The Case of the Golden Bullet Read online

  THE CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET

  by Grace Isabel Colbron, and Augusta Groner

  INTRODUCTION TO JOE MULLER

  Joseph Muller, Secret Service detective of the Imperial Austrian police,is one of the great experts in his profession. In personality he differsgreatly from other famous detectives. He has neither the impressiveauthority of Sherlock Holmes, nor the keen brilliancy of Monsieur Lecoq.Muller is a small, slight, plain-looking man, of indefinite age, and ofmuch humbleness of mien. A naturally retiring, modest disposition, andtwo external causes are the reasons for Muller's humbleness of manner,which is his chief characteristic. One cause is the fact that in earlyyouth a miscarriage of justice gave him several years in prison, anexperience which cast a stigma on his name and which made it impossiblefor him, for many years after, to obtain honest employment. But theworld is richer, and safer, by Muller's early misfortune. For it wasthis experience which threw him back on his own peculiar talents fora livelihood, and drove him into the police force. Had he been able toenter any other profession, his genius might have been stunted to a merepastime, instead of being, as now, utilised for the public good.

  Then, the red tape and bureaucratic etiquette which attaches to everygovernmental department, puts the secret service men of the Imperialpolice on a par with the lower ranks of the subordinates. Muller'sofficial rank is scarcely much higher than that of a policeman, althoughkings and councillors consult him and the Police Department realises tothe full what a treasure it has in him. But official red tape, and hisearly misfortune... prevent the giving of any higher official standingto even such a genius. Born and bred to such conditions, Mullerunderstands them, and his natural modesty of disposition asks for nooutward honours, asks for nothing but an income sufficient for hissimple needs, and for aid and opportunity to occupy himself in the wayhe most enjoys.

  Joseph Muller's character is a strange mixture. The kindest-hearted manin the world, he is a human bloodhound when once the lure of the trailhas caught him. He scarcely eats or sleeps when the chase is on, he doesnot seem to know human weakness nor fatigue, in spite of his frail body.Once put on a case his mind delves and delves until it finds a clue,then something awakes within him, a spirit akin to that which holdsthe bloodhound nose to trail, and he will accomplish the apparentlyimpossible, he will track down his victim when the entire machinery ofa great police department seems helpless to discover anything. The highchiefs and commissioners grant a condescending permission when Mullerasks, "May I do this? ... or may I handle this case this way?"both parties knowing all the while that it is a farce, and that thedepartment waits helpless until this humble little man saves its honourby solving some problem before which its intricate machinery has stooddazed and puzzled.

  This call of the trail is something that is stronger than anything elsein Muller's mentality, and now and then it brings him into conflict withthe department,... or with his own better nature. Sometimes his unerringinstinct discovers secrets in high places, secrets which the PoliceDepartment is bidden to hush up and leave untouched. Muller is thentaken off the case, and left idle for a while if he persists in hisopinion as to the true facts. And at other times, Muller's own warmheart gets him into trouble. He will track down his victim, driven bythe power in his soul which is stronger than all volition; but when hehas this victim in the net, he will sometimes discover him to be amuch finer, better man than the other individual, whose wrong at thisparticular criminal's hand set in motion the machinery of justice.Several times that has happened to Muller, and each time his heart gotthe better of his professional instincts, of his practical common-sense,too, perhaps,... at least as far as his own advancement was concerned,and he warned the victim, defeating his own work. This peculiarity ofMuller's character caused his undoing at last, his official undoing thatis, and compelled his retirement from the force. But his advice is oftensought unofficially by the Department, and to those who know, Muller'shand can be seen in the unravelling of many a famous case.

  The following stories are but a few of the many interesting cases thathave come within the experience of this great detective. But they givea fair portrayal of Muller's peculiar method of working, his looking onhimself as merely an humble member of the Department, and the comedyof his acting under "official orders" when the Department is in realityfollowing out his directions.

  THE CASE OF THE GOLDEN BULLET

  "Please, sir, there is a man outside who asks to see you."

  "What does he want?" asked Commissioner Horn, looking up.

  "He says he has something to report, sir."

  "Send him in, then."

  The attendant disappeared, and the commissioner looked up at the clock.It was just striking eleven, but the fellow official who was to relievehim at that hour had not yet appeared. And if this should chance to bea new case, he would probably be obliged to take it himself. Thecommissioner was not in a very good humour as he sat back to receivethe young man who entered the room in the wake of the attendant. Thestranger was a sturdy youth, with an unintelligent, good-natured face.He twisted his soft hat in his hands in evident embarrassment, and hiseyes wandered helplessly about the great bare room.

  "Who are you?" demanded the commissioner.

  "My name is Dummel, sir, Johann Dummel."

  "And your occupation?"

  "My occupation? Oh, yes, I--I am a valet, valet to Professor Fellner."

  The commissioner sat up and looked interested. He knew Fellnerpersonally and liked him. "What have you to report to me?" he askedeagerly.

  "I--I don't know whether I ought to have come here, but at home--"

  "Well, is anything the matter?" insisted Horn.

  "Why, sir, I don't know; but the Professor--he is so still--he doesn'tanswer."

  Horn sprang from his chair. "Is he ill?" he asked.

  "I don't know, sir. His room is locked--he never locked it before."

  "And you are certain he is at home?"

  "Yes, sir. I saw him during the night--and the key is in the lock on theinside."

  The commissioner had his hat in his hand when the colleague who wasto relieve him appeared. "Good and cold out to-day!" was the latter'sgreeting. Horn answered with an ironical: "Then I suppose you'll be gladif I relieve you of this case. But I assure you I wouldn't do it ifit wasn't Fellner. Good-bye. Oh, and one thing more. Please send aphysician at once to Fellner's house, No. 7 Field Street."

  Horn opened the door and passed on into the adjoining room, accompaniedby Johann. The commissioner halted a moment as his eyes fell upon alittle man who sat in the corner reading a newspaper. "Hello, Muller;you there? Suppose I take you with me? You aren't doing anything now,are you?"

  "No, sir.

  "Well, come with me, then. If this should turn out to be anythingserious, we may need you."

  The three men entered one of the cabs waiting outside the policestation. As they rattled through the streets, Commissioner Horncontinued his examination of the valet. "When did you see your masterlast?"

  "About eleven o'clock last evening."

  "Did you speak with him then?

  "No, I looked through the keyhole."

  "Oh, indeed; is that a habit of yours?"

  Dummel blushed deeply, but his eyes flashed, and he looked angry.

  "No, it is not, sir," he growled. "I only did it this time because I wasanxious about the master. He's been so worked up and nervous the lastfew days. Last night I went to the theatre, as I always do Saturdayevenings. When I returned, about half-past ten it was, I knocked at thedoor of his bedroom. He didn't answer, and I walked away softly, soas not to disturb him in case he'd gone to sleep already. The hall wasdark, and as I went through it I saw a ray of light coming from thekeyhole of the
Professor's study. That surprised me, because he neverworked as late as that before. I thought it over a moment, then I creptup and looked through the keyhole."

  "And what did you see?"

  "He sat at his desk, quite quiet. So I felt easy again, and went off tobed."

  "Why didn't you go into the room?"

  "I didn't dare, sir. The Professor never wanted to be disturbed when hewas writing."

  "Well, and this morning?"

  "I got up at the usual time this morning, set the breakfast table, andthen knocked at the Professor's bedroom door to waken him. He didn'tanswer, and I thought he might want to sleep, seeing as it was Sunday,and he was up late last night. So I waited