As soon as the corpse had been taken away, the police commissioner
returned to the station. But Muller remained there all alone to make a
thorough examination of the entire vicinity.
It was not a very attractive spot, this particular part of the street.
There must have been a nursery there at one time, for there were still
several ordered rows of small trees to be seen. There were traces of
flower cultivation as well, for several trailing vines and overgrown
bushes showed where shrubs had been grown which do not usually grow
without man’s assistance. Immediately back of the old elder tree Muller
found several fine examples of rare flowers, or rather he found the
shrubs which his experienced eye recognised as having once borne these
unusual blossoms. One or two blooms still hung to the bushes and the
detective, who was a great lover of flowers, picked them and put them in
his buttonhole. While he did this, his keen eyes were darting about the
place taking in all the details. This vacant lot had evidently been used
as an unlicensed dumping ground for some time, for all sorts of odds and
ends, old boots, bits of stuff, silk and rags, broken bottles and empty
tin cans, lay about between the bushes or half buried in the earth. What
had once been an orderly garden was now an untidy receptacle for waste.
The pedantically neat detective looked about him in disgust, then
suddenly he forgot his displeasure and a gleam shot up in his eye. It
was very little, the thing this man had seen, this man who saw so much
more than others.
About ten paces from where he stood a high wooden fence hemmed in the
lot. The fence belonged to the neighbouring property, as the lot in
which he stood was not protected in any way. To the back it was closed
off by a corn field where the tall stalks rustled gently in the faint
morning breeze. All this could be seen by anybody and Muller had seen it
all at his first glance. But now he had seen something else. Something
that excited him because it might possibly have some connection with
the newly discovered crime. His keen eyes, in glancing along the wooden
fence at his right hand, had caught sight of a little twig which had
worked its way through the fence. This twig belonged to a willow tree
which grew on the other side, and which spread its grey-green foliage
over the fence or through its wide openings. One of the little twigs
which had crept in between the planks was broken, and it had been broken
very recently, for the leaves were still fresh and the sap was oozing
from the crushed stem. Muller walked over to the fence and examined the
twig carefully. He soon saw how it came to be broken. The broken part
was about the height of a man’s knee from the ground. And just at this
height there was quite a space between two of the planks of the fence,
heavy planks which were laid cross-ways and nailed to thick posts. It
would have been very easy for anybody to get a foothold in this open
space between the planks.
It was very evidently some foot thrust in between the planks which had
broken the little willow twig, and its soft rind had left a green
mark on the lower plank. “I wonder if that has anything to do with the
murder,” thought Muller, looking over the fence into the lot on the
other side.
This neighbouring plot was evidently a neglected garden. It had once
worn an aristocratic air, with stone statues and artistic arrangement
of flower beds and shrubs. It was still attractive even in its neglected
condition. Beyond it, through the foliage of its heavy trees, glass
windows caught the sunlight. Muller remembered that there was a
handsome old house in this direction, a house with a mansard roof and
wide-reaching wings. He did not now know to whom this handsome old
house belonged, a house that must have been built in the time of Maria
Theresa,... but he was sure of one thing, and that was that he would
soon find out to whom it belonged. At present it was the garden which
interested him, and he was anxious to see where it ended. A few moments’
further inspection showed him what he wanted to know. The garden
extended to the beginning of the park-like grounds which surrounded
the old house with the mansard roof. A tall iron railing separated the
garden from the park, but this railing did not extend down as far as the
quiet lane. Where it ended there was a light, well-built wooden fence.
Along the street side of the fence there was a high thick hedge. Muller
walked along this hedge until he came to a little gate. Then crossing
the street, he saw that the house whose windows glistened in the
sunlight was a house which he knew well from its other side, its front
facade.
Now he went back to the elder tree and then walked slowly away from this
to the spot where he found the broken willow twig. He examined every
foot of the ground, but there was nothing to be seen that was of any
interest to him--not a footprint, or anything to prove that some one
else had passed that way a short time before. And yet it would have been
impossible to pass that way without leaving some trace, for the ground
was cut up in all directions by mole hills.
Next the detective scrutinised as much of the surroundings as would come
into immediate connection with the spot where the corpse had been found.
