Tarling stooped down and released the cords which bound Milburgh to the couch. The stout man was white and shaking, and had to be lifted into a sitting position. He sat there on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands, for five minutes, and the two men watched him curiously. Tarling had made a careful examination of the cuts on his chest, and was relieved to discover that Ling Chu--he did not doubt that the Chinaman was responsible for Milburgh's plight--had not yet employed that terrible torture which had so often brought Chinese criminals to the verge of madness.

Whiteside picked up the clothes which Ling Chu had so systematically stripped from the man's body, and placed them on the bed by Milburgh's side. Then Tarling beckoned the other into the outer room.

"What does it all mean?" asked Whiteside.

"It means," said Tarling grimly, "that my friend, Ling Chu, has been trying to discover the murderer of Thornton Lyne by methods peculiarly Chinese. Happily he was interrupted, probably as a result of Milburgh telling him that Miss Odette Rider had been spirited away."

He looked back to the drooping figure by the side of the bed.

"He's a little bigger than I," he said, "but I think some of my clothes will fit him."

He made a hasty search of his wardrobe and came back with an armful of clothes.

"Come, Milburgh," he said, "rouse yourself and dress."

The man looked up, his lower lip trembling pathetically.

"I rather think these clothes, though they may be a bad fit, will suit you a little better than your clerical garb," said Tarling sardonically.

Without a word, Milburgh took the clothes in his arms, and they left him to dress. They heard his heavy footfall, and presently the door opened and he came weakly into the sitting-room and dropped into a chair.

"Do you feel well enough to go out now?" asked Whiteside.

"Go out?" said Milburgh, looking up in alarm. "Where am I to go?"

"To Cannon Row Police Station," said the practical Whiteside. "I have a warrant for your arrest, Milburgh, on a charge of wilful murder, arson, forgery, and embezzlement."

"Wilful murder!" Milburgh's voice was high and squeaky and his shaking hands went to his mouth. "You cannot charge me with wilful murder. No, no, no! I swear to you I am innocent!"

"Where did you see Thornton Lyne last?" asked Tarling, and the man made a great effort to compose himself.

"I saw him last alive in his office," he began.

"When did you see Thornton Lyne last?" asked Tarling again. "Alive or dead."

Milburgh did not reply. Presently Whiteside dropped his hand on the man's shoulder and looked across at Tarling.

"Come along," he said briskly. "It is my duty as a police officer to warn you that anything you now say will be taken down and used as evidence against you at your trial."

"Wait, wait!" said Milburgh. His voice was husky and thick. He looked round. "Can I have a glass of water?" he begged, licking his dry lips.

Tarling brought the refreshment, which the man drank eagerly. The water seemed to revive something of his old arrogant spirit, for he got up from his chair, jerked at the collar of his ill-fitting coat--it was an old shooting-coat of Tarling's--and smiled for the first time.

"I think, gentlemen," he said with something of his old airiness, "you will have a difficulty in proving that I am concerned in the murder of Thornton Lyne. You will have as great a difficulty in proving that I had anything to do with the burning down of Solomon's office--I presume that constitutes the arson charge? And most difficult of all will be your attempt to prove that I was concerned in robbing the firm of Thornton Lyne. The lady who robbed that firm has already made a confession, as you, Mr. T............