“It’s my purse,” Knoll answered with calm impertinence. “I got it the way most people get it. I bought it.”
“This purse?” the commissioner emphasised both words distinctly.
“This purse—yes,” answered the tramp with a perfect imitation of Riedau’s voice. “Why shouldn’t I have bought this purse just like any other?”
“Because you stole this purse from the man whom you—murdered,” was the commissioner’s reply.
There was another moment of dead silence in the room. The commissioner and Muller watched intently for any change of expression in the face of the man who had just had such an accusation hurled at him. Even the clerk and the two policemen at the door were interested to see what would happen.
Knoll’s calm impertinence vanished, a deadly pallor spread over his face, and he seemed frozen to stone. He attempted to speak, but was not able to control his voice. His hands were clenched and tremors shook his gaunt but strong-muscled frame.
“When did I murder anybody?” he gasped finally in a hoarse croak. “You’ll have to prove it to me that I am a murderer.”
“That is easily proved. Here is one of the proofs,” said Riedan coldly, pointing to the purse. “The purse and the watch of the murdered man are fatal witnesses against you.”
“The watch? I haven’t any watch. Where should I get a watch?”
“You didn’t have one until Monday, possibly; I can believe that. But you were in possession of a watch between the evening of Monday, the 27th, and the morning of Wednesday, the 29th.”