He broke off sharply, his lips contorted in a spasm of pain. Vanulm, frightened, made as if to rise, but the sick man frowned and shook his head. "No, no," he whispered, "don't get him. All right in a minute. Leave me alone." And after a moment, indeed, the look of pain left his face, and he went on. "I'd better make it short," he said, "short as I can, but I want to tell you. Remember, Herman, away back, five years ago, a dinner Jim Norton gave to that submarine chap; four or five of us there?" Vanulm nodded, and an expression of relief came over Gordon's face. "Good," he said, "saves a lot of explanation. Remember we talked religion? Remember I told about a chap that was going to make a gamble out of life? Going to risk everything on there not being any God?" Vanulm, his eyes fixed on Gordon's face, nodded again. The sick man spoke quickly, eagerly. "I was the man, Herman," he whispered. "I always pretended religion; I knew in lots of ways it would help me, and it has. I've got men that way that I never could have got in any other. But the whole thing was a lie; to the world I've been a sneaking hypocrite; to myself I've lived straight; no bluffs; no lies; no whining; I've lived my life, and had my fun; and I'm ready to pay--if we have to pay." He paused, and suddenly his glance found Vanulm's. Keenly he sought to read the expression there; then, with just the shadow of a smile, nodded to himself. "I thought so," he said. "How long have you known?" "I haven't known," answered Vanulm, "only suspected, from things that have happened lately, that it might be so. In fact, if it hadn't seemed like such a damned piece of impertinence--" Gordon took the words from his lips. "Yes," he said quickly, "the day you took me to drive. I knew it. I knew you meant well by me, Herman, but it wouldn't have done any good then. It was too late." The brewer's kindly face took on a troubled frown. "Dick," he said diffidently, "I'm not religious myself, but they say--" Gordon strove to raise a protesting hand. "Damn it, Herman," he cried, "it's harder than I thought. You're the only man I ever cared a straw for; I suppose that's the reason. But I've got to tell you. I've gone the limit. I was the man that killed Harry Palmer." [Illustration: "I have gone the limit." Page 369]