The evening was already far gone when Muller entered Riedau’s office.
“You’re in time, the man isn’t here yet. The train is evidently late,” said the commissioner. “We’re working this case off quickly. We will have the murderer here in half an hour at the latest. He did not have much time to enjoy the stolen property. He was here in Vienna this morning, and was arrested in Pressburg this afternoon. Here is the telegram, read it.”
Dr. von Riedau handed Muller the message. The commissioner was evidently pleased and excited. The telegram read as follows: “Man arrested here in possession of described purse containing four ten gulden notes and four guldens in silver. Arrested in store of second-hand clothes dealer Goldstamm. Will arrive this evening in Vienna under guard.”
The message was signed by the Chief of the Pressburg police.
Muller laid the paper on the desk without a word. There was a watch on this desk already; it was a heavy gold watch, unusually thick, with the initials L. W. on the cover. Just as Muller laid down the telegram, a door outside was opened and the commissioner covered the watch hastily. There was a loud knock at his own door and an attendant entered to announce that the party from Pressburg had arrived He was followed by one of the Pressburg police force, who brought the official report.
“Did you have any difficulty with him?” asked the commissioner.
“Oh, no, sir; it was a very easy job. He made no resistance at all, and he seems to be quite sober now. But he hasn’t said a word since we arrested him.”
Then followed the detailed report of the arrest, and the delivery of the described pocketbook to the commissioner.
“Then you may go home now, we will take charge of the man.”
The policeman bowed and left the room. A few moments later the tramp was brought in, guarded by two armed roundsmen. His guards remained at the door, while the prisoner himself walked forward to the middle of the room. Commissioner von Riedau sat at his desk, his clerk beside him ready to take down the evidence. Muller sat near a window with a paper on his lap, looking the least interested of anybody in the proceedings.
For a moment there was complete silence in the room, which was broken in a rather unusual manner. A deep voice, more like a growl, although it had a queer strain of comic good-nature in it, began the proceedings with the remark: “Well now, say, what do you want of me, anyway?”