"Your housekeeper evidently has no secrets from the rest of you,"Muller remarked with a laugh, still busy at the wires, "or she wouldn't leave her letters lying about like that.""Oh, we've all heard what's in that letter," replied Franz. "She read it to us when it came this morning. It's from the Madam. She sent messages to all of us and orders, so Mrs. Bernauer read us the whole letter. There's no secrets in that.""The button has been pressed in too far and caught down. That seems to be the main trouble," said Muller, readjusting the little knob.
"I'd like a candle here if I may have one."
"I'll get you a light at once," said Franz. But his intentions, however excellent, seemed difficult of fulfilment. It was rapidly growing dark, and the old butler peered about uncertainly. "Stupid,"he muttered. "I don't know where she keeps the matches. I can't find them anywhere. I'm not a smoker, so I haven't any in my pocket.""Nor I," said Muller calmly, letting his hand close protectingly over a new full box of them in his own pocket.
"I'll get you some from my own room," and Franz hurried away, his loose slippers clattering down the stairs. He was no sooner well out of the room than Muller had the letter in his hand and was standing close by the window to catch the fading light. But on the old servant's return the supposed electrician stood calmly awaiting the coming of the light, and the letter was back on the table half hidden by a piece of linen. Franz did not notice that the envelope was missing. And the housekeeper, whose mind was so upset by the events of the day, and whose thoughts were on other more absorbing matters, would hardly be likely to remember whether she had returned this quite unimportant letter to its envelope or not.
Franz brought a lighted candle with him, and Muller, who really did possess a creditable knowledge of electricity, saw that the wires in the room were all in good condition. As he had seen at first, there was really nothing the matter except with the position of the button. But it did not suit his purpose to enlighten Franz on the matter just yet.
"Now I'd better look at the wires in the gentleman's room," he said, when he had returned plate and button to their place.
"Just as you say," replied Franz, taking up his candle and leading the way out into the hail and down the winding stair. They crossed the lower corridor, mounted another staircase and entered a large, handsomely furnished room, half studio, half library. The wall was covered with pictures and sketches, several easels stood piled up in the corner, and a broad table beside them held paint boxes, colour tubes, brushes, all the paraphernalia of the painter, now carefully ordered and covered for a term of idleness. Great bookcases towered to the ceiling, and a huge flat top desk, a costly piece of furniture, was covered with books and papers. It was the room of a man of brains and breeding, a man of talent and ability, possessing, furthermore, the means to indulge his tastes freely. Even now, with its master absent, the handsome apartment bore the impress of his personality. The detective's quick imagination called up the attractive, sympathetic figure of the man he had seen at the gate, as his quick eye took in the details of the room. All the charm of Herbert Thorne's personality, which the keen-sensed Muller had felt so strongly even in that fleeting glimpse of him, came back again here in the room which was his own little kingdom and the expression of his mentality.
"Well, what's the trouble here? Where are the wires?" asked the detective, after the momentary pause which had followed his entrance into the room. Franz led him to a spot on the wall hidden by a marquetry cabinet. "Here's the bell, it rings for several minutes before it stops."The light of the candle which the butler held fell upon a portrait hanging above the cabinet. It was a sketch in water-colours, the life-sized head of a man who may have been about thirty years old, perhaps, but who had none of the freshness and vigour of youth.
The scanty hair, the sunken temples, and the faded skin, emphasised the look of dissipation given by the lines about the sensual mouth and the shifty eyes.
"Well, say, can't your master find anything better to paint than a face like that?" Muller asked with a laugh.
"Goodness me! you mustn't say such things!" exclaimed Franz in alarm; "that's the Madam's brother. He's an officer, I'd have you know. It's true, he doesn't look like much there, but that's because he's not in uniform. It makes such a difference.""Is the lady anything like her brother?" asked the detective indifferently, bending to examine the wiring.
"Oh, dear, no, not a bit; they're as different as day and night.
He's only her half-brother anyway. She was the daughter of the Colonel's second wife. Our Madam is the sweetest, gentlest lady you can imagine, an angel of goodness. But the Lieutenant here has always been a care to his family, they say. I guess he's quieted down a bit now, for his father - he's Colonel Leining, retired - made him get exchanged from the city to a small garrison town. There's nothing much to do in Marburg, I dare say - well! you are a merry sort, aren't you?" These last words, spoken in a tone of surprise, were called forth by a sudden sharp whistle from the detective, a whistle which went off into a few merry bars.
