Maxwell finished the reading of this, to me, fatal news, before I had, and when I looked up from the paper he was smoking one of my cigars, to which he had helped himself from my cigar case. What now remained was to hear from him how he had learned of my connection with the murder. He was sitting with folded arms, a glass of liquor before him, puffing at the cigar, and with his eyes fixed on my face. "Rather startling, John," were his first words. I returned his gaze without answering, and so we sat for several minutes, staring at each other. At length he spoke again. "I am waiting, John." "For what?" I asked. My voice was strange to me; it was as if another man had spoken. "Well, I thought you would like to make some comment on this newspaper report of the discovery of the crime. I do not wish you to incriminate yourself. No need for that. Any fool looking at you now, would jump at the right conclusion. We know who the murdered man is; the police don't, and may never discover. It depends upon me." "Upon you?" "Upon me. I hold the threads, and the evidence upon which you would be convicted. I make a shrewd guess that there is other evidence in your possession which would bring the guilt home to you." He rose and went into my bedroom; I followed his movements with my eyes, and made no effort to arrest them. Presently he returned. "I have taken the liberty to look over your clothing. There is no mistake about one article--Louis' ulster. Why do you keep it by you? Man alive, it is fatal--fatal!" "How do you know it is his ulster?" "Well, it may not be, but the last time I saw the poor fellow--let me see, it was about five weeks ago, here in London--he wore one suspiciously like it. Of course, it is easy of proof. Do you deny it was his?" "I deny nothing; I admit nothing." "Politic, but weak and useless. I will make another shrewd guess. The missing watch--Louis's watch. A search warrant would probably find it on your person or in these rooms. It may be difficult to identify unmarked clothing--I beg your pardon, you were about to speak." I drank a second glass of water to clear my throat. "It does not state here," I said, pointing to the newspaper, "that the clothing is unmarked." "No, it does not, but I assume it, for if his handkerchief, or shirt, or any of his underclothing, bore his initials, the fact would be at once made public to expedite discovery. The reasonable conclusion, therefore, is that there are no initials on his clothing to assist the police. A fortunate thing for you. L. F. It would be all over the country. Some woman with whom he is connected--not his mother--would say to herself, 'L. F., Louis Fordham.' For the best of all reasons the man she is interested in does not make his appearance. Away she goes to the police, examines the clothes, examines the body, and declares the name of the murdered man." "Why would not his mother do this?" "Again, for the best of all reasons. She is dead." "My stepmother dead!"