of affairs. He knew the case was in safe hands. He seated
himself at his desk again and began to read the little book which
had come into his hands so strangely. His eyes ran more and more
rapidly over the closely written pages, as his interest grew and
grew.

When, half an hour later, he had finished the reading, he paced
restlessly up and down the room, trying to bring order into the
thoughts that rushed through his brain. And one thought came
again and again, and would not be denied in spite of many
improbabilities, and many strange things with which the book was
full; in spite, also, of the varying, uncertain handwriting and
style of the message. 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 was again at the desk with the open book before him,
staring at the mysterious words, "How I was murdered."

"It is a woman, a lady of position. And if she is mad, then her
madness certainly has method." Muller said these words in his
usual quiet way, almost indifferently. The young commissioner
started up and snatched for the fine white handkerchief which the
detective handed him. 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