“I must once again,” said Westerham, “be allowed to point out that what I suspect is no affair of yours at all.
“I don't mind telling you, however, that I am involved in a very remarkable conspiracy. The part which I play is entirely innocent; on the other hand, it is impossible for me to make the faintest revelation concerning it.”
“But this is not the end of it,” cried Rookley. “By no means the end of it. Look at the threat on the luggage label. ‘The girl may be the next.’ Now, what does that mean? Who is the girl?”
Westerham's ruddy face grew a little pale.
“The girl,” he said, “is the lady it is my business to shelter and protect. By holding silent I can at least secure her life; if I breathe one word I can well believe that her fate may be the same as that of the man within.”
He pointed to the bedroom.
“Then, sir,” said the detective, banging his fist on the table, “it is your duty to tell us everything.
“The police can give protection to all who need it,” he added after a pause.
“The police did not save the dead,” answered Westerham. “And they cannot save the girl.”
“Mr. Robinson,” said the detective, darkly, “if you persist in silence I must resort to extreme measures. There was no justification in my detaining you yesterday over the gagging of your valet. But this is an entirely different piece of business.