we think ofall the other things you have done." Muller, standing front of the desk,shook his head sadly.
"But I haven't failed here, sir. More's the pity, I had almost said."
"What!" The commissioner looked up in surprise. "I thought you just saidthat you couldn't get anything more out of the accused."
"Knoll has told us all he knows, sir. He did not murder LeopoldWinkler."
"Hmph!" The commissioner's exclamation had a touch of acidity in it."Then, if he didn't murder him, who did?"
"Herbert Thorne, painter, living in the Thorne mansion in B. Street,Hietzing, now in Venice, Hotel Danieli. I ask for a warrant for hisarrest, sir, and orders to start for Venice on the early morning expressto-morrow."
"Muller!... what the deuce does all this mean?" The commissioner sprangup, his face flushing deeply as he leaned over the desk staring at thesad quiet face of the little man opposite. "What are you talking about?What does all this mean?"
"It means, sir, that we now know who committed the murder in Hietzing.Johann Knoll is innocent of anything more than the theft confessed byhimself. He took the purse and watch from the senseless form of the justmurdered man. The body was warm and still supple and the tramp supposedthe victim to be merely intoxicated. His story was in every respecttrue, sir."
The commissioner flushed still deeper. "And who do you say murdered thisman?"
"Herbert Thorne, sir.
"But Thorne! I know of him... have even a slight personal acquaintancewith him. Thorne is a rich man, of excellent family. Why should hemurder and rob an obscure clerk like this Winkler?"
"He did not rob him sir, Knoll did that."
"Oh, yes. But why should Thorne commit murder on this man who scarcelytouched his life at any point... It's incredible! Muller! Muller! areyou sure you are not letting your imagination run away with you again?It is a serious thing to make such an accusation against any man, muchless against a man in Thorne's position. Are you sure of what you aresaying?" The commissioner's excitement rendered him almost inarticulate.The shock of the surprise occasioned by the detective's words produced afeeling of irritation... a phenomenon not unusual in the minds of worthybut pedantic men of affairs when confronted by a startling new thought.
"I am quite sure of what I am saying, sir. I have just heard theconfession of one who might be called an accomplice of the murderer."
"It is incredible... incredible! An accomplice you say?... who isthis accomplice? Might it not be some one who has a grudge againstThorne--some one who is trying to purposely mislead you?"
"I am not so easily deceived or misled, sir. Every evidence points toThorne, and the confession I have just heard was made by a woman wholoves him, who has loved and cared for him from his babyhood. There isnot the slightest doubt of it, sir."
Muller moved a step nearer the desk, gazing firmly in the eyes of theexcited commissioner. The sadness on the detective's face had given wayto a gleam of pride that flushed his sallow cheek and brightened hisgrey eyes. It was one of those rare moments when Muller allowedhimself a feeling of triumph in his own power, in spite of officialsubordination and years of habit. His slight frame seemed to grow tallerand broader as he faced the Chief with an air of quiet determinationthat made him at once master of the situation. His voice was as low asever but it took on a keen incisive note that compelled attention, as hecontinued: "Herbert Thorne is the murderer of Leopold Winkler. Now thathe knows an innocent man is under accusation for his deed it is onlya question of time before he will come himself to confess. He willdoubtless make this confession to me, if I go to Venice to see him, andto bring him back to trial."
The commissioner could doubt no longer. Pedantic though he was,Commissioner von Riedau possessed sufficient insight to know the truthwhen it was presented to him with such conviction, and also sufficientinsight to have recognised the gifts of the man before him. "But why...why?" he murmured, sinking back into his chair, and shaking his head inbewilderment.
"Winkler was a miserable scoundrel, sir, a blackmailer. Thorne did onlywhat any decent man would have felt like doing in his place. But justicemust be done."
Muller's elation vanished and a deep sigh welled up from his heart. Thecommissioner nodded slowly, and glanced across the desk almost timidly.This case had appeared to be so simple, and suddenly the hidden deepsof a dark mystery had opened before him, deeps already sounded bythe little man here who had gone so quietly about his work while theofficial police, represented in this case by Commissioner von Riedauhimself, had sat calmly waiting for an innocent man to confess to acrime he had not committed! It was humiliating. The commissioner flushedagain and his eyes sank to the floor.
"Tell me what you know, Muller," he said finally.
Muller told the story of his experiences in the Thorne mansion, told ofthe slight clues which led him to take an interest in the house and itsinmates, until finally the truth began to glimmer up out of the depths.The commissioner listened with eager interest. "Then you believed thiselaborate yarn told by the tramp?" he interrupted once, at the beginningof the narrative.
"Why, yes, sir, just because it was so elaborate. A man like Knoll wouldnot have had the mind to invent such a story. It must have been true, onthe face of it."
The commissioner's eyes sank again, and he did not speak until thedetective had reached the end of his story. Then he opened a drawer inhis desk and took out a bundle of official blank-forms.
"It is wonderful! Wonderful! Muller, this case will go on record as oneof your finest achievements--and we thought it was so simple."
"Oh, indeed, sir, chance favoured me at every turn," replied Mullermodestly.
"There is no such thing as chance," said the commissioner. "We might aswell be honest with ourselves. Any one might have seen, doubtlessdid see, all the things you saw, but no one else had the insightto recognise their value, nor the skill to follow them up to such aconclusion. But it's a sad case, a sad case. I never wrote a warrantwith a heavier heart. Thorne is a true-hearted gentleman, while thescoundrel he killed..."
"Yes, sir, I feel that way about it myself. I can confess now that therewas one moment when I was ready to--well, just to say nothing.
"And let us blunder on in our official stupidity and blindness?"interrupted the commissioner, a faint smile breaking the gravity of hisface. "We certainly gave you every opportunity."
"But there's an innocent man accused--suffering fear of death--justicemust be done. But, sir," Mu
ller took the warrant the commissioner handedacross the table to him. "May I not make it as easy as I can for Mr.Thorne--I mean, bring him here with as little publicity as possible? Hiswife is with him in Venice."
"Poor little woman, it's terrible! Do whatever you think best, Muller.You're a queer mixture. Here you've hounded this man down, followed hoton his trail when not a soul but yourself connected him in any way withthe murder. And now you're sorry for him! A soft heart like yours is adangerous possession for a police detective, Muller. It's no aid to ourbusiness."
"No, sir, I know that."
"Well take care it doesn't run away with you this time. Don't letHerbert Thorne escape, however much pity you may feel for him."
"I doubt if he'll want to sir, as long as another is in prison for hiscrime.
"But he may make his confession and then try to escape the disgrace."
"Yes, sir, I've thought of that. That's why I want to go to Venicemyself. And then, there's the poor young wife, he must think of her whenthe desire comes to end his own life..."
"Yes! Yes! This terrible thing has shaken us both up more than a little.I feel exhausted. You look tired yourself, Muller. Go home now, and getsome rest for your early start. Good-night."
"Good-night, sir."
CHAPTER XII. ON THE LIDO
A wonderfully beautiful night lay over the fair old city of Venicewhen the Northern Express thundered over the long bridge to the railwaystation. A passenger who was alone in a second-class compartment stoodup to collect his few belongings. Suddenly he looked up as he heard avoice, a voice which he had learned to know only very recently, callingto him from the door of the compartment.
"Why! you were in the train too? You have come to Venice?" exclaimedJoseph Muller in astonishment as he saw Mrs. Bernauer standing therebefore him.
"Yes, I have come to Venice too. I must be with my dear lady--when--whenHerbert--" She had begun quite calmly, but she did not finish hersentence, for loud sobs drowned the words.
"You were in the next compartment? Why didn't you come in here with me?It would have made this journey shorter for both of us."
"I had to be alone," said the pale woman and then she added: "I onlycame to you now to ask you where I must go."
"I think we two had better go to the Hotel Bauer. Let me arrange thingsfor you. Mrs. Thorne must not see you until she has been prepared foryour coming. I will arrange that with her husband."
The two took each other's hands. They had won respect and sympathy foreach other, this quiet man who went so relentlessly and yet so pityinglyabout his duty in the interest of justice--and the devoted woman whosefaithfulness had brought about such a tragedy.
