Presently, with an effort, he reached out, took the mug of beer, which had gone flat, and drained its contents. This done and the mug replaced, he sank back into his former condition of torpor. There was a gentle knock at the door and a footman came in, a man of powder and calves. “Three gentlemen to see you, sir. Captain Gordon, Mr. Elk, and Mr. Johnson.” The old man suddenly sat up. “Johnson?” he said. “What does he want?” “They are in the little drawing-room, sir.” “Push them in,” growled the old man. He seemed indifferent to the presence of the two police officers, and it was Johnson he addressed. “What do you want?” he asked violently. “What do you mean by coming here?” “It was my suggestion that Mr. Johnson should come,” said Dick. “Oh, your suggestion, was it?” said the old man, and his attitude was strangely insolent compared with his dejection of the early morning. Elk’s eyes fell upon the empty beer-mug, and he wondered how often that had been filled since Ezra Maitland had returned to the house. He guessed it had been employed fairly often, for there was a truculence in the ancient man’s tone, a defiance in his eye, which suggested something more than spiritual exaltation. “I’m not going to answer any questions,” he said loudly. “I’m not going to tell any truth, and I’m not going to tell any lies.” “Mr. Maitland,” said Johnson hesitatingly, “these gentlemen are anxious to know about the child.” The old man closed his eyes. “I’m not going to tell no truth and I’m not going to tell no lies,” he repeated monotonously. “Now, Mr. Maitland,” said the good-humoured Elk, “forget your good resolution and tell us just why you lived in that slum of Eldor Street.” “No truth and no lies,” murmured the old man. “You can lock me up but I won’t tell you anything. Lock me up. My name’s Ezra Maitland; I am a millionaire. I’ve got millions and millions and millions! I could buy you up and I could buy up mostly anybody! Old Ezra Maitland! I’ve been in the workhouse and I’ve been in quod.” Dick and his companion exchanged glances, and Elk shook his head to signify the futility of further questioning the old man. Nevertheless, Dick tried again. “Why did you go to Horsham this morning?” he asked, and could have bitten his tongue when he realized his blunder. Instantly the old man was wide awake. “I never went to Horsham,” he roared. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not going to tell you anything. Throw ’em out, Johnson.” When they were in the street again, Elk asked a question. “No, I’ve never known him to drink before,” said Johnson. “He has always been very abstemious so long as I’ve known him. I never thought I could persuade him to talk.” “Nor did I,” said Dick Gordon—a statement which more than a little surprised the detective. Dick signalled to the other to get rid of Johnson, and when that philosophical gentleman had been thanked and sent away, Dick Gordon spoke urgently.