“This is rather a serious matter, Mr. Reeder,” he said, consciously grave. “I am not so sure that we can take you into our confidence----” “Hadn’t you better see the police and ask them if they are prepared to take you into _their_ confidence?” asked Mr. Reeder, with a sudden ferocity which made the lawyer recoil. Once more the manager explained the account. “Six hundred pounds--h’m!” Mr. Reeder frowned. “A large sum--who was the drawer?” “My clerk McKay said it was a lady--heavily veiled.” Reeder stared at him. “Your clerk McKay? Of course--a fair young man. How stupid of me! Kenneth--or is it Karl--Kenneth, is it? H’m! Heavily veiled lady. Have you the number of the notes?” Kingfether was taken aback by the question. He searched for a book that held the information, and Mr. Reeder copied them down, an easy task since the tens and the fives ran consecutively. “When does your clerk arrive?” Kenneth was supposed to arrive at nine. As a rule he was late. He was late that morning. Mr. Reeder saw the young man through a window in the manager’s office and thought that he did not look well. His eyes were tired; he had shaved himself carelessly, for his chin bore a strip of sticking plaster. Perhaps that accounted for the spots on the soiled cuff of his shirt, thought Mr. Reeder, when he confronted the young man. “No, I will see him alone,” said Reeder. “He is rather an insolent pup,” warned Mr. Kingfether. “I have tamed lions,” said Mr. Reeder. When Kenneth came in: “Close the door, please, and sit down. You know me, my boy?” “Yes, sir,” said Kenneth. “That is blood on your shirt cuff, isn’t it?… cut your chin, did you? You haven’t been home all night?” Kenneth did not answer at once. “No, sir. I haven’t changed my shirt, if that is what you mean.” Mr. Reeder smiled. “Exactly.” He fixed the young man with a long, searching glance. “Why did you go to the house of the late Mr. Wentford last night between the hours of eight-thirty and nine-thirty?” He saw the youth go deathly white. “I didn’t know he was dead--I didn’t even know his name until this morning. I went there because… well, I was blackguard enough to spy on somebody… follow them from London and sneak into the house----” “The young lady, Margot Lynn. You’re in love with her? Engaged to her, perhaps?” “I’m in love with her--I’m not engaged to her. We are no longer… friends,” said Kenneth in a low voice. “She told you I had been there, I suppose?” And then, as a light broke on him: “Or did you find my cap? It had my name in it.” Mr. Reeder nodded. “You came down on the same train as Miss Lynn? Good. Then you will be able to prove that you left Bourne End station--” “No, I shan’t,” said Kenneth. “I slipped out of the train on to the line. Naturally I didn’t want her to see me. I got out through the level crossing. There was nobody about--it was snowing heavily.”