The Case Of The Lamp That Went Out Part 5

"He was never seen anywhere with other men?"

"No, sir; at least not by any of us."

"He was not liked in the office?"

"No." Bormann's answer was sharp.

"For what reason?"

"I don't know; we just didn't like him. We had very little to do with him at first because of this, and soon we noticed that he seemed just as anxious to avoid us as we were to avoid him."

The commissioner rose and Bormann followed his example. "I am very sorry, sir, if I have taken up your time to no purpose," said the latter modestly, as he took up his hat.

"I am not so sure that what you have said may not be of great value to us," said a voice behind them. Muller stood there, looking at Riedau with a glance almost of defiance. His eyes were again lit up with the strange fire that shone in them when he was on the trail. The commissioner shrugged his shoulders, bowed to the departing visitor, and then turned without an answer to some doc.u.ments on his desk. There was silence in the room for a few moments. Finally a gentle voice came from Muller's corner again: "Dr. von Riedau?"

The commissioner raised his head and looked around. "Oh, are you still there?" he asked with a drawl.

Muller knew what this drawl meant. It was the manner adopted by the amiable commissioner when he was in a mood which was not amiable. And Muller knew also the cause of the mood. It was his own last remark, the words he addressed to Bormann. Muller himself recognised the fact that this remark was out of place, that it was almost an impertinence, because it was in direct contradiction to a statement made a few moments before by his superior officer. Also he realised that his remark had been quite unnecessary, because it was a matter of indifference to the young man, who was only obeying his employer's orders in reporting what he had seen, whether his report was of value or not. Muller had simply uttered aloud the thought that came into his mind, a habit of his which years of official training had not yet succeeded in breaking. It was annoying to himself sometimes, for these half-formed thoughts were mere instinct--they were the workings of his own genius that made him catch a suspicion of the truth long before his conscious mind could reason it out or appreciate its value. But that sort of thing was not popular in official police life.

"Well," asked the commissioner, as Muller did not continue, "your tongue is not usually so slow--as you have proved just a few moments back--what were you going to say now?"

"I was about to ask your pardon for my interruption. It was unnecessary, I should not have said it."

"Well, I realise that you know better yourself," said Riedau, now quite friendly again, "and now what else have you to say? Do you really think that what the young man has just told us is of any value at all for this case?"

"It seems to me as if it might be of value to us."

"Oh, it seems to you, eh? Your imagination is working overtime again, Muller," said the commissioner with a laugh. But the laugh turned to seriousness as he realised how many times Muller's imagination had helped the clumsy official mind to its proudest triumphs. The commissioner was an intelligent man, as far as his lights went, and he was a good-hearted man. He rose from his chair and walked over to where the detective stood. "You needn't look so embarra.s.sed, Muller," he said.

"There is no cause for you to feel bad about it. And--I am quite willing to admit that my remark just now was unnecessary. You may give your imagination full rein, we can trust to your intelligence and your devotion to duty to keep it from unnecessary flights. So curbed, I know it will be of as much a.s.sistance to us this time as it always has been."

Muller's quiet face lit up, and his eyes shone in a happiness that made him appear ten years younger. That was one of the strange things about Joseph Muller. This genius in his profession was in all other ways a man of such simplicity of heart and bearing, that the slightest word of approval from one of the officials for whom he worked could make him as happy as praise from the teacher will make a schoolboy. The moments when he was in command of any difficult case, when these same superiors would wait for a word from him, when high officials would take his orders or would be obliged to acknowledge that without him they were helpless, these moments were forgotten as soon as the problem was solved and Muller became again the simple subordinate and the obscure member of the Imperial police force.

When Muller left the commissioner's room and walked through the outer office, one of the clerks looked after him and whispered to his companion: "Do you think he's found the Hietzing murderer yet?" The other answered: "I don't think so, but he looks as if he had found a clue. He'll find him sooner or later. He always does."

Muller did not hear these words, although they also would have pleased him. He walked slowly down the stairs murmuring to himself: "I think I was right just the same. We are following a false trail."

CHAPTER V. BY A THREAD

It was on Monday, the 27th of September, that Leopold Winkler was murdered and robbed, and early on Tuesday, the 28th, his body was found.

That day the evening papers printed the report of the murder and the description of the dead man, and on Wednesday, the 29th, Mrs. Klingmayer read the news and went to see Winkler's employer. By noon of that day the body was identified and a description of the stolen purse and watch telegraphed to police headquarters in various cities. A few hours later, these police stations had sent out notices by messenger to all p.a.w.nshops and dealers in second-hand clothing, and now the machinery of the law sat waiting for some news of an attempt on the part of the robber-and-murderer to get rid of his plunder.

On this same Wednesday, about the twilight hour, David Goldstamm, dealer in second-hand clothing, stood before the door of his shop in a side street of the old Hungarian city of Pressburg and watched his a.s.sistant take down the clothes which were hanging outside and carry them into the store. The old man's eyes glanced carelessly up and down the street and caught sight of a man who turned the corner and came hurrying towards him. This man was a very seedy-looking individual. An old faded overcoat hung about his thin figure, and a torn and dusty hat fell over his left eye. He seemed also to be much the worse for liquor and very wobbly on his feet. And yet he seemed anxious to hurry onward in spite of the unevenness of his walk.

Then he slowed up suddenly, glanced across the street to Goldstamm's store, and crossed over.

"Have you any boots for me?" he asked, sticking out his right foot that the dealer might see whether he had anything the requisite size.

