st
and the commissioner had given it to Muller. The detective told the good
woman not to bother about him as he wanted to make an examination of the
place alone. Left to himself in the little room, Muller made a thorough
search of it, opening the cupboard, the bureau drawers, every possible
receptacle where any article could be kept or hidden. What he wanted
to find was some letter, some bit of paper, some memoranda perhaps,
anything that would show any connection existing between the murdered
man and Mrs. Bernauer, who lived so near the place where this man had
died and who was so greatly interested in his murder.

The detective's search was not quite in vain, although he could not tell
yet whether what he had found would be of any value. Leopold Winkler had
had very little correspondence, or else he had had no reason to keep
the letters he received. Muller found only about a half dozen letters in
all. Three of them were from women of the half-world, giving dates for
meetings. Another was written by a man and signed "Theo." This "Theo"
appeared to be the same sort of a cheap rounder that Winkler was. And he
seemed to have sunk one grade deeper than the dead man, in spite of the
latter's bad reputation. For this other addressed Winkler as his
"Dear Friend" and pleaded with him for "greater discretion," alluding
evidently to something which made this discretion necessary.

"I wonder what rascality it was that made these two friends?" murmured
Muller, putting Theo's letter with the three he had already read.
But before he slipped it in his pocket he glanced at the postmark. The
letters of the three women had all been posted from different quarters
of the city some months ago. Theo's letter was postmarked "Marburg," and
dated on the 1st of September of the present year.

Then Muller looked at the postmark of the two remaining letters which
he had not yet read, and whistled softly to himself. Both these letters
were posted from a certain station in Hietzing, the station which was
nearest his own lodgings and also nearest the Thorne house. He looked at
the postmark more sharply. They both bore the dates of the present year,
one of them being stamped "March 17th," the other "September 24th." This
last letter interested the detective most.

Muller was not of a nervous disposition, but his hand trembled slightly
as he took the letter from its envelope. It was clear that this letter
had been torn open hastily, for the edges o