"Why! What on earth? It's SOAP! No!--you scoundrel. Don't you move
that hand."

"It's soap," said Mr. Ledbetter. "From your washstand. No doubt it--"

"Don't talk," said the stout man. "I see it's soap. Of all incredible
things."

"If I might explain--"

"Don't explain. It's sure to be a lie, and there's no time for
explanations. What was I going to ask you? Ah! Have you any mates?"

"In a few minutes, if you--"

"Have you any mates? Curse you. If you start any soapy palaver
I'll shoot. Have you any mates?"

"No," said Mr. Ledbetter.

"I suppose it's a lie," said the stout man. "But you'll pay for it
if it is. Why the deuce didn't you floor me when I came upstairs?
You won't get a chance to now, anyhow. Fancy getting under the bed!
I reckon it's a fair cop, anyhow, so far as you are concerned."

"I don't see how I could prove an alibi," remarked Mr. Ledbetter,
trying to show by his conversation that he was an educated man.
There was a pause. Mr. Ledbetter perceived that on a chair beside
his captor was a large black bag on a heap of crumpled papers,
and that there were torn and burnt papers on the table. And in front