rial. The detective went at once to the Hotel Imperial, where he was
already well known. It cost him little time and trouble to discover what
he wished to know, the reason for the Councillor's visit to the capital.

Kniepp had asked for the address of a goldsmith, and had been directed
to one of the shops which had the best reputation in the city. He had
been in the capital altogether for about twenty-four hours. He had the
manner and appearance of a man suffering under some terrible blow.

Muller himself was deep in thought as he entered the train to return
to his home, after a visit to the goldsmith in question. He had a short
interview with Chief of Police Bauer, who finally gave him the golden
bullet and the keys to the apartment of the murdered man. Then the two
went out together.

An hour later, the chief of police and Muller stood in the garden of
the house in which the murder had occurred. Bauer had entered from the
Promenade after Muller had shown him how to work the lock of the little
gate. Together they went up into the apartment, which was icy cold and
uncanny in its loneliness. But the two men did not appear to notice
this, so greatly were they interested in the task that had brought them
there. First of all, they made a most minute examination of the two
doors which had been locked. The keys were still in both locks on
the inside. They were big heavy keys, suitable for the tall massive
heavily-paneled and iron-ornamented doors. The entire villa was built
in this heavy old German style, the favourite fashion of the last few
years.

When they had looked the locks over carefully, Muller lit the lamp that
hung over the desk in the study and closed the window shutters tight.
Bauer had smiled at first as he watched his, protege's actions, but
his smile changed to a look of keen interest as he suddenly understood.
Muller took his place in the chair before the desk and looked over at
the door of the vestibule, which was directly opposite him. "Yes, that's
all right," he said with a deep breath.

Bauer had sat down on the sofa to watch the proceedings, now he sprang
up with an exclamation: "Through the keyhole?"

"Through the keyhole," answered Muller.

"It is scarcely possible."

"Shall we try it?"

"Yes, yes, you do it." Even the usually indifferent old chief of police
was breathing more hastily now. Muller took a roll of paper and a small
pistol out of his pocket. He unrolled the paper, which represent