to listen--I was quite cool. Then I pulled out my bottle of
stuff and my syringe, and gave each section of the melon a hypodermic.
It was all done inside of three minutes--at ten minutes to twelve I was
back in the car. I got out of the lane as quietly as I could, struck a
back road that skirted the village, and let the car out as soon as I was
beyond the last houses. I only stopped once on the way in, to drop the
beard and ulster into a pond. I had a big stone ready to weight them
with and they went down plump, like a dead body--and at two o'clock I
was back at my desk."

Granice stopped speaking and looked across the smoke-fumes at his
listener; but Denver's face remained inscrutable.

At length he said: "Why did you want to tell me this?"

The question startled Granice. He was about to explain, as he had
explained to Ascham; but suddenly it occurred to him that if his motive
had not seemed convincing to the lawyer it would carry much less weight
with Denver. Both were successful men, and success does not understand
the subtle agony of failure. Granice cast about for another reason.

"Why, I--the thing haunts me... remorse, I suppose you'd call it..."

Denver struck the ashes from his empty pipe.

"Remorse? Bosh!" he said energetically.

Granice's heart sank. "You don't believe in--REMORSE?"

"Not an atom: in the man of action. The mere fact of your talking of
remorse proves to me that you're not the man to have planned and put
through such a job."

Granice groaned. "Well--I lied to you about remorse. I've never felt
any."

Denver's lips tightened sceptically about his freshly-filled pipe. "What
was your motive, then? You must have had one."

"I'll tell you--" And Granice began again to rehearse the story of his
failure, of his loathing for life. "Don't say you don't believe me this
time... that this isn't a real reason!" he stammered out piteously as he
ended.

Denver meditated. "No, I won't say that. I've seen too many queer
things. 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. But all
that doesn't make you a murderer--though I don't say it proves you could
never have been one."

"I HAVE been one, Denver--I swear to you."

"Perhaps." He medita