any others who do not like
him--most of his fellow-warders for instance, and all of the patients.
I think there must be something in the contrast of such quiet movements
with such a big body that gets on people's nerves. But consider, Mr.
Muller, that the man's work would naturally make him a little different
from other people. I have known Gyuri for five years as a faithful
and unassuming servant, always willing and ready for any duty,
however difficult or dangerous. He has but one fault--if I may call it
such--that is that he has a mistress who is known to be mercenary and
hard-hearted. She lives in a neighbouring village."

"For five years, you say? And how long has Cardillac been here?"

"Cardillac? He has been here for almost three years."

"For almost three years, and is it not almost three years--" Muller
interrupted himself. "Are we quite alone? Is no one listening?" The
doctor nodded, greatly surprised, and the detective continued almost in
a whisper, "and it is just about three years now that there have
been committed, at intervals, three terrible crimes notable from
the cleverness with which they were carried out, and from the utter
impossibility, apparently, of discovering the perpetrator."

Orszay sprang up. His face flushed and then grew livid, and he put his
hand to his forehead. Then he forced a smile and said in a voice
that trembled in spite of himself: "Mr. Muller, your imagination is
wonderful. And which of these two do you think it is that has committed
these crimes--the perpetrator of which you have come here to find?"

"I will tell you that later. I must speak to No. 302 first, and I must
speak to him in the presence of yourself and Gyuri."

The detective's deep gravity was contagious. Dr. Orszay had sufficiently
controlled himself to remember what he had heard in former days, and
just now recently from the district judge about this man's marvelous
deeds. He realised that when Muller said a thing, no matter how
extravagant it might sound, it was worth taking seriously. This
realisation brought great uneasiness and grief to the doctor's heart,
for he had grown fond of both of the men on whom terrible suspicion was
cast by such an authority.

Muller himself was uneasy, but the gloom that had hung over him for
the past day or two had vanished. The impenetrable darkness that had
surrounded the mystery of the pastor's murder had gotten on his nerves.
He was not accustomed to work so long over a