There was nothing to be seen there either, and Muller was obliged
to acknowledge that he had discovered nothing that would lead to an
understanding of the crime, unless, indeed, the broken willow twig
should prove to be a clue. He sprang back across the ditch, turned up
the edges of his trousers where they had been moistened by the dew and
walked slowly along the dusty street. He was no longer alone in the
lane. An old man, accompanied by a large dog, came out from one of the
new houses and walked towards the detective, he was very evidently going
in the direction of the elder-tree, which had already been such a
centre of interest that morning. When he met Muller, the old man halted,
touched his cap and asked in a confidential tone: “I suppose you’ve been
to see the place already?”
“Which place?” was Muller’s reserved answer.
“Why, I mean the place where they found the man who was murdered. They
found him under that elder-tree. My wife just heard of it and told me. I
suppose everybody round here will know it soon.”
“Was there a man murdered here?” asked Muller, as if surprised by the
news.
“Yes, he was shot last night. Only I don’t understand why I didn’t hear
the shot. I couldn’t sleep a wink all night for the pain in my bones.”
“You live near here, then?”
“Yes, I live in No.1. Didn’t you see me coming out?”
“I didn’t notice it. I came across the wet meadows and I stooped to turn
up my trousers so that they wouldn’t get dusty--it must have been then
you came out.”
“Why, then you must have been right near the place I was talking about.
Do you see that elder tree there? It’s the only one in the street, and
the girl who brings the milk found the man under it. The police have
been here already and have taken him away. They discovered him about six
o’clock and now it’s just seven.”
“And you hadn’t any suspicion that this dreadful thing was happening so
near you?” asked the detective casually.
“I didn’t know a thing, sir, not a thing. There couldn’t have been a
fight or I would have heard it. But I don’t know why I didn’t hear the
shot.”
“Why, then you must have been asleep after all, in spite of your pain,”
said Muller with a smile, as he walked along beside the man back to the
place from which he had just come.
The old man shook his head. “No, I tell you I didn’t close an eye all
night. I went to bed at half-past nine and I smoked two pipes before I
put out the light, and then I heard every hour strike all night long
and it wasn’t until nearly five o’clock, when it was almost dawn, that I
dozed off a bit.”
“Then it is astonishing that you didn’t hear anything!”
“Sure it’s astonishing! But it’s still more astonishing that my dog
Sultan didn’t hear anything. Sultan is a famous watchdog, I’d have you
know. He’ll growl if anybody passes through the street after dark, and I
don’t see why he didn’t notice what was going on over there last night.
If a man’s attacked, he generally calls for help; it’s a queer business
all right.”
“Well, Sultan, why didn’t you make a noise?” asked Muller, patting the
dog’s broad head. Sultan growled and walked on indifferently, after he
had shaken off the strange hand.
“He must have slept more soundly than usual. He went off into the
country with me yesterday. We had an errand to do there and on the
way back we stopped in for a drink. Sultan takes a drop or two himself
occasionally, and that usually makes him sleep. I had hard work to bring
him home. We got here just a few minutes before half-past nine and I
tell you we were both good and tired.”
By this time they had come to the elder-tree and the old man’s stream of
talk ceased as he stood before the spot where the mysterious crime had
occurred. He looked down thoughtfully at the grass, now trampled by many
feet. “Who could have done it?” he murmured finally, with a sigh that
expressed his pity for the victim.
“Hietzing is known to be one of the safest spots in Vienna,” remarked
Muller.
“Indeed it is, sir; indeed it is. As it would well have to be with the
royal castles right here in the neighbourhood! Indeed it would have to
be safe with the Court coming here all the time.”
“Why, yes, you see more police here than anywhere else in the city.”
“Yes, they’re always sticking their nose in where they’re not
necessary,” remarked the old man, not realising to whom he was speaking.
“They fuss about everything you do or don’t do, and yet a man can be
shot down right under our very noses here and the police can’t help it.”
“But, my dear sir, it isn’t always possible for the police to prevent a
criminal carrying out his evil intention,” said Muller good-naturedly.
“Well, why not? if they watch out sharp enough?”
“The police watch out sharper than most people think. But they can’t
catch a man until he has committed his crime, can they?”
“No, I suppose not,” said the old man, with another glance at the
elder-tree. He bowed to Muller and turned and walked away.
