“Don’t let us beat about the bush any longer,” he said. “I am going to be perfectly frank with you, and I want you to be frank with me. You are of all men alive the one who had the greatest motive for hating Ballantine. The day you were sentenced you threatened his life publicly. The day after you were released he was murdered. In the face of that you complain that you are watched by the police, while all the time you refuse to be frank with us.”

“You must allow me to point out, Inspector,” came the cold comment from the chair, “that this is the first opportunity I have had to ‘be frank with you’, as you put it.”

Mallett felt that his impressive period had somehow missed fire. “I can’t interview everyone at once,” he muttered.

“Quite so, though no doubt you have able assistants to help you. Now, since I am here, entirely of my own volition, am I to understand that if I answer your questions the detectives will be withdrawn?”

“I can make no promises,” Mallett answered. “That must depend on the extent to which you are able to satisfy us. But I should have thought that for an innocent man it would be natural to want to assist justice——”

“If by assisting justice you mean arresting the man who killed Ballantine”—again that curious spasm—“I shall do no such thing. He did a splendid thing which badly needed doing, and which I should have been only too glad to do myself.”

The inspector tried another tack.

“Then in your own interest it is desirable that you should convince us that you had no hand in it,” he said.

Fanshawe laughed aloud. “In the sacred name of self-interest, then!” he cried. “What do you want to know?”

“We will begin at the beginning,” said Mallett. “Why did you go to see Ballantine on Friday morning?”

“Because he had ruined me—and not only me but a large number of people who had trusted me. It was through supporting him and his schemes that my bank was destroyed. He got out in time—very neatly—and I was left, as the phrase goes, to carry the baby.”

“And you went to see him in the hope of getting some repayment from him?”

“You might put it that way—yes.”

“Very well. Now as to your movements during the rest of the day.”

“What are the movements of a newly liberated prisoner in London, without friends or prospects? Mine were mostly on the tops of motor omnibuses. I drifted aimlessly round London all day, simply enjoying the sensation of being my own master again, and noticing all the changes since I had seen it last. And you have no idea how the place has changed in the last four years, Inspector. You could write a book on it.”

“And then?”

“Then I went home to tea.”

“What do you mean by home?”