as far as could be known, the murder had been committed. He
walked in carefully and, setting the lamp on the desk, examined the
articles lying about on it. There was nothing of importance to be
found there. An open Bible and a sheet of paper with notes for the
day's sermon lay on top of the desk. In the drawers, none of which
were locked, were official papers, books, manuscripts of former
sermons, and a few unimportant personal notes.

The flame of the lamp flickered in the breeze that came from the
open window. But Muller did not close the casement. He wanted to
leave everything just as he had found it until daylight. When he
saw that it was impossible to leave the lamp there he took it up
again and left the room.

"What is the use of being impatient?" he said to himself. "If I
move about in this poor light I will be sure to ruin some possible
clue. For there must be some clue left here. It is impossible for
even the most practiced criminal not to leave some trace of his
presence."

The detective returned to the dining-room, locking the study door
carefully behind him. The maid and the coachman returned, bringing
in an abundant supper, and Muller sat down to do justice to the many
good things on the tray. When the maid returned to take away the
dishes she inquired whether she should put the guest chamber in
order for the detective. He told her not to go to any trouble for
his sake, that he would sleep in the bed in the neighbouring room.

"You going to sleep in there?" said the girl, horrified.