“Good. And now will you read this over please, it contains the substance of what you told me yesterday. Should I have made any mistakes, please correct them, for I will ask you to set your signature to it.”
Muller handed several sheets of close writing to the goldsmith and the latter read aloud as follows: “On the 22nd of November, a gentleman came into my shop and handed me a wedding ring with the request that I should make another one exactly like it. He was particularly anxious that the work should be done in two days at the very latest, and also that the new ring, in form, colour, and in the engraving on the inside, should be a perfect counterpart of the first. He explained his order by saying that his wife was ill, and that she was grieving over the loss of her wedding ring which had somehow disappeared. The new ring could be found somewhere as if by chance and the sick woman’s anxiety would be over. Two days later, as arranged, the same gentleman appeared again and I handed him the two rings.
“He left the shop, greatly satisfied with my work and apparently much relieved in his mind. But he left me uneasy in spirit because I had deceived him. It had not been possible for me to reproduce exactly the composition of the original ring, and as I believed that the work was to be done in order to comfort an invalid, and I was getting no profit, but on the contrary a little extra work out of it, I made two new rings, lettered them according to the original and gave them to my customer. The original ring I am now, on this seventh day of December, giving to Mr. Joseph Mullet, who has shown me his legitimation as a member of the Secret Police. I am willing to put myself at the service of the authorities if I am called for.”
“You are willing to do this, aren’t you?” asked Muller when the goldsmith had arrived at the end of the notice.
“Of course.”
“Have you anything to add to this?”
“No, it is quite complete. I will sign it at once.”
Several hours later, Muller re-entered the police station in his home town and saw the windows of the chief’s apartment brilliantly lighted. “What’s going on,” he asked of Bauer’s servant who was just hurrying up the stairs.
“The mistress’ birthday, we’ve got company.”
Muller grumbled something and went on up to his own room. He knew it would not be pleasant for his patron to be disturbed in the midst of entertaining his guests, but the matter was important and could not wait.