Muller, however, was already drinking heavily. He looked up when
addressed and uttered a sound which might have been taken for an
expression of polite acquiescence. Then he filled his glass again.

Mr. Snyder's parcel revealed a watch-charm fashioned in the shape of a
tiny, candid-eye camera. "That," said Mrs. Pickett, "is a compliment to
your profession." She leaned toward the captain. "Mr. Snyder is a
detective, Captain Muller."

He looked up. It seemed to Mr. Snyder that a look of fear lit up his
heavy eyes for an instant. It came and went, if indeed it came at all,
so swiftly that he could not be certain.

"So?" said Captain Muller. He spoke quite evenly, with just the amount
of interest which such an announcement would naturally produce.

"Now for yours, Captain," said Oakes. "I guess it's something special.
It's twice the size of mine, anyway."

It may have been something in the old woman's expression as she watched
Captain Muller slowly tearing the paper that sent a thrill of
excitement through Mr. Snyder. Something seemed to warn him of the
approach of a psychological moment. He bent forward eagerly.

There was a strangled gasp, a thump, and onto the table from the
captain's hands there fell a little harmonica. There was no mistaking
the look on Muller's face now. His cheeks were like wax, and his eyes,
so dull till then, blazed with a panic and horror which he could not
repress. The glasses on the table rocked as he clutched at the cloth.