The commissioner raised his head and looked around. “Oh, are you still there?” he asked with a drawl.
Muller knew what this drawl meant. It was the manner adopted by the amiable commissioner when he was in a mood which was not amiable. And Muller knew also the cause of the mood. It was his own last remark, the words he addressed to Bormann. Muller himself recognised the fact that this remark was out of place, that it was almost an impertinence, because it was in direct contradiction to a statement made a few moments before by his superior officer. Also he realised that his remark had been quite unnecessary, because it was a matter of indifference to the young man, who was only obeying his employer’s orders in reporting what he had seen, whether his report was of value or not. Muller had simply uttered aloud the thought that came into his mind, a habit of his which years of official training had not yet succeeded in breaking. It was annoying to himself sometimes, for these half-formed thoughts were mere instinct—they were the workings of his own genius that made him catch a suspicion of the truth long before his conscious mind could reason it out or appreciate its value. But that sort of thing was not popular in official police life.
“Well,” asked the commissioner, as Muller did not continue, “your tongue is not usually so slow—as you have proved just a few moments back—what were you going to say now?”
“I was about to ask your pardon for my interruption. It was unnecessary, I should not have said it.”
“Well, I realise that you know better yourself,” said Riedau, now quite friendly again, “and now what else have you to say? Do you really think that what the young man has just told us is of any value at all for this case?”
“It seems to me as if it might be of value to us.”
“Oh, it seems to you, eh? Your imagination is working overtime again, Muller,” said the commissioner with a laugh. But the laugh turned to seriousness as he realised how many times Muller’s imagination had helped the clumsy official mind to its proudest triumphs. The commissioner was an intelligent man, as far as his lights went, and he was a good-hearted man. He rose from his chair and walked over to where the detective stood. “You needn’t look so
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