"Is this the church the commissioner was talking about?" queried
Amster.

"It is," was the answer. Muller walked on toward a little house
built up against the church, which was evidently the dwelling of
the sexton.

The detective introduced himself to this official, who did not look
over-intelligent, as a stranger in the city who had been told that
the view from the tower of the church was particularly interesting.
A bright silver piece banished all distrust from the soul of the
worthy man. With great friendliness he inquired when the gentlemen
would like to ascend the tower. "At once," was the answer.

The sexton took a bunch of keys and told the strangers to follow
him. A few moments later Muller and his companion stood in the
tiny belfry room of the slender spire. The fat sexton, to his own
great satisfaction, had yielded to their request not to undertake
the steep ascent. The cloudless sky lay crystal clear over the
still sleeping city and the wide spread snow-covered fields which
lay close at hand, beyond the church. On the one side were gardens
and the low rambling buildings of the convent, and on the other
were huddled high-piled dwellings of poverty.

Muller looked out of each of the four windows in turn. He spent
some time at each window, but evidently without discovering what he
looked for, for he shook his head in discontent. But when he went
once more to the opening in the East, into which the sun was just
beginning to pour its light, something seemed to attract his
attention. He called Amster and pointed from the window. "Your