"What does he say to that?" "His story is so ridiculous that I wouldn't blame anybody who did not know Kincaid for not believing it. He says he was playing with his dog Curly, when Curly grabbed the cap and made off with it. The dog came back without the cap, and Kincaid could not find it. That's all he says, except that he was not in the thicket at all, and certainly not within a quarter-mile of the scene of the murder." "That might be so." "Of course it's so, if Arthur Kincaid says it is," insisted Orde, "but what do you think of this? The cap had a 22-calibre bullet hole through the crown; and Pritchard was armed with a 22-calibre rifle." "What does Mr. Kincaid say to it?" "That's just the trouble," cried Orde in despairing tones. "If he'd plead self-defence any jury in Michigan would acquit him without leaving the box. But when we asked him how that bullet hole got in that cap, he simply says that he doesn't know; it wasn't there when he lost the cap! Could anything be more absurd!" Bobby reached out and softly closed the register. He turned to grip Johnny fiercely by the arm. His eyes blazed. "Mr. Kincaid is my friend," he hissed. "Understand that? He's my best friend. If you ever say anything about this afternoon----" "Let go!" cried Johnny struggling. "You hurt! You needn't get mad about it. He's my friend, too. I ain't going to say anything." Bobby released his arm. "He must have done it, though," concluded Johnny. "Of course he did it. I'd have done it. Pritchard was an old beast. You ought to have been along with me when he ordered us off his land." "Mr. Kincaid says he was never up at that end." "There's his cap, with the hole I shot in it," Bobby pointed out. "It was right where Pritchard was when I shot at it." Johnny nodded. "If we let that get out, they'll have us in as witnesses." "We mustn't," said Johnny.