"I insisted upon seeing you," said Vernon quickly. "This evening--or rather yesterday evening--I had an appointment with Mr. Dimsdale in his library, but I was decoyed to an empty house in West Kensington, and have only managed to get away."
Inspector Drench stared. "What do you mean by all this, sir?"
"What I say," rejoined Vernon tartly, for his nerves worried him. "I understand that Mr. Dimsdale is dead."
"Mr. Dimsdale has been murdered," cried Miss Hest, clasping her hands and speaking in a thick, emotional voice. "Murdered in his library. No one knows who strangled him."
"I know."
"You!" Drench stood up alertly. "Take care, sir. Anything you say now will be noted," and he shuffled his papers like a pack of cards. "Who is guilty?"
"The Spider."
"The Spider!" echoed Miss Hest. "Who is The Spider, or what is The Spider?"
She looked puzzled, but the Inspector, better informed, looked open-mouthed at the young man. "Do you mean to say that The Spider perpetrated this crime, sir?" he asked, scarcely able to speak from sheer amazement.
Vernon, thoroughly worn out from what he had undergone, dropped into a chair listlessly. "Yes."