“And the piece of paper with the threat on it? and the revolver you left so handy for her? oh, but I forgot, the old woman took the weapon away before the lady could use it in her despair,” said Muller.
“Quite right. I see you know every detail.”
“But why didn’t you complete your crime in the room in the old house?” persisted Muller.
“Because I lost my false beard one day upon the staircase, and I feared the old woman might have seen my face enough to recognise me again. I thought it better to look for another place.”
“And then you found this house.”
“Yes, but several days later.”
“And you hired it in the name of Miss Asta Langen? Who would then have been found dead here several days after you had entered the house?”
“Several days, several weeks perhaps. I preferred to wait until the woman who rented the house had read in the papers that Asta Langen had disappeared and was being sought for. Somebody would have found her here, and her identity would have easily been established, for I knew that she had some important family documents with her.”
Muller was silent a moment, with an expression of deep pity on his face. Then he continued: “Yes, someone would have found her, and her suicide would have been a dark mystery, unless, of course, malicious tongues would have found ugly reasons enough why a beautiful young lady should hide herself in a lonely cottage to take her own life.”
Muller had spoken as if to himself. Egon Langen’s lips, parted in a smile so evil that Amster clenched his fists.