The Case of the Golden Bullet | Page 9

footpath and rows of trees.
A half-hour'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 castle, but it was used only by suburban
trains or for the royal private car.
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 which of the pails did you put the key to the side door?" he asked.
"In the first pail on the right hand side. But be careful, sir; there's a nail
sticking out of the post there. The wind tore off a piece of wood
yesterday."
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 thread that he might repair it
sufficiently to get home.
"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 centre of the city to the police station,
where Muller lived.
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 sufficiency of this necessity of life.
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 was a tall, stately man wearing a handsome fur
overcoat.
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 thoughts.
When Johann had given his new address and remarked that he would
call for his coat soon, the men parted, and Muller returned to the police
station.
The next day the principal newspaper of the town printed the following
notice:
THE GOLDEN BULLET
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