"I think there's something there," answered the old man in his usual businesslike tone, leading the way into the store.

The stranger followed. Goldstamm lit the one light in the little place and groped about in an untidy heap of shoes of all kinds and sizes until he found several pairs that he thought might fit. These he brought out and put them in front of his customer. But in spite of his bleary eyes, the man caught sight of some patches on the uppers of one pair, and pushed them away from him.

"Give me something better than that. I can pay for it. I don't have to wear patched shoes," he grunted.

Goldstamm didn't like the looks of the man, but he felt that he had better be careful and not make him angry. "Have patience, sir, I'll find you something better," he said gently, tossing the heap about again, but now keeping his face turned towards his customer.

"I want a coat also and a warm pair of trousers," said the stranger in a rough voice. He bent down to loosen the shabby boot from his right foot, and as he did so something fell out of the pocket of his coat. An unconscious motion of his own raised foot struck this small object and tossed it into the middle of the heap of shoes close by Goldstamm's hand. The old man reached out after it and caught it. It was just an ordinary brown leather pocketbook, of medium size, old and shabby, like a thousand others. But the eyes of the little old man widened as if in terror, his face turned pale and his hands trembled. For he had seen, hanging from one side of this worn brown leather pocketbook, the end of a yellow thread, the loosened end of the thread with which one side of the purse was mended. The thread told David Goldstamm who it was that had come into his shop.

He regained his control with a desperate effort of the will. It took him but a few seconds to do so, and, thanks to his partial intoxication, the customer had not noticed the shopkeeper's start of alarm. But he appeared anxious and impatient to regain possession of his purse.

"Haven't you found it yet?" he exclaimed.

Goldstamm hastened to give it back. The tramp put the purse in his pocket with a sigh of relief. Goldstamm had regained his calm and his mind was working eagerly. He put several pairs of shoes before his customer, with the remark: "You must try them on. We'll find something to suit you. And meanwhile I will bring in several pairs of trousers from those outside. I have some fine coats to show you too."

Goldstamm went out to the door, almost colliding there with his a.s.sistant who was coming in with his arm full of garments. The old man motioned to the boy, who retreated until they were both hidden from the view of the man within the store.

"Give me those blue trousers there," said Goldstamm in a loud voice.

Then in a whisper he said to the boy: "Run to the police station. The man with the watch and the purse is in there."

The boy understood and set off at once at a fast pace, while the old man returned to his store with a heavy heart. He wondered whether he would be able to keep the murderer there until the police could come. And he also wondered what it might cost him, an old and feeble man, who would be as a weak reed in the hands of the strong tramp in there. But he knew it was his duty to do whatever he could to help in the arrest of one who had just taken the life of a fellow creature. The realisation of this gave the old man strength and calmness.

"A nice sort of an eye for size you have," cried the tramp as the old man came up to him. "I suppose you've brought me in a boy's suit? What do you take me for? Any girl could go to a ball in the shoes you brought me to try on here."

"Are they so much too small?" asked the dealer in an innocent tone.

"Well, there's plenty more there. And perhaps you had better be trying on this suit behind the curtain here while I'm hunting up the shoes."

This suggestion seemed to please the stranger, as he was evidently in a hurry. He pa.s.sed in behind the curtain and began to undress. Goldstamm's keen eyes watched him through a crack. There was not much to be seen except that the tramp seemed anxious to keep his overcoat within reach of his hand. He had carefully put the purse in one of its pockets.

"We'll get the things all together pretty soon," said the dealer. "I've found a pair of boots here, fine boots of good quality, and sure to fit."

"Stop your talk," growled the other, "and come here and help me so that I can get away."

Goldstamm came forward, and though his heart was very heavy within him, he aided this man, this man about whom so many hundreds were now thinking in terror, as calmly as he had aided his other poor but honest customers.

With hands that did not tremble, the dealer busied himself about his customer, listening all the while to sounds in the street in the hope that his tete-e-tete with the murderer would soon be over. But in spite of all his natural anxiety, the old man's sharp eyes took cognizance of various things, one of which was that the man whom he was helping to dress in his new clothes did not have the watch which was described in the police notice. This fact, however, did not make the old man's heart any lighter, for the purse mended with yellow thread was too clearly the one stolen from the murdered man found in the quiet street in Hietzing.

"What's the matter with you, you're so slow? I can get along better myself," growled the tramp, pus.h.i.+ng the old man away from him. Goldstamm had really begun to tremble now in spite of his control, in the fear that the man would get away from him before the police came.

The tramp was already dressed in the new suit, into a pocket of which he put the old purse.

"There, now the boots and then we're finished," said the dealer with an attempt at a smile. In his heart he prayed that the pair he now held in his hand might not fit, that he might gain a few minutes more. But the shoes did fit. A little pus.h.i.+ng and stamping and the man was ready to leave the store. He was evidently in a hurry, for he paid what was asked without any attempt to bargain. Had Goldstamm not known whom he had before him now, he would have been very much astonished at this, and might perhaps have been sorry that he had not named a higher sum. But under the circ.u.mstances he understood only too well the man's desire to get away, and would much rather have had some talk as to the payment, anything that would keep his customer a little longer in his store.

"There, now we're ready. I'll pack up your old things for you. Or perhaps we can make a deal for them. I pay the highest prices in the city," said Goldstamm, with an apparent eagerness which he hoped would deceive the customer.

But the man had already turned towards the door, and called hack over his shoulder: "You can keep the old things, I don't want them."