Denver shook his head. "I might think so if I hadn't happened to
know that you WANTED to. There's the hitch, don't you see?"

Granice groaned. "No, I didn't. You mean my wanting to be found
guilty--?"

"Of course! If somebody else had accused you, the story might
have been worth looking into. As it is, a child could have
invented it. It doesn't do much credit to your ingenuity."

Granice turned sullenly toward the door. What was the use of
arguing? But on the threshold a sudden impulse drew him back.
"Look here, Denver--I daresay you're right. But will you do just
one thing to prove it? Put my statement in the Investigator,
just as I've made it. Ridicule it as much as you like. Only
give the other fellows a chance at it--men who don't know
anything about me. Set them talking and looking about. I don't
care a damn whether YOU believe me--what I want is to convince
the Grand Jury! I oughtn't to have come to a man who knows me--
your cursed incredulity is infectious. I don't put my case well,
because I know in advance it's discredited, and I almost end by
not believing it myself. That's why I can't convince YOU. It's
a vicious circle." He laid a hand on Denver's arm. "Send a
stenographer, and put my statement in the paper.

But Denver did not warm to the idea. "My dear fellