for he shook his head in discontent. But when he went once more to
the opening in the East, into which the sun was just beginning to pour
its light, something seemed to attract his attention. He called Amster
and pointed from the window. "Your eyes are younger than mine, lend them
to me. What do you see over there to the right, below the tall factory
chimney?" Muller's voice was calm, but there was something in his manner
that revealed excitement. Amster caught the infection without knowing
why. He looked sharply in the direction towards which Muller pointed,
and began: "There is a tall house near the chimney, to the right of
it, one wall touching it. The house is crowded in between other newer
buildings, and looks to be very old and of a much better sort than
its neighbours. The other houses are plain stone, but this house has
carvings and statues on it, which are white with snow. But the house is
in bad condition, one can see cracks in the wall."

"And its windows?"

"I cannot see them. They must be on the other side of the house, towards
the courtyard which seems to be hemmed in by the blank walls of the
other houses."

"And at the front of the house?"

"There is a low wall in front which shuts off the courtyard from a
narrow, ill-kept street."

"Yes, I see it myself now. The street is bordered mainly by gardens and
vacant lots."

"Yes, sir, that is it." Muller nodded as if satisfied. Amster looked
at him in surprise, still more surprised, however, at the excitement
he felt himself. He did not understand it, but Muller understood it. He
knew that he had found in Amster a talent akin to his own, one of those
natures who once having taken up a trail cannot rest until they reach
their goal. He looked for a few moments in satisfaction at the assistant
he had found by such chance, then he turned and hastened down the stairs
again.

"We're going to that house?" asked Amster when they were down in the
street. Muller nodded.

Without hesitation the two men made their way through a tangle of dingy,
uninteresting alleys, between modern tenements, until about ten minutes
later they stood before an old three-storied building, which had a
frontage of four windows on the street. "This is our place," said the
detective, looking up at the tall, handsome gateway and the rococo
carvings that ornamented the front of this decaying dwelling. It was
very evidently of a different age and class from those about it.

Muller had