Knoll’s little eyes glanced up without embarrassment at the man who spoke to him. They were sharp eyes and had a certain spark of intelligence in them. Muller had noticed that yesterday, and he saw it again now. But he saw also the gleam of distrust in these eyes, a distrust which found expression in Knoll’s next words. “You think you can catch me with your good words, but you’re makin’ a mistake. I’ve got nothin’ new to say. And you needn’t think that you can blind me, I know you’re one of the police, and I’m not going to say anything at all.”
“Just as you like. I was trying to help you, I believe I really could help you. I have just come from Hietzing—but of course if you don’t want to talk to me—” Muller shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the door.
But before he reached it Knoll stood at his side. “You really mean to help me?” he gasped.
“I do,” said the detective calmly.
“Then swear, on your mother’s soul—or is your mother still alive?”
“No, she has been dead some time.”
“Well, then, will you swear it?”
“Would you believe an oath like that?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“With the life you’ve been leading?”