“Could this possibly have been the man to whom the letter is addressed?”

“No, no.  This friend of John’s was not married; I remember his saying that.  And he lived in Germany somewhere—­let me think—­yes, in Frankfort-on-Main.”

“And do you remember the man’s name?”

“No, I cannot, I am sorry to say.  John only mentioned it once.  It was only by a great effort that I could remember the incident at all.”

“And has it not struck you as rather peculiar that this friend, the one to whom the cordial letter was addressed, did not come forward and make his identity known?  G—­ is a city, it is true, but it is not a very large city, and any man being on terms of intimate acquaintance with one who was murdered would be apt to come forward in the hope of throwing some light on the mystery.”

“Why, yes, I had not thought of that.  It is peculiar, is it not?  But some people are so foolishly afraid of having anything to do with the police, you know.”

“That is very true, Miss Roemer.  Still it is a queer incident and something that I must look into.”

“What do you believe?” asked the girl tensely.

“I am not in a position to say as yet.  When I am, I will come to you and tell you.”

“Then you do not think that my guardian killed John—­that there was a quarrel between the men?”

“There is, of course, a possibility that it may have been so.  You know your guardian better than I do, naturally.  Our knowledge of a man’s character is often a far better guide than any circumstantial evidence.”

“My guardian is a man of the greatest uprightness of character.  But he can be very hard and pitiless sometimes.  And he has a violent temper which his weak heart has forced him to keep in control of late years.”

“All this speaks for the possibility that there may have been a quarrel ending in the fatal shot.  But what I want to know from you is this—­do you think it possible, that, this having happened, Albert Graumann would not have been the first to confess his unpremeditated crime?  Is not this the most likely thing for a man of his character to do?  Would he so stubbornly deny it, if it had happened?”

The girl started.  “I had not thought of that!  Why, why, of course, he might have killed John in a moment of temper, but he was never a man to conceal a fault.  He is as pitiless towards his own weakness, as towards that of others.  You are right, oh, you must be right.  Oh, if you could take this awful fear from my heart!  Even my grief for John would be easier to bear then.”

Muller rose from his chair.  “I think I can promise you that this load will be lifted from your heart, Miss Roemer.”

“Then you believe—­that it was just a case of murder for robbery?  For the money?  And John had some valuable jewelry, I know that.”

“I do not know yet,” replied Muller slowly, “but I will find out, I generally do.”