"The confession was burnt," he said, "and burnt by you, Mr. Tarling. And now I think your bluff has gone on long enough."
"My bluff!" said Tarling, in his turn astonished. "What do you mean by bluff?"
"I am referring to the warrant which you suggest has been issued for my arrest," said Milburgh.
"That's no bluff." It was Whiteside who spoke, and he produced from his pocket a folded sheet of paper, which he opened and displayed under the eyes of the man. "And in case of accidents," said Whiteside, and deftly slipped a pair of handcuffs upon the man's wrists.
It may have been Milburgh's overweening faith in his own genius. It may have been, and probably was, a consciousness that he had covered his trail too well to be detected. One or other of these causes had kept him up, but now he collapsed. To Tarling it was amazing that the man had maintained this show of bravado to the last, though in his heart he knew that the Crown had a very poor case against Milburgh if the charge of embezzlement and arson were proceeded with. It was on the murder alone that a conviction could be secured; and this Milburgh evidently realised, for he made no attempt in the remarkable statement which followed to do more than hint that he had been guilty of robbing the firm. He sat huddled up in his chair, his manacled hands clasped on the table before him, and then with a jerk sat upright.
"If you'll take off these things, gentlemen," he said, jangling the connecting chain of the handcuffs, "I will tell you something which may set your mind at rest on the question of Thornton Lyne's death."
Whiteside looked at his superior questioningly, and Tarling nodded. A few seconds later the handcuffs had been removed, and Mr. Milburgh was soothing his chafed wrists.
The psychologist who attempted to analyse the condition of mind in which Tarling found himself would be faced with a difficult task. He had come to the flat beside himself with anxiety at the disappearance of Odette Rider. He had intended dashing into his rooms and out again, though what he intended doing thereafter he had no idea. The knowledge that Ling Chu was on the track of the kidnapper had served as an opiate to his jagged nerves; otherwise he could not have stayed and listened to the statement Milburgh was preparing to make.
Now and again it came back to him, like a twinge of pain, that Odette Rider was in danger; and he wanted to have done with this business, to bundle Milburgh into a prison cell, and devote the whole of his energies to tracing her. Such a twinge came to him now as he watched the stout figure at the table.
"Before you start," he said, "tell me this: What information did you give to Ling Chu which led him to leave you?"