“But you do not think Mr. Graumann capable of such a crime, do you?”

“Not of the robbery, of course not; that would be absurd!  But has it been clearly proven that there is a robbery?  Might it not have been—­might they not have—­”

“You mean, might they not have quarreled?  Of course there is that possibility.  And that is why I wanted to speak to you.  You are the one person who could possibly throw light on this subject.  Was there any other reason beyond the dead man’s past that would render your guardian unwilling to have you marry him?”

Again the slow flush mounted to Eleonora Roemer’s cheeks and her head drooped.

“I fear it may be painful for you to answer this,” said Muller gently, “and yet I must insist on it in the interest of justice.”

“He—­my guardian—­wished to marry me himself,” the girl’s words came slowly and painfully.

Muller drew in his breath so sharply that it was almost like a whistle.  “He did not tell me that; it might make a difference.”

“That ... that is ... what I fear,” said the girl, her eyes looking keenly into those of the man who sat opposite.  “And then, it was his revolver.”

“Then you do believe him guilty?”

“It would be horrible, horrible—­and yet I do not know what to think.”

There was silence in the room for a moment.  Miss Roemer’s head drooped again and her hands twisted nervously in her lap.  Muller’s brain was very busy with this new phase of the problem.  Finally he spoke.

“Let us dismiss this side of the question and talk of another phase of it, a phase of which it is necessary for me to know something.  You would naturally be the person nearest the dead man, the one, the only one, perhaps, to whom he had given his confidence.  Do you know of any enemies he might have had in the city?”

“No, I do not know of any enemies, or even of any friends he had there.  When the terrible thing happened that clouded his past, when he had regained his freedom, after his term of imprisonment, there was no one left whom he cared to see again.  He does not seem to have borne any malice towards the banker who accused him of the theft.  The evidence was so strong against him that he felt the suspicion was justified.  But there was hatred in his heart for one man, for the Justice who sentenced him, Justice Schmidt, who is now Attorney General in G—.”

“The man who, in the name of the State, will conduct this case?” asked Muller quickly.

“Yes, I believe it is so.  Is it not an irony that this man, the only one whom John really hated, should be the one to avenge him now?”

“H’m! yes.  But did you know of any friends in G—?”

“No, none at all.”

“No friends whom he might have made while he was in America and then met again in Germany?”

“No, he never spoke of any such to me.  He told me that he made few friends.  He did not seek them for he was afraid that they might find out what had happened and turn from him.  He was morbidly sensitive and could not bear the disappointment.”