Denver meditated. "No, I won't say that. I've seen too many
queer things. There's always a reason for wanting to get out of
life--the wonder is that we find so many for staying in!"
Granice's heart grew light. "Then you DO believe me?" he
faltered.

"Believe that you're sick of the job? Yes. And that you haven't
the nerve to pull the trigger? Oh, yes--that's easy enough, too.
But all that doesn't make you a murderer--though I don't say it
proves you could never have been one."

"I HAVE been one, Denver--I swear to you."

"Perhaps." He meditated. "Just tell me one or two things."

"Oh, go ahead. You won't stump me!" Granice heard himself say
with a laugh.

"Well--how did you make all those trial trips without exciting
your sister's curiosity? I knew your night habits pretty well at
that time, remember. You were very seldom out late. Didn't the
change in your ways surprise her?"

"No; because she was away at the time. She went to pay several
visits in the country soon after we came back from Wrenfield, and
was only in town for a night or two before--before I did the job."

"And that night she went to bed early with a headache?"