"For murdering Gilbert Malet. Aha, my dear friend, you did not count on my knowing that, did you? You are quite unaware that I followed you from your cottage into the orchards, where you----"
"I did not--I did not!" wailed Scarse, shrinking back.
"No, you did not," retorted Van Zwieten, "but you were near the spot where Malet was killed, and near it about the time he was shot. You will find it difficult to refute my evidence if I am compelled to give it. On the whole, Mr. Stuart Scarse, I think you had better sit down and talk sensibly."
Scarse glared like an angry cat. But physically and morally the Dutchman was too much for him. With an attempt at dignity he returned to his seat.
"I am at a loss to understand this extraordinary behavior, Mr. Van Zwieten," he said, in his most stately manner, "and I deny the shameful accusation you have made. Perhaps you will be kind enough to apologize and leave my rooms."
"My dear friend, I shall do neither." Van Zwieten carefully lighted his cigar. "I am waiting to hear the story."
"What story?" asked the other, willfully misunderstanding.
"The story about your brother and his visit to Chippingholt--to murder our dear friend. I know some of it from your brother, but----"
"I have no brother, I tell you!"
"Oh, yes, I think so. A twin brother named--Robert--Robert Scarse."