The train had now entered the railway station. Muller and Mrs. Bernauerstood a few minutes later on the banks of the Grand Canal and enteredone of the many gondolas waiting there. The moon glanced back fromthe surface of the water broken into ripples under the oars of thegondoliers; it shone with a magic charm on the old palaces that stoodknee-deep in the lagoons, and threw heavy shadows over the narrowwater-roads on which the little dark boats glided silently forward.In most of the gondolas coming from the station excited voices andexclamations of delight broke the calm of the moonlit evening as thetourists rejoiced in the beauty that is Venice.
But in the gondola in which Muller and Mrs. Bernauer sat there was deepsilence, silence broken only by a sobbing sigh that now and then burstfrom the heart of the haggard woman. There were few travellers enteringVenice on one of its world-famous moonlit nights who were so sad atheart as were these two.
And there were few travellers in Venice as heavy hearted as was the manwho next morning took one of the earliest boats out to the Lido.
Muller and Mrs. Bernauer were on the same boat watching him from ahidden corner. The woman's sad eyes gazed yearningly at the haggardface of the tall man who stood looking over the railing of the littlesteamer. Her own tears came as she saw the gloom in the once shininggrey eyes she loved so well.
Muller stood beside Mrs. Bernauer. His eyes too, keen and quick,followed Herbert Thorne as he stood by the rail or paced restlessly upand down; his face too showed pity and concern. He also saw that Thorneheld in his hand a bundle of newspapers which were still enclosed intheir mailing wrappers. The papers were pressed in a convulsive grip ofthe artist's long slender fingers.
Muller knew then that Thorne had not yet learned of the arrest of JohannKnoll. At the very earliest, Thursday's papers, which brought the news,could not reach him before Friday morning. But these newspapers (Mullersaw that they were German papers) were still in their wrappings. Theywere probably Viennese papers for which he had telegraphed and whichhad just arrived. His anxiety had not allowed him to read them in thepresence of his wife. He had sought the solitude of early morning on theLido, that he might learn, unobserved, what terrors fate had in storefor him.
It was doubtless Mrs. Bernauer's telegram which caused his presentanxiety, a telegram which had reached him only the night before when hereturned with his wife from an excursion to Torcello. It had caused hima sleepless night, for it had brought the realisation that his faithfulnurse suspected the truth about the murder in the quiet lane. Thetelegram had read as follows: "Have drawn money and send it at once.Further journey probably necessary, visitor in house to-day. Connectedwith occurrence in -- Street. Please read Viennese papers. News andorders for me please send to address A.B. General Postoffice."
This telegram told Herbert Thorne the truth. And the papers whicharrived this morning were to tell him more--what he did not yet know.But his heart was drawn with terrors which threw lines in his face andmade him look ten years older than on that Tuesday morning when thedetective saw him setting out on his journey with his wife.
When the boat landed at the Lido, Thorne walked off down the road whichled to the ocean side. Muller and Mrs. Bernauer entered the waitingtramway that took them in the same direction. They dismounted in frontof the bathing establishment, stepped behind a group of bushes andwaited there for Thorne. In about ten minutes they saw his tall figurepassing on the other side of the road. He was walking down to the beach,holding the still unopened papers in his hand.
A narrow strip of park runs along parallel to the beach in the directiontowards Mala Mocco. Muller and Mrs Bernauer walked along through thispark on the path which was nearest the water. The detective watched therapidly moving figure ahead of them, while the woman's tear-dimmed eyesveiled everything else to her but the path along which her weary feethastened. Thorne halted about half way between the bathing establishmentand the customs barracks, looked around to see if he were alone andthrew himself down on the sand.
He had chosen a good place. To the right and to the left were high sanddunes, before him was the broad surface of the ocean, and at his backwas rising ground, bare sand with here and there a scraggly bush ora group of high thistles. Herbert Thorne believed himself to be alonehere... as far as a man can be alone over whom hangs the shadow of acrime. He groaned aloud and hid his pale face in his hands.
In his own distress he did not hear the deep sigh--which, just abovehim on the edge of the knoll, broke from the breast of a woman who wassuffering scarcely less than he; he did not know that two pair of sadeyes looked down upon him. And now into the eyes of the watching womanthere shot a gleam of terror. For Herbert Thorne had taken a revolverfrom his pocket and laid it quietly beside him. Then he took out anotebook and a pencil and placed them beside the weapon. Then slowly,reluctantly, he opened one of the papers.
