The Case of the Registered Letter | Page 4

the house and
alarmed the neighbours. A policeman at the corner heard the noise, and
led the crowd up to the room where the dead man lay. It was plain to be
seen that this was not a case of suicide. Everywhere were signs of a
terrible struggle. The furniture was overturned, the dressing-table and
the cupboard were open and their contents scattered on the floor, one of
the window curtains was torn into strips, as if the victim had been

trying to escape by way of the window, but had been dragged back into
the room by his murderer. An overturned ink bottle on the table had
spattered wide, and added to the general confusion. In the midst of the
disorder lay the body of the murdered man, now cold in the rigour of
death.
The police commissioner arrived soon, took possession of the rooms,
and made a thorough examination of the premises. A letter found on
the desk gave another proof, if such were needed, that this was not a
case of suicide. This letter was in the handwriting of the dead man, and
read as follows:
Dear Friend:
I appreciate greatly all the kindness shown me by yourself and your
good wife. I have been more successful than I thought possible in
overcoming the obstacles you know of. Therefore, I shall be very glad
to join you day after to-morrow, Sunday, in the proposed excursion. I
will call for you at 8 A.M.--the cab and the champagne will be my
share of the trip. We'll have a jolly day and drink a glass or two to our
plans for the future.
With best greetings for both of you, Your old friend, John G--, Friday,
Sept. 23rd.
An envelope, not yet addressed, lay beside this letter. It was clear that
the man who penned these words had no thought of suicide. On the
contrary, he was looking forward to a day of pleasure in the near future,
and laying plans for the time to come. The murderer's bullet had
pierced a heart pulsing with the joy of life.
This was the gist of the account in the evening paper. Muller read it
through carefully, lingering over several points which seemed to
interest him particularly. Then he turned to Miss Babette Graumann.
"And then what happened?" he asked.
"Then the Police Commissioner came to Grunau and questioned my
nephew. They had found out that Albert was Mr. Siders' only friend

here. And late that evening the Mayor and the Commissioner came to
our house with the revolver they had found in the room in G--, and
they--they--" her voice trembled again, "they arrested my dear boy and
took him away."
"Have you visited him in prison? What does he say about it himself?"
"He seems quite hopeless. He says that he is innocent--oh, I know he
is--but everything is against him. He acknowledges that it was he who
was in Mr. Siders' room the evening before the murder. He went there
because Siders wrote him to come. He says he left early, and that John
acted queerly. He knows they will not believe his story. This worry and
anxiety will kill him. He has a serious heart trouble; he has suffered
from it for years, and it has been growing steadily worse. I dare not
think what this excitement may do for him." Miss Graumann broke
down again and sobbed aloud. Muller laid his hands soothingly on the
little old fingers that gripped the arm of the chair.
"Did your nephew send you here to ask for help?" he inquired very
gently.
"Oh, no" The old lady looked up at him through her tears. "No, he
would not have done that. I'm afraid that he'll be angry if he knows that
I have come. He seemed so hopeless, so dazed. I just couldn't stand it.
It seemed to me that the police in G-- were taking things for granted,
and just sitting there waiting for an innocent man to confess, instead of
looking for the real murderer, who may be gone, the Lord knows where,
by now!" Miss Graumann's faded cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and
she straightened up in her chair again, while her eyes snapped defiance
through the tears that hung on their lashes.
A faint gleam twinkled up in Muller's eyes, and he did not look at his
chief. Doctor von Riedau's own face glowed in a slowly mounting flush,
and his eyes drooped in a moment of conscious embarrassment at some
recollection, the sting of which was evidently made worse by Muller's
presence. But Commissioner von Riedau had brains enough to
acknowledge his mistakes and to learn from them. He looked across the
desk at Miss Graumann. "You are right, Madam, the police have made

that mistake more