shook his head sadly.

"But I haven't failed here, sir. More's the pity, I had almost said."

"What!" The commissioner looked up in surprise. "I thought you just said
that you couldn't get anything more out of the accused."

"Knoll has told us all he knows, sir. He did not murder Leopold
Winkler."

"Hmph!" The commissioner's exclamation had a touch of acidity in it.
"Then, if he didn't murder him, who did?"

"Herbert Thorne, painter, living in the Thorne mansion in B. Street,
Hietzing, now in Venice, Hotel Danieli. I ask for a warrant for his
arrest, sir, and orders to start for Venice on the early morning express
to-morrow."

"Muller!... what the deuce does all this mean?" The commissioner sprang
up, his face flushing deeply as he leaned over the desk staring at the
sad quiet face of the little man opposite. "What are you talking about?
What does all this mean?"

"It means, sir, that we now know who committed the murder in Hietzing.
Johann Knoll is innocent of anything more than the theft confessed by
himself. He took the purse and watch from the senseless form of the just
murdered man. The body was warm and still supple and the tramp supposed
the victim to be merely intoxicated. His story was in every respect
true, sir."

The commissioner flushed still deeper. "And who do you say murdered this
man?"

"Herbert Thorne, sir.

"But Thome! I know of him... have even a slight personal acquaintance
with him. Thorne is a rich man, of excellent family. Why should he
murder and rob an obscure clerk like this Winkler?"

"He did not rob him sir, Knoll did that."

"Oh, yes. But why should Thorne commit murder on this man who scarcely
touched his life at any point... It's incredible! Muller! Muller! are
you sure you are not letting your imagination run away with you again?
It is a serious thing to make such an accusation against any man, much
less against a man in Thorne's position. Are you sure of what you are
saying?" The commissioner's excitement rendered him almost inarticulate.
The shock of the surprise occasioned by the detective's words produced a
feeling of irritation... a phenomenon not unusual in the minds of worthy
but pedantic men of affairs when confronted by a startling new thought.

"I am quite sure of what I am saying, sir. I have just heard the
confession of one who might be called an accomplice of the murderer."

"It is incredible... incredible! An accomplice you say?... who is
this accomplice? M