A light breeze from the shining sea before him carried off the wrapping.The paper which he opened shook in his trembling hands, as his eyessought the reports of the murder. He gave a sudden start and a tremorran through his frame. He had come to the spot which told of the arrestof another man, who was under shadow of punishment for the crime whichhe himself had committed. When he had read this report through, heturned to the other papers. He was quite calm now, outwardly calm atleast.
When he had finished reading the papers he l
aid them in a heap besidehim and reached out for his notebook. As he opened it the two watcherssaw that between its first pages there was a sealed and addressedletter. Two other envelopes were contained in the notebook, envelopeswhich were also addressed although still open. Muller's sharp eyes couldread the addresses as Thorne took them up in turn, looking long at eachof them. One envelope was addressed in Italian to the Chief of Police ofVenice, the other to the Chief of Police in Vienna.
The two watchers leaned forward, scarcely three yards above the man inwhom they were interested. Thorne tore out two leaves of his notebookand wrote several lines on each of them. One note, he placed in theenvelope addressed to the Viennese police and sealed it carefully. Thenhe put the sealed letter with the second note in the other envelope, theone addressed to the Italian police. He put all the letters back in hisnotebook, holding it together with a rubber strap, and replaced it inhis pocket.
Then he stretched out his hand toward the revolver.
The sand came rattling down upon him, the thistles bent over creakinglyand two figures appeared beside him.
"There's time enough for that yet, Mr. Thorne," said the man at whom thepainter gazed up in bewilderment. And then this man took the revolverquietly from his hand and hid it in his own pocket.
Thorne pressed his teeth down on his lips until the blood came. Hecould not speak; he looked first at the stranger who had mastered him socompletely, and then, in dazed astonishment, at the woman who had sunkdown beside him in the sand, clasping his hand in both of hers.
"Adele! Adele! Why are you here?" he stammered finally.
"I want to be with you--in this hour," she answered, looking at him witheyes of worship. "I want to be with my dear lady--to comfort her--toprotect her when--when--"
"When they arrest me?" Thorne finished the sentence himself. Thenturning to Muller he continued: "And that is why you are here?"
"Yes, Mr. Thorne. I have a warrant for your arrest in my pocket. But Ithink it will be unnecessary to make use of it in the customary officialway through the authorities here. I see that you have written to bothpolice stations--confessing your deed. This will amount to a voluntarygiving up of yourself to the authorities, therefore all that isnecessary is that I return with you in the same train which takes you toVienna. But I must ask you for those two letters, for until you yourselfgive them to the police authorities in my presence, it is my duty tokeep them."
Muller had seldom found his official duty as difficult as it was now.His words came haltingly and great drops stood out on his forehead.
The painter rose from the sand and he too wiped his face, which wasdrawn in agony.
"Herbert, Herbert!" cried Adele Bernauer suddenly. "Oh, Herbert, youwill live, you will! Promise me, you will not think of suicide, it wouldkill your wife--"
She lay on her knees before him in the sand. He looked down at hergently and with a gesture which seemed to be a familiar one of days longpast, he stroked the face that had grown old and worn in these hours offear for him.
"Yes, you dear good soul, I will live on, I will take upon myself mypunishment for killing a scoundrel. The poor man whom they have arrestedin my place must not linger in the fear of death. I am ready, sir.
"My name is Muller--detective Muller."
"Joseph Muller, the famous detective Muller?" asked Thorne with a sadsmile. "I have had little to do with the police but by chance I haveheard of your fame. I might have known; they tell me you are one fromwhom the truth can never remain hidden."
"My duty is not always an easy one," said Muller.
"Thank you. Dispose of me as you will. I do not wish any privileges thatothers would not have, Mr. Muller. Here is my written confession andhere am I myself. Shall we go now?" Herbert Thorne handed the detectivehis notebook with its important contents and then walked slowly backalong the road he had come.
Muller walked a little behind him, while Mrs. Bernauer was at his side.As in days long past, they walked hand in hand.
With eyes full of pity Muller watched them, and he heard Thorne give hisold nurse orders for the care of his wife. She was to take Mrs. Thorneto Graz to her father, then to return herself to Vienna and take care ofthe house as usual, until his attorney could settle up his affairs andsell the property. For Thorne said that neither he nor his wife wouldever want to set foot in the house again. He spoke calmly, he thought ofeverything--he thought even of the possibility that he might have to paythe death penalty for his deed.
