“Did you notice anything peculiar about his face?”
“No, nothing except that his beard was very heavy and almost covered his face.”
“Could you see his cheeks at all?”
“No, or else I didn’t notice.”
“Did he leave nothing that might enable us to find him?”
“No, sir, nothing. Or yes, perhaps, but I don’t suppose that will be any good.”
“What was it? What do you mean?”
“It gave him a good deal of trouble to get the lady into the wagon, because she had fainted again. He lost his glove in doing it. I have it down stairs in my room, for I sleep down stairs again since the lady has gone.”
Muller had risen from his chair and walked over to the old writing desk which stood beside one window. There were several sheets of ordinary brown paper on it and sharp pointed pencil and also something not usually found on writing desks, a piece of bread from which some of the inside had been taken. “Everything as I expected it,” he said to himself. “The young lady made up the package in the last few moments that she was left alone here.”
He turned again to the old woman and commanded her to lead him down stairs. “What sort of a carriage was it in which they took the lady away?” he asked as they went down.