"Thank you. Take a seat. You will find that armchair by the bed comfortable. This is an odd hour to be making one's toilet but the fact is I was out late last night."
"At the club, I suppose," said Mr. Barnes, wishing to see if Mr. Mitchel would lie to him. In this he was disappointed, for the reply was:
"No, I went to the Casino. Lillian Russell you know has returned. I had promised a friend to go, so we went."
"A gentleman?"
"Are you not getting inquisitive? No, not a gentleman, but a lady. In fact, that is her picture on that easel."
Mr. Barnes looked, and saw an oil painting representing a marvellously beautiful female head. A brunette of strong emotions and great will power if her portrait were truthful. Here was a significant fact. Mr. Mitchel said that he had been to the Casino with this woman. Wilson claimed that they had gone to the house where the murdered woman lay. It would seem that Mr. Mitchel's friend must live there, and thus he had gained access the night before. Did he know that the other also lived there, and did he go into her apartment after leaving his companion? As this passed through Mr. Barnes's mind his eyes wandered across the bed. He saw a waistcoat upon which he observed two buttons similar to the one which he had secreted in his pocket. Stealthily he reached his hand towards the bed, but his fingers had scarcely touched the waistcoat, when Mr. Mitchel said, without turning from his shaving:
"There is no money in that waistcoat, Mr. Barnes."
"What do you mean to insinuate," said Mr. Barnes angrily, withdrawing his hand quickly. Mr. Mitchel paused a moment before replying, deliberately made one or two more sweeps with his razor, then turned and faced the detective.
"I mean, Mr. Barnes, that you forgot that I was looking into a mirror."
"Your remark indicated that I meant to steal."