For who could tell how the authorities would judge this murder?
It had indeed been a murder by merest chance only. Thorne told his oldnurse all about it. When she had given him the signal he had hurrieddown into the garden, and walking quietly along the path, he hadfound his wife at the garden gate in conversation with a man who wasa stranger to him. That part of their talk which he overheard told himthat the man was a blackmailer, and that he was making money on the factthat he had caught Theobald Leining cheating at cards.
This chance had put the officer into Winkler's power. The clerk knewthat he could get nothing from the guilty man himself, so he had turnedto the latter's sister, who was rich, and had threatened to bring abouta disgraceful scandal if she did not pay for his silence. For more thana year he had been getting money from her by means of these threats.All this was clear from the conversation. The man spoke in tones ofimpertinence, or sneering obsequiousness, the woman's voice showedcontempt and hatred.
Thorne's blood began to boil. His fingers tightened about the revolverwhich he had brought with him to be ready for any emergency, and hestepped designedly upon a twig which broke under his feet with a noise.He wanted to frighten his wife and send her back to the house. This waswhat did occur. But the blackmailer was alarmed as well and fled hastilyfrom the garden when he realised that he was not alone with his victim.Thorne followed the man's disappearing figure, calling him to halt. Hedid not call loudly for he too wanted to avoid a scandal. His intentionwas to force the man to follow him into the house, to get his writtenconfession of blackmail--then to finish him off with a large sum oncefor all and kick him out of the place.
In this manner Herbert Thorne thought to free himself and his wife fromthe persecutions of the rascal. His heart was filled with hatred towardsthe man. For since Mrs. Bernauer had told him what she had discovered,he knew that it was because of this wretch that his once so happy wifewas losing her strength, her health and her peace of mind.
He followed the fleeing man and called to him several times to halt.Finally Winkler half turned and called out over his shoulder: "You'dbetter leave me alone! Do you want all Vienna to know that yourbrother-in-law ought to be in jail?"
These words robbed Thorne of all control. He pressed the trigger underhis finger and the bullet struck the man before him, who had turnedto continue his flight, full in the back. "And that is how I became amurderer." With these words Herbert Thorne concluded his narrative. Heappeared quite calm now. He was really calmer, for the strain ofthe deed, which was justified in his eyes, was not so great upon hisconscience as had been the strain of the secret of it.
In his own eyes he had only killed a beast who chanced to bear the formof a man. But of course in the eyes of the world this was a murder likeany other, and the man who had committed it knew that he was under theban of the law, that it was only a chance that the arm of justice hadnot yet reached out for him. And now this arm had reached out for him,although it was no longer necessary. For Herbert Thorne was not the manto allow another to suffer in his stead.
As soon as he knew that another had been arrested and was undersuspicion of the murder, he knew that there was nothing more for him butopen confession. But he wished to avoid a scandal even now. If hedied by his own hand, then the first cause of all this trouble, hisbrother-in-law's rascality, could still be hidden.
But now his care was all in vain and Herbert Thorne knew that he mustsubmit to the inevitable. Side by side with his old friend he sat on thedeck of the boat that took them back to the Riva dei
Schiavoni. Mullersat at some distance from them. The pale sad-faced woman, and the palesad-faced man had much to say to each other that a stranger might nothear.
When the little boat reached the landing stage, there were but a fewsteps more to the door of the Hotel Danieli. From a balcony on the firstfloor a young woman stood looking down onto the canal. She too was paleand her eyes were heavy with anxiety. She had been pale and anxious eventhen, the day when she left the beautiful old house in the quiet street,to start on this pleasure trip to Venice.
It had been no pleasure trip to her. She had seen the change in herhusband, a change that struck deep into his very being and altered himin everything except in his love and tender care for her. "Oh, why isit? what is the matter?" she asked her self a thousand times a day.Could it be possible that he had discovered the secret which torturedher, the only secret she had ever had from him, the secret she hadlonged to confess to him a hundred times but had lacked courage to doit.
