The Case of the Pool of Blood in the Pastor's Study
       “A chance that cost the life of a worthy man,” said the detective gravely.     

       Varna nodded sadly. “But he didn’t suffer, he was dead at once.”      

       “And now tell me what this top was doing there?” No. 302 looked at the detective in great surprise, and then laid his hand on the latter’s arm.       “How did you know that I had the top there?” he asked with a show of interest.     

       “I found its traces in the room, and it was those traces that led me here to you,” answered Muller.     

       “How strange!” remarked Varna. “Are you like shepherd Janci that you can see the things others don’t see?”      

       “No, I have not Janci’s gift. It would be a great comfort to me and a help to the others perhaps if I had. I can only see things after they have happened.”      

       “But you can see more than others—the others did not see the traces of the top?”      

       “My business is to see more than others see,” said Muller. “But you have not told me yet what the top was doing there. Why did you take a toy like that with you when you went out on such an errand?”      

       “It was in my pocket by chance. When I reached for my handkerchief to quench the flow of blood the top came out with it. I must have touched the spring without knowing it, for the top began to spin. I stood still and watched it, then I ran after it. It spun around the room and finally came back to the body. So did I. The pastor was quite still and dead by that time.”      

       “You have heard everything, Dr. Orszay?” asked the detective, rising from his chair.     

       “Yes, I have heard everything,” answered the venerable head of the asylum. He was utterly crushed by the realisation that all this tragedy and horror had gone out from his house.     

       Varna rose also. He understood perfectly that now Gyuri’s power was at an end and he was as pleased as a child that has just received a present.       “And now you’re going to shoot him?” he asked, in the tone a boy would use if asking when the fireworks were to begin.     

       Muller shook his head. “No, my dear Cardillac,” he replied gravely. “He will not be shot—that 
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