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.