the case of the pocket diary found in the snow-第1部分

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The　Case　of　The　Pocket　Diary　Found　in　the　Snow

by　Grace　Isabel　Colbron　and　Augusta　Groner






INTRODUCTION　TO　JOE　MULLER

Joseph　Muller；　Secret　Service　detective　of　the　Imperial　Austrian
police；　is　one　of　the　great　experts　in　his　profession。　　In
personality　he　differs　greatly　from　other　famous　detectives。　　He
has　neither　the　impressive　authority　of　Sherlock　Holmes；　nor　the
keen　brilliancy　of　Monsieur　Lecoq。　　Muller　is　a　small；　slight；
plain…looking　man；　of　indefinite　age；　and　of　much　humbleness　of
mien。　　A　naturally　retiring；　modest　disposition；　and　two　external
causes　are　the　reasons　for　Muller's　humbleness　of　manner；　which
is　his　chief　characteristic。　　One　cause　is　the　fact　that　in　early
youth　a　miscarriage　of　justice　gave　him　several　years　in　prison；
an　experience　which　cast　a　stigma　on　his　name　and　which　made　it
impossible　for　him；　for　many　years　after；　to　obtain　honest
employment。　　But　the　world　is　richer；　and　safer；　by　Muller's
early　misfortune。　　For　it　was　this　experience　which　threw　him
back　on　his　own　peculiar　talents　for　a　livelihood；　and　drove　him
into　the　police　force。　　Had　he　been　able　to　enter　any　other
profession；　his　genius　might　have　been　stunted　to　a　mere　pastime；
instead　of　being；　as　now；　utilised　for　the　public　good。　　

Then；　the　red　tape　and　bureaucratic　etiquette　which　attaches　to
every　governmental　department；　puts　the　secret　service　men　of　the
Imperial　police　on　a　par　with　the　lower　ranks　of　the　subordinates。
Muller's　official　rank　is　scarcely　much　higher　than　that　of　a
policeman；　although　kings　and　councillors　consult　him　and　the
Police　Department　realises　to　the　full　what　a　treasure　it　has　in
him。　　But　official　red　tape；　and　his　early　misfortune　。。。　prevent
the　giving　of　any　higher　official　standing　to　even　such　a　genius。
Born　and　bred　to　such　conditions；　Muller　understands　them；　and
his　natural　modesty　of　disposition　asks　for　no　outward　honours；
asks　for　nothing　but　an　income　sufficient　for　his　simple　needs；
and　for　aid　and　opportunity　to　occupy　himself　in　the　way　he　most
enjoys。

Joseph　Muller's　character　is　a　strange　mixture。　　The
kindest…hearted　man　in　the　world；　he　is　a　human　bloodhound　when
once　the　lure　of　the　trail　has　caught　him。　　He　scarcely　eats　or
sleeps　when　the　chase　is　on；　he　does　not　seem　to　know　human
weakness　nor　fatigue；　in　spite　of　his　frail　body。　　Once　put　on
a　case　his　mind　delves　and　delves　until　it　finds　a　clue；　then
something　awakes　within　him；　a　spirit　akin　to　that　which　holds
the　bloodhound　nose　to　trail；　and　he　will　accomplish　the　apparently
impossible；　he　will　track　down　his　victim　when　the　entire　machinery
of　a　great　police　department　seems　helpless　to　discover　anything。
The　high　chiefs　and　commissioners　grant　a　condescending　permission
when　Muller　asks；　〃May　I　do　this？　　。。。　or　may　I　handle　this　case
this　way？〃　both　parties　knowing　all　the　while　that　it　is　a　farce；
and　that　the　department　waits　helpless　until　this　humble　little
man　saves　its　honour　by　solving　some　problem　before　which　its
intricate　machinery　has　stood　dazed　and　puzzled。

This　call　of　the　trail　is　something　that　is　stronger　than　anything
else　in　Muller's　mentality；　and　now　and　then　it　brings　him　into
conflict　with　the　department；　。。。　or　with　his　own　better　nature。
Sometimes　his　unerring　instinct　discovers　secrets　in　high　places；
secrets　which　the　Police　Department　is　bidden　to　hush　up　and　leave
untouched。　　Muller　is　then　taken　off　the　case；　and　left　idle　for
a　while　if　he　persists　in　his　opinion　as　to　the　true　facts。　　And
at　other　times；　Muller's　own　warm　heart　gets　him　into　trouble。　　He
will　track　down　his　victim；　driven　by　the　power　in　his　soul　which
is　stronger　than　all　volition；　but　when　he　has　this　victim　in　the
net；　he　will　sometimes　discover　him　to　be　a　much　finer；　better　man
than　the　other　individual；　whose　wrong　at　this　particular　criminal's
hand　set　in　motion　the　machinery　of　justice。　　Several　times　that
has　happened　to　Muller；　and　each　time　his　heart　got　the　better　of
his　professional　instincts；　of　his　practical　common…sense；　too；
perhaps；　。。。　at　least　as　far　as　his　own　advancement　was　concerned；
and　he　warned　the　victim；　defeating　his　own　work。　　This　peculiarity
of　Muller's　character　caused　his　undoing　at　last；　his　official
undoing　that　is；　and　compelled　his　retirement　from　the　force。　　But
his　advice　is　often　sought　unofficially　by　the　Department；　and　to
those　who　know；　Muller's　hand　can　be　seen　in　the　unravelling　of
many　a　famous　case。

The　following　stories　are　but　a　few　of　the　many　interesting　cases
that　have　come　within　the　experience　of　this　great　detective。
But　they　give　a　fair　portrayal　of　Muller's　peculiar　method　of
working；　his　looking　on　himself　as　merely　an　humble　member　of　the
Department；　and　the　comedy　of　his　acting　under　〃official　orders〃
when　the　Department　is　in　reality　following　out　his　directions。




THE　CASE　OF　THE　POCKET　DIARY　FOUND　IN　THE　SNOW

by　Grace　Isabel　Colbron　and　Augusta　Groner



CHAPTER　I

THE　DISCOVERY　IN　THE　SNOW


A　quiet　winter　evening　had　sunk　down　upon　the　great　city。　　The
clock　in　the　old　clumsy　church　steeple　of　the　factory　district　had
not　yet　struck　eight；　when　the　side　door　of　one　of　the　large
buildings　opened　and　a　man　came　out　into　the　silent　street。

It　was　Ludwig　Amster；　one　of　the　working…men　in　the　factory；
starting　on　his　homeward　way。　　It　was　not　a　pleasant　road；　this
street　along　the　edge　of　the　city。　　The　town　showed　itself　from
its　most　disagreeable　side　here；　with　malodorous　factories；
rickety　tenements；　untidy　open　stretches　and　dumping　grounds
offensive　both　to　eye　and　nostril。

Even　by　day　the　street　that　Amster　took　was　empty；　by　night　it
was　absolutely　quiet　and　dark；　as　dark　as　were　the　thoughts　of　the
solitary　man。　　He　walked　along；　brooding　over　his　troubles。
Scarcely　an　hour　before　he　had　been　discharged　from　the　factory
because　of　his　refusal　to　submit　to　the　injustice　of　his　foreman。

The　yellow　light　of　the　few　lanterns　show　nothing　but　high　board
walls　and　snow　drifts；　stone　heaps；　and　now　and　then　the　remains
of　a　neglected　garden。　　Here　and　there　a　stunted　tree　or　a　wild
shrub　bent　their　twigs　under　the　white　burden　which　the　winter　had
laid　upon　them。　　Ludwig　Amster；　who　had　walked　this　street　for
several　years；　knew　his　path　so　well　that　he　could　take　it
blindfolded。　　The　darkness　did　not　worry　him；　but　he　walked　somewhat
more　slowly　than　usual；　for　he　knew　that　under　the　thin　covering　of
fresh…fallen　snow　there　lay　the　ice　of　the　night　before。　　He　walked
carefully；　watching　for　the　slippery　places。

He　had　been　walking　about　half　an　hour；　perhaps；　when　he　came　to　a
cross　street。　　Here　he　noticed　the　tracks　of　a　wagon；　the　trace
still　quite　fresh；　as　the　slowly　falling　flakes　did　not　yet　cover　it。
The　tracks　led　out　towards　the　north；　out　on　to　the　hilly；　open
fields。

Amster　was　somewhat　astonished。　　It　was　very　seldom　that　a　carriage
came　into　this　neighbourhood；　and　yet　these　narrow　wheel…tracks
could　have　been　made　only　by　an　equipage　of　that　character。　　The
heavy　trucks　which　passed　these　roads　occasionally　had　much　wider
wheels。　　But　Amster　was　to　find　still　more　to　astonish　him。

In　one　corner　near　the　cross…roads　stood　a　solitary　lamp…post。　　The
light　of　the　lamp　fell　sharply　on　the　snow；　on　the　wagon　tracks；
and　…　on　something　else　besides。

Amster　halted；　bent　down　to　look　at　it；　and　shook　his　head　as　if　in
doubt。

A　number　of　small　pieces　of　glass　gleamed　up　at　him　and　between
them；　like　tiny　roses；　red　drops　of　blood　shone　on　the　white　snow。
All　this　was　a　few　steps　to　one　side　of　the　wagon　tracks。

〃What　can　have　happened　here　…　here　in　this　weird　spot；　where　a　cry
for　help　would　never　be　heard？　　where　there　would　be　no　one　to　bring
help？〃

So　Amster　asked　himself；　but　his　discovery　gave　him　no　answer。　　His
curiosity　was　aroused；　however；　and　he　wished　to　know　more。　　He
followed　up　the　tracks　and　saw　that　the　drops　of　blood　led　further
on；　although　there　was　no　more　glass。　　The　drops　could　still　be　seen
for　a　yard　further；　reaching　out　almost　to　the　board　fence　that
edged　the　sidewalk。　　Through　the　broken　planks　of　this　fence　the
rough　bare　twigs　of　a　thorn　bush　stretched　their　brown　fingers。　　On
the　upper　side　of　the　few　scattered　leaves　there　was　snow；　and　blood。

Amster's　wide　serious　eyes　soon　found　something　else。　　Beside　the
bush　there　lay　a　tiny　package。　　He　lifted　it　up。　　It　was　a　small；
light；　square　package；　wrapped　in　ordinary　brown　paper。　　Where　the
paper　came　together　it　was　fastened　by　two　little　lumps　of　black
bread；　which　were　still　moist。　　He　turned　the　package　over　and
shook　his　head　again。　　On　the　other　side　was　written；　in　pencil；
the　lettering　uncertain；　as　if　scribbled　in　great　haste　and　in
agitation；　the　sentence；　〃Please　take　this　to　the　nearest　police
station。〃

The　words　were　like　a　cry　for　help；　frozen　on　to　the　ugly　paper。
Amster　shivered；　he　had　a　feeling　that　this　was　a　matter　of　life
and　death。

The　wagon　tracks　in　the　lonely　street；　the　broken　pieces　of　glass
and　the　drops　of　blood；　showing　that　some　occupant　of　the　vehicle
had　broken　the　window；　in　the　hope　of　escape；　perhaps；　or　to　throw
out　the　package　which　should　bring　assistance　…　all　these　facts
grouped　themselves　together　in　the　brain　of　the　intelligent
working…man　to　form　some　terrible　tragedy　where　his　assistance；　if
given　at　once；　might　be　of　great　use。　　He　had　a　warm　heart　besides；
a　heart　that　reached　out　to　this　unknown　who　was　in　distress；　and
who　threw　out　the　call　for　help　which　had　fallen　into　his　hands。

He　waited　no　longer　to　ponder　over　the　matter；　but　started　off　at
a　full　run　for　the　nearest　police　station。　　He　rushed　into　the　room
and　told　his　story　breathlessly。

They　took　him　into　the　next　room；　the　office　of　the　commissioner
for　the　day。　　The　official　in　charge；　who　had　been　engaged　in
earnest　conversation　with　a　small；　frail…looking；　middle…aged　man；
turned　to　Amster　with　a　question　as　to　what　brought　him　there。

〃I　found　this　package　in　the　snow。〃

〃Let　me　see　it。〃

Amster　laid　it　on　the　table。　　The　older　man　looked　at　it；　and　as
the　commissioner　was　about　to　open　it；　he　handed　him　a　paper…knife
with　the