“Well,” said Smith, grudgingly, “I don’t see much point to it but I’m always perfectly willing to try anything. Where is he?” But it was unnecessary for the Russian to reply. Mr. Breese himself opened the door and with an apologetic cough addressed the Russian: “I’m afraid I was rather rude to you a little while ago. I didn’t mean to be.” “That’s quite all right,” murmured the Russian. “I was telling Mr. Smith just now that you are much distressed by the tragic events and it is quite understandable that your nerves are not what they should be.” Mr. Breese nodded. “I can’t believe it’s true yet,” he murmured stonily. Then with an obvious effort at casualness: “You mentioned something about a key as I came in here. I suppose you questioned the fact that I possess a key and the house really belongs to my wife. Well, the fact is that I found this key in my trunk with some others this morning. I remember my agent gave me several at the time I first opened this house. And I brought it around in case it was needed.” Even to Smith this roundabout explanation must have seemed lame, for I saw him watching the old man with new interest. And then Smith said: “By the way, Mr. Breese, there have been some developments I think you ought to know.” Breese turned to him quickly. His granite eyes lit up. I’m not sure, but it seemed to me that his right hand, resting upon a malacca stick, trembled slightly. “We’ve made an arrest,” Smith continued smoothly. For a moment Mr. Breese said nothing. Finally he found his voice. “Who is it?” he demanded. “Well, I can’t even pronounce his name,” Smith confessed. “It’s this Count Giering-Trelovitch--I think that’s the name. Your former son-in-law.” “Impossible!” exclaimed the old man. “He had nothing to do with it.” He stammered in his sudden excitement. “Look here--you’ve got the wrong man. Why, I understood you were proceeding against the actor. At least so Rice told me. Did he tell you about the forged check? And those telegrams?” “I know,” said Smith, “but the Count has made a confession.” The old man stared at Smith in amazement. “A confession?” he repeated blankly. “Yes,” said Smith. “Hasn’t your daughter told you? He made the confession to her yesterday and disappeared. We got him a little while ago.” The old man shook his head. He said nothing. “At first,” continued Smith, “we thought the Count was acting out of pure chivalry. Trying to protect someone else. But we’ve finally swung around and we’re taking the confession at face value.” As the old man remained silent, Smith concluded. “So, Mr. Breese, I don’t think we’ll need you further. Unless the Count recants, we’ve got clear sailing.”