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.
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