said it--and
something almost frightening the way Mandleco just stood there in cold
silence, gazing at the tele-columnist with a look of boundless regret.

Beardsley said very softly, "Thanks, Pederson, but I'd suggest you save
it. It's scarcely pertinent now."

"Not pertinent? But, man, I tell you I have proof! What better motive
would you--"

"Motive?" Beardsley hit him with a pitying glance. "Why, I thought it
was obvious. We've progressed beyond _motives_ now."

Again there was an electric silence, and Beardsley let it assimilate. "I
have said," he went on, "that all this is most remarkable. But you know,
the _really_ remarkable thing--" He paused and watched them. Mandleco
continued to grind a fist into his palm; Pederson straightened
attentively, and d'Arlan, sneery no longer, moved over to stand beside
Sheila Carmack.

"--the really remarkable thing is this. I am now ready to state,
unequivocally, that the person who killed Amos Carmack ... _didn't hate
him at all_."

* * * * *

A thought was throbbing through the room like the seconds passing. Quick
and cumulative, almost embodied, it made transition from stunned mind
to startled mind as Beardsley stood there blinking at them. Beardsley
really didn't mind; they just couldn't know how subtly he worked into
his themes! Taking advantage of the lull, he went over to the door and
peered out into the Operations Room.

He peered long and soberly, then turned. Mandleco had found his voice
first, perplexity pushing down his anger: "Beardsley, either you're
bereft of your senses or--Do you mean to say," he choked--"after going
to these preposterous lengths do you mean to say that no one _here_--"

"Just a moment!" To everyone's surprise it was d'Arlan who broke in.
"I'm not sure what's going on here, not sure at all, but I want to make
one thing quite clear. _Sheila_ had no complicity in this crime! I know,
because--" He hesitated, touched her gently on the arm. "Sorry, darling,
I've got to say it. I know because she was with _me_ that night."

Sheila was startled for a moment, then utterly scathing. "You needn't
lie for me, Victor! I appreciate your sense of the dramatic, and even
your motives, but I assure you they are both misplaced. I have never
heard such nonsense!"

d'Arlan looked more desolate than abashed. As for Beardsley, he was only
a little amused. "Well, now, this is really more than I deserve; in all
my years on