Isaacstein almost leapt from his chair. His face was frenzied.

“What are you saying? What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you.”

Very obligingly, Anthony narrated the occurrences in connection with the finding of the revolver. As he spoke the other’s face assumed a greyish tinge of absolute terror.

“But it’s false,” he screamed out, as Anthony finished. “I never put it there. I know nothing about it. It is a plot.”

“Don’t excite yourself,” said Anthony soothingly. “If that’s the case you’ll easily be able to prove it.”

“Prove it? How can I prove it?”

“If I were you,” said Anthony gently, “I’d come to Chimneys tonight.”