"More news from the enemy, I suppose. What does it say?" "It says as how a man's sin always finds him out." "That's interesting, isn't it? Do you think I am a sinner of some sort, Murk?" "I don't care if you are, sir!" "Murk! You needn't get excited about it. Put the paper in the lower drawer of the dresser; I'm making a collection of them," Prale said. He went back into the other room and continued dressing. "Go to the telephone and order breakfast served to us here, Murk," he directed. "What shall I order, sir?" "Order plenty of whatever you like, and tell them to make it double," said Prale. Murk grinned and gave a proper order. Prale was dressed by the time the breakfast was served. He and Murk made a hearty meal. And then Prale lighted his morning cigar and began reading the newspapers. Murk went around the suite, straightening things and trying to be of service. He looked at Sidney Prale often; it was plain to be seen that Prale was Murk's kind of man. There came a knock at the door. "See who it is, Murk," Sidney Prale said. He did not even look up from the paper he was reading. He supposed it was some hotel employee. Murk stalked across to the door and threw it open. Two men stood there. Murk flinched when he saw them. He did not know either of them, but he knew them immediately for what they were. Murk was a man of experience. "Mr. Prale in?" one of them asked. "Yes, sir." Without asking permission, the two men stepped inside, and one of them closed the door. Prale dropped the newspaper and turned around to face them. "Are you Sidney Prale?" one of them asked. "I am." "You are under arrest, Mr. Prale." "I beg your pardon?" "Under arrest," I said. "You know your rights, perhaps, so you need not talk unless you wish to do so." "You are officers?" They showed their shields. "Straight from headquarters," one of them replied. "We want to take a look around your room while we are here." "Suppose," said Sidney Prale, "that you tell me, first, why I am under arrest? Of what crime am I accused?" "You are charged with murder." "Murder? What crazy joke is this?" Prale cried. "And what particular person am I accused of murdering?" "You are charged with the murder of Mr. Rufus Shepley," the detective replied. CHAPTER VII EVIDENCE Many times in his life, Sidney Prale had been greatly surprised, astonished, shocked. But never had he experienced such a feeling as he did at this bald announcement of a police detective. The statement was like a blow between the eyes. Prale stared at the two detectives for an instant, his face flushed, and then he began to laugh. "It isn't a laughing matter, Mr. Prale," one of the detectives told him. "Pardon me, but it is so utterly preposterous," Prale replied. "I fail to see how I can be accused of such a crime. I am not a cut-throat, and Rufus Shepley was a man I met on shipboard casually, and have seen him only once since."