Madison now spoke with a covert sneer. “Well, yes, to be perfectly frank with you,” bowed Nick. “So I suppressed the newspaper stories, and had Gordon liberated and the accusation killed. That is the little political play I have made. Aside from that, however, I had other reasons for making it.” “What reasons, Carter?” “I do not believe Gordon committed the crime,” said Nick. “I have, in fact, found positive proof that he did not.” “Indeed? Someone, then, must have blundered.” The last vestige of color now had left Madison’s face. His strong features were taking on the haggard look of a long illness. Not once did his intense eyes leave those of the detective, however, or his powerful figure relax from its rigid attitude of strained attention. “Yes, some one blundered,” Nick agreed, bowing again. “The blunder is going to prove costly, too, to the persons involved. The victim of the murder, Madison, was a woman named Matilda Lancey.” “Indeed?” Madison’s face hardened perceptibly. “I was acquainted with her. We used to be friendly in a way.” “Used to?” “That is what I said. I have not had her to lunch, or in any other way associated with her, for months.” “Your friendship with her ended, I infer.” “Yes. That’s about the size of it.” “Has she approached you in any designing way since the termination of your friendliness?” “How designing?” Madison demanded, brows drooping. “What do you mean, Carter?” “I mean with threats of blackmail, or anything of that kind.” “I don’t recall that she has.” “You would be likely to remember it, wouldn’t you?” “Certainly,” Madison bluntly admitted. “But there is nothing in that. How could she blackmail me?” “By threatening to publish your compromising letters, Mr. Madison, which you employed crooks to steal from her, and which last night was accomplished, resulting in her death at their hands,” Nick now said more sternly. Madison’s teeth met with a snap. He lurched forward in his chair, eyes blazing, and banged his fist upon the desk. “See here, Carter!” he cried, with a volcanic outbreak of rage. “If you have come here to insult me, or----” “Oh, don’t get excited,” Nick interrupted, checking him with a quick, commanding gesture. “There is nothing in that, Madison, and you ought to know it. I will tell you with very few words why I have come here. Hear them like a man, not turn bull in a china shop. You know that neither bluster nor bluff have any effect upon me.” Madison straightened up again and governed his resentment, though it still glowed in his eyes and caused a vicious twitching of his thin lips. “Out with it, then,” he said harshly. “Why are you here, Carter? What do you want?” “The truth,” said Nick shortly. “About what?” “The murder of Tilly Lancey.” “I know nothing about it.”