The Case of the Registered Letter | Page 8

shame
on the police. Muller explained that Miss Graumann did not want her
nephew to know that it was she who had asked for aid in his behalf, and
that it could only redound to his, Lange's, credit if it were understood
that he had sent to Vienna for expert assistance in this case. It would be
a proof of his conscientious attention to duty, and would insure praise
for him, whichever way the case turned out. Commissioner Lange saw
the force of this argument, and finally gave Muller permission to
handle the case as he thought best, rather relieved than otherwise for his
own part. The detective's next errand was to the prison, where he now
stood looking up into the deep-set, dark eyes of a tall, broad-shouldered,
black-bearded man, who had arisen from the cot at his entrance. Albert
Graumann had a strong, self-reliant face and bearing. His natural
expression was somewhat hard and stern, but it was the expression of a
man of integrity and responsibility. Muller had already made some
inquiries as to the prisoner's reputation and business standing in the
community, and all that he had heard was favourable. A certain
hardness and lack of amiability in Graumann's nature made it difficult
for him to win the hearts of others, but although he was not generally
loved, he was universally respected. Through the signs of nagging fear,
sorrow, and ill-health, printed clearly on the face before him, Muller's
keen eyes looked down into the soul of a man who might be
overbearing, pitiless even, if occasion demanded, but who would not
murder--at least not for the sake of gain. This last possibility Muller
had dismissed from his mind, even before he saw the prisoner. The
man's reputation was sufficient to make the thought ridiculous. But he
had not made up his mind whether it might not be a case of a murder
after a quarrel. Now he began to doubt even this when he looked into
the intelligent, harsh-featured face of the man in the cell. But Muller

had the gift of putting aside his own convictions, when he wanted his
mind clear to consider evidence before him.
Graumann had risen from his sitting position when he saw a stranger.
His heavy brows drew down over his, eyes, but he waited for the other
to speak.
"I am Detective Joseph Muller, from Vienna," began the newcomer,
when he had seen that the prisoner did not intend to start the
conversation.
"Have you come to question me again?" asked Graumann wearily. "I
can say no more than I have already said to the Police Commissioner.
And no amount of cross-examination can make me confess a crime of
which I am not guilty--no matter what evidence there may be against
me." The prisoner's voice was hard and determined in spite of its note
of physical and mental weariness.
"I have not come to extort a confession from you, Mr. Graumann,"
Muller replied gently, "but to help you establish your innocence, if it be
possible."
A wave of colour flooded the prisoner's cheek. He gasped, pressed his
hand to his heart, and dropped down on his cot. "Pardon me," he said
finally, hesitating like a man who is fighting for breath. "My heart is
weak; any excitement upsets me. You mean that the authorities are not
convinced of my guilt, in spite of the evidence? You mean that they
will give me the benefit of the doubt--that they will give me a chance
for life?"
"Yes, that is the reason for my coming here. I am to take this case in
hand. If you will talk freely to me, Mr. Graumann, I may be able to
help you. I have seen too many mistakes of justice because of
circumstantial evidence to lay any too great stress upon it. I have
waited to hear your side of the story from yourself. I did not want to
hear it from others. Will you tell it to me now? No, do not move, I will
get the stool myself."

Graumaun sat back on the cot, his head resting against the wall. His
eyes had closed while Muller was speaking, but his quieter breathing
showed that he was mastering the physical attack which had so shaken
him at the first glimpse of hope. He opened his eyes now and looked at
Muller steadily for a moment. Then he said: "Yes, I will tell you: my
life and my work have taught me to gauge men. I will tell you
everything I know about this sad affair. I will tell you the absolute truth,
and I think you will believe me."
"I will believe you," said Muller simply.
"You know the details of the murder, of course, and why I was
arrested?"
"You were arrested