“Yes, but we may be able to find it quicker than that.” Muller took the little notebook, which he was now carrying in his pocket, and took from it the tramway ticket which was in the cover. He compared it with the one he had just found. They were both marked for the same hour of the day and for the same ride.
“Did the man use them?” asked Amster. The detective nodded. “How can they help us?”
“Somewhere on this stretch of the street railroad you will probably find the stand of the cab we are looking for. The man who hired it evidently arrived on the 6:30 train at the West Station—I have reason to believe that he does not live here,—and then took the street car to this corner. The last ticket is marked for yesterday. In the car he probably made his plans to hire a cab. So you had better stay along the line of the car tracks. You will find me in room seven, Police Headquarters, at noon to-day. The authorities have already taken up the case. You may have something to tell us then. Good luck to you.”
Muller hurried on, after he had taken a quick breakfast in a little cafe. He went at once to headquarters, made his report there and then drove to Fellner’s house. The latter was awaiting him with great impatience. There the detective gathered much valuable information about the first marriage of Asta Langen’s long-dead father. It was old Berner who could tell him the most about these long-vanished days.
When he reached his office at headquarters again, he found telegrams in great number awaiting him. They were from all the hospitals and insane asylums in the entire district. But in none of them had there been a patient fitting the description of the vanished girl. Neither the commissioner nor Muller was surprised at this negative result. They were also not surprised at all that the other branches of the police department had been able to discover so little about the disappearance of the young lady. They were aware that they had to deal with a criminal of great ability who would be careful not to fall into the usual slips made by his kind.
There was no news from the cab either, although several detectives were out looking for it. It was almost nightfall when Amster ran breathlessly into room number seven. “I have him! he’s waiting outside across the way!” This was Amster’s report.
Muller threw on his coat hastily. “You didn’t pay him, did you? On a cold day like this the drivers don’t like to wait long in any one place.”
“No danger. I haven’t money enough for that,” replied Amster with a sad smile. Muller did not hear him as he was already outside. But the commissioner with whom he had been talking and to whom Muller had already spoken of his voluntary assistant, entered into a conversation with Amster, and said to him finally: “I will take it upon myself to guarantee your future, if you are ready to enter the secret service under Muller’s orders. If you wish to do this you can stay right on now, for I think we will need you in this case.”
Amster bowed in agreement. His life had been troubled, his reputation darkened by no fault of his own, and the work he was doing now had awakened an interest and an ability that he did not know he possessed. He was more than glad to accept the offer made by the official.
Muller was already across the street and had laid his hand upon the door of the cab when the driver turned to him and said crossly, “Some one else has ordered me. But I am not going to wait in this cold, get in if you want to.”