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Page 16
Joseph Muller, the bloodhound of the Austrian police, had found a
clue, a clue that soon would bring him to the trail he was seeking.
He did not know yet what he could do with his clue. But this much
he knew; sooner or later this scratch in the floor would lead him
to the murderer. The trail might be long and devious; but he would
follow it and at its end would be success. He knew that this scratch
had been made after the murder was committed; this was proved by the
blood that marked its beginning. And it could not have been made by
any of those who entered the room during the day because by that
time the blood had dried. This strange streak in the floor, with
its weird curves and spirals, could have been made only by the
murderer. But how? With what instrument? There was the riddle
which must be solved.
And now Muller, making another careful examination of the floor,
found something else. It was something that might be utterly
unimportant or might be of great value. It was a tiny bit of
hardened lacquer which he found on the floor beside one of the legs
of the desk. It was rounded out, with sharp edges, and coloured
grey with a tiny zigzag of yellow on its surface. Muller lifted it
carefully and looked at it keenly. This tiny bit of lacquer had
evidently been knocked off from some convex object, but it was
impossible to tell at the moment just what sort of an object it
might have been. There are so many different things which are
customarily covered with lacquer. However, further examination
brought him down to a narrower range of subjects. For on the inside
of the lacquer he found a shred of reddish wood fibre. It must have
been a wooden object, therefore, from which the lacquer came, and
the wood had been of reddish tinge.
Muller pondered the matter for a little while longer. Then he
placed his discovery carefully in the pastor's emptied tobacco-box,
and dropped the box in his own pocket. He closed the window and the
door to the dining-room, lit a lamp, and entered the passageway
leading to the vestry. It was a short passageway, scarcely more
than a dozen paces long.
The walls were whitewashed, the floor tiled and the entire passage
shone in neatness. Muller held the light of his lamp to every inch
of it, but there was nothing to show that the criminal had gone
through here with the body of his victim.
"The criminal"--Muller still thought of only one. His long
experience had taught him that the most intricate crimes were
usually committed by one man only. The strength necessary for such
a crime as this did not deceive him either. He knew that in
extraordinary moments extraordinary strength will come to the one
who needs it.
He now passed down the steps leading into the vestry. There was no
trace of any kind here either. The door into the vestry was not
locked. It was seldom locked, they had told him, for the vestry
itself was closed by a huge carved portal with a heavy ornamented
iron lock that could be opened only with the greatest noise and
trouble. This door was locked and closed as it had been since
yesterday morning. Everything in the vestry was in perfect order;
the priest's garments and the censers all in their places. Muller
assured himself of this before he left the little room. He then
opened the glass door that led down by a few steps into the church.
It was a beautiful old church, and it was a rich church also. It
was built in the older Gothic style, and its heavy, broad-arched
walls, its massive columns would have made it look cold and bare
had not handsome tapestries, the gift of the lady of the manor,
covered the walls. Fine old pictures hung here and there above the
altars, and handsome stained glass windows broke the light that fell
into the high vaulted interior. There were three great altars in
the church, all of them richly decorated. The main altar stood
isolated in the choir. In the open space behind it was the
entrance to the crypt, now veiled in a mysterious twilight. Heavy
silver candlesticks, three on a side, stood on the altar. The pale
gold of the tabernacle door gleamed between them.
Muller walked through the silent church, in which even his light
steps resounded uncannily. He looked into each of the pews, into
the confessionals, he walked around all the columns, he climbed up
into the pulpit, he did everything that the others had done before
him yesterday. And as with them, he found nothing that would
indicate that the murderer had spent any time in the church.
Finally he turned back once more to the main altar on his way out.
But he did not leave the church as he intended. His last look at
the altar had showed him something that attracted his attention and
he walked up the three steps to examine it more closely.
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