," he said, "you can not be serious when you
say you believe I had anything to do with that dreadful affair?"

"You know very well what I do and what I do not believe," I answered. "I
await your reply."

"Since you press me for it, I will give it," he continued. "But remember
this, if I have to convince you of my innocence, your only chance will
be gone, for I shall never feel the same toward you again."

As he said this the old fierce light came into his eyes, and for a
moment he looked as dangerous as on that evening in the studio.

"I repeat, I ask you to convince me," I said as firmly as my voice could
speak.

"Then I will do so," he replied, and dived his hand into his coat
pocket. When he produced it again it held a crumpled copy of a
newspaper. He smoothed it out upon his knee and handed it to me.

"If you will look at the third column from the left, you will see a
heading entitled 'The mysterious murder in Bonwell Street.' Pray read
it."

I took the paper and read as follows:

MYSTERIOUS MURDER IN BONWELL STREET.

EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSION AND SUICIDE.

"Shortly before nine o'clock this morning, a tall, middle-aged man,
giving the name of Johann Schmidt, a German, and evidently in a weak
state of health, entered the precincts of Bow Street Police Station, and
informed the officer in charge that he desired to give himself up to
justice as the murderer of Herman Clausand, the curiosity dealer of
Bonwell Street, the victim of the shocking tragedy announced in our
issue of Tuesday last. Schmidt, who spoke with considerable earnestness
and seemed desirous of being believed, stated that several years before
he had been in the deceased's employ, and since his dismissal had nursed
feelings of revenge. On the day preceding the murder he had called at
Bonwell Street, and, after informing Clausand that he was out of
employment and starving, asked to be again taken into his service; the
other, however, refused to entertain his request, whereupon Schmidt very
reluctantly left the shop. For the remainder of the day he wandered
about London, endeavouring to obtain work, but about midnight, having
been unsuccessful, he returned to Bonwell Street and rang the bell. The
door was opened by Clausand himself, who, as we stated in our first
account of the murder, lived alone. Schmidt entered, and once more
demanded employment, or at least money sufficient to enable him to find
shelter for the night. Again Clausand