“‘What’s this about my burglar?’ laughed Lenham. ‘A funny fellow—because as far as I can see he didn’t take anything.’ “‘All in good time,’ I answered, smiling. ‘I’ve found out a lot of strange things in town.’ “Lenham looked at me quickly. ‘Oh! have you been to London?’ he inquired. “‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘for two days. Most entertaining.’ “And then the inspector chipped in, impatiently: “‘Well, sir, what is it you want to say to me?’ He looked at his watch suggestively. “‘First of all, inspector,’ I said, quietly, ‘I want to ask you a question. Have you ever heard the legal maxim, _Falsus in uno, falsus in omne_?’ “I could see that he hadn’t the faintest idea what I was driving at. I could also see that Lenham’s eyes had suddenly become strained. “‘It means,’ I went on, ‘that if a witness—let us say—is proved to have told one lie, there is strong presumptive evidence that he has told several. At any rate, the value of his statement is greatly diminished. Do you agree?’ “‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘But I don’t see——’ “‘You will shortly, inspector,’ I remarked. ‘Now who would you consider the principal witness against Mr. Fairfax?’ “‘Mr. Fairfax himself,’ said the inspector, promptly. “‘And leaving him out?’ I asked. “‘Well—I suppose—this gentleman here.’ He nodded towards Lenham, who was sitting quite motionless, watching me. “‘Precisely,’ I murmured. ‘Then why was it necessary for Mr. Lenham to state that his name was Lenham, and further to swear that he had never seen Mr. Marley before—when both those statements were lies?’ “‘What the devil do you mean?’ snarled Lenham, rising from his chair. ‘What do you mean by saying my name is not Lenham?’ “‘You wanted to know about the burglar who took nothing, didn’t you?’ I said, grimly. ‘Well—I was the burglar, and I took something very valuable—an address.’ “‘What on earth——’ began the inspector, and then he glanced at Lenham. ‘I think you’d better sit still, Mr. Lenham,’ he said, quietly, ‘until we have heard what this gentleman has to say.’ “Lenham sat back in his chair with a venomous look at me. Then he laughed harshly. “‘By all means, inspector,’ he remarked. ‘Only it is a little disconcerting to be cross-examined suddenly by a man who admits he is a thief.’ “As a matter of fact the man didn’t know how much I knew—or how little; and between ourselves it was deuced little. But, watching him closely, I knew I was right, and my only hope was to bluff him into some admission. “‘Shall we endeavour to reconstruct the events of the night when Mr. Marley was murdered, Mr. Lenardi?’ I began, quietly. ‘That is your name, is it not?—and you are a Corsican.’ “‘Well,’ he said, ‘what if I am? I had a very good reason for changing my name.’