"Wait a bit," replied Dick, calmly. "There is another chapter to my story. Less than a year after the tragedy, the invalid grandmother died and the young machinist was free to enter upon the great work of his life, the bringing to justice of his brother's murderer, or as _he_ believed, murderers. He could find no clue as to the identity of the obscure driver of the carriage, but with the wealthy American it was different, and he succeeded at last in tracing him to his home in this city. Unfortunately though, the long search had left the young mechanic without means, and he arrived in Boyd City in a penniless and starving condition, the night of the great storm winter before last. You are familiar with the finding of his body by George Udell." Again Whitley sprang to his feet, and with an awful oath exclaimed, "How do you know this?" Dick drew forth a long leather pocket-book, and opening it, took out a package of papers, which he laid on the table between the two revolvers. "There is the story, written by his own hand, together with the testimony of his grandfather and grandmother, his own sworn statement, and all the evidence he had so carefully gathered." Whitley sprang forward; but before he could cross the room, both revolvers covered his breast. "Stop!" The voice was calm and steady, but full of deadly menace. Whitley crouched like an animal at bay. The hands that held the weapons never trembled; the gray eyes that looked along the shining barrels never wavered. Slowly he drew back. "Name your price," he said sullenly. "You have not money enough to buy." "I am a wealthy man." "I know it." He went back to his seat. "For God's sake, put down those guns and tell me what you want." "I want to know where you left Miss Goodrich." "What if I refuse to tell?" Dick laid a pair of handcuffs upon the table. A cunning gleam crept into Whitley's eyes. "You'll put them on yourself at the same time. The evidence is just as strong against you." "If it were not, I would have turned you over to the law long ago." "But you fool, they'll hang you." "That won't save you, and you'll answer to God for another murder." "You would not dare." "I am innocent; you are the coward." Then Whitley gave up and told how he had met Amy in Jonesville, and had taken her east to Buffalo, New York, where he had left her just before returning to Boyd City. "Did you marry her?" asked Dick. Whitley shrugged his shoulders. "I am not looking for a wife," he said. "But was there no form of a ceremony?" persisted Dick. Again Jim shrugged his shoulders. "It was not necessary." It was Dick's turn to be agitated now; his hand played nervously on the handle of his revolver. But the other did not notice. "Why did you leave her so soon?" "I had business of importance at home," with a sneer.