med thoughts were mere
instinct--they were the workings of his own genius that made him catch
a suspicion of the truth long before his conscious mind could reason it
out or appreciate its value. But that sort of thing was not popular in
official police life.

"Well," asked the commissioner, as Muller did not continue, "your tongue
is not usually so slow--as you have proved just a few moments back--what
were you going to say now?"

"I was about to ask your pardon for my interruption. It was unnecessary,
I should not have said it."

"Well, I realise that you know better yourself," said Riedau, now quite
friendly again, "and now what else have you to say? Do you really think
that what the young man has just told us is of any value at all for this
case?"

"It seems to me as if it might be of value to us."

"Oh, it seems to you, eh? Your imagination is working overtime again,
Muller," said the commissioner with a laugh. But the laugh turned to
seriousness as he realised how many times Muller's imagination
had helped the clumsy official mind to its proudest triumphs. The
commissioner was an intelligent man, as far as his lights went, and he
was a good-hearted man. He rose from his chair and walked over to where
the detective stood. "You needn't look so embarrassed, Muller," he said.
"There is no cause for you to feel bad about it. And--I am quite willing
to admit that my remark just now was unnecessary. You may give your
imagination full rein, we can trust to your intelligence and your
devotion to duty to keep it from unnecessary flights. So curbed, I know
it will be of as much assistance to us this time as it always has been."

Muller's quiet face lit up, and his eyes shone in a happiness that made
him appear ten years younger. That was one of the strange things about
Joseph Muller. This genius in his profession was in all other ways a
man of such simplicity of heart and bearing, that the slightest word of
approval from one of the officials for whom he worked could make him as
happy as praise from the teacher will make a schoolboy. The moments when
he was in command of any difficult case, when these same superiors would
wait for a word from him, when high officials would take his orders or
would be obliged to acknowledge that without him they were helpless,
these moments were forgotten as soon as the problem was solved and
Muller became again the simple subordinate and the obscure member of the
Imperial police force.