"I did not kill Arthur and I know nothing about his death, but everything those witnesses testified to concerning me was true just the same. I did go to his house that night, and I went there to try and get money from him. I had been drinking as usual and had no money, and I wanted it to drink and gamble with. Arthur had given me money before, when I asked him for it," he continued, "and I knew if I could find him, he would again. So I went to his house and seeing a light in his room, looked in the window to find out whether he was there and alone or not. I saw him asleep on the sofa--or perhaps he was dead then, I do not know." He stopped a moment to recover his breath, and then went on. "I was about to ring the bell when I saw a policeman observing me, and as it was late I thought I had better wait until he was gone and so went away. After awhile I returned again and started to enter the house when I saw something lying on the flagging in the vestibule. I picked it up, and finding it was a fifty-dollar bill, put it in my pocket and hurried back to the saloon where I had left my friend. "The rest you know," he continued; "we went to Smith's gambling house, and there I lost the money, and then I went to my room and went to sleep. The next afternoon I read of the murder in the papers and went to Arthur's house, meaning to go in and see him, but I was so ill and nervous that I had not the courage to do it, and after staying around the place for awhile, where you saw me, I returned to my room." He relapsed into silence and I thought he had finished what he had to say, but he had evidently only been trying to collect his thoughts, for he continued: "I cannot remember very well what I did from then until I was arrested and taken to the station house. I was too ill at the time to think much about it, and I had no idea that there was any belief that I had killed Arthur until the Inspector accused me of it, and I hardly realized it then." He stopped but neither Miles nor I said anything, wishing him to volunteer all he had to tell, and seeing our expectation he added: "That is all I know about it." After he had finished he sat looking at me inquiringly, almost pleadingly, but I was silent, for I did not know what to say to him. I believed his story: it was simple and straightforward and told without hesitation, but I saw it afforded no satisfactory defence and when told at the trial under the strain and excitement of the ordeal, and apparently with the guidance and coaching of counsel at his elbow, would lose in great part its only strength--the stamp of unpremeditated truth. What was I to say to this man who was pleading to me with his eyes for encouragement, for hope? I could give him none. Everything he had said but confirmed the testimony against him. His statement that he had found the money would seem puerile to a jury already convinced of his guilt, and what else but denial of the crime would they expect from the accused?