"Not at all. If I knew anything of this young lady who, you said, died in my wife's bedroom in Stretton Street, and at whose bedside you and I stood together, I would tell you. But I really don't." He tossed his cigarette hastily out of the open window. "No," he added. "I won't hear any more. I haven't the time or the inclination to listen to the wanderings of any insane person. I've had enough!" "And so have I!" I retorted. "You are trying to mislead me by affecting ignorance of my very existence, but I don't intend that you shall escape!" I added, again raising my voice. "Hush, please," he said in a calmer tone. "My wife may overhear." "I don't care!" I cried in desperation. "You never dreamed that I should arise against you, as I have. You are not fair towards me! If you revealed to me in confidence the reason you gave me that bribe of five thousand pounds, then I, on my part, would have played the straight game." "My dear sir, play whatever game you like. It is immaterial to me whether straight or crooked. I don't know anything about what you have been talking, and you have only wasted your breath and got out of temper for nothing." Again I looked him straight in the face. There was no doubt that the strain of his clever denials was telling upon him. His dark complexion had paled; in his eyes there was a fierce, haunted look as that of a man who was straining every effort to remain calm under the gravest circumstances. "I have no game to play," I declared. "I only demand the truth. Why was I invited into your house in Stretton Street to be present as witness at the poor girl's death?" "I don't know. Find out for yourself, my dear Mr. Garfield," laughed the rich man. "I have no time to discuss this silly affair further. I'm sorry you have troubled to come out from London to see me. But really yours has been a fool's errand," and he turned towards the door. "A fool's errand!" I echoed. "I am no fool and my errand is in deep earnestness. You may try to befool me, but I tell you that I will leave no stone unturned to solve the problem which you alone can explain." "Well, get along with your work," he laughed in open defiance. "I have no further time to waste," and glancing at his watch he opened the door and abruptly left me. CHAPTER THE FIFTH THE CITY OF THE LILY Full of indignation I remained for a few further moments in that wonderful old room, the room of faded tapestries with the marvellous painted ceiling. From the window was afforded a glorious view over the gardens where, even in winter, tangled masses of flowers ran riot, while beyond lay the picturesque old red-roofed Tuscan city. Fiesole is distinctly a village of the wealthy, for the several colossal villas, built in the days of the Medici and even before, are now owned by rich foreigners, many of them English. Oswald De Gex was one of them.