"I know, and that's enough. As you were here, in your own office, as you had a right to be, why should you try to conceal that fact?"
"I haven't been trying to conceal it." His manner was now offensive. "I would ask you to moderate your tone a little. What right have you to pry into my personal affairs? I admit your friendship for John Dashwood, but it must not carry you to the length of insulting me."
Nick smiled inwardly. He was succeeding in drawing Leonard out. When the manufacturer's period of agitation should have passed, when affairs in some measure should have settled into a normal condition and he should again become the cool, self-contained man of business, the effort to obtain information might prove difficult.
"I spoke as a detective," replied Nick smoothly, "and with no intention of insulting you. This is a grave matter. Luke Filbon is dead. John Dashwood has disappeared. I shall not leave St. Louis until the mystery of last night's work has been cleared up. I expect to have your assistance. Of course, you will give it?"
"Of course, of course," returned Leonard, in a mollified tone, though his uneasiness had not disappeared.
"Then please answer such questions as I shall put to you. To begin, did you open the safe when you were here last night?"
"No, I did not," said Leonard, quickly and positively.
"But, of course, you discovered that the money—twenty thousand dollars—had been stolen?"
"Not the amount—I did not know the amount—the books were open on the desk—some entries were marked—and a few minutes' inspection showed me that I had been robbed."
"What did you do when you made the discovery, Mr. Leonard?" asked Nick quietly.