He
had questioned the servants of John Siders' former household, had
found that the dead man received very few letters, only an
occasional business communication from his bank. Of the few others,
the servants knew nothing except that he had always thrown the
envelopes carelessly in the waste paper basket and had never seemed
to have any correspondence which he cared to conceal. No friend
from elsewhere had ever visited him in Grunau, and he had made few
friends there except the Graumann family.
The facts of the case, as he knew them now, were such as to make it
extremely doubtful that Graumann was the murderer. Muller himself
had been inclined to believe in the possibility of a quarrel
between the two men, particularly when he had heard that Graumann
himself was in love with his handsome ward. But the second thought
that came to him then, impelled by the unerring instinct that so
often guided him to the truth, was the assurance that in a case of
this kind, in a case of a quarrel terminating fatally, a man like
Albert Graumann would be the very first to give himself up to the
police and to tell the facts of the case. Albert Graumann was a
man of honour and unimpeachable integrity. Such a man would not
persist in a foolish denial of the deed which he had committed in
a moment of temper. There would be nothing to gain from it, and
his own conscience would be his severest judge.
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