For she had sinned deeply against her husband, she knew. Her fear andher confusion had driven her deeper and deeper into the waters ofdeceit until it was impossible for her to find the words that would havebrought help and comfort from the man whom she loved more than anythingelse in the world. In the very earliest stages of Winkler's persecutionshe had lost her head completely and instead of confessing to herhusband and asking for his aid and protection, she had pawned the richjewels which had been his wedding present to get the money demandedby the blackmailer. In her ignorance she had thought that this one sumwould satisfy him.
But he came again and again, demanding money which she saved fromher pin money, from her household allowance, thus taking what she hadintended to use to redeem her jewels. The pledge was lost, and herjewels gone forever. From now on, Mrs. Thorne lived in a terror whichsapped her strength and drank her life blood drop by drop. Any hourmight bring discovery, a discovery which she feared would shake herhusband's love for her. The poor weak little woman grew pale and ill.She wrote finally to her step-brother, but he could think of no wayout; he wrote only that if the matter came to a scandal there would benothing for him to do but to kill himself. This was one reason more forher silence, and Mrs. Thorne faded to a wan shadow of her former sunnyself.
As she looked down from the balcony, she was like a woman sufferingfrom a deathly illness. A new terror had come to her heart because herhusband had gone away so early without telling her why or whither he hadgone. When she saw him coming towards the door of the hotel, pale anddrooping, and when she saw Mrs. Bernauer beside him, her heart seemed tostand still. She crept back from the window and stood in the middle ofthe room as Herbert Thorne and his former nurse entered.
"What has happened?" This was all she could say as she looked into thedistraught face of the housekeeper, into her husband's sad eyes.
He led her to a chair, then knelt beside her and told her all.
"Outside the door stands the man who will take me back to Vienna--andyou, my dearest, you must go to your father." He concluded his storywith these words.
She bent down over him and kissed him. "'No, I am going with you," shesaid softly, strangely calm; "why should I leave you now? Is it not Iwho am the cause of this dreadful thing?"
And then she made her confession, much too late. And she went with him,back to the city of their home. It seemed to them both quite naturalthat she should do so.
When the Northern Express rolled out of Venice that afternoon, threepeople sat together in a compartment, the curtains of which were drawnclose. They were the unhappy couple and their faithful servant. Andoutside in the corridor of the railway carriage, a small, slight manwalked up and down--up and down. He had pressed a gold coin into theconductor's hand, with the words: "The party in there do not wish to bedisturbed; the lady is ill."
Herbert Thorne's trial took place several weeks later. Every possibleextenuating circumstance was brought to bear upon his sentence. Fiveyears only was to be the term of his imprisonment, his punishment forthe crime of a single moment of anger.
His wife waited for him in patient love. She did not go to Graz, butcontinued to live in the old mansion with the mansard roof. Her fatherwas with her. The brother Theobald, the cause of all this suffering tothose who had shielded him at the expense of their own happiness, had atlast done the only good deed of his life--had put an end to his uselessexistence with his own hand.
Father and daughter waited patiently for the return of the man who hadsinned and suffered for their sake. They spoke of him only in terms ofthe tenderest affection and respect.
And indeed, seldom has any condemned murderer met with the respect ofthe entire community as Herbert Thorne did. The tone of the newspapers,and public opinion, evinced by hundreds of letters from friends,acquaintances, and from strangers, was a great boon to the solitary manin his cell, and to the three loving hearts in the old house. And atthe end of two years the clemency of the Monarch ended his term ofimprisonment, and Herbert Thorne was set free, a step which met with theapproval of the entire city.
He returned to the home where love and affection awaited him, ready tomake him forget what he had suffered. But the silver threads in his darkhair and a certain quiet seriousness in his manner, and in the hearts ofall the dwellers in the old mansion, showed that the occurrence of thatfatal 27th of September had thrown a shadow over them all which was notto be shaken off.
Joseph Muller brought many other cases to a successful solution. But foryears after this particular case had been won, he was followed, as bya shadow, by a man who watched over him, and who, whenever dangerthreatened, stood over the frail detective as if to take the blow uponhimself. He is a clever assistant, too, and no one who had seen JohannKnoll the day that he was put into the cell on suspicion of murderwould have believed that the idle tramp could become again such a usefulmember of society. These are the victories that Joseph Muller considershis greatest.
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