The men walked down the straight path which led to the little gate
in the high wall. This gate had a secret lock, which, however, was
neither hard to find nor hard to open. Muller managed it with ease,
and looked out through the gate on the street beyond. The broad
promenade, deserted now in its winter snowiness, led away in one
direction to the heart of the city. In the other it ended in the
main county high-road. This was a broad, well-made turnpike, with
footpath and rows of trees. A half-hour's walk along it would bring
one to the little village clustering about the Archduke's favourite
hunting castle. There was a little railway station near the castle,
but it was used only by suburban trains or for the royal private car.

Muller did not intend to burden his brain with unnecessary facts,
so with his usual thoroughness he left the further investigation of
what lay beyond the gate, until he had searched the garden thoroughly.
But even for his sharp eyes there was no trace to be found that
would tell of the night visit of the murderer.

"In which of the pails did you put the key to the side door?" he
asked.

"In the first pail on the right hand side. But be careful, sir;
there's a nail sticking out of the post there. The wind tore off
a piece of wood yesterday."

The warning came too late. Muller's sleeve tore apart with a sharp
sound just as Johann spoke, for the detective had already plunged
his hand into the pail. The bottom of the bucket was easy to reach,
as this one hung much lower than the others. Looking regretfully
at the rent in his coat, Muller asked for needle and thread that