is time and strength to this
problem of our obscure little village."

"There is nothing else calling me, sir," answered Muller. "And the
Budapest police will explain to headquarters at Vienna if I do not
return at once."

"Do you understand our tongue sufficiently to deal with these people
here?"

"Oh, yes; there will be no difficulty about that. I have hunted
criminals in Hungary before. And a case of this kind does not usually
call for disguises in which any accent would betray one."

"It is a strange profession," said the doctor.

"One gets used to it--like everything else," answered Muller, with a
gentle smile. "And now I have to thank you gentlemen for your confidence
in me."

"Which I know you will justify," said the Count.

Muller shrugged his shoulders: "I haven't felt anything yet--but it will
come--there's something in the air."

The Count smiled at his manner of expressing himself, but all four
of the men had already begun to feel sympathy and respect for this
quiet-mannered little person whose words were so few and whose voice was
so gentle. Something in his grey eyes and in the quiet determination of
his manner made them realise that he had won his fame honestly. With the
enthusiasm of his race the Hungarian Count pressed the detective's hand
in a warm grasp as he said: "I know that we can trust in you. You will
avenge the death of my old friend and of those others who were killed
here. The doctor and the magistrate will tell you about them to-morrow.
We two will go home now. Telegraph us as soon as anything has happened.
Every one in the village will be ready to help you and of course you can
call on me for funds. Here is something to begin on." With these words
the Count laid a silk purse full of gold pieces on the table. One more
pressure of the hand and he was gone. The other men also left the room,
following the Count's lead in a cordial farewell of the detective. They
also shared the nobleman's feeling that now indeed, with this man to
help them, could the cloud of horror that had hung over the village for
two years, and had culminated in the present catastrophe, be lifted.

The excitement of the Count's departure had died away and the steps of
the other men on their way to the village had faded in the distance.
There was nothing now to be heard but the rustling of the leaves and the
creaking of the boughs as the trees bent before the onrush of the wind.
Muller stood alone, with folded arms