"Because I shouldn't like to get any poor devil into a row," said Mortimer. "Now, be off with you, I'm busy. Good-day." "Good-day, good-day." Naball departed, curiously perplexed in his feelings. He had never thought of Malton in the light of a possible criminal, and yet it was so very strange that this note should have been traced back to him. Then he remembered the conversation he had overheard between Mrs. Malton and Kitty concerning the embezzlement, when Kitty denied that she had paid the money. "By Jove!" said Naball, a sudden thought striking him, "he was present at that supper, and was in a regular hole for want of money. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he stole those diamonds to replace the money, and his wife's thanking Caprice was all a blind, and then this note--humph!--things look rather fishy, my friend." When he arrived at the Never-say-die Insurance Company Office, he sent in his card to the assistant manager, and in a few minutes was shown into Malton's room, where that individual received him with visible uneasiness. "Well, Naball, and what brings you here?" he asked, watching the detective's face stealthily. "Only a little business, in which I want your help," said Naball, taking the note out of his pocket-book. "Can you tell me where you got that?" Malton's pink-and-white complexion grew a little pale, but he laughed in a forced manner as he glanced at the note. "Got this?" he said. "I can't tell you. Was it ever in my possession?" "It was," asserted Naball. "You gave it to Mortimer the day before yesterday." "Oh, yes, I remember now," said Malton quickly. "He won it off me at cards." "Exactly. Where did you get the note?" Malton shifted uneasily in his seat, and his nether lip twitched uneasily. "I'm afraid I can hardly remember," he murmured, pushing back his chair. Naball's suspicions were now rapidly ripening to certainties. If Malton were innocent, why these signs of agitation? He wriggled and twisted about like an eel, yet never once met the keen eye of the detective. "You'd better remember," said Naball mercilessly, "or it will be the worse for you." "Why?" asked Malton, trying to appear composed. "Because," explained Naball, in a low voice, "that note is one of those stolen by the man who murdered Jacob Lazarus." Malton, with a smothered exclamation, started to his feet, and then, shaking in every limb, sat down again. "No, no," he stammered, "that's absurd. It can't be--I tell you, it can't be." "Oh, but it can be, and it is. I tell you, the note is endorsed 'Back Flat-Iron,' which was done by the office-boy a few moments before the notes were put in the safe by Stewart. They were gone after the murder, so there is no doubt they were taken by the man who committed the crime. I got this note from Miss Rainsford, who received it from Caprice; she, in her turn, got it from Mortimer, and he has referred us to you. Now, where did you get it?" Malton drummed nervously on the table.