It was not so much the words, ill-timed and out-of-taste as they were, as the air with which they were uttered, that constituted their significance. It was as if in the mind that originated them there was a lurking bitterness, that the speaker would willingly conceal, which yet was so intense that it must find vent. There was a cruel hardness in the tone that made the words themselves all but meaningless. Was it possible, Trafford asked himself, that the man was able to read the meaning of Judge Parlin’s story and knew that Wing was his half-brother? He dismissed the question with the asking, satisfied that something of which he was still ignorant was at the foundation of this outbreak. It was to be a question of the comparative shrewdness of the two men, whether he still remained ignorant when the interview closed. “You certainly don’t suppose that I shot Millbank’s leading citizen, do you?” the lawyer demanded, after a moment’s pause. It was, perhaps, an effort to recover what the lawyer could not fail to see that he had lost. “On the contrary, I’ve every reason to believe that he was still alive when you left town, and I still further believe that your visit had nothing to do, remotely or directly, with his death.” What was that odd flash that passed over the other’s face as Trafford said these last words? Seemingly, Trafford was not looking at the other’s face at the moment and it might have escaped him. Still, he would have been interested if he had seen it. “Thanks: but, in that event, what are you here for?” “I can’t let my beliefs or disbeliefs interfere with my investigation of facts. Here is something most unusual occurring, almost at the moment of the murder. It don’t make any difference whether I believe it has anything to do with it or not. It’s my business to know, and that’s what I’m here to do.” “And if I say I’ve nothing to tell you?” “The coroner’s enquiry will be public, while mine may remain private.” “What do you want to know?” “I simply want your assurance that your visit to Millbank had nothing to do, directly or remotely, with Theodore Wing.” “I can’t see what value such an assurance can have. If I went there to hire somebody to shoot him, I should, of course, not hesitate to give you the assurance--and probably you wouldn’t fail to find out the truth of the matter inside a week.” “That’s my business,” said Trafford. “If I’m content with your assurance, I don’t see why you should object to my being.” “Because there’s no certainty you’ll remain content with it. It’s one of those things where you could come back to-morrow with ‘newly discovered testimony’ that would upset the whole agreement.”