“The 25th! Well, that’s a coincidence, too. That’s the very night poor old Mr. Gething was killed.” Vanderkemp stiffened suddenly and his hands closed on the arms of his chair. “What?” he cried. “Not Charles Gething of Messrs. Duke & Peabody?” French, now keenly observing him without any attempt at concealment, nodded. “That’s the man. You knew him then?” “Of course I knew him. Why, it’s my own firm. Good God, to think of poor old Gething! And you say the safe was rifled? You don’t tell me Mr. Duke’s collection of stones is gone?” “All of it, and money as well. The murderer made a clean sweep.” Vanderkemp whistled and then swore. “Tell me about it.” French was more than ever puzzled. The traveller’s manner, his evident emotion, his questions—all seemed those of an innocent man. He felt doubts arising in his mind; possibly there might be an explanation. . . . He did not at once reply, as he turned over in his mind how he could best surprise the other into an admission of the truth. But Vanderkemp also was evidently thinking, and suddenly an expression of deeper concern showed on his face. He made as if to speak, then hesitated and a wary look appeared in his eyes. He cleared his throat, then in a changed voice asked, “At what time did it happen?” French leaned forward swiftly and fixed his eyes on his companion as he said in a low, tense tone, “That’s what I want to ask you, Mr. Vanderkemp.” The man started. He did not answer, and the wary look in his eyes changed into definite anxiety, which deepened as the moments passed. At last he spoke. “It had just dawned on me from what you said, Inspector, that our meeting here was not such a coincidence as I at first imagined. I see that you suspect me of the crime. What has happened I don’t know, what you have against me I don’t know either, but I can tell at once that I am not only absolutely innocent, but until you told me just now I was ignorant that a crime had been committed. I will tell you my whole story and answer any questions you may like to ask, whether you believe me or not.” French nodded. Certainly, if guilty, this man was a consummate actor. There was at least the chance that he might be innocent, and he answered accordingly. “I don’t accuse you of anything, Mr. Vanderkemp. But there are certain suspicious circumstances which require an explanation. You may be able to account for all of them—I hope you will. At the same time it is fair to warn you that, failing an explanation, your arrest is not impossible, and in that case anything that you may say now may be used against you in evidence.” Vanderkemp was by this time extremely ill at ease. His face had paled and had already taken on a somewhat drawn and haggard expression. For a while he remained silent, buried in thought, then with a sudden gesture as of throwing further caution to the winds, he began to speak.