“They’ll send you a bill from the office. It won’t amount to much. I must be getting on now.”
Muller hastened out of the door and down the street to the nearest cab stand. There were not very many cab stands in this vicinity, and the detective reasoned that Mrs. Bernauer would naturally have taken her cab from the nearest station. He had heard her return in her carriage, presumably the same in which she had started out.
There was but one cab at the stand. Muller walked to it and laid his hand on the door.
“Oh, Jimmy! must I go out again?” asked the driver hoarsely. “Can’t you see the poor beast is all wet from the last ride? We’ve just come in.” He pointed with his whip to the tired-looking animal under his blanket.
“Why, he does look warm. You must have been making a tour out into the country,” said the blond gentleman in a friendly tone.
“No, sir, not quite so far as that. I’ve just taken a woman to the main telegraph office in the city and back again. But she was in a hurry and he’s not a young horse, sir.”
“Well, never mind, then; I can get another cab across the bridge,” replied the stout blond man, turning away and strolling off leisurely in the direction of the bridge. It was now quite dark, and a few steps further on Muller could safely turn and take the road to his own lodging. No one saw him go in, and in a few moments the real Muller, slight, smooth-shaven, sat down at his desk, looking at the papers that lay before him. They were three letters and an empty envelope.
He took up the last, and compared it carefully with the envelope of one of the letters found in Winkler’s room--the unsigned letter postmarked Hietzing, September 24th. The two envelopes were exactly alike. They were of the same size and shape, made of the same cream-tinted, heavy, glossy paper, and the address was written by the same hand. This any keen observer, who need not necessarily be an expert, could see. The same hand which had addressed the envelope to Mrs. Adele Bernauer on the letter which was postmarked “Venice,” about thirty-six hours previous--this hand had, in an awkward and childish attempt at disguise, written Winkler’s address on the envelope which bore the date of September 24th.