clearly on the face before him, Muller's keen eyes looked down into
the soul of a man who might be overbearing, pitiless even, if
occasion demanded, but who would not murder--at least not for the
sake of gain. This last possibility Muller had dismissed from
his mind, even before he saw the prisoner. The man's reputation
was sufficient to make the thought ridiculous. But he had not made
up his mind whether it might not be a case of a murder after a
quarrel. Now he began to doubt even this when he looked into the
intelligent, harsh-featured face of the man in the cell. But Muller
had the gift of putting aside his own convictions, when he wanted
his mind clear to consider evidence before him.

Graumann had risen from his sitting position when he saw a stranger.
His heavy brows drew down over his, eyes, but he waited for the
other to speak.

"I am Detective Joseph Muller, from Vienna," began the newcomer,
when he had seen that the prisoner did not intend to start the
conversation.

"Have you come to question me again?" asked Graumann wearily. "I
can say no more than I have already said to the Police Commissioner.
And no amount of cross-examination can make me confess a crime of
which I am not guilty--no matter what evidence there may be against
me." The prisoner's voice was hard and determined in spite of its
note of physical and mental weariness.

"I have not come to extort a confession from you, Mr. Graumann,"
Muller replied gently, "but to help you establish your innocence,
if it be possible."