ce and
ushered into the Englishman's presence as if his coming had been
expected.

"I say, Blaine, what the devil do you mean by this game you're
playing?" Rockamore demanded, as he stood erect and perfectly poised
upon the hearth, and faced the detective. A faint, sarcastic smile
curved his lips, and in his pale eyes there was no hint of trouble or
fear--merely a look of tolerant, half-contemptuous amusement.
Immaculate in his dinner-coat and fresh boutonniere, his bearing
superb in his ease and condescension, he presented a picture of
elegance. Blaine glanced about the rich, somber den before he
replied.

"I'm not playing any game, Mr. Rockamore. Why did you try so
desperately to leave the city?"

The Englishman shrugged.

"A sudden whim, I suppose. Would it be divulging a secret of your
profession if you informed me why one of your men did not arrest me,
since all had warrants on the ridiculous charge you brought against me
this morning, of murdering my oldest and closest friend?"

"I merely wanted to assure myself that you would not leave the city
until I had obtained sufficient data with which to approach you," the
detective responded, imperturbably. "I have come to-night for a little
talk with you, Mr. Rockamore. I trust I am not intruding?"

"Not at all. As a matter of fact, after to-day's incidents I was
rather expecting you." Rockamore waved his unbidden guest to a chair,
and produced a gold cigarette-case. "Smoke? You perhaps prefer
cigars--no? A brandy and soda?"

"Thank you, no. With your permission, I will get right down to
business. It will simplify matters for both of us if you are willing
to answer some questions I wish to put to you; but, of course, there
is no compulsion about it. On the other hand, it is my duty to warn
you that anything you say may be used against you."

"Fire away, Mr. Blaine!" Rockamore seated himself and stretched out
his legs luxuriously to the open wood-fire. "I don't fancy that
anything I shall say will militate against me. I was an idiot to lose
my temper this morning, but I hate being made game of. Now the whole
situation merely amuses me, but it may become tiresome. Let's get it
over."

"Mr. Rockamore, you were born in Staffordshire, England, were you not?
Near a place called Handsworth?"

The unexpected question brought a meditative frown to the other man's
brow, but he replied readily enough:

"Yes, at Handsworth Castle, to be exact. But I can't quite gathe