“Then I may take this visit as evidence that you are satisfied that it had to do with the murder!” Trafford nodded. “Why don’t you arrest me then?” “Because I am satisfied you did not murder him, but can tell me who did,” Trafford answered. “A sort of accessory after the fact?” Matthewson demanded. “No,” said Trafford. “I’m inclined to think you never suspected that you knew anything about it or that you could tell me. At the same time, I’m almost certain you saw the murderer and talked with him that night.” Matthewson started at this statement of the matter. He had not the nerve of either his mother or brother, and his power of concealing his emotions was greatly less than that of either. However, he quickly recovered himself. “I refuse to be put in the position of laying accusations. I’ve no objection to aid in convicting a criminal, but I don’t purpose holding one end of a drag-net, for the mere sake of catching some one who may or may not be guilty.” Trafford did not deem it best to answer this directly, but instead went on, as if nothing had been said of objection: “You saw Charles Hunter and his brother Frank--but were they all?” Matthewson drummed on his desk and looked out of the window. What was there, he asked himself, that was drawing him into this tragedy, of which he really knew nothing? Did this man know also what Cranston had discovered? Was there, after all, to grow out of this murder, of which he knew nothing, a scandal that was to overwhelm his family, and finally destroy the great influence they exercised in the State? While he asked these questions of himself Trafford waited, the model of patience. If he had anything to disturb his mind, he did not show it. Evidently, Matthewson could take his time and be sure that the other would be there to receive his answer, when he was ready to give it. Finally Matthewson turned to the detective and said: “I was in Millbank on my own private business. I saw the men whom that business concerned and no others. The men whom I saw are one and all as incapable of committing this murder as I am. I must decline to subject any of them to the annoyance I am now subjected to.” “I don’t know whether you are incapable of committing murder or not. I shouldn’t want to affirm it of any one--not even myself. I am convinced that you saw and talked with Wing’s murderer that night. I must know the name of every man you saw while in Millbank, and if I can’t find it out in one way, I will in another.” “It pleases you to threaten,” Matthewson said, not wholly unconscious of an uneasy feeling. “Not to threaten, but simply to show you that I am in earnest,” Trafford assured him. “Still, I may appeal to you on another ground. I have named two men whom you saw. If I am to suppose they were the only ones, then I must regard one or the other as the real murderer, and this because you persist in concealing from me the name of the man who may be guilty. Have you a right to do this?”