aid finally.

Muller told the story of his experiences in the Thorne mansion, told of
the slight clues which led him to take an interest in the house and its
inmates, until finally the truth began to glimmer up out of the depths.
The commissioner listened with eager interest. "Then you believed this
elaborate yarn told by the tramp?" he interrupted once, at the beginning
of the narrative.

"Why, yes, sir, just because it was so elaborate. A man like Knoll would
not have had the mind to invent such a story. It must have been true, on
the face of it."

The commissioner's eyes sank again, and he did not speak until the
detective had reached the end of his story. Then he opened a drawer in
his desk and took out a bundle of official blank-forms.

"It is wonderful! Wonderful! Muller, this case will go on record as one
of your finest achievements--and we thought it was so simple."

"Oh, indeed, sir, chance favoured me at every turn," replied Muller
modestly.

"There is no such thing as chance," said the commissioner. "We might as
well be honest with ourselves. Any one might have seen, doubtless
did see, all the things you saw, but no one else had the insight
to recognise their value, nor the skill to follow them up to such a
conclusion. But it's a sad case, a sad case. I never wrote a warrant
with a heavier heart. Thorne is a true-hearted gentleman, while the
scoundrel he killed..."

"Yes, sir, I feel that way about it myself. I can confess now that there
was one moment when I was ready to-well, just to say nothing.

"And let us blunder on in our official stupidity and blindness?"
interrupted the commissioner, a faint smile breaking the gravity of his
face. "We certainly gave you every opportunity."

"But there's an innocent man accused--suffering fear of death--justice
must be done. But, sir," Muller took the warrant the commissioner handed
across the table to him. "May I not make it as easy as I can for Mr.
Thorne--I mean, bring him here with as little publicity as possible? His
wife is with him in Venice."

"Poor little woman, it's terrible! Do whatever you think best, Muller.
You're a queer mixture. Here you've hounded this man down, followed hot
on his trail when not a soul but yourself connected him in any way with
the murder. And now you're sorry for him! A soft heart like yours is a
dangerous possession for a police detective, Muller. It's no aid to our
business."

"No, sir, I know that."

"Well take ca