"I think you know, Busham."
"Indeed, I don't, confound you!"
"At least you know the name of the man who endorsed that bill."
With a gasp the lawyer started out of his chair. "Bill? What bill?"
"The forged bill which you gave to Moxton at the Merryman Music-Hail on the night of the murder."
"I gave no bill. I know of none."
"Oh, yes, you do. Moxton showed the bill to Zirknitz and told him that it was forged on his father. It was placed in a red pocket-book, Mr. Busham, and that pocket-book was stolen from the corpse."
"Lies! Lies! All lies!" raved Busham, stamping. "I know nothing of any bill! I don't know who killed Moxton!"
Ellis did not waste words, but rising to his feet glanced at his watch with a calm air. "I must go now," said he. "I shall give you five days to tell the truth, Mr. Busham. Failing that, I shall place the whole matter in the hands of the police, and re-open the case. Good-day, sir;" and with that last warning Ellis walked out of the room.
With a white face and a haggard expression, Busham sat for an hour or more in his chair. Twice one of his clerks opened the door and looked in, but awed by the expression of terror in the lawyer's eyes, withdrew. At last Busham wiped his brow, which was beaded with perspiration, and rose to his feet. "Shall I fly or stay?" he asked himself; then, bringing down his fist on the table, he cried: "No, by Heaven! I'll stay and fight it out!"