least interested of anybody in the proceedings.

For a moment there was complete silence in the room, which was broken
in a rather unusual manner. A deep voice, more like a growl, although
it had a queer strain of comic good-nature in it, began the proceedings
with the remark: "Well now, say, what do you want of me, anyway?"

The commissioner looked at the man in astonishment, then turned aside
that the prisoner might not notice his smile. But he might have spared
himself the trouble, for Muller, the clerk, and the two policemen at the
door were all on a broad grin.

Then the commissioner pulled himself together again, and began with his
usual official gravity: "It is I who ask questions here. Is it possible
that you do not know this? You look to me as if you had had experience
in police courts before." The commissioner gazed at the prisoner with
eyes that were not altogether friendly. The tramp seemed to feel this,
and his own eyes dropped, while the good-natured impertinence in
his bearing disappeared. It was evidently the last remains of his
intoxication. He was now quite sober.

"What is your name?" asked the commissioner.

"Johann Knoll."

"Where were you born?"

"Near Brunn."

"Your age?"

"I'm--I'll be forty next Christmas."

"Your religion?"

"Well, you can see I'm no Jew, can't you?"

"You will please answer my questions in a proper manner. This
impertinence will not make things easier for you."

"All right, sir," said the tramp humbly. "I am a Catholic."

"You have been in prison before?" This was scarcely a question.

"No, sir," said Knoll firmly.

"What is your business?"

"I don't know what to say, sir," answered Knoll, shrugging his
shoulders. "I've done a lot of things in my life. I'm a cattle drover
and a lumber man, and I--"

"Did you learn any trade?"

"No, sir, I never learned anything."

"Do you mean to tell me that without having learned any trade you've
gotten through life thus far honestly?"

"Oh, I've worked hard enough--I've worked good and hard sometimes."

"The last few days particularly, eh?"

"Why, no, sir, not these last days--I was drover on a transport of pigs;
we brought 'em down from Hungary, 200 of 'em, to the slaughter house
here."

"When was that?"

"That was--that was Monday."

"This last Monday?"

"Yes, sir.

"And then you went to Hietzing?"

"Yes, sir, that's right."

"Why did you go to Hietzing?"

"Why, see here, sir, if I had gone to