Mortmain stood silent. He had a presentiment of what Flaggs was going to say.
"A word from me," continued the clerk, "and you hang for the murder of Lord Russell. Everyone knows you hated him. Flynt, Joyce, and I heard you say you would kill him. You owed him seventy-five thousand pounds and it was two days overdue. He would have ruined you next day. The officer saw you outside his window within five minutes of the murder, and so did I. There was nothing taken but the notes—nothing. They were found in your possession the next morning. How did they get there? The case is complete. The notes convict you. I've got them. They are yours for ten thousand pounds—only ten thousand pounds."
"You villain," shouted Mortmain, springing toward him.
The door from the hall opened and Joyce entered letting in the warm breath of roses and the loud strains of a waltz.
"Lady Bella has arrived, Sir Richard," he announced.
"Tell her I am coming," said Mortmain, starting for the door.
"Wait!" shrieked Flaggs, his face horribly distorted. "Wait!" Joyce had retired.
Mortmain paused with clinched fists.
"Isn't it worth ten thousand pounds to save a guilty man—a man who can't escape?"
"Why, you fool!" cried Mortmain, suddenly regaining his self-control. "Such evidence is valueless. My word is worth yours ten times over, and I deny that you found the notes in my house. I say that you are the murderer. And I believe you are!"