The carriages then drove off more quickly than before. It was now quite dark, a gloomy stormy winter evening. Muller had taken his place on the box of his cab and sat peering out into the darkness. In spite of the sharp wind and the ice that blew against his face the detective could see that they were going out from the more closely built up portions of the city, and were now in new streets with half-finished houses. Soon they passed even these and were outside of the city. The way was lonely and dreary, bordered by wooden fences on both sides. Muller looked sharply to right and to left.
“You should have become alarmed here,” he said to the driver, pointing to one part of the fence.
“Because this is where the window was broken.”
The driver murmured something in his beard.
“Stop here, this is your turn, down that street,” Muller said a few moments later, as the driver turned the other way.
“How do you know that?” asked the man, surprised.
“This street will take us there just the same.”
“Probably, but I prefer to go the way you went yesterday.”
“Very well, it’s all the same to me.” They were silent again, only the wind roared around them, and somewhere in the distance a fog horn moaned.
It was now six o’clock. The snow threw out a mild light which could not brighten the deep darkness around them. About half an hour later the first cab halted. “There’s the house up there. Shall I drive to the garden gate?”
“No, stop here.” Muller was already on the ground. “Are there any dogs here?” he asked.
“That’s of no value. You didn’t seem to hear much of anything yesterday.” Muller opened the door of the cab and helped Berner out. The old man was trembling. “That was a dreadful drive!” he stammered.
“I hope you will be happier on the drive back,” said the detective and added, “You stay here with the commissioner now.”
The latter had already left his cab with his companion. His sharp eyes glanced over the heavily shaded garden and the little house in its midst. A little light shone from two windows of the first story. The men’s eyes looked toward them, then the detective and Amster walked toward a high picket fence which closed the garden on the side nearest its neighbours. They shook the various pickets without much caution, for the wind made noise enough to kill any other sound. Amster called to Muller, he had found a loose picket, and his strong young arms had torn it out easily. Muller motioned to the other three to join them. A moment later they were all in the garden, walking carefully toward the house.