will refer to that." I produced it from my waistcoat pocket "From this it appears that you are Mr. Isaac Bernstein, of 288, Great Poland Street. Very good, Mr. Bernstein. Your bills are in safe keeping. You will hear of them again, never fear. Their history will be threshed out to your complete satisfaction—when you will be wanted again. Until then you can go."
"It's a lie that he was murdered—it's a lie."
"On that point you may be able to obtain information from Mr. and Mrs. Morley, or from the first policeman you meet in the street."
"God help us all!" groaned Mr. Morley.
Apparently there was something in the old gentleman's ejaculation which carried sufficient corroboration to Mr. Bernstein's alert intelligence. He quitted the room to presently return.
"Who—who killed him?"
"In due course that will be made plain; also your association with the motive which was in the murderer's mind, causing him to compass the death of the man whom you had incited to the perpetration of a hideous and unnatural crime."
Mr. Bernstein went out of the house without another word. When I heard the door bang, I turned to the old people.
"You see? That is the way in which to treat impertinent persons who presume upon
