"I can--I will," said the Dutchman, grimly. Then, the lamp being lighted, he sat down in an armchair on the other side of the fireplace opposite to his host and produced a cigar. "Begin, please." Scarse staggered to his feet--he was shaken by his own nerves and Van Zwieten's rough treatment--and moved slowly toward the door. The Dutchman rose and ran past him with a lightness and speed surprising in so heavy a man. He reached the door before Mr. Scarse did. The next moment it was locked and the key in Van Zwieten's pocket. "Go back to your seat, please," said Van Zwieten, politely. "I won't--I am master here," cried the old man, his voice shrill with anger. "What do you mean by treating me like this? I'll call the police." The Dutchman pulled out the key and held it toward Scarse. "As you please," he said with a sneer. "Call the police and I'll give you in charge." "Give me in charge, you villain!--for what?" "For murdering Gilbert Malet. Aha, my dear friend, you did not count on my knowing that, did you? You are quite unaware that I followed you from your cottage into the orchards, where you----" "I did not--I did not!" wailed Scarse, shrinking back. "No, you did not," retorted Van Zwieten, "but you were near the spot where Malet was killed, and near it about the time he was shot. You will find it difficult to refute my evidence if I am compelled to give it. On the whole, Mr. Stuart Scarse, I think you had better sit down and talk sensibly." Scarse glared like an angry cat. But physically and morally the Dutchman was too much for him. With an attempt at dignity he returned to his seat. "I am at a loss to understand this extraordinary behavior, Mr. Van Zwieten," he said, in his most stately manner, "and I deny the shameful accusation you have made. Perhaps you will be kind enough to apologize and leave my rooms." "My dear friend, I shall do neither." Van Zwieten carefully lighted his cigar. "I am waiting to hear the story." "What story?" asked the other, willfully misunderstanding. "The story about your brother and his visit to Chippingholt--to murder our dear friend. I know some of it from your brother, but----" "I have no brother, I tell you!" "Oh, yes, I think so. A twin brother named--Robert--Robert Scarse." "He is dead to me." "Ah, that is quite another thing. He has come to life for the purpose of throwing some light on this mystery. Indeed, I think you had better tell me why he murdered Gilbert Malet." "He did not murder him." "Oh, yes, he did; and I should like to have details, please--his motive and all that." "I refuse to give them to you." Van Zwieten rose and buttoned his coat. "Very good," said he; "then I shall see a magistrate and tell him all I know." "What do you know?" "Sufficient to have Robert arrested for the murder, and you as his accomplice." Mr. Scarse shivered again, and bit his lip. Then he seemed to make up his mind.