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.
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