David Hume rose from his chair, and reached for his hat, gloves, and
stick.

"You have crushed my remaining hope of emancipation," he exclaimed
bitterly. "You have the repute of being able to pluck the heart out of a
mystery, Mr. Brett, so when you assume that I am guilty--"

"I have assumed nothing of the kind. You seem to possess the faculty of
self-control. Kindly exercise it, and answer my questions, Did you kill
your cousin?"

"No."

"Who did kill him?"

"I do not know."

"Do you suspect anybody ?"

"Not in the remotest degree."

"Did he kill himself?"

"That theory was discussed privately, but not brought forward at the
trial. Three doctors said it was not worthy of a moment's consideration."

"Well, you need not shout your replies, and I would prefer to see you
comfortably seated, unless, of course, you feel more at ease near the
door."