howed him that even the head of the department had been incensed at his
suggestion that the beautiful Mrs. Kniepp had died of her own free
will. It had been his assertion of this which, coming to the ears of
the bereaved husband, had enraged and embittered him, and had turned the
power of his influence with the high authorities against the detective.
Muller knew how greatly he had fallen from favour in the Police
Department, and the words of his respected superior showed him that he
was still in disgrace.

But the strange, quiet smile was still on his lips as, with his usual
humble deference, he accompanied the others to the sidewalk. Before
the commissioners left the house, the Chief commanded Johann to answer
carefully any questions Muller might put to him.

"He'll find something, you may be sure," said Horn, as they drove off in
the cab.

"Let him that's his business. He is officially bound to see more than
the rest of us," smiled the older official good-naturedly. "But in spite
of it, he'll never get any further than the vestibule; he'll be making
bows to us to the end of his days."

"You think so? I've wondered at the man. I know his fame in the capital,
indeed, in police circles all over Austria and Germany. It seems hard
on him to be transferred to this small town, now that he is growing old.
I've wondered why he hasn't done more for himself, with his gifts."

"He never will," replied the Chief. "He may win more fame--he may still
go on winning triumphs, but he will go on in a circle; he'll never forge
ahead as his capabilities deserve. Muller's peculiarity is that his
genius--for the man has undeniable genius--will always make concessions
to his heart just at the moment when he is about to do something
great--and his triumph is lost."

Horn looked up at his superior, whom, in spite of his good nature, he
knew to be a sharp, keen, capable police official. "I forgot you have
known Muller longer than the rest of us," he said. "What was that you
said about his heart?"

"I said that it is one of those inconvenient hearts that will always
make itself noticeable at the wrong time. Muller's heart has played
several tricks on the police department, which has, at other times,
profited so well by his genius. He is a strange mixture. While he is on
the trail of the criminal he is like the bloodhound. He does not seem to
know fatigue nor hunger; his whole being is absorbed by the excitement
of the chase. He has done