The rough, inert pebbles silently attested the obvious manner of death which simultaneously forced itself upon the three men--the cowardly blow of an assassin, a dying struggle, perhaps, for the contents of the box, and this--the end! From outside came sharply in the silence the rattle of wheels on the gravel of the road, and a vehicle stopped in front of the door.
"Sh-h-h-h!" warned the chief.
Some one came along the walk, up the steps and rapped briskly on the door; the detectives waited motionless, silent The knob rattled under impatient fingers, then the footsteps passed along the veranda quickly, and were lost, as if some one had stepped off at the end intending to come to the back door, which was open.

A moment later they heard steps in the kitchen, then in the narrow hall approaching, and the doorway of the room where they stood framed the figure of a man.

It was Mr.Czenki.
"There's your man, Chief," remarked Mr.Birnes quietly.
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.