use, a little mother-of-pearl glove
button, of the kind much in fashion that winter, because of a desire
on the part of the ladies of the town to help the home industry of the
neighbourhood. Mrs. Marie Kniepp was one of the fashionable women of the
town, and several days before the Professor was murdered, this woman
had thrown herself from the second-story window of her home, and her
husband, whose passionate eccentric nature was well known, had been a
changed man from that hour.

It was his deep grief at the loss of his beloved wife that had turned
his hair grey and had drawn lines of terrible sorrow in his face--said
gossip. But Muller, who did not know Kniepp personally although he had
been taking a great interest in his affairs for the last few days, had
his own ideas on the subject, and he decided to make the acquaintance of
the Forest Councillor as soon as possible--that is, after he had found
out all there was to be found out about his affairs and his habits.

Just a week after the murder, on Saturday evening therefore, the snow
was whirling merrily about the gables and cupolas of the Archducal
hunting castle. The weather-vanes groaned and the old trees in the park
bent their tall tops under the mad wind which swept across the earth and
tore the protecting snow covering from their branches. It was a stormy
evening, not one to be out in if a man had a warm corner in which to
hide.

An old peddler was trying to find shelter from the rapidly increasing
storm under the lea of the castle wall. He crouched so close to the
stones that he could scarcely be seen at all, in spite of the light
from the snow. Finally he disappeared altogether behind one of the heavy
columns which sprang out at intervals from the magnificent wall. Only
his head peeped out occasionally as if looking for something. His dark,
thoughtful eyes glanced over the little village spread out on one side
of the castle, and over the railway station, its most imposing building.
Then they would turn back again to the entrance gate in the wall
near where he stood. It was a heavy iron-barred gate, its handsome
ornamentation outlined in snow, and behind it the body of a large dog
could be occasionally seen. This dog was an enormous grey Ulmer hound.

The peddler stood for a long time motionless behind the pillar, then he
looked at his watch. "It's nearly time," he murmured, and looked over
towards the station again, where lights and figures were gathering.