“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——” “Not absurd at all. I know something of psychology, and I know how those murder yarns, read late at nights,—when you’re here alone, get into your blood, and—well, it’s a wonder you didn’t stick Vail! But I suppose his indulgent listening to your ravings helped along your murder instinct, and you——” “Oh, hush! If you keep on you’ll make me think I did do it!” “Of course,—you can’t think anything else. Now, here’s another thing. You say you went up for Dr Pagett at twenty past two.” “Or a few minutes later.” “Well, Pagett said,—I asked him privately,—that it was at least quarter to three! What were you doing all that time?” “It wasn’t—I didn’t—oh, Mr Corson, I told you the truth. I waited to catch the last words of——” “Yes, of your own victim! And then, frightened, you hung around twenty minutes or so before calling the doctor.”