ng flakes did not yet cover it. The tracks led
out towards the north, out on to the hilly, open fields.

Amster was somewhat astonished. It was very seldom that a carriage came
into this neighbourhood, and yet these narrow wheel-tracks could have
been made only by an equipage of that character. The heavy trucks which
passed these roads occasionally had much wider wheels. But Amster was to
find still more to astonish him.

In one corner near the cross-roads stood a solitary lamp-post. The
light of the lamp fell sharply on the snow, on the wagon tracks, and--on
something else besides.

Amster halted, bent down to look at it, and shook his head as if in
doubt.

A number of small pieces of glass gleamed up at him and between them,
like tiny roses, red drops of blood shone on the white snow. All this
was a few steps to one side of the wagon tracks.

"What can have happened here--here in this weird spot, where a cry for
help would never be heard? where there would be no one to bring help?"

So Amster asked himself, but his discovery gave him no answer. His
curiosity was aroused, however, and he wished to know more. He followed
up the tracks and saw that the drops of blood led further on, although
there was no more glass. The drops could still be seen for a yard
further, reaching out almost to the board fence that edged the sidewalk.
Through the broken planks of this fence the rough bare twigs of a
thorn bush stretched their brown fingers. On the upper side of the few
scattered leaves there was snow, and blood.

Amster's wide serious eyes soon found something else. Beside the bush
there lay a tiny package. He lifted it up. It was a small, light, square
package, wrapped in ordinary brown paper. Where the paper came together
it was fastened by two little lumps of black bread, which were still
moist. He turned the package over and shook his head again. On the other
side was written, in pencil, the lettering uncertain, as if scribbled
in great haste and in agitation, the sentence, "Please take this to the
nearest police station."

The words were like a cry for help, frozen on to the ugly paper. Amster
shivered; he had a feeling that this was a matter of life and death.

The wagon tracks in the lonely street, the broken pieces of glass and
the drops of blood, showing that some occupant of the vehicle had broken
the window, in the hope of escape, perhaps, or to throw out the package
which should bring assistance--all these