The diamond expert permitted his gaze to wander from one to another of the three men, and then the beady black eyes came to rest on the silent, outstretched figure of the old man.  He started forward impulsively; the grip of Detective-Sergeant Connelly on his arm stopped him.

“You’re my prisoner!”

“Yes, I understand,” said Mr. Czenki impatiently.  He didn’t even look up; he was still gazing at the figure on the floor.

“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” demanded Chief Arkwright coldly.

Mr. Czenki met the accusing stare of the chief squarely for an instant, then the keen eyes shifted to the slightly flushed face of Mr. Birnes and lingered there interrogatively.

“I have nothing whatever to say,” he replied at last, and he drew one hand slowly across his thin, scarred face.  “Yes, I understand,” he repeated absently.  “I have nothing to say.”

CHAPTER XIV

CAUGHT IN THE NET

Doris looked down in great, dry-eyed horror upon the body of this withered old man whom she had loved, and the thin thread of life within her all but snapped.  It had come; the premonition of disaster had been fulfilled; the last of her blood had been sacrificed to the mercilessly glittering diamonds—­father, brother and now him!  Mr. Wynne’s face went white, and his teeth closed fiercely; he had loved this old man, too; then the shock passed and he turned anxiously to Doris to receive the limp, inert figure in his arms.  She had fainted.

“Well, what do you know about it?” inquired Chief Arkwright abruptly.

Mr. Wynne was himself again instantly—­the calm, self-certain perfectly poised young man of affairs.  He glanced at the chief, then shot a quick, inquiring look at Mr. Czenki.  Almost imperceptibly the diamond expert shook his head.  Then Mr. Wynne’s eyes turned upon Mr. Birnes.  There had been triumph in the detective’s face until that moment, but, under the steady, meaning glare which was directed at him, triumph faded to a sort of wonder, followed by a vague sense of uneasiness, and he read a command in the fixed eyes—­a command to silence.  Curiously enough it reminded him that he was in the employ of Mr. Latham, and that there were certain business secrets to be protected.  He regarded the coroner’s physician, hastily summoned for a perfunctory examination.

“Well?” demanded the chief again.

“Nothing—­of this,” replied Mr. Wynne.  “I think, Doctor,” and he addressed the physician, “that she needs you more than he does.  We know only too well what’s the matter with him.”

The physician arose obediently.  Mr. Wynne gathered up the slender, still figure in his arms, and bore it away to another room.  The doctor bent over Doris, and tested the fluttering heart.

“Only shock,” he said finally, when he looked up.  “She’ll come round all right in a little while.”