The man on the cot took the hand the detective offered him and pressed it firmly.  “You will let me know as soon as you have found anything—­anything that gives me hope?”

“I will indeed.  And now save your strength and do not worry.  I will help you if it is in my power.”

After leaving the prison, Muller took the train for the village of Grunau, about half an hour distant from the city.  He found his way easily to Graumann’s home, an attractive old house set in a large garden amid groups of beautiful old trees.  When he sent up his card to Miss Graumann, the old lady tripped down stairs in a flutter of excitement.

“Did you see him?” she asked.  “You have been to the prison?  What do you think?  How does he seem?”

“He seems calm to-day,” replied Muller, “although the confinement and the anxiety are evidently wearing on him.”

“And you heard his story?  And you believe him innocent?”

“I am inclined to do so.  But there is more yet for me to investigate in this matter.  It is certainly not as simple as the police here seem to believe.  May I speak to your ward, Miss Roemer?  She is at home now?”

“Yes, Lora is at home.  If you will wait here a moment I will send her in.”

Muller paced up and down the large sunny room, casting a glance over the handsome old pieces of furniture and the family portraits on the wall.  It was evidently the home of generations of well-to-do, well-bred people, the narrow circle of whose life was made rich by congenial duties and a comfortable feeling of their standing in the community.

While he was studying one of the portraits more carefully, he became aware that there was some one in the room.  He turned and saw a tall blond girl standing by the door.  She had entered so softly that even Muller’s quick ear had not heard the opening of the door.

“Do you wish to speak to me?” she said, coming down into the room.  “I am Eleonora Roemer”

Her face, which could be called handsome in its even regularity of feature and delicate skin, was very pale now, and around her eyes were dark rings that spoke of sleepless nights.  Grief and mental shock were preying upon this girl’s mind.  “She is not the one to make a confidant of those around her,” thought Muller to himself.  Then he added aloud:  “If it does not distress you too much to talk about this sad affair, I will be very grateful if you will answer a few questions.”

“I will tell you whatever I can,” said the girl in the same low even tone in which she had first spoken.  “Miss Graumann tells me that you have come from Vienna to take up this case.  It is only natural that we should want to give you every assistance in our power.”

“What is your opinion about it?” was Muller’s next remark, made rather suddenly after a moment’s pause.

The directness of the question seemed to shake the girl out of her enforced calm.  A slow flush mounted into her pale cheeks and then died away, again leaving them whiter than before.  “I do not know —­oh, I do not know what to believe.”