returned to her home in a cab furnished her by the kind commissioner.
About two hours later, a police attendant announced that a gentleman would like to see Dr. von Riedan on business concerning the murder in Hietzing. “Friedrich Bormann” was the name on the card.
“Ask him to step in here,” said the commissioner. “And please ask Mr. Muller to join us.”
The good-looking young clerk entered the office bashfully and Muller slipped in behind him, seating himself inconspicuously by the door. At a sign from the commissioner the visitor began. “I am an employee of Braun & Co. I have the desk next to Leopold Winkler, during the year that he has been with us—the year and a quarter to be exact—”
“Ah, then you know him rather well?”
“Why, yes. At least we were together all day, although I never met him outside the office.”
“Then you cannot tell us much about his private life?”
“No, sir, but there was something happened on Monday, and in talking it over with Mr. Braun, he suggested that I should come to you and tell you about it. It wasn’t really very important, and it doesn’t seem as if it could have anything to do with this murder and robbery; still it may be of some use.”
“Everything that would throw light on the dead man’s life could be of use,” said Dr. von Riedau. “Please tell us what it is you know.”
Fritz Bormann began: “Winkler came to the office as usual on Monday morning and worked steadily at his desk. But I happened to notice that he spoiled several letters and had to rewrite them, which showed me that his thoughts were not on his work, a frequent occurrence with him. However, everything went along as usual until 11 o’clock. Then Winkler became very uneasy. He looked constantly toward the door, compared his watch with the office clock, and sprang up impatiently as the special letter carrier, who usually comes about 11 with money orders, finally appeared.”
“Then he was expecting money you think?”
“It must have been so. For as the letter carrier passed him, he
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