papers that
lay before him. They were three letters and an empty envelope.

He took up the last, and compared it carefully with the envelope of one
of the letters found in Winkler's room--the unsigned letter postmarked
Hietzing, September 24th. The two envelopes were exactly alike. They
were of the same size and shape, made of the same cream-tinted, heavy,
glossy paper, and the address was written by the same hand. This any
keen observer, who need not necessarily be an expert, could see. The
same hand which had addressed the envelope to Mrs. Adele Bernauer on
the letter which was postmarked "Venice," about thirty-six hours
previous--this hand had, in an awkward and childish attempt at disguise,
written Winkler's address on the envelope which bore the date of
September 24th.

The writer of the harmless letter to Mrs. Bernauer, a letter which
chatted of household topics and touched lightly on the beauties of
Venice, was Mrs. Thorne. It was Mrs. Thorne, therefore, who, reluctantly
and in anger and distaste, had called Leopold Winkler to Hietzing, to
his death.

And whose hand had fired the shot that caused his death? The question,
at this stage in Muller's meditation, could hardly be called a question
any more. It was all too sadly clear to him now. Winkler met his death
at the hand of the husband, who, discovering the planned rendezvous, had
misunderstood its motive.

For truly this had been no lovers' meeting. It had been a meeting to
which the woman was driven by fear and hate; the man by greed of gain.
This was clearly proved by the 300 guldens found in the dead man's
pocket, money enclosed in a delicate little envelope, sealed hastily,
and crumpled as if it had been carried in a hot and trembling hand.

It was already known that Winkler never had any money except at certain
irregular intervals, when he appeared to have come into possession
of considerable sums. During these days he indulged in extravagant
pleasures and spent his money with a recklessness which proved that he
had not earned it by honest work.

Leopold Winkler was a blackmailer.

Colonel Leining, retired, the father of two such widely different
children, was doubtless a man of stern principles, and an army officer
as well, therefore a man with a doubly sensitive code of honour and a
social position to maintain; and this man, morbidly sensitive probably,
had a daughter who had inherited his sensitiveness and his high ideals
of honour, a daughter