“See here, inspector, I fail to see that it is any of your business to come nosing about in my affairs. I find you have been asking the porter downstairs a whole lot of questions. From your manner, the fellow has jumped to the conclusion that you suspect me of having had a hand in these murders. You’ve set all the servants simmering, and by now it’s all round the club that I murdered my nephew or something like it. I tell you I’m damned if I’ll stand it. Blast your impudence. Since you have come here, I think you owe me an explanation.” Walter Brooklyn’s manner seemed to the inspector quite extraordinarily violent. But he noticed something else while Brooklyn was speaking—the man’s amazing physical strength. He could not be less than sixty; but as he stood there, in a half-threatening attitude—with difficulty, it seemed, holding himself in—Inspector Blaikie could not help thinking that here was the very figure of a man to have struck the blows on both the dead men’s skulls. Here, moreover, was a man, obviously passionate and lacking in self-control—just the sort of person to resort to violence if his will were crossed. The inspector’s open mind was rapidly closing up before Brooklyn had finished his first speech. Nevertheless, he answered quietly enough,— “I am sorry, Mr. Brooklyn, if any of my inquiries have caused you inconvenience. But you must understand that it is my duty to investigate these murders, and to ask any questions that may be necessary for that purpose. You apparently know——” But here again Walter Brooklyn struck in. “Necessary inquiries, of course,” he said. “But what I want to know is what you mean by coming round here and practically telling my club servants that I have committed murder. Necessary inquiries, indeed!” “If you know, Mr. Brooklyn, what was the matter of my conversation with the club servants, you can hardly fail to realise why the inquiries were necessary.” “Most certainly I fail to see it. These murders have nothing to do with me.” “That may be; but even so it is necessary to establish that fact. You know, I suppose, that your walking-stick was found in Mr. Prinsep’s room the morning after the murder. I want you to tell me how it got there.” “I dare say you say you found it there. I know that, if it was there, it was not I who put it there. I don’t believe it was there at all. I lost it last Tuesday afternoon.” “And where did you lose it, may I ask?” “If I knew that, my man, I should have been after it soon enough. I must have left it somewhere. Not that it’s any business of yours what I did with it.” “Pardon me, Mr. Brooklyn. You will admit that the fact that it was found in Mr. Prinsep’s room calls for some explanation. If you do not know where you left it, I shall have to do my best to find out. May I ask where you went last Tuesday afternoon?” “I don’t see why I should tell you.”