the lawyer sat down. The faces of the coroner, the
chief and Greig were cast in an expression of grave apprehension. The
frankness with which Luckstone had revealed the evidence on which he
based his alibis could leave no doubt that the witnesses would confirm
all he had said. And against such a downpour of disinterested evidence
the police could not hope to sustain their case.

Britz had listened to Luckstone's recital with impassive countenance.
Now, however, it was to be observed that the lines about his mouth
tightened, that his forehead contracted, while his eyes darted points of
fire.

"Do you want to investigate their alibis?" asked the coroner.

"No," snapped Britz.

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't necessary."

"Then you accept them?"

"Yes--without question."

"But if none of the accused was within miles of Whitmore's office on the
morning in question, how do you connect any of them with the actual
commission of the crime?"

Britz rose and took up a position at the side of the desk, where he
could see every fleeting emotion that might cross the faces of all the
others in the room. His form stiffened to military erectness, his face
took on the purposeful aspect of a man about to carry to fruition plans
which he had long nourished in secret. And as the others gazed on him,
the conviction forced itself on them that here was a man who would
pursue whatever course he had in mind, pitilessly, relentlessly, through
whatever wilderness of lies and deceit it might lead. A cold silence
fell on them, as if they had been suddenly chilled by the frigid
attitude of the detective.

"Coroner, the alibis which Mr. Luckstone presented are worthless," the
detective said in a subdued voice that nevertheless penetrated his
hearers like an icy wind.

"You mean they are manufactured?" blurted the coroner.

"No--they are true. But they have no bearing on the murder."

"What!" The coroner shot a searching glance at Britz. "If none of the
suspects was at Whitmore's office, how could any of them have killed
Whitmore?"

"Mr. Whitmore was not killed in his office," said Britz firmly. "He was
shot the night before."

CHAPTER XXII

The words came like a stunning blow where a verbal counter-argument was
expected. Luckstone and his clients sat like beings who felt the ground
slipping from under them, yet were helpless in the paralyzing fear that
had seized them. The coroner's eyes traveled from Britz to Manning and