The policeman bowed and left the room. A few moments later the tramp was brought in, guarded by two armed roundsmen. His guards remained at the door, while the prisoner himself walked forward to the middle of the room. Commissioner von Riedau sat at his desk, his clerk beside him ready to take down the evidence. Muller sat near a window with a paper on his lap, looking the least interested of anybody in the proceedings.
For a moment there was complete silence in the room, which was broken in a rather unusual manner. A deep voice, more like a growl, although it had a queer strain of comic good-nature in it, began the proceedings with the remark: “Well now, say, what do you want of me, anyway?”
The commissioner looked at the man in astonishment, then turned aside that the prisoner might not notice his smile. But he might have spared himself the trouble, for Muller, the clerk, and the two policemen at the door were all on a broad grin.
Then the commissioner pulled himself together again, and began with his usual official gravity: “It is I who ask questions here. Is it possible that you do not know this? You look to me as if you had had experience in police courts before.” The commissioner gazed at the prisoner with eyes that were not altogether friendly. The tramp seemed to feel this, and his own eyes dropped, while the good-natured impertinence in his bearing disappeared. It was evidently the last remains of his intoxication. He was now quite sober.
“What is your name?” asked the commissioner.
“Johann Knoll.”
“Where were you born?”
“Near Brunn.”
“Your age?”
“I’m—I’ll be forty next Christmas.”
“Your religion?”
“Well, you can see I’m no Jew, can’t you?”
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