“But what on earth am I to say about the man who was buried?” And suddenly the full realisation of all that the question implied came home to him and he stood up. “Who was that man?”
“An uninteresting fellow,” remarked Mr. Robinson genially.
“But if you were the man I thought was Scheidstrun, you must—you must have murdered him.” The old man’s voice rose almost to a scream. “My God! I’d forgotten all about that.”
He shrank back staring at Mr. Robinson, who was watching him narrowly.
“My dear Professor,” he said coldly, “pray do not excite yourself unnecessarily. I have often thought that a society of murderers run on sound conservative lines would prove an admirable institution. After all, it is the majority who should be considered, and there are so many people who are better out of t
