shooting the chambers
were emptied and the unused shells returned to the box. Here is the
box."

This time Britz offered Collins a small pasteboard box, but Collins
shrank from it as if afraid it might explode in his hand.

"You will observe," Britz went on, "that there are forty-nine cartridges
left in the box. One is missing--the one that was exploded. Now
Collins"--the detective's jaw snapped viciously--"you've decided to
remain silent! Well, I've shown you some mute witnesses whose testimony
will be understood perfectly by a jury."

All the blood had drained from Collins's face. A violent tremor racked
his frame.

"Where'd you get them?" he asked helplessly.

"In your house," answered the detective. "I searched the premises this
afternoon."

Collins looked appealingly from the detective to his friends. They had
listened to Britz's recital with impassive countenances, and their
expressions did not change as they met Collins's gaze.

"What right had you to search my house?" demanded Collins. "I'm not
accused of any crime."

"Not yet," agreed Britz. "But the circumstances which I have mentioned
may make it necessary for a formal accusation to be lodged against you."

Again Collins displayed remarkable recuperative power. A few moments ago
he had seemed on the verge of utter collapse. Now he stiffened with a
new accession of courage. Britz, studying this weakling, discerned
unmistakable signs that Collins's courage was not drawn from any
internal spring. It was communicated to him from without, probably by
some dominating mind to whose guidance he had agreed to submit. His
strength was continually replenished through reliance on someone in
whose judgment he had an abiding faith; a faith that even Britz's
convincing recital of condemning circumstances was unable to shake. The
detective determined to ascertain who had advised Collins, who had
outlined rules for his safe conduct through the tortuous channels into
which he had plunged when he announced his intention of killing
Whitmore.

"Do you wish to advise with anyone before answering my questions?" asked
Britz.

"I won't talk--I won't do anything without the consent of my lawyer."

"Oh, so you've engaged a lawyer!" sneered Britz, as if he interpreted
the hiring of an attorney as additional proof of guilt. "Who is he?"

"Mr. Thomas Luckstone." Collins could see no harm in revealing that one
of the shrewdest lawyers in the city was looking after his int