Muller followed him slowly, very much pleased with this meeting, for
it had given him a new clue. There was no reason to doubt the old man’s
story. And if this story was true, then the crime had been committed
before half-past nine of the evening previous. For the old man--he was
evidently the janitor in No.1--had not heard the shot.
Muller left the scene of the crime and walked towards the four houses.
Before he reached them he had to pass the garden which belonged to the
house with the mansard roof. Right and left of this garden were vacant
lots, as well as on the opposite side of the street. Then came to the
right and left the four new houses which stood at the beginning of the
quiet lane. Muller passed them, turned up a cross street and then
down again, into the street running parallel, to the lane, a quiet
aristocratic street on which fronted the house with the mansard roof.
A carriage stood in front of this house, two great trunks piled up on
the box beside the driver. A young girl and an old man in livery were
placing bags and bundles of rugs inside the carriage. Muller walked
slowly toward the carriage. Just as he reached the open gate of the
garden he was obliged to halt, to his own great satisfaction. For at
this moment a group of people came out from the house, the owners of it
evidently, prepared for a journey and surrounded by their servants.
Beside the old man and the young girl, there were two other women, one
evidently the housekeeper, the other possibly the cook. The latter
was weeping openly and devoutly kissing the hand of her mistress. The
housekeeper discovered that a rug was missing and sent the maid back for
it, while the old servant helped the lady into the carriage. The door
of the carriage was wide open and Muller had a good glimpse of the pale,
sweet-faced and delicate-looking young woman who leaned back in her
corner, shivering and evidently ill. The servants bustled about, making
her comfortable, while her husband superintended the work with anxious
tenderness. He was a tall, fine-looking man with deep-set grey eyes and
a rich, sympathetic voice. He gave his orders to his servants with calm
authority, but he also was evidently suffering from the disease of
our century--nervousness, for Muller saw that the man’s hands clenched
feverishly and that his lips were trembling under his drooping
moustache.
The maid hastened down with the rug and spread it over her mistress’s
knees, as the gentleman exclaimed nervously: “Do hurry with that! Do you
want us to miss the train?”
The butler closed the door of the carriage, the coachman gathered up the
reins and raised his whip. The housekeeper bowed low and murmured a few
words in farewell and the other servants followed her example with tears
in their eyes. “You’ll see us again in six weeks,” the lady called
out and her husband added: “If all goes well.” Then he motioned to the
waiting driver and the carriage moved off swiftly, turning the corner in
a few moments.
The little group of servants returned to the courtyard behind the high
gates. Muller, whom they had not noticed, was about to resume his walk,
when he halted again. The courtyard of the house led back through a
flagged walk to the park-like garden that surrounded it on the sides and
rear. Down this walk came a young woman. She came so quickly that one
might almost call it running. She was evidently excited about something.
Muller imagined what this something might be, and he remained to
hear what she had to say. He was not mistaken. The woman, it was Mrs.
Schmiedler, the gardener’s wife, began her story at once. “Haven’t you
heard yet?” she said breathlessly. “No, you can’t have heard it yet or
you wouldn’t stand there so quietly, Mrs. Bernauer.”
“What’s the matter?” asked the woman whom Muller took to be the
housekeeper.
“They killed a man last night out here! They found his body just now
in the lane back of our garden. The janitor from No.1 told me as I was
going to the store, so I went right back to look at the place, and I
came to tell you, as I didn’t think you’d heard it yet.”
Mrs. Bernauer was evidently a woman of strong constitution and of an
equable mind. The other three servants broke out into an excited hubbub
of talk while she remained quite indifferent and calm. “One more poor
fellow who had to leave the world before he was ready,” she remarked
calmly, with just the natural touch of pity in her voice that would come
to any warm-hearted human being upon hearing of such an occurrence. She
did not seem at all excited or alarmed to think that the scene of the
crime had been so near.
The other servants were very much more excited and had already rushed
off, under the guidance of the gardener’s wife, to look at the dreadful
spot. Franz, the butler, had quite forgotten to close the front gate in
his excitement, and the housekeeper turned to do it now.
“The fools, see them run,” she exclaimed half aloud. “As if there was
anything for them to do there.”
The gate closed, Mrs. Bernauer turned and walked slowly to the house.
Muller walked on also, going first to the police station to report what
he had discovered. Then he went to his own rooms and slept until nearly
noon. On his return to the police station he found that notices of the
occurrence had already been sent out to the papers.