“I don’t think you’ll make much of him,” the governor shook his head. “The man seems stupefied. Of course a fellow who has been in a good position often is so when he comes here. Wilton’s taking it very hard. When we told him there was a flaw in the evidence and he could appeal against his sentence, he showed no interest. He was sullen and sour as he has been all the time. All he would say was ‘What’s the good? You’ve done for me.’” “Poor devil,” Reggie sighed. “It may be.” The governor looked dubious. “No one can judge a man’s character on his first days in prison. But I’ve known men who gave me a good deal more reason to believe them innocent.” Dr. Wilton was brought in, a shred of a man in his prison clothes. A haggard face glowered at Reggie. “My name’s Fortune, Dr. Wilton,” Reggie held out his hand. It was ignored. “I come from Scotland Yard. I found the mistake which had been made about the tobacco. It made me very interested in your case. I feel sure we don’t know the truth of it. If you can help me to that it’s going to help you.” He waited. “The police can’t help me,” said Wilton. “I’m not going to say anything.” “My dear chap, I know that was a bad blunder. But there’s more than that wants looking into. If you’ll give us a chance we might be able to clear up the whole case and set you on your feet again. That’s what I’m here for.” And Wilton laughed. “No thanks,” he said unpleasantly. “Just think of it. I can’t do you any harm. I’m looking for the truth. I’m on your side. What I want to know is, have you got any enemies? Anyone who might like to damage you? Anybody who wanted to put you out of the way?” “Only the police,” said Wilton. “Oh, my dear chap!” Reggie brushed that away. “Did anything strange ever happen to you before this charge?” “What?” Wilton flushed. “Oh, I see. I’m an old criminal, am I? Better look for my previous convictions. Or you can invent ’em. Quite easy.” “My dear chap, what good can this do you?” said Reggie sadly. “The police didn’t invent this charge. Your friend Mr. Witt made it. Do you know anything about Mr. Witt? Did it ever occur to you he wanted you off the scene--in the Dutch colonies--or in prison?” “I’ve nothing against Witt,” said Wilton. “Oh, my dear fellow! How did the diamonds get in your room?” “Yes, how did they?” said Wilton savagely. “Ask your police inspector. The man who said that was my tobacco. You’re a policeman. You know how these jobs are done.” “I wish I did,” Reggie sighed. “If I did I dare say you wouldn’t be here.” But he could get no more out of Dr. Wilton. He went away sorrowful. He had not recovered his spirits when he sought Lomas next morning. Lomas was brisk. “You’re the man I want. What’s the convict’s theory of it?” Reggie shook his head. “Lomas, old thing, do I ever seem a little vain of my personal charm? The sort of fellow who thinks fellows can’t resist him?”