"I know nothing about it, sir, beyond what I told you before." "You will be well advised, in your own interests, not to lie, Benson. Why did you not tell us you had a second key to Mr. Glenthorpe's room?" There was a perceptible pause before the reply came. "I didn't think it mattered, sir." "Then you admit you have a second key?" "Yes, sir." "Very well." Superintendent Galloway took out a pocket-book and made a note of the reply. "Now, where did you conceal the money?" "What money, sir?" "Don't equivocate, man!" Superintendent Galloway produced the pocket-book Colwyn had recovered from the pit, and held it at arm's length in front of the innkeeper. "I mean the L300 in Treasury notes in this pocket-book, which Mr. Glenthorpe drew from the bank, and which you took from his room the night he was murdered." "I know nothing about it." To Colwyn at least it seemed that the expression on the innkeeper's face as he glanced at the pocket-book might have been mistaken by an unprejudiced observer for genuine surprise. "I suppose you never saw it before, eh?" sneered Galloway. "I never did." "Nor hid it in the pit?" "No, sir." Galloway paused in his questioning in secret perplexity. Benson's answers to his last three questions were given so firmly and unhesitatingly that some of his former doubts of Colwyn's theory returned to him with redoubled force. But it was in his most truculent and overbearing manner that he next remarked: "Do you also deny that you carried Mr. Glenthorpe's body from his room and threw it down the pit?" The spasm of sudden terror which contorted the innkeeper's face was a revelation to the three men who were watching him closely. "I don't know anything about it," he quavered weakly. "That won't go down, Benson!" Galloway was quick to follow up his stroke, shaking his head fiercely, like a dog worrying a rat. "You were seen carrying the body downstairs, the night of the murder. You might as well own up to it, first as last. Lies will not help you. We know too much for you to wriggle out of it. And never mind smoothing your hair down like that. We know all about that scar on your forehead, and how you got it." A wooden clock, standing on the mantelpiece, measured off half a minute in heavy ticks. Then the innkeeper, in a voice which was little more than a whisper, spoke: "It is true. I carried the body downstairs." "Why did you not tell us this before?" "It would not have made any difference." "What!" Superintendent Galloway's indignation and amazement threatened to choke his utterance. "You keep silence till an innocent man is almost hanged for your misdeeds, and now have the brazen effrontery to say it makes no difference." "Is Mr. Penreath innocent?" "Nobody should know that better than you." "Then who murdered Mr. Glenthorpe?" "Let us have no more of this fooling, Benson." Superintendent Galloway's voice was very stern. "You have already admitted that you carried Mr. Glenthorpe's body downstairs."