The attendant disappeared, and the commissioner looked up at the clock. It was just striking eleven, but the fellow official who was to relieve him at that hour had not yet appeared. And if this should chance to be a new case, he would probably be obliged to take it himself. The commissioner was not in a very good humour as he sat back to receive the young man who entered the room in the wake of the attendant. The stranger was a sturdy youth, with an unintelligent, good-natured face. He twisted his soft hat in his hands in evident embarrassment, and his eyes wandered helplessly about the great bare room.
“Who are you?” demanded the commissioner.
“My name is Dummel, sir, Johann Dummel.”
“And your occupation?”
“My occupation? Oh, yes, I—I am a valet, valet to Professor Fellner.”
The commissioner sat up and looked interested. He knew Fellner personally and liked him. “What have you to report to me?” he asked eagerly.
“I—I don’t know whether I ought to have come here, but at home—”
“Well, is anything the matter?” insisted Horn.
“Why, sir, I don’t know; but the Professor—he is so still—he doesn’t answer.”
Horn sprang from his chair. “Is he ill?” he asked.