Muller stood alone, with folded arms, in
the middle of the large room, letting his sharp eyes wander about
the circle of light thrown by the lamps. He was glad to be alone
--for only when he was alone could his brain do its best work. He
took up one of the lamps and opened the door to the room in which,
as far as could be known, the murder had been committed. He
walked in carefully and, setting the lamp on the desk, examined the
articles lying about on it. There was nothing of importance to be
found there. An open Bible and a sheet of paper with notes for the
day's sermon lay on top of the desk. In the drawers, none of which
were locked, were official papers, books, manuscripts of former
sermons, and a few unimportant personal notes.
The flame of the lamp flickered in the breeze that came from the
open window. But Muller did not close the casement. He wanted to
leave everything just as he had found it until daylight. When he
saw that it was impossible to leave the lamp there he took it up
again and left the room.
"What is the use of being impatient?" he said to himself. "If I
move about in this poor light I will be sure to ruin some possible
clue.
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