“Indeed, it seemed to me improbable that a gentleman of such ingenuity as yourself should have become a victim of any conspiracy. No, sir, it appears to me—mind, I am giving you every credit—that you are in some way bound up with a very extraordinary network of crime. “What it is, of course, I cannot tell, unless you trust me. I wish you would see the wisdom of giving me your confidence. In the meantime I can only theorise.” Mr. Rookley paused and looked infinitely wise. “Go on,” said Westerham. “In all probability,” Mr. Rookley proceeded, “you have become involved in some peculiar kind of vendetta. I assure you, sir, that when you are as versed in the machinations of mankind as I am you will not find such a supposition as mine at all romantic. “If, however, such is the case, then Melun plays a part in it. And if Melun plays a part in it,” concluded the detective, with a fine show of pitiless logic, “then he had a hand in this. Now tell me, sir, do you suspect him?” “I must once again,” said Westerham, “be allowed to point out that what I suspect is no affair of yours at all. “I don't mind telling you, however, that I am involved in a very remarkable conspiracy. The part which I play is entirely innocent; on the other hand, it is impossible for me to make the faintest revelation concerning it.” “But this is not the end of it,” cried Rookley. “By no means the end of it. Look at the threat on the luggage label. ‘The girl may be the next.’ Now, what does that mean? Who is the girl?” Westerham's ruddy face grew a little pale. “The girl,” he said, “is the lady it is my business to shelter and protect. By holding silent I can at least secure her life; if I breathe one word I can well believe that her fate may be the same as that of the man within.” He pointed to the bedroom. “Then, sir,” said the detective, banging his fist on the table, “it is your duty to tell us everything. “The police can give protection to all who need it,” he added after a pause. “The police did not save the dead,” answered Westerham. “And they cannot save the girl.” “Mr. Robinson,” said the detective, darkly, “if you persist in silence I must resort to extreme measures. There was no justification in my detaining you yesterday over the gagging of your valet. But this is an entirely different piece of business. “This is murder, and I should not be doing my duty if I did not turn every stone to bring the murderer to justice, I warn you solemnly that there is such a thing as being charged with complicity, and, if you continue to defy me as you do, then I shall have no other course but to take you in charge.” “My dear man,” said Westerham, “don't be a fool. Let me implore you not to be led by a little exercise of your authority into taking a step which you would for ever regret.