“Well,” continued Spindler, with a nod of agreement, “what I wanted to tell you was, and is, this—and I may say that I came here as much for my own satisfaction as to give information. I am, as I said, an assistant chemist—a qualified assistant, that is to say, I’ve passed all my exams. Now, for the last year or two, I’ve spent my spare time in experimenting in the preparation of synthetic dyes. I daresay you gentlemen are aware that up to now our dyers in this country have been almost entirely dependent on Germany for their aniline dyes——” “We are!” said the Chief Constable solemnly. “Pretty well known, I believe, Mr. Spindler, that we’ve been shamefully behind-hand in that matter!” “Just so—we have,” assented Spindler. “Well, to put the matter briefly, I have discovered a certain secret as regards the preparation of a valuable synthetic dye: a most important secret. And when I’d got it fully perfected, I naturally wanted to make some money out of it. So I advertised in _The Times_, indicating what I’d got to sell. My advertisement was answered by Mr. Guy Markenmore. In consequence of his letter, I went to see him at his office in Folgrave Court, in London—near Cornhill. I told him all about my discovery, and he asked me how much I would take for my secret. Now, I am a poor man, but I have good ideas, and I want to do certain things, and one is to buy the business—a small, undeveloped business, yet, but capable in my hands of great development—of a manufacturing chemist, which I can get for a very reasonable price. I thought things over and told Mr. Markenmore I would take three thousand pounds cash. He then asked me if I would entrust him with my papers—the formula, you understand, of my secret—so that he might submit them to an expert. I consented, on condition that the expert was somebody I could trust. We fixed on Professor Sir Thomas Hodges-Wilkins, of Cambridge—the famous chemist. I then gave Mr. Markenmore the papers. A week later he wrote to me, saying he would buy at my price if he could get a couple of other financiers to join him in the venture. I wrote back to him and asked him, if he bought, to let me have the money in cash. I made this request, because I intended to pay cash for the business I’ve referred to, and didn’t want anybody to know how much money I had—no bankers, no nobody, you understand. He replied that that was all right, and that he’d probably call on me, at Farshams, in a few days, and hand me the money. And after that,” concluded Spindler, spreading out his thin hands, “I never heard anything till I read of this murder!—and what I want to know is—where are my papers, my valuable secret?”