Howard was silent a moment, as if racking his brain, trying to remember.

"A thousand--two thousand. I forget. I think one thousand."

"Did he say he'd lend you the money?" demanded the inquisitor.

"No," replied the prisoner, with hesitation. "He couldn't--he--poor
chap--he----"

"Ah!" snapped the captain. "He refused--that led to words. There was a
quarrel, and----" Suddenly leaning forward until his face almost touched
Howard's, he hissed rather than spoke: "You shot him!"

Howard gave an involuntary step backward, as if he realized the trap
being laid for him.

"No, no!" he cried.

Quickly following up his advantage, Captain Clinton shouted
dramatically:

"You lie! He was found on the floor in this room--dead. You were trying
to get out of the house without being seen. You hadn't even stopped to
wash the blood off your hands. All you fellers make mistakes. You relied
on getting away unseen. You never stopped to think that the blood on
your hands would betray you." Gruffly he added: "Now, come, what's the
use of wasting all this time? It won't go so hard with you if you own
up. You killed Robert Underwood!"

Howard shook his head. There was a pathetic expression of helplessness
on his face.

"I didn't kill him," he faltered. "I was asleep on that sofa. I woke up.
It was dark. I went out. I wanted to get home. My wife was waiting for
me."

"Now I've caught you lying," interrupted the captain quickly. "You told
the coroner you saw the dead man and feared you would be suspected of
his murder, and so tried to get away unseen." Turning to his men, he
added: "How is that, Maloney? Did the prisoner say that?"

The sergeant consulted his back notes, and replied:

"Yes, Cap', that's what he said."

Suddenly Captain Clinton drew from his hip pocket the revolver which he
had found on the floor, near the dead man's body. The supreme test was
about to be made. The wily police captain would now play his trump card.
It was not without reason that his enemies charged him with employing
unlawful methods in conducting his inquisitorial examinations.

"Stop your lying!" he said fiercely. "Tell the truth, or we'll keep you
here until you do. The motive is clear. You came for money. You were
refused, and you did the trick."

Suddenly producing the revolver, and holding it well under the light,
so that the rays from the electrolier fell directly on its highly
polished surface, he shouted:

"Howard Jeffries, you shot