Smith swallowed helplessly. I could sympathize with his exasperation. The Russian had persistently hammered at him to arrest Breese. When Smith finally in desperation had taken this step the irrepressible Perutkin sent his own house of cards toppling, and was off. But the detective stuck to his guns. “You needn’t pay any attention to him,” he said. “He’ll have nothing more to do with this case. I’ll see to that. I’m in charge and I’ll take full responsibility, Mr. Breese, for whatever I do.” “Very well, then,” said Breese. “Am I to understand that I am under arrest for murder?” “Exactly,” snapped Smith. “I suppose I’m permitted to consult a lawyer?” the old man asked coolly. “In due time,” replied Smith. “You needn’t answer any questions I put to you but if you really know nothing of the murder of your wife and of Trenholm, being frank with me will save a lot of unpleasantness.” Breese nodded. “This is not unexpected,” he confessed. “I’ve caught you people looking strangely at me and it’s gotten on my nerves. Now what evidence will you present in court?” “First,” said Smith, “you had a key which gave you entrance to your wife’s house.” “That’s a long way from murder,” said the old man. “You used that key that night.” “And if I did?” “You knew your wife was dead when we came to your room that night. When you got the news over the telephone, you acted as if it were news to you. You did your utmost to implicate Thomas.” “Because I sincerely believed him to be at the bottom of it, and I’m not sure now that I’ve changed my mind.” “But a man of your standing,” insisted Smith, “doesn’t usually play hide and seek with the police the way you did unless he has something to hide.” “I’ve got some imagination,” replied Breese. “My relations with my wife were not of the best. In the eyes of the law I had plenty of motive to kill her. But the law doesn’t realize that a man who loves a woman doesn’t kill her no matter how much she exasperates him. But I knew that if it were known that I was in the house at the time--that I had, in fact, stolen into the house--you people would make short work of me. I had to protect myself.” “That sounds reasonable, the way you tell it,” conceded Smith. “It’s the truth,” the old man said simply. “Good God, man, do I look like a murderer? Do I look like a man who would kill the woman who bore me two children?” “But here’s the problem we’re up against,” Smith pointed out. “We’ve got to proceed on evidence. Slowly but surely the evidence has been accumulating against you. You admit it yourself. If you didn’t kill her, who did?” “Do you think that if I knew I wouldn’t have told you long ago?” countered the old man. “Don’t you think I loved my wife? Don’t you think her death was a blow to me? Don’t you think I’m suffering the torments of hell right now?”