cry of suffering is heard at the door, at once the thunders and the tumult sink into insignificance, and are not even heard by the ear which is pierced with the feeble human voice:  the grandeurs of storm and tempest, the uproar of surging seas, the clamorous wail of sea-birds amid the volleying artillery of heaven, in vain assail the ear that has once caught even the distant cry of a human agony, or serve only as scenical accompaniments to the tragedy which is foreshadowed by that cry.  And so it was amid the uproar of 1848.  A kingdom was in convulsions; but here, at our door, a young girl had been murdered, and two hearths made desolate.  Rumors continued to fly about.  The assassin was always about to be discovered; but he remained shrouded in impenetrable darkness.  A remark made by Bourgonef struck me much.  Our host, Zum Bayerischen Hof, one day announced with great satisfaction that he had himself heard from the syndic that the police were on the traces of the assassin.

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Bourgonef.

The guests paused from eating, and looked at him with astonishment.

“It is a proof,” he added, “that even the police now give it up as hopeless.  I always notice that whenever the police are said to be on the traces the malefactor is never tracked.  When they are on his traces they wisely say nothing about it; they allow it to be believed that they are baffled, in order to lull their victim into a dangerous security.  When they know themselves to be baffled, there is no danger in quieting the public mind, and saving their own credit, by announcing that they are about to be successful.”

IV

A DISCOVERY

Bourgonef’s remark had been but too sagacious.  The police were hoplessly baffled.  In all such cases possible success depends upon the initial suggestion either of a motive which leads to a suspicion of the person, or of some person which leads to a suspicion of the motive.  Once set suspicion on the right track, and evidence is suddenly alight in all quarters.  But, unhappily, in the present case there was no assignable motive, no shadow darkening any person.

An episode now came to our knowledge in which Bourgonef manifested an unusual depth of interest.  I was led to notice this interest, because it had seemed to me that in the crime itself, and the discussions which arose out of it, he shared but little of the universal excitement.  I do not mean that he was indifferent—­by no means; but the horror of the crime did not seem to fascinate his imagination as it fascinated ours.  He could talk quite as readily of other things, and far more readily of the French affairs.  But on the contrary, in this new episode he showed peculiar interest.  It appeared that Lehfeldt, moved, perhaps, partly by a sense of the injustice which had been done to Kerkel in even suspecting him of the crime, and in submitting him