ard in the room above the sounds of the struggle which--which--You
understand."

In view of the mission of the caller who had departed a scant hour
previously, the boy's question startled me.

"Such was my testimony," I answered. "It was the truth."

"Naturally," said Lieutenant Fraser-Freer. "But--er--as a matter of
fact, we are here to ask that you alter your testimony. Could you, as a
favor to us who have suffered so cruel a loss--a favor we should never
forget--could you not make the hour of that struggle half after six?"

I was quite overwhelmed.

"Your--reasons?" I managed at last to ask.

"I am not able to give them to you in full," the boy answered. "I can
only say this: It happens that at seven o'clock last Thursday night I
was dining with friends at the Savoy--friends who would not be likely to
forget the occasion."

The old general leaped to his feet.

"Norman," he cried, "I can not let you do this thing! I simply will
not--"

"Hush, father," said the boy wearily. "We have threshed it all out. You
have promised--"

The old man sank back into the chair and buried his face in his hands.

"If you are willing to change your testimony," young Fraser-Freer went
on to me, "I shall at once confess to the police that it was I who--who
murdered my brother. They suspect me. They know that late last Thursday
afternoon I purchased a revolver, for which, they believe, at the last
moment I substituted the knife. They know that I was in debt to him;
that we had quarreled about money matters; that by his death I, and I
alone, could profit."

He broke off suddenly and came toward me, holding out his arms with a
pleading gesture I can never forget.

"Do this for me!" he cried. "Let me confess! Let me end this whole
horrible business here and now."

Surely no man had ever to answer such an appeal before.

"Why?" I found myself saying, and over and over I repeated it--"Why?
Why?"

The lieutenant faced me, and I hope never again to see such a look in a
man's eyes.

"I loved him!" he cried. "That is why. For his honor, for the honor of
our family, I am making this request of you. Believe me, it is not easy.
I can tell you no more than that. You knew my brother?"

"Slightly."

"Then, for his sake--do this thing I ask."

"But--murder--"

"You heard the sounds of a struggle. I shall say that we quarreled--that
I struck in self-defense." He turned to his father. "It will mean only
a few years in prison--I c