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Muller nodded as if satisfied. Amster looked at him in surprise, still more surprised, however, at the excitement he felt himself. He did not understand it, but Muller understood it. He knew that he had found in Amster a talent akin to his own, one of those natures who once having taken up a trail cannot rest until they reach their goal.
In about half an hour they found themselves in a little square in the middle of which stood an old church. In front of the church, like giant sentinels, stood a pair of tall poplars. One of them looked sickly and was a good deal shorter than its neighbour. Muller nodded as if content. "Is this the church the commissioner was talking about?" queried Amster. "It is," was the answer.
"I fear that it will be impossible for any one to save me now, but perhaps I may be avenged. Therefore I will write down here all that has happened to me since I set out on my journey." These were the first words that were written under the mysterious title. Muller had just read them when the commissioner entered. "Will you speak to Amster; he has just returned?" he asked. Muller rose at once.
The hoof marks of the single horse which had drawn it were still plainly to be seen in the snow. "Will you follow these tracks in the direction from which they have come?" he asked of Amster. "Then meet me at the station and report what you have seen." "Very well, sir," answered the workman. The two men parted with a hand shake.
He looked for a few moments in satisfaction at the assistant he had found by such chance, then he turned and hastened down the stairs again. "We're going to that house?" asked Amster when they were down in the street. Muller nodded.
Here he noticed the tracks of a wagon, the trace still quite fresh, as the slowly falling flakes did not yet cover it. The tracks led out towards the north, out on to the hilly, open fields. Amster was somewhat astonished. It was very seldom that a carriage came into this neighbourhood, and yet these narrow wheel-tracks could have been made only by an equipage of that character.
A quarter of an hour later the cabs drove back toward the city. Inside one cowered Egon Langen, watched by the policeman and Amster. Berner was on the box beside the driver, telling the now interested man the story of what had happened to his dear young lady. In the other cab sat Asta Langen with Kurt von Mayringen and Muller.
"Yes, but we may be able to find it quicker than that." Muller took the little notebook, which he was now carrying in his pocket, and took from it the tramway ticket which was in the cover. He compared it with the one he had just found. They were both marked for the same hour of the day and for the same ride. "Did the man use them?" asked Amster. The detective nodded. "How can they help us?"
He followed each one of the streets for a little distance, but to no purpose. The wind blew the snow up in such heaps that it was quite impossible to follow any trail under such conditions. With an expression of impatience Muller gave up his search and turned to go back again. He was hoping that Amster might have had better luck.
"Are you married?" "No, but I have an old mother to support." "Leave your address with the commissioner. He may be able to find work for you; we can always use good men here. But now drink your tea." Amster drank the glass in one gulp. "Well, now we have lost the trail in both directions," said Muller calmly. "But we will find it again. You can help, as you are free now anyway.
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