Schwartz was in his private room, and as Ellis had purposely arrived rather late he was at leisure at the time. So effusively did he welcome Ellis that the doctor felt almost ashamed of his errand, but, bracing himself up with the idea that Schwartz, if not the actual criminal, yet knew something about the crime, he managed to appear sufficiently stern. To the German's eager inquiries about Hilda's health and Hilda's eyesight he gave brief and monosyllabic replies. At last Schwartz was forced to take notice of his visitor's unfriendly attitude.
"What is not right, doctor?" he asked anxiously.
Ellis glanced round to see that the door was closed, and cleared his throat.
"Mr. Schwartz," he said in low tones, "I have come to see you about a very unpleasant business."
The German turned paler even than he was, and his hand shook as he tried to light a cigar. "Ach! Is dat zo?"
"Veil, veil, what apout ze murder?" queried Schwartz, impatiently.
"I should rather put that question to you, Schwartz. Why was Moxton murdered--or rather, why was he got out of the way?"
Instead of answering his question, Schwartz, in a tremor of nervous excitement, rose and locked the door. "Can you speak German?" he asked, in his own tongue, on returning to his seat.
"Then put your questions in that language," said Schwartz, savagely. "I can see that you have come to accuse me of being mixed up in this crime. Was it for this purpose that you called at my house?"
"You forget. I called, at your request, to see Miss Garret."
Schwartz sighed. "Ach! the liddle Hilda," he said in English; then slipping back into his own tongue, he demanded what Ellis wished to know.
"I wish to know if you can tell me the reason Moxton was murdered?" said Ellis, slowly, in German.
"Then I must tell you--that is, I must refresh your memory. Moxton was murdered by a man who wished to obtain possession of a forged bill."
The German bit his cigar through, and a portion fell on the floor. "I know nothing of any forged bill," he said angrily.
"That bill," resumed Ellis, calmly, "was placed by Moxton in a red pocket-book." Here Schwartz started and groaned. "Zirknitz saw him put it there. When the clothes of the corpse were examined, that pocket-book was missing; and, strange to say, Mr. Schwartz, it was found to-day in your desk at Goethe Cottage."