“Yes, that’s true,” Mr. Wynne admitted calmly.

“Therefore, indirectly, it would have been to your advantage if Mr. Kellner had died or had been killed?”

“In that the diamonds would have come to my intended wife, yes,” was the reply.

Mr. Czenki clasped and unclasped his thin hands nervously.  His face was again expressionless, and the beady eyes were fastened immovably on Chief Arkwright’s.  Mr. Birnes was frankly amazed at this unexpected turn of the affair.  Suddenly Chief Arkwright brought his hand down on the arm of his chair with a bang.

“Suppose, for the moment, that Red Haney lied, and that Mr. Czenki is not the murderer, then—­As a matter of fact your salary isn’t twenty-five thousand a year, is it?”

He was on his feet now, with blazing eyes, and one hand was thrust accusingly into Mr. Wynne’s face.  It was simulation; Mr. Birnes understood it; a police method of exhausting possibilities.  There was not the slightest movement by Mr. Wynne to indicate uneasiness at the charge, not a tremor in his voice when he spoke again.

“I understand perfectly, Chief,” he remarked coldly.  “Just what was the time of the crime, may I ask?”

“Answer my question,” insisted the Chief thunderously.

“Now look here, Chief,” Mr. Wynne went on frigidly, “I am not a child to be frightened into making any absurd statements.  I do not draw a salary of twenty-five thousand a year, no.  I am in business for myself, and make more than that.  You may satisfy yourself by examining the books in my office if you like.  By intimation, at least, you are accusing me of murder.  Now answer me a question, please.  What was the time of the crime?”

CHAPTER XV

THE TRUTH IN PART

The chief dropped back into his chair with the utmost complacency.  This was not the kind of man with whom mere bluster counted.

“Haney says Saturday morning,” he answered.  “The coroner’s physician agrees with that.”

“Yesterday morning,” Mr. Wynne mused; then, after a moment:  “I think, Chief, you know Mr. Birnes here?  And that you would accept a statement of his as correct?”

“Yes,” the chief agreed with a glance at Mr. Birnes.

“Mr. Birnes, where was I all day Saturday?” Mr. Wynne queried, without so much as looking around at him.

“You were in your house from eleven o’clock Friday night until fifteen minutes of nine o’clock Saturday morning,” was the response.  “You left there at that time, and took the surface car at Thirty-fourth Street to your office.  You left your office at five minutes of one, took luncheon alone at the Savarin, and returned to your office at two o’clock.  You remained there until five, or a few minutes past, then returned home.  At eight you—­”

“Is that sufficient?” interrupted Mr. Wynne.  “Does that constitute an alibi?”