“I don’t think she’s quite right in the head,” he volunteered. The head of the firm told him to bring the woman into the inner office.
“Who are you, my good woman?” he asked kindly, softened by the evident agitation of this poorly though neatly dressed woman.
“I am Mr. Winkler’s landlady,” she answered.
“Ah! and he wants you to tell me that he’s sick? I’m afraid I can’t believe all that this gentleman says. I hope he’s not asking your help to lie to me. Are you sure that his illness is anything else but a case of being up late?”
“I don’t think that he’ll ever be sick again—I didn’t come with any message from him, sir; please read this, sir.” And she handed him the newspaper, showing him the notice. While the gentleman was reading she added: “Mr. Winkler didn’t come home last night either.”
Winkler’s employer read the few lines, then laid the paper aside with a very serious face. “When did you see him last?” he asked of the woman.
“Day before yesterday in the morning. He went away about half-past eight as he usually does,” she replied. And then she added a question of her own: “Was he here day before yesterday?”
The merchant nodded and pressed an electric bell. Then he rose from his seat and pulled up a chair for his visitor. “Sit down here. This thing has frightened you and you are no longer young.” When the servant entered, the merchant told him to ask the head bookkeeper to come to the inner office.
When this official appeared, his employer inquired: “When did Winkler leave here day before yesterday?”
“At six o’clock, sir, as usual.”
“He was here all day without interruption?”
“Yes, sir, with the exception of the usual luncheon hour.”
“Did he have the handling of any money Monday?”
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