The Case of the Registered Letter | Page 3

of this," said the commissioner, as
if in answer to their unspoken thought. "Can you give us the details

now, Madam? Who is, or rather who was, this John Siders?"
"John Siders came to our village a little over a year ago," continued
Miss Graumann. "He came from Chicago; he told us, although he was
evidently a German by birth. He bought a nice little piece of property,
not far from our home, and settled down there. He was a quiet man and
made few friends, but he seemed to take to Albert and came to see us
frequently. Albert had spent some years in America, in Chicago, and
Siders liked to talk to him about things and people there. But one day
Siders suddenly sold his property and moved to G--. Two weeks later
he was found dead in his lodgings in the city, murdered, and now--now
they have accused Albert of the crime."
"On what grounds?--oh, I beg your pardon, sir; I did not mean--"
"That's all right, Muller," said the commissioner. "As you may have to
undertake the case, you might as well begin to do the questioning now."
"They say"--Miss Graumann's voice quavered--"they say that Albert
was the last person known to have been in Siders' room; they say that it
was his revolver, found in the room. That is the dreadful part of it--it
was his revolver. He acknowledges it, but he did not know, until the
police showed it to him, that the weapon was not in its usual place in
his study. They tell me that everything speaks for his guilt, but I cannot
believe it--I cannot. He says he is innocent in spite of everything. I
believe him. I brought him up, sir; I was like his own mother to him.
He never knew any other mother. He never lied to me, not once, when
he was a little boy, and I don't believe he'd lie to me now, now that he's
a man of forty-five. He says he did not kill John Siders. Oh, I know,
even without his saying it, that he would not do such a thing."
"Can you tell us anything more about the murder itself?" questioned
Muller gently. "Is there any possibility of suicide? Or was there a
robbery?"
"They say it was no suicide, sir, and that there was a large sum of
money missing. But why should Albert take any one else's money? He
has money of his own, and he earns a good income besides--we have

all that we need. Oh, it is some dreadful mistake! There is the
newspaper account of the discovery of the body. Perhaps Mr. Muller
might like to read that." She pointed to a sheet of newspaper on the
desk. The commissioner handed it to Muller. It was an evening paper,
dated G--, September 24th, and it gave an elaborate account, in
provincial journalese, of the discovery that morning of the body of John
Siders, evidently murdered, in his lodgings. The main facts to be
gathered from the long-winded story were as follows:
John Siders had rented the rooms in which he met his death about ten
days before, paying a month's rent in advance. The lodgings consisted
of two rooms in a little house in a quiet street. It was a street of simple
two-story, one and two family dwellings, occupied by artisans and
small tradespeople. There were many open spaces, gardens and vacant
lots in the street. The house in which Siders lodged belonged to a
travelling salesman by the name of Winter. The man was away from
home a great deal, and his wife, with her child and an old servant, lived
in the lower part of the house, while the rooms occupied by Siders were
in the upper story. Siders lived very quietly, going out frequently in the
afternoon, but returning early in the evening. He had said to his
landlady that he had many friends in G--. But during the time of his
stay in the house he had had but one caller, a gentleman who came on
the evening of the 23rd of September. The old maid had opened the
door for him and showed him to Mr. Siders' rooms. She described this
visitor as having a full black beard, and wearing a broad-brimmed grey
felt hat. Nobody saw the man go out, for the old maid, the only person
in the house at the time, had retired early. Mrs. Winter and her little girl
were spending the night with the former's mother in a distant part of the
city. The next morning the old servant, taking the lodger's coffee up to
him at the usual hour, found him dead on the floor of his sitting-room,
shot through the heart. The woman ran screaming from