Muller nodded calmly. "It would have been nobler, perhaps, to
have warned his victim of his approach, but it might have all come
to nothing then. The other could have called for help, could have
barricaded himself in his room, one crime might have been prevented,
and another, more shameful one, would have gone unavenged."

"Another crime? Fellner a criminal?"

"To-morrow you shall know everything, my kind friend. And now, let
us make the trial. Please lock the door behind me as it was locked
then."

Muller left the room, taking the pistol with him. Bauer locked the
door. "Is this right?" he asked.

"Yes, I can see a wide curve of the room, taking in the entire desk.
Please stand to one side now."

There was deep silence for a moment, then a slight sound as of metal
on metal, then a report, and Muller re-entered the study through the
bedroom. He found Bauer stooping over the picture of the French
soldier. There was a hole in the left breast, where the bullet,
passing through, had buried itself in the back of the chair.

"Yes, it was all just as you said," began the chief of police,
holding out his hand to Muller. "But - why the golden bullet?"

"To-morrow, to-morrow," replied the detective, looking up at his
superior with a glance of pleading.