any kind. I surrender. Do what you like.'

And with that Rocco sat down on a chair. It was magnificently done. Only
a truly great man could have done it. Rocco actually kept his dignity.

For answer, Racksole walked slowly into the vast apartment, seized a
chair, and, dragging it up to Rocco's chair, sat down opposite to him.
Thus they faced each other, their knees almost touching, both in evening
dress. On Rocco's right hand was the bed, with the corpse of Reginald
Dimmock. On Racksole's right hand, and a little behind him, was the
marble washstand, still littered with Rocco's implements. The electric
light shone on Rocco's left cheek, leaving the other side of his face in
shadow. Racksole tapped him on the knee twice.

'So you're another Englishman masquerading as a foreigner in my hotel,'

Racksole remarked, by way of commencing the interrogation.

'I'm not,' answered Rocco quietly. 'I'm a citizen of the United States.'

'The deuce you are!' Racksole exclaimed.

'Yes, I was born at West Orange, New Jersey, New York State. I call
myself an Italian because it was in Italy that I first made a name as a
chef--at Rome. It is better for a great chef like me to be a foreigner.
Imagine a great chef named Elihu P. Rucker. You can't imagine it. I
changed my nationality for the same reason that my friend and colleague,
Jules, otherwise Mr Jackson, changed his.'

'So Jules is your friend and colleague, is he?'

'He was, but from this moment he is no longer. I began to disapprove of
his methods no less than a week ago, and my disapproval will now take
active form.'

'Will it?' said Racksole. 'I calculate it just won't, Mr Elihu P.
Rucker, citizen of the United States. Before you are very much older
you'll be in the kind hands of the police, and your activities, in no
matter what direction, will come to an abrupt conclusion.'

'It is possible,' sighed Rocco.

'In the meantime, I'll ask you one or two questions for my own private
satisfaction. You've acknowledged that the game is up, and you may as
well answer them with as much candour as you feel yourself capable of.
See?'

'I see,' replied Rocco calmly, 'but I guess I can't answer all
questions.

I'll do what I can.'

'Well,' said Racksole, clearing his throat, 'what's the scheme all
about? Tell me in a word.'

'Not in a thousand words. It isn't my secret, you know.'

'Why was poor little Dimmock poisoned?' The millionaire's voice softened
as he looked for an