went two different times. I thought it was because he
couldn't stand it here and wanted to see something different. He went to
his club this evening, too."

"And when did he go away?"

"The first time was the day after his wife was buried."

"And the second time?"

"Two or three days after his return."

"How long did he stay away the first time?"

"Only one day."

"Good! Pull yourself together now. I'll send your George in to you and
tell him you haven't been feeling well. Don't tell any one about our
conversation. Where is the kitchen?"

"The last door to the right down the hall."

The peddler left the room and Nanette sank down dazed and trembling on
the nearest chair. George found her still pale, but he seemed to think
it quite natural that she should have been overcome by the recollection
of the terrible death of her mistress. He gave the old man a most
cordial invitation to return during the next few days. The cook brought
the peddler a cup of steaming tea, and purchased several trifles from
him, before he left the house.

When the old man had reached a lonely spot on the road, about half way
between the hunting castle and the city, he halted, set down his pack,
divested himself of his beard and his wig and washed the wrinkles from
his face with a handful of snow from the wayside. A quarter of an
hour later, Detective Muller entered the railway station of the city,
burdened with a large grip. He took a seat in the night express which
rolled out from the station a few moments later.

As he was alone in his compartment, Muller gave way to his excitement,
sometimes even murmuring half-aloud the thoughts that rushed through his
brain. "Yes, I am convinced of it, but can I find the proofs?" the words
came again and again, and in spite of the comfortable warmth in the
compartment, in spite of his tired and half-frozen condition, he could
not sleep.

He reached the capital at midnight and took a room in a small hotel in
a quiet street. When he went out next morning, the servants looked after
him with suspicion, as in their opinion a man who spent most of the
night pacing up and down his room must surely have a guilty conscience.

Muller went to police headquarters and looked through the arrivals at
the hotels on the 21st of November. The burial of Mrs. Kniepp had
taken place on the 20th. Muller soon found the name he was looking
for, "Forest Councillor Leo Kniepp," in the list of guests at the Hotel
Impe