“When did Monte leave?” “I don’t know.” “You do know.” “Have it that way, if you choose.” “When do you expect him to return?” asked the detective. “I wasn’t here when he went out.” “There are others in the house?” “I don’t know that there are.” Burt handcuffed Cook and Riley together. The latter protested vigorously, but Enoch said never a word. Burt then started to explore the house. He found the “fence’s” bedroom in confusion, and the carpet and bedclothing covered with blood. The safe-door stood open. Had Monte been murdered? That was the question the detective asked himself. A few deeds and a couple of insurance policies were all that remained in the safe. The Eye of Jobu was not there. Burt searched the house from garret to cellar without finding any person. At the conclusion of this search, he returned to the hall where he had left his two prisoners. “Riley,” he said, “were you concerned in this murder?” “What murder?” The young fellow seemed totally unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” “I don’t, just the same.” “Have you been in Murphy’s bedroom to-day?” Burt had once visited that room before, in searching for stolen goods, and he knew the “fence” slept there. “Yes.” “What does all that blood on the bed and carpet mean?” “I wish you’d tell me,” said Tony. “It rather puzzles me.” “You know, and you must explain.” “I can’t.” “The safe has been rifled.” “I guess there wasn’t much in it,” returned Riley unconcernedly. “Did you see Monte to-day?” “I’ve already told you I didn’t.” “Did you stop here last night?” “No.” “You say this is your home?” “So it is, at times.” “What are you to Murphy?” “His servant.” “That’s a lie. The man is too miserly to have a servant. Cook, did you ever see this fellow before?” “Yes.” “Who is he?” “I only know he used to travel with Bull Blair’s gang.” “Bull Blair, eh?” The man was one of the most hardened ruffians in New York. Riley looked daggers at Enoch. “What was done with the ‘fence’s’ body?” asked Burt. “I don’t know that he is dead,” replied the prisoner. “Murder has certainly been done in this house. I’m sure of that.” “You may be right, mister, but I know nothing about it.” “Where were you last night?” “That is my affair.” “I choose to make it mine.” “I wasn’t here. When I came back this morning, I found Murphy’s room as you found it. Some one must have been cut, that’s certain, but I don’t know who the party is.” “How do Bull Blair and Monte stand?” inquired Burt. “They are friends.” Burt looked at his prisoner long and earnestly. He believed the blood that had been shed was that of the “fence.” What had the murderer or murderers done with the body? Burt believed, if not an actual actor, Riley was an accessory to the crime. “Tony,” said the detective, “you had better make a clean breast of the whole business.” “I don’t know anything about the affair,” the prisoner said. “I am satisfied you do.” “I’ll bet that blood never came from old man Monte.”