Something in the stranger's
face told the little hunchback that he had made a discovery. The
sexton sprang up, his lips did not dare utter the question that his
eyes asked.
"I have found him," said the detective gravely.
The hunchback sexton staggered, then recovered himself, and hurried
away to fetch the magistrate and the doctor.
An hour later the murdered pastor lay in state in the chief apartment
of his home, surrounded by burning candles and high-heaped masses of
flowers. But he still lay in the simple convent coffin and the little
bunch of roses which his murderer had placed between his stiffening
fingers had not been touched.
Two days later the pastor was buried. The Count and his family led
the train of numerous mourners and among the last was Muller.
A day or two after the funeral the detective sauntered slowly through
the main street of the village. He was not in a very good humour,
his answer to the greeting of those who passed him was short. The
children avoided him, for with the keenness of their kind they
recognised the fact that this usually gentle little man was not in
possession of his habitual calm temper.
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