A clicking sound caused Inspector Mitchell to whirl around in time to see a pair of handcuffs dangling from Charles Craige's wrists. "What--what?" he gasped. "Charles Craige--murderer of Miss Susan Baird," explained Rodgers. "Don't move," and a revolver rested dangerously near Craige's heart. "Open your hand." The command was accompanied by a threatening movement of the revolver. Slowly, very slowly Craige did as he was told. A small rubber bulb syringe dropped to the floor. "Don't touch it," Rodgers cried sharply, as Mitchell bent down. "It is filled with the poison which Craige sprayed on the cat's paw--and thus killed Cecelia Parsons, his fianc�e." CHAPTER XXII GREED Charles Craige sat staring into vacancy, while beads of perspiration trickled down his ghastly face. Several drops slipped into his eyes and half blinded him. Raising his hands he brushed them away. The action brought the handcuffs encircling his wrists into view. He regarded them apathetically, then his uncomprehending gaze traveled over the horror-stricken men and women grouped about his chair. It was not until he saw Kitty Baird that the situation dawned upon him. Before the others suspected his intention, he sprang at her, his manacled hands upraised to strike. The blow was turned aside by Inspector Mitchell, who darted to Kitty's assistance. "Hold him down in that chair, Welsh," he directed as the detective came to his aid. Rodgers, whose false strength had departed, dropped into the nearest chair, the revolver hanging useless in his grasp. His shot, as Craige sprang forward, had gone wild. Kitty was by his side in an instant. "I'm all right," he panted, as she bent over him. "Don't worry, my darling. Now, Craige, what have you to say?" "Say?" Craige was winded from his exertions and spoke with difficulty. "Why should I say anything?" "Because the game's up," Mitchell stated, and stepped aside so that Craige had a clear view of Cecelia Parsons. "Why did you kill that woman?" "I did not mean to kill Cecelia," Craige shouted. "God knows I did not." His bloodshot eyes again sought Kitty. "I threw the cat at you. Cecelia called to me to stop you--" "Ah, so Mrs. Parsons aided you in your murder of Miss Susan Baird," broke in Mitchell. "She did not." Craige, his tongue unloosened, spoke in desperate haste, his words tripping over one another. It seemed almost as if he gained courage from the sound of his own voice. "Miss Susan Baird was warned--but she would not listen to me." "Why did you kill my aunt?" demanded Kitty, indignation for the moment mastering her horror. "She was always kind to you. She trusted you." "Trust? It was greed which prompted her friendship." Craige laughed harshly, jeeringly. "It was by my aid that she made her fortune. Do you know what she was--your aristocratic aunt--a money-lender!" Kitty stared at him--appalled. "It can't be," she cried, and turned appealingly to Ted Rodgers. "Make him tell the truth."