“She couldn’t do that!” said the actor. “She wrote me a lot of letters she wouldn’t want in the wrong hands. Not that I’d do anything like that! That’s blackmail. That’s despicable! Dora was too nice--had too much pride--to make a fuss about things.... You mustn’t believe that man Rice,” he pleaded. “Dora and I never quarrelled for a minute. We were real friends. This is a terrible blow to me!” “Yes,” said Smith, “I see that.” The actor glared at him. “Is that meant for sarcasm?” Smith nodded obligingly. “Then it’s in very poor taste.” “That may be,” said Smith, “but of all the thin alibis I’ve ever heard, yours takes the prize.” “Alibis?” shouted the actor. “I didn’t kill her! I don’t need an alibi.” “I’m not saying you killed her,” said Smith. “Well, you’re intimating!” the actor bit his lips in his anger. “What are you asking all those questions for? I’ve told you all I know. I guess I’ve got some rights. And I’ve got some friends, too.” He was incoherent in his sudden fury. “You’d better be careful how you treat me.” He moved to the door. “I’m going!” he shouted. “I’m not stopping you,” said Smith. “But you’d better not go too far.” He smiled grimly. “I mean that both ways. I don’t want you to leave the house, Mr. Thomas. I’m not through with you yet--not by a long shot!” “I’m leaving for New York right now!” the actor shrieked defiantly. “Come here!” growled Smith. The actor glared at him hesitantly. Smith advanced on him. “I don’t like your attitude,” said Smith. “I wasn’t ready to arrest you--yet. But you’re forcing my hand. Also you’re being very dumb about it.” “Am I?” the actor cried. “I’ll have no more of your insults! I won’t stand it, I tell you!” Smith laughed suddenly. I turned in surprise at him. “That’s all I wanted to know,” he said, still chuckling. “I wanted to see if you could get good and mad, Mr. Thomas. You can!” The actor was breathing heavily. “Let me go!” he cried. “What are you doing to me? I don’t know anything about it. I’m going back to New York.” Smith suddenly reached for the actor’s arm and held it securely. Thomas cried out in pain. “You’re not going to New York,” said Smith. “You’re going to stay right here with me. If you didn’t kill Mrs. Breese, you know who did.” “I don’t!” the actor protested. “Let me go, won’t you? Let me go!” I was so intent in watching this third-degree that for a moment I did not hear the sounds of scuffling and angry voices in the reception-room. Before we were quite aware of it, a young man was being dragged before us by the butler, now very red-faced, and the Japanese steward. Both captors were out of breath and talking at once. Only their prisoner seemed calm and perfectly self-possessed. “Caught him--hiding--in the blue room--just now,” the butler panted.