“You come to this house again?” asked Franz, starting back in alarm when he saw who it was that had called him to the door.
“Yes, my good friend; I want to get into this house again. But not on false pretenses this time. And before you let me in you can go upstairs and ask Mrs. Bernauer if she will receive me in her own room—in her own room, mind. But make haste; I am in a hurry.” The detective’s tone was calm and he strolled slowly up and down in front of the gate when he had finished speaking.
The old butler hesitated a moment, then walked into the house. When he returned, rather more quickly, he looked alarmed and his tone was very humble as he asked Muller to follow him.
When the detective entered Mrs. Bernauer’s room the housekeeper rose slowly from the large armchair in front of her table. She was very pale and her eyes were full of terror. She made no move to speak, so Muller began the conversation. He put down his hat, brought up a chair and placed it near the window at which the housekeeper had been sitting. Then he sat down and motioned to her to do the same.
“You are a faithful servant, all too faithful,” he began. “But you are faithful only to your master. You have no devotion for his wife.”
“You are mistaken,” replied the woman in a low tone.
“Perhaps, but I do not think so. One does not betray the people to whom one is devoted.”
Mrs. Bernauer looked up in surprise. “What—what do you know?” she stammered.
Muller did not answer the question directly, but continued: “Mrs. Thorne had a meeting recently with a strange man. It was not their first meeting, and somehow you discovered it. But before this last meeting occurred you spoke to the lady’s husband about it, and it was arranged between you that you should give him a signal which would mean to him, ‘Your wife is going to the meeting.’ Mrs. Thorne did go to the meeting. This happened on Monday evening at about quarter past nine. Some one, who was in the neighbourhood by chance, saw a woman’s figure hurrying through the garden, down to the other street, and a moment after this, the light of this lamp in your window was seen to go out. A hand had turned down the wick—it was your hand.
“This was the signal to Mr. Thorne. The mirrors over his desk reflected in his eyes the light he could not otherwise have seen as he sat by his own window. The signal, therefore, told him that the time had come to act. This same chance watcher, who had seen the woman going through the garden, had seen the lamp go out, and now saw a man’s figure hurrying down the path the woman had taken. The man as well as the woman came from this house and went in the direction of the lower end of the garden.