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He shut his note-book, and throwing back his head, rested his bright inquisitive eyes on Granice's furrowed face. "Look here, Mr. Granice you see the weak spot, don't you?" The other made a despairing motion. "I see so many!" "Yes: but the one that weakens all the others. Why the deuce do you want this thing known? Why do you want to put your head into the noose?"
"Oh, my journalistic sense is still susceptible enough and the idea's picturesque, I grant you: asking the man who proved your alibi to establish your guilt." "That's it that's it!" Granice's laugh had a ring of triumph. "Well, but how about the other chap's testimony I mean that young doctor: what was his name? Ned Ranney.
Perhaps some other soul in misery had called on the lawyer; and, after all, Granice's note had given no hint of his own need! No doubt Ascham thought he merely wanted to make another change in his will. Since he had come into his little property, ten years earlier, Granice had been perpetually tinkering with his will. Suddenly another thought pulled him up, sending a flush to his sallow temples.
All they wanted was a murderer the most improbable would have served. But your alibi was too confoundedly complete. And nothing you've told me has shaken it." Denver laid his cool hand over the other's burning fingers. "Look here, old fellow, go home and work up a better case then come in and submit it to the Investigator." The perspiration was rolling off Granice's forehead.
"Oh, my journalistic sense is still susceptible enough and the idea's picturesque, I grant you: asking the man who proved your alibi to establish your guilt." "That's it that's it!" Granice's laugh had a ring of triumph. "Well, but how about the other chap's testimony I mean that young doctor: what was his name? Ned Ranney.
The little room was gradually filled with drifting blue layers of smoke, and through them the editor's face came and went like the moon through a moving sky. Once the hour struck then the rhythmical ticking began again. The atmosphere grew denser and heavier, and beads of perspiration began to roll from Granice's forehead. "Do you mind if I open the window?" "No. It IS stuffy in here.
"Well we may run Leffler down somewhere; I've seen harder jobs done," said McCarren, cheerfully noting down the name. As they walked back toward Sixth Avenue he added, in a less sanguine tone: "I'd undertake now to put the thing through if you could only put me on the track of that cyanide." Granice's heart sank. Yes there was the weak spot; he had felt it from the first!
I had to, my dear fellow: it's part of my business. Stell IS a detective, if you come to that every doctor is." The trembling of Granice's lips increased, communicating itself in a long quiver to his facial muscles. He forced a laugh through his dry throat. "Well and what did he detect?" "In you? Oh, he thinks it's overwork overwork and too much smoking.
There's always a reason for wanting to get out of life the wonder is that we find so many for staying in!" Granice's heart grew light. "Then you do believe me?" he faltered. "Believe that you're sick of the job? Yes. And that you haven't the nerve to pull the trigger? Oh, yes that's easy enough, too.
The young man's nimble glance followed Granice's. "Sure of the number, are you?" he asked briskly. "Oh, yes it was 104." "Well, then, the new building has swallowed it up that's certain." He tilted his head back and surveyed the half-finished front of a brick and limestone flat-house that reared its flimsy elegance above a row of tottering tenements and stables. "Dead sure?" he repeated.
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