hy," he asked simply, "do you say he was murdered?"

"He was murdered," the detective answered. "Murdered in cold blood, and,
look you here, young fellow, I know who did it. I'm going to strap that
man in the electric chair. He's got just one chance--if he talks out, if
he makes a clean breast of it."

Across the body he bent closer. He held the candle so that its light
searched Bobby's face instead of the dead man's, and the uncertain flame
was like an ambush for his eyes.

In response to those intolerable words Bobby's sick nerves stretched too
tight. No masquerade remained before this huntsman who had his victim
trapped, and calmly studied his agony. The horror of the accusation shot
at him across the body of the man he couldn't be sure he hadn't murdered,
robbed him of his last control. He cried out hysterically:

"Why don't you do something? For God's sake, why don't you arrest me?"

A chuckle came from the man in ambush behind the yellow flame.

"Listen to the boy! What's he talking about? Grief for his grandfather.
That's what it is--grief."

"Stop!" Bobby shouted. "It's what you've been accusing me with ever
since you stopped me at the station." He indicated the silent form of
the old man. "You keep telling me I murdered him. Why don't you arrest
me then? Why don't you lock me up? Why don't you put the case on a
reasonable basis?"

He waited, trembling. The flame continued to flicker, but the hand
holding the candlestick failed to move, and Bobby knew that the eyes
didn't waver, either. He forced his glance from the searching flame. He
managed to lower and steady his voice.

"You can't. That's the trouble. He wasn't murdered. The coroner will tell
you so. Anybody who looks at him will tell you so. Since you haven't the
nerve to arrest me. I'm going. I'm glad to have had this out with you.
Understand. I'm my own master. I do what I please. I go where I please."

At last the candle moved to one side. The detective straightened and
walked to Bobby. The multitude of small lines in his face twitched. His
voice was too cold for the fury of his words.

"That's just what I want you to do, damn you--anything you please. I'm
accusing nobody, but I'm getting somebody. I've got somebody right now
for this old man's murder. My man's going to writhe and burn in the
chair, confession or no confession. Now get out of this room since you're
so anxious, and don't come near it again."

Bobby went. At the end of the co