in the same moment Muller and the physician passed through the
dining-room. Johann hurried into the bedroom to open the
window-shutters, and the others gathered in the doorway. A single
look showed each of the men that the bed was untouched, and they
passed on through the room. The door from the bedroom to the study
stood open. In the latter room the shutters were tightly closed,
and the lamp had long since gone out. But sufficient light fell
through the open bedroom door for the men to see the figure of the
Professor seated at his desk, and when Johann had opened the
shutters, it was plain to all that the silent figure before them
was that of a corpse.

"Heart disease, probably," murmured the physician, as he touched
the icy forehead. Then he felt the pulse of the stiffened hand
from which the pen had fallen in the moment of death, raised the
drooping head and lifted up the half-closed eyelids. The eyes
were glazed.

The others looked on in silence. Horn was very pale, and his
usually calm face showed great emotion. Johann seemed quite beside
himself, the tears rolled down his cheeks unhindered. Muller stood
without a sign of life, his sallow face seemed made of bronze; he
was watching and listening. He seemed to hear and see what no one
else could see or hear. He smiled slightly when the doctor spoke
of "heart disease," and his eyes fell on the revolver that lay near
the dead man's hand on the desk. Then he shook his head, and then
he started suddenly. Horn noticed the movement; it was in the moment
when the physician raised up the sunken figure that had fallen half
over the desk.