“We’re all dreamers, Janci--and our dreams are very useless generally.”
“Yours are not useless, sir,” said the shepherd. “If I had as much brains as you have, my dreams might be of some good.”
Muller smiled. “And if I had your visions, Janci, it would be a powerful aid to me in my profession.”
“I don’t think you need them, sir. You can find out the hidden things without them. You are going to leave us?”
“Yes, Janci, I must go back to Budapest, and from there to Vienna. They need me on another case.”
“It’s a sad work, this bringing people to the gallows, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Janci, it is sometimes. But it’s a good thing to be able to avenge crime and bring justice to the injured. Good-bye, Janci.”
The shepherd stood looking after the small, slight figure of the man who walked on rapidly through the heather. “He’s the right one for the work,” murmured Janci as he turned slowly back towards the village.
An hour later Muller stood in the little waiting-room of the railway station writing a telegram. It was addressed to Count ----.
“Do you know the shepherd Janci? It would be a good thing to make him the official detective for the village. He has high qualifications for the profession. If I had his gifts combined with my own, not one could escape me. I have found this one however. The guards are already taking him to you. My work here is done. If I should be needed again I can be found at Police Headquarters, Vienna. “Respectfully, “JOSEPH MULLER.”
While the detective was writing his message--it was one of the rare moments of humour that Muller allowed himself, and he wondered mildly what the stately Hungarian nobleman would think of it--a heavy farm wagon jolted over the country roads towards the little county seat. Sitting beside the driver and riding about the wagon were armed peasants. The figure of a man, securely bound, his face distorted by rage and fear, lay in the wagon. It was Gyuri Kovacz, who had murdered by the hands of another, and who was now on his way to meet the death that was his due.
And at one of the barred windows in the big yellow house stood a sallow-faced man, looking out at the rising moon with sad, tired eyes. His lips were parted in a smile like that of a dreaming child, and he hummed a gentle lullaby.