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"Certainly. Did you telegraph to all the railway stations?" "Yes," answered the commissioner, "and also to the other police stations." "And to the hospitals? asylums?" "No, I did not do that." Commissioner von Mayringen blushed, a blush that was as becoming to him as was his frank acknowledgment of his mistake.
He knew, however, that this quiet, pale-faced little man in the shabby clothes was greater than he, and that it was mere accident of birth that put him, Kurt von Mayringen, instead of Joseph Muller, in the position of superior.
A strong sweet perfume filled the room. "It is hers?" he murmured. "It is hers," said Muller. "At least we can take that much for granted, for the handkerchief bears the same monogram, A. L., which is on the notebook." Commissioner von Mayringen rose from his chair in evident excitement. "Well?" he asked.
This one thought was, "This woman is not insane." While the young official was pondering over the problem, Muller entered as quietly as ever, bowed, put his hat and cane in their places, and shook the snow off his clothing. He was evidently pleased about something. Kurt von Mayringen did not notice his entrance.
He showed them a single blond hair which had been in one of the bread seals. "How I was murdered." Those were the words that Commissioner von Mayringen read aloud after he had hastily turned the first few pages of the notebook, and had come to a place where the writing was heavily underscored.
This indeed is what Muller calls a "case with a happy ending," for scarcely a year later, to his own great embarrassment, he found himself the most honoured guest, and a centre of attraction equally with the bridal couple, at the marriage of Kurt von Mayringen and Asta Langen.
Fifteen minutes after the driver had made his report to Commissioner Von Mayringen, the latter with Amster entered another cab. A well-armed policeman mounted the box of this second vehicle. "Follow that cab ahead," the commissioner told his driver. The second cab followed the one-horse coupe in which Muller was seated.
When the detective had finished reading it, he closed his eyes for a few minutes to let the impression made by the story sink into his mind. Then he rose and put on his overcoat. He entered the commissioner's room and took up his hat and cane. "Where are you going, Muller?" asked Herr Von Mayringen. "To Cathedral Lane, if you will permit it." "At this hour? it is quarter past eleven!
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.
He was still very young to hold such an office, but then he was the son of a Cabinet Minister, and family connections had obtained this responsible position for him so soon. Kurt von Mayringen was his name, and he was a very good-looking young man, apparently a very good-natured young man also, for he took this advice from a subordinate with a most charming smile.
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