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repelled this other man’s unwanted advances during his absence. When the fighting stopped, Schulte returned to a hero’s welcome.
    The farmhand fell to depression. His crop failed. His plot was reclaimed by the landlord, Schulte’s father. The foreclosure pushed him over the edge.
    Schulte’s fiancée was drowned late one night under a bridge. Her body was hidden in the shallows under a pile of stones. By the time it was uncovered, little physical evidence remained.
    Schulte was in disbelief. Against the wishes of his family, he insisted on viewing the body. Friends waited at the hospital to bar him from the sight. Schulte was convinced the cover would be pulled back to reveal some other unfortunate woman. His lover’s distended corpse brought reality down on him with devastating impact.
    No one in town doubted who had committed the crime. Schulte took matters into his own hands. He confronted the farmhand at a crowded saloon. Both men suffered in drunken misery. Their argument came to blows. Schulte drew a pistol and shot the man dead.
    His torment turned him into a recluse. He was convinced that everyone meant him harm. Now head of his family’s fortune, he retreated to the life of a miser locked in an empty mansion. His paranoia reached such heights that he fled to the anonymity of foreign soil.
    Schulte came to America seeking a new beginning. He opened a business transporting goods between north and south, and built his estate on the Hudson River. That is where the promise of the United States failed him. The cruellest twist in Schulte’s story is that, like his fiancée’s murder, there is little doubt as to the killer’s identity.
    William Bucholz was his personal assistant. A young man of little accomplishment, his shuffling gait and broken teeth are evidence of the ruffian life he led, first in New York City then in the small town where he met Henry Schulte. Prussian citizenship and an ability to speak Schulte’s language are the only qualities that made him fit to work for the loner.
    It was Bucholz who pointed police to Schulte’s body. He claimed to be a loyal employee but his alibi was false and he was arrested. That was the state of the investigation when Norwalk police contacted our Agency.
    William Bucholz was being held for the murder of Henry Schulte. Police faced the choice of either laying charges without any proof or releasing a man they believed to be a killer.
    My oldest son, William, was heading the case until this business with Robert’s trial. William and I agreed that the best way to proceed would be to watch from a distance. Surveillance is at the heart of all modern detective technique.
    A criminal’s conscience is heavy. He will ease his burden by sharing it with another. A detective can quickly identify a list of people who the criminal may choose for his confession.
    Bucholz pointed us in a promising direction. His alibi for the night of the killing had been Ms. Sadie Waring.
    Waring’s father owned a farm near Schulte’s estate and was the victim’s only real friend. Being his friend amounted to little more than not being scowled at as Schulte came and went from the Emerald Tap House, a bawdy tavern he frequented.
    As I have said before, I feel pity for Schulte’s experience of America. This stranger, Waring, was his best friend.
    The daughter Sadie took a shine to William Bucholz. They were seen about town together. She told police, after the murder, that Bucholz believed he was on the verge of being given a piece of property as a reward for good service.
    This was a lie but, to a scoundrel, lying is just a way of speaking. He trusted her. It was clear that Bucholz would try to communicate with Sadie.
    I tried to convey this insight to Robert. I ought not to have bothered.
    To him, the key to the case was finding money stolen from Schulte’s home the day he died. Police could not recover it. I explained to Robert that