Then from the man came a cry that was like the snarl of some wild beast. “Empty!” he roared. He stood stunned and dumb; then he flung himself into the great steel room, and they heard his voice reverberating hollowly. Again he came to the platform holding in his hand a white envelope. Blindly he blundered down the stairs again, and they could hear his heavy breathing. “Empty!” His grating voice rose to a scream. “Nothing but this!” He held the envelope out, then tore it open. It contained only a few words-- “Received on behalf of Miss Kathleen Kent the contents of this safe. “(Signed) JAMES CAVENDISH STANNARD, Bart. CHRISTOPHER ANGEL.” Dazed and bewildered, the lawyer read the paper, then looked from one to the other. “So it was you,” he said. Angel nodded curtly. “You!” said Spedding again. “Yes.” “You have robbed the safe--you--a police officer.” “Yes,” said Angel, not removing his eyes from the man. He motioned to Jimmy, and Jimmy, with a whispered word to the girl, led her to the door. Behind him, as he returned to Angel’s side, came six plain-clothes officers. “So you think you’ve got me, do you?” breathed Spedding. “I don’t think,” said Angel, “I know.” “If you know so much, do you know how near to death you are?” “That also I know,” said Angel’s even voice. “I’m all the more certain of my danger since I have seen your hat.” The lawyer did not speak. “I mean,” Angel went on calmly, “since I saw the hat that you put down on a dusty table in my chambers--when you murdered Connor.” “Oh, you found him, did you--I wondered,” said Spedding without emotion. Then he heard a faint metallic click, and leapt back with his hand in his pocket. But Jimmy’s pistol covered him. He paused irresolutely for one moment; then six men flung themselves upon him, and he went to the ground fighting. Handcuffed, he rose, his nonchalant self, with the full measure of his failure apparent. He was once again the suave, smooth man of old. Indeed, he laughed as he faced Angel. “A good end,” he said. “You are a much smarter man than I thought you were. What is the charge?” “Murder,” said Angel. “You will find a difficulty in proving it,” Spedding answered coolly, “and as it is customary at this stage of the proceedings for the accused to make a conventional statement, I formally declare that I have not seen Connor for two days.” Closely guarded, he walked to the door. He passed Kathleen standing in the vestibule, and she shrank on one side, which amused him. He clambered into the car that had brought him, followed by the policemen, and hummed a little tune. He leaned over to say a final word to Angel. “You think I am indecently cheerful,” he said, “but I feel as a man wearied with folly, who has the knowledge that before him lies the sound sleep that will bring forgetfulness.” Then, as the car was moving off, he spoke again--