a larger pair. Not very much of a case, perhaps, but this last is a
strong point."

"Well?" I asked, as he paused.

"Now then for the facts of the case. Would you oblige me by casting
a look over there in the corner?"

"I see nothing but a pickaxe and shovel."

"Ha! very good; 'nothing but a pickaxe and shovel.' Well, to resume:
facts of the case--Roger Tallis murders the jeweller, and you murder
Roger Tallis; after that, as you say, 'nothing but a pickaxe and
shovel.'"

And with this, as I am a living sinner, the rosy-faced old boy took
up his flute and blew a stave or two of "Come, Lasses and Lads."

"Did you dig him up?" I muttered hoarsely; and although deathly cold
I could feel a drop of sweat trickling down my forehead and into my
eye.

"What, before the trial? My good sir, you have a fair, a very fair,
aptitude for crime, but believe me, you have much to learn both of
legal etiquette and of a lawyer's conscience." And for the first
time since I came in I saw something like indignation on his ruddy
face.

"Now," he continued, "I either know too much or not enough.
Obviously I know enough for you to wish, and perhaps wisely, to kill