“My dear sir,” I said, “unless you particularly want to figure in a very undignified light as a witness in a trial for murder, sit down and listen to me.”

Edward Hines hesitated, opening and closing his hands and glaring at me in a preposterous fury.

“What’s the game?” he demanded.  “What are you talking about?”

“I am talking of ‘the Oritoga mystery,’” I replied.

“The Oritoga mystery?”

His expression changed, and he dropped down into an armchair from which he had evidently arisen upon hearing my voice below.  I observed a copy of a daily paper lying upon the carpet, and the conspicuous headline was sufficient to show me that he had actually been reading the latest reports concerning the case at the time of my arrival.  I had judged my man pretty accurately by this time, and drawing up another chair which stood near me I sat down facing him, holding out my open cigar-case.

“I quite understand your sensitiveness in the circumstances,” I said soothingly; “but there is no occasion to suppose that I have come to remind you of your misfortune.  Have a cigar.  I want a chat with you.”

He continued to watch me in a lowering way, but I was gradually getting him in hand.  With very poor grace he accepted a cigar, lighted it, and threw the match away without offering to light mine.  I did not appear to notice his churlishness, but immediately approached the matter about which I had come.

“Although I am not a member of the Criminal Investigation Department,” I continued, “I am nevertheless in a sense an agent of Scotland Yard, and I must ask you to listen very seriously to what I have to say.  You have in your possession a certain gold amulet—­”

He was on his feet in a moment, the patches of skin visible between the strapping assuming a purple color.  A more choleric young man I had never met.

“Damn you!” he cried.  “What has it to do with you?”

“Sit down!” I said sternly.  “I have given you one warning; I shall not give you another.  You will either answer my questions civilly here and now or answer them in court, whichever you please.  I shall not give you another opportunity of choosing.  I will repeat my remark:  you have in your possession a certain gold amulet in the form, I believe, of a cat.”

He was choking and muttering and glaring at me as I spoke, but I stared at him coolly, and finally he resumed his seat and reached out one hand towards a chest-of-drawers which stood beside his chair.  Pulling one of the drawers open, he took out a little gold figure of Bast, and holding it towards me: 

“Is this the thing you mean?” he jerked uncivilly.

“It is,” I replied; “allow me to examine it.”

He seemed rather reluctant to do so, but nevertheless I took it from his hand and looked at it closely.  Beyond doubt it was of Ancient Egyptian workmanship and probably a genuine Bubastite votive offering.  Raising my eyes to him again: