There was a ring of triumph in Inspector Chippenfield's voice as he announced this discovery, but before Rolfe could make any comment upon it there was a quick step behind them, and both men turned, to see Hill. The butler was astonished at finding the two police officers in his wife's shop. He hesitated, and apparently his first impulse was to turn into the street again; but, realising the futility of such a course, he came forward with an attempt to smooth his worried face into a conciliatory smile. "Hill!" said Inspector Chippenfield sternly. "Once and for all, will you own up where you were on the night of the murder?" Hill started slightly, then, with admirable self-command, he recovered himself and became as tight-lipped and reticent as ever. "I've already told you, sir," he replied smoothly. "I spent it in my own home. If you ask my wife, sir, she'll tell you I never stirred out of the house after I came back from taking my little girl to the Zoo." "I know she will, you scoundrel!" burst out the choleric inspector. "She's been well tutored by you, and she tells the tale very well. But it's no good, Hill. You forgot to tutor your little daughter, and she's innocently put you away. What's more, you were seen in London before daybreak the night after the murder. The game's up, my man." Inspector Chippenfield produced a pair of handcuffs as he spoke. Hill passed his tongue over his dry lips before he was able to speak. "Don't put them on me," he said imploringly, as Inspector Chippenfield advanced towards him. "I'll--I'll confess!" CHAPTER XI Inspector Chippenfield's first words were a warning. "You know what you are saying, Hill?" he asked. "You know what this means? Any statement you make may be used in evidence against you at your trial." "I'll tell you everything," faltered Hill. The impassive mask of the well-trained English servant had dropped from him, and he stood revealed as a trembling elderly man with furtive eyes, and a painfully shaken manner. "I'll be glad to tell you everything," he declared, laying a twitching hand on the inspector's coat. "I've not had a minute's peace or rest since--since it happened." The dry official manner in which Inspector Chippenfield produced a note-book was in striking contrast to the trapped man's attitude. "Go ahead," he commanded, wetting his pencil between his lips. Before Hill could respond a small boy entered the shop--a ragged, shock-headed dirty urchin, bareheaded and barefooted. He tapped loudly on the counter with a halfpenny. "What do you want, boy?" roughly asked the inspector. "A 'a'porth of blackboys," responded the child, in the confident tone of a regular customer. "If you'll permit me, sir, I'll serve him," said Hill and he glided behind the little counter, took some black sticky sweetmeats from one of the glass jars on the shelf and gave them to the boy, who popped one in his mouth and scurried off.