“It was broken once and Mr. Winkler mended it himself. I lent him my pliers and he bent the two links together with them. It didn’t look very nice after that, but it was strong again. You could see the mark of the pliers easily.”
“Why didn’t he take the chain to the jeweler’s to be fixed?” asked the commissioner.
The woman smiled. “It wouldn’t have been worth the money, sir; the chain wasn’t real gold.”
“But the watch was real, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, sir; that was real gold. I pawned it once for Mr. Winkler and they gave me 24 gulden for it.”
“One question more, did he have a purse? And did he have it with him on the day of the murder?”
“Yes, sir; he had a purse, and he must have taken it with him because he didn’t leave it in his room.”
“What sort of a purse was it?”
“A brown leather purse, sir.”
“Was it a new one?”
“Oh, no, sir; it was well worn.”
“How big was it? About like mine?” Riedau took out his own pocketbook.
“No, sir; it was a little smaller. It had three pockets in it. I mended it for him once, so I know it well. I didn’t have any brown thread so I mended it with yellow.”
Dr. von Riedau nodded to Muller. The latter had been sitting at a little side-table writing down the questions and answers. When Riedau saw this he did not send for a clerk to do the work, for Muller preferred to attend to such matters himself as much as possible. The facts gained in the examination were impressed upon his mind while he was writing them, and he did not have to wade through pages of manuscript to get at what he needed. Now he handed his superior officer the paper.
“Thank you,” said Riedau, “I’ll send it out to the other police stations. I will attend to this myself. You go on with these people to see whether they can identify the corpse.”
Fifteen minutes
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