“I am not a fool quite,” remarked the visitor, “nor am I a child to be taken in and done for by your gammon. Do you think that I, for a moment, believe that you had everything in an office safe? No, that won’t do.” “I was going to use the money that afternoon,” said Smith, “but did not. I intended to deposit it and would have done so, but I was arrested. I’ll tell you what I will do.” “What’s that?” interrupted Wilbur. “I’ll give you an order for all that is coming to you on the police property clerk,” continued the broker. “I can do no more.” Smith’s visitor laughed at the proposition, and the prisoner lost his temper. Under ordinary circumstances he would have feared Wilbur, but he did not now. “You will not get the money the police have,” Wilbur said, “until you leave prison, and that may be some months or many years. I can’t afford to wait, and I know you must have money stowed away other than this.” “And I have,” cried the broker. “Heaps on heaps of it.” “Then everything is all right,” said the visitor, appearing satisfied for the first time since entering the cell. “You are not such a fool after all, Tom. Fill me out a check for fifty thousand on your broker; we can have a final settlement when you get out.” “Fifty thousand!” muttered Smith; “you are quite reasonable in your demands. Very reasonable, indeed.” “I am not going to wait here all day,” said the visitor, angrily. “You can go when you choose.” “But the money?” “You will get none from me, neither you nor the other rascal,” cried Smith. “My lawyer tells me the money is mine, and I shall keep it; not one penny shall either of you have. I offered you ten thousand dollars; I take them back.” “But I gave you over thirteen thousand in cash,” exclaimed the other, becoming greatly excited. “And, of course, you have my receipt to show?” sneered the broker. “No, I have not; no!” Wilbur was furious; up and down the confined limits of the cell he paced, muttering to himself. Smith, although very nervous, laughed at his visitor’s agitation. The other saw him, and, standing in front of Tom, looked him in the face. The broker shrank back from the maddened man. “Once for all,” said Wilbur, and his voice was hoarse with passion, “am I to have the money?” “No,” faintly ejaculated Smith. “It is mine--all mine.” Wilbur sprang upon the prisoner, and the latter attempted to cry out for help, but the other’s clutch on his neck was too tight. With a strength born of madness, the visitor raised Smith in his grasp, and dashed his head against the stone wall of the cell. Leaving his victim upon the cot, and drawing the bedclothes over the body, Wilbur stepped unconcernedly out into the corridor. After leaving the Tombs, the murderer took a Bleecker Street car, and, drawing a newspaper from his pocket, seemed to read it with the utmost unconcern.