The Case of the Golden Bullet | Page 8

it - he's a queer sort of man."
While the commissioners drove through the streets to the police station
the man of whom they were speaking sat in Johann's little room in
close consultation with the valet.
"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 on the calendar."
"I am Johann Nepomuk."
Muller took a little calendar from his pocket and turned its pages. "It
was May sixteenth," volunteered the valet.
"Quite right. May sixteenth was a Saturday. And since then you have
gone to the theatre every Saturday evening?"
"Yes, sir.
"When did the owner of the house go away?"
"Last April. His wife was ill and he had to take her away. They went to
Italy."

"And you two have been alone in the house since April?"
"Yes, sir, we two."
"Was there no janitor?"
"No, sir. The garden was taken care of by a man who came in for the
day."
"And you had no dog? I haven't seen any around the place."
"No, sir; the Professor did not like animals. But he must have been
thinking about buying a dog, because I found a new dog-whip in his
room one day."
"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."
"Why are you so sure of that?"
"Because it was the middle of summer, and everybody was away."
Oh, then, we won't bother about the whip. Can you tell me of any ladies
with whom the Professor was acquainted?"
"Ladies? I don't know of any. Of course, the Professor was invited out a
good deal, and most of the other gentlemen from the college were
married."
"Did he ever receive letters from ladies?" continued Muller.
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 fine
and delicate handwriting.

"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 receive visits from ladies?
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
ill-concealed indignation and paid no attention to it.
"Your master has been here for about a year. Where was he before
that?"
"In the capital."
"You were in his service then?"
"I have been with him for three years."
"Did he know any ladies in his former home?"
"There was one - I think he was engaged to her."
"Why didn't he marry her?"
"I don't know."
"What was her name?"
"Marie. That's all I know about it."
"Was she beautiful?"
"I never saw her. The only way I knew about her was when the
Professor's friends spoke of her."

"Did he have many friends?"
"There were ever so many gentlemen whom he called his friends."
"Take me into the garden now."
"Yes, sir." Muller took his hat and coat and followed the valet into 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 snow-covered 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 for long."
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 high-road.
This was a broad, well-made turnpike, with