o 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 slowl