"Simple enough, as you say. But the woman with the toothache saw
the shadow move--you remember she said she saw you sink forward,
as if you'd fallen asleep."

"Yes; and she was right. It DID move. I suppose some extra-
heavy dray must have jolted by the flimsy building--at any rate,
something gave my mannikin a jar, and when I came back he had
sunk forward, half over the table."

There was a long silence between the two men. Granice, with a
throbbing heart, watched Denver refill his pipe. The editor, at
any rate, did not sneer and flout him. After all, journalism
gave a deeper insight than the law into the fantastic
possibilities of life, prepared one better to allow for the
incalculableness of human impulses.

"Well?" Granice faltered out.

Denver stood up with a shrug. "Look here, man--what's wrong with
you? Make a clean breast of it! Nerves gone to smash? I'd like
to take you to see a chap I know--an ex-prize-fighter--who's a
wonder at pulling fellows in your state out of their hole--"

"Oh, oh--" Granice broke in. He stood up also, and the two men
eyed each other. "You don't believe me, then?"

"This yarn--how can I? There wasn't a flaw in your alibi."

"But haven't I filled it full of them now?"