planks which were laid cross-ways and nailed to thick posts. It
would have been very easy for anybody to get a foothold in this
open space between the planks.

It was very evidently some foot thrust in between the planks which
had broken the little willow twig, and its soft rind had left a
green mark on the lower plank. "I wonder if that has anything to
do with the murder," thought Muller, looking over the fence
into the lot on the other side.

This neighbouring plot was evidently a neglected garden. It had
once worn an aristocratic air, with stone statues and artistic
arrangement of flower beds and shrubs. It was still attractive
even in its neglected condition. Beyond it, through the foliage
of its heavy trees, glass windows caught the sunlight. Muller
remembered that there was a handsome old house in this direction,
a house with a mansard roof and wide-reaching wings. He did not
now know to whom this handsome old house belonged, a house that
must have been built in the time of Maria Theresa, ... but he was
sure of one thing, and that was that he would soon find out to
whom it belonged. At present it was the garden which interested
him, and he was anxious to see where it ended. A few moments'
further inspection showed him what he wanted to know. The garden
extended to the beginning of the park-like grounds which surrounded
the old house with the mansard roof. A tall iron railing separated
the garden from the park, but this railing did not extend down as
far as the quiet lane. Where it ended there was a light, well-built
wooden fence. Along the street side of the fence there was a high
thick hedge. Muller walked along this hedge until he came to a
little gate. Then crossing the street, he saw that the house whose