"Where did you see Thornton Lyne last?" asked Tarling, and the man made a great effort to compose himself.
"I saw him last alive in his office," he began.
"When did you see Thornton Lyne last?" asked Tarling again. "Alive or dead."
Milburgh did not reply. Presently Whiteside dropped his hand on the man's shoulder and looked across at Tarling.
"Come along," he said briskly. "It is my duty as a police officer to warn you that anything you now say will be taken down and used as evidence against you at your trial."
"Wait, wait!" said Milburgh. His voice was husky and thick. He looked round. "Can I have a glass of water?" he begged, licking his dry lips.
Tarling brought the refreshment, which the man drank eagerly. The water seemed to revive something of his old arrogant spirit, for he got up from his chair, jerked at the collar of his ill-fitting coat—it was an old shooting-coat of Tarling's—and smiled for the first time.
"I think, gentlemen," he said with something of his old airiness, "you will have a difficulty in proving that I am concerned in the murder of Thornton Lyne. You will have as great a difficulty in proving that I had anything to do with the burning down of Solomon's office—I presume that constitutes the arson charge? And most difficult of all will be your attempt to prove that I was concerned in robbing the firm of Thornton Lyne. The lady who robbed that firm has already made a confession, as you, Mr. Tarling, are well aware." He smiled at the other, but Tarling met his eye.
"I know of no confession," he said steadily.
Mr. Milburgh inclined his head with a smirk. Though he still bore the physical evidence of the bad time through which he had been, he had recovered something of his old confidence.