Part 12 (1/2)

”How you going to work on the case?” asked Moore, eagerly interested.

”I'm going to get the truth out of you!” declared Corson, so suddenly and brusquely that Moore turned white.

”What!” he cried.

”Yes, just that. You know a lot about the matter that you haven't told,--so you can just out with it!”

”Me? I don't know anything.”

”Now, now, the thing is too thin. How could Binney get in here, and then his murderer come in and have the whole shooting-match pulled off in the short time it would take you to run Vail up to the tenth floor and drop your car down again?”

”But--but, you see, I--I stood quite a while talking to Mr Vail after we stopped at his floor.”

”What'd you do that for?”

”Why, we were talking about the book I was reading----”

”You were both talking--or you were talking to him?”

”I guess that's it. I was so crazy about the book I'd talk to anybody who'd listen, and Mr Vail was real good-natured, and I guess I let myself go----”

”And babbled on, till he was bored to death and sent you away.”

”Just about that,” and Moore grinned, sheepishly. ”I'm terribly fond of detective stories.”

”Yes, so you've said. Well, your book is called, I believe, 'Murder Will Out,' so, as that's pretty true, you might as well own up first as last.”

”Own up to what?”

”That you killed Sir Binney! Where's the knife? What did you do it for?

Don't you know you'll be arrested, tried, convicted and sentenced?

Yes--sentenced!”

Corson's habit of flinging out rapid-fire questions took on new terror from the fierce frown with which he accompanied his speech, and Bob Moore's knees trembled beneath him.

”W--what are you talking about? I--I didn't k--kill him!”

”Yes, you did! You got all wrought up over those fool story books of yours and you went bug, and killed him in a frenzy of imagination!”

”Oh, oh! I didn't--I,----”

”Then explain your movements! You came down from your talk with Vail, full of murder thoughts. You saw Binney come in, and, moved by the opportunity and obsessed with the murder game, you let drive and killed him, in a sort of mania!”

”Oh, no! no!” and Moore fell limply into a seat and began to sob wildly.

”Stop that!” Corson ordered. ”I've got to find out about this. I believe you did it,--I believe I've struck the truth, for the simple reason that there's no other suspect. This man Binney had no enemies. Why, he's a peaceable Englishman, in trade,--and a big trade. I know all about him.

He wanted to place his Bun business over here. He'd confabbed with several Bakery men in this city, and was about to make a deal. He was on good terms with his people here,--sort of relatives, they are,--and he was a gay old boy in his social tastes. Now, who's going to stick up a man like that? There was no robbery,--his watch and kale were all right there. So there's no way to look, but toward you! _You!_” A pointed forefinger emphasized Corson's words and Moore broke into fresh sobs.

”I tell you I didn't! Why, it's too absurd--too----”