My duty was plain; miserable as was the task, I must go on with it to a conclusion one way or the other, but I determined that so long as I could, I would pursue the investigation alone, and thus spare Benton trouble and mortification if it should develop that he was innocent. Time enough to submit it to the police when I had something more tangible to go upon than mere speculation based on the fitting of acts to opportunities. Furthermore, I knew the police would not be grateful to me for upsetting or even casting doubt upon their well-worked-up case, and would depart upon the investigation of a new clue with very little enthusiasm for the work. At this point my reflections were interrupted by a servant who came to tell me that Benton would like to see me. I almost jumped from my chair. What irony of fate had brought this man--the one I wished least of all to see--to me at this moment? I felt guilty at the mention of his name. How should I treat him? What should I say to him? At first I was inclined to refuse to see him, but then I reflected that it was as well to have an interview with him now as another time. I need ask him no direct questions, do nothing to alarm him, but could listen to what he might have to say. The interview being unsolicited, on my part, he could have no idea of my suspicion and might therefore be led to talk freely. My determination thus taken, I told the servant, who had been patiently waiting on me, to bring Benton to my room. By the time he appeared I had composed myself and was prepared to take advantage of any opportunity that might offer to further my investigation. On entering he was so eager to impart his news that barely waiting for me to signify my readiness to hear him, he began telling it in a hurried and nervous manner.