“The answers to two or three questions first, and then, if there is any fight left in you, we’ll see about the thrashing.” “Go ahead. What is it you want to know?” said the aforetime bondsman of reticence. “A lot of things that you can’t tell me, and some few that you can. Did you at one time have a gun--a Colt’s forty-five--that had once belonged to Harding?” Brant lost levity and freedom of speech in the dropping of an eyelid, but he could not in common fairness refuse to answer. “I did.” “Did you have this admirable weapon about you on the night of the shooting?” “No.” “Where was it at that time?” “I don’t know.” “I think I do know,” said the cross-examiner placidly. “You had lost it, hadn’t you?” “Yes.” “I thought so. Now I am going to hazard a guess--dang the thing! it’s all guesses, so far--and I shall know if I’ve hit it whether you admit it or not. You left that gun in your room the night of the burglary, and you haven’t seen it since.” Brant did not attempt to deny it. “That is also true,” he admitted. “So far, so good. Now, do you know who it was who broke into your room, and slept in your bed, and stole your artillery?” “I think I do, but I don’t care to discuss that point with you.” “You needn’t, if you don’t want to. But it will be discussed in open court next week.” Brant’s start was not lost upon the young man, who had apparently missed his vocation in electing to be a journalist rather than a detective. “Why should it come up at the trial?” Brant demanded. “Because it is going to have a very considerable bearing on the case,” said Jarvis coolly. “The man who took the pistol from your room gave it back to Harding.” “How do you know he did?” Jarvis leered. “He did, or he didn’t; one of the two. I believe he didn’t.” “More theories,” said Brant, not without sarcasm. “What difference does it make?” “It makes all the difference in the world when you come to tie it to the fact that Harding was killed with that same weapon.” This time Brant’s start was visible to the naked eye of the least critical observer, but his rejoinder was well measured and calm: “What is your theory? Set it in words.” Jarvis settled himself on the cot, nursing one knee in his clasped hands and chewing an extinct cigar. “It’s as simple as twice two. You heard young Langford’s testimony at the preliminary examination?” “Naturally, being within a few feet of him when he gave it.” “Very good. You were in that card room at the Osirian and saw what he saw. Did he tell the truth?” Brant was silent. “You know he didn’t tell the truth; or, at least, he didn’t tell all of it,” Jarvis went on. “He said that Harding drew a pistol on him, but he did not say that he had already drawn his own. Also, he left the inference wide open that the big pistol on the table, the pistol from which the shot was fired, was Harding’s--that Harding had laid it there. That wasn’t so.”