The Case of the Golden Bullet [3]
for them on the other side of the closed door. The bedroom door also was locked on the inside, and after some moments of knocking and calling, Horn set the hatchet to the framework just as the bell of the house-door pealed out.
With a cracking and tearing of wood the bedroom door fell open, and in the same moment Muller and the physician passed through the dining-room. Johann hurried into the bedroom to open the window-shutters, and the others gathered in the doorway. A single look showed each of the men that the bed was untouched, and they passed on through the room. The door from the bedroom to the study stood open. In the latter room the shutters were tightly closed, and the lamp had long since gone out. But sufficient light fell through the open bedroom door for the men to see the figure of the Professor seated at his desk, and when Johann had opened the shutters, it was plain to all that the silent figure before them was that of a corpse.
"Heart disease, probably," murmured the physician, as he touched the icy forehead. Then he felt the pulse of the stiffened hand from which the pen had fallen in the moment of death, raised the drooping head and lifted up the half-closed eyelids. The eyes were glazed.
The others looked on in silence. Horn was very pale, and his usually calm face showed great emotion. Johann seemed quite beside himself, the tears rolled down his cheeks unhindered. Muller stood without a sign of life, his sallow face seemed made of bronze; he was watching and listening. He seemed to hear and see what no one else could see or hear. He smiled slightly when the doctor spoke of "heart disease," and his eyes fell on the revolver that lay near the dead man's hand on the desk. Then he shook his head, and then he started suddenly. Horn noticed the movement; it was in the moment when the physician raised up the sunken figure that had fallen half over the desk.
"He was killed by a bullet," said Muller.
"Yes, that was it," replied the doctor. With the raising of the body the dead man's waistcoat fell back into its usual position, and they could see a little round hole in his shirt. The doctor opened the shirt bosom and pointed to a little wound in the Professor's left breast. There were scarcely three or four drops of blood visible. The hemorrhage had been internal.
"He must have died at once, without suffering," said the physician.
"He killed himself - he killed himself," murmured Johann, as if bewildered.
"It's strange that he should have found time to lay down the revolver before he died," remarked Horn. Johann put out his hand and raised the weapon before Horn could prevent him. "Leave that pistol where it was," commanded the commissioner. "We have to look into this matter more closely."
The doctor turned quickly. "You think it was a murder?" he exclaimed. "The doors were both locked on the inside - where could the murderer be?"
"I don't pretend to see him myself yet. But our rule is to leave things as they are discovered, until the official examination. Muller, did you shut the outer door?"
"Yes, sir; here is the key."
"Johann, are there any more keys for the outer door?"
"Yes, sir. One more, that is, for the third was lost some months ago. The Professor's own key ought to be in the drawer of the little table beside the bed."
"Will you please look for it, Muller?"
Muller went into the bedroom and soon returned with the key, which he handed to the commissioner. The detective had found something else in the little table drawer - a tortoise-shell hairpin, which he had carefully hidden in his own pocket before rejoining the others.
Horn turned to the servant again. "How many times have you been out of the apartment since last night?"
"Once only, sir, to go to the police station to fetch you."
"And you locked the door behind you?"
"Why, yes, sir. You saw that I had to turn the key twice to let you in."
Horn and Muller both looked the young man over very carefully. He seemed perfectly innocent, and their suspicion that he might
With a cracking and tearing of wood the bedroom door fell open, and in the same moment Muller and the physician passed through the dining-room. Johann hurried into the bedroom to open the window-shutters, and the others gathered in the doorway. A single look showed each of the men that the bed was untouched, and they passed on through the room. The door from the bedroom to the study stood open. In the latter room the shutters were tightly closed, and the lamp had long since gone out. But sufficient light fell through the open bedroom door for the men to see the figure of the Professor seated at his desk, and when Johann had opened the shutters, it was plain to all that the silent figure before them was that of a corpse.
"Heart disease, probably," murmured the physician, as he touched the icy forehead. Then he felt the pulse of the stiffened hand from which the pen had fallen in the moment of death, raised the drooping head and lifted up the half-closed eyelids. The eyes were glazed.
The others looked on in silence. Horn was very pale, and his usually calm face showed great emotion. Johann seemed quite beside himself, the tears rolled down his cheeks unhindered. Muller stood without a sign of life, his sallow face seemed made of bronze; he was watching and listening. He seemed to hear and see what no one else could see or hear. He smiled slightly when the doctor spoke of "heart disease," and his eyes fell on the revolver that lay near the dead man's hand on the desk. Then he shook his head, and then he started suddenly. Horn noticed the movement; it was in the moment when the physician raised up the sunken figure that had fallen half over the desk.
"He was killed by a bullet," said Muller.
"Yes, that was it," replied the doctor. With the raising of the body the dead man's waistcoat fell back into its usual position, and they could see a little round hole in his shirt. The doctor opened the shirt bosom and pointed to a little wound in the Professor's left breast. There were scarcely three or four drops of blood visible. The hemorrhage had been internal.
"He must have died at once, without suffering," said the physician.
"He killed himself - he killed himself," murmured Johann, as if bewildered.
"It's strange that he should have found time to lay down the revolver before he died," remarked Horn. Johann put out his hand and raised the weapon before Horn could prevent him. "Leave that pistol where it was," commanded the commissioner. "We have to look into this matter more closely."
The doctor turned quickly. "You think it was a murder?" he exclaimed. "The doors were both locked on the inside - where could the murderer be?"
"I don't pretend to see him myself yet. But our rule is to leave things as they are discovered, until the official examination. Muller, did you shut the outer door?"
"Yes, sir; here is the key."
"Johann, are there any more keys for the outer door?"
"Yes, sir. One more, that is, for the third was lost some months ago. The Professor's own key ought to be in the drawer of the little table beside the bed."
"Will you please look for it, Muller?"
Muller went into the bedroom and soon returned with the key, which he handed to the commissioner. The detective had found something else in the little table drawer - a tortoise-shell hairpin, which he had carefully hidden in his own pocket before rejoining the others.
Horn turned to the servant again. "How many times have you been out of the apartment since last night?"
"Once only, sir, to go to the police station to fetch you."
"And you locked the door behind you?"
"Why, yes, sir. You saw that I had to turn the key twice to let you in."
Horn and Muller both looked the young man over very carefully. He seemed perfectly innocent, and their suspicion that he might