"Well," he said in an unsteady voice, "and what have I to do with it?"
"That's what I want to know," said Dowker imperturbably.
Myles Desmond glanced keenly at him, lighted his pipe, resumed his seat at the table, and leaning his elbows thereon, stared coolly at the detective.
"You speak in riddles," he said quietly.
"Humph!" answered Dowker meaningly, "perhaps you can guess them."
"Not till you explain them more fully," retorted Desmond.
It was evidently a duel between the two men, and they both felt it to be so. Dowker wanted to find out something, which Desmond knew, and Desmond on his side was equally determined to hold his tongue. The cleverest man would win in the end, so Dowker began the battle at once.
"The woman who was murdered was your cousin's mistress, Lena Sarschine."
"Indeed!" said Desmond, with a start of surprise. "May I ask how you know?"
"That is not the point," retorted Dowker quickly. "I have satisfied myself as to the identity of the murdered woman--you were the last person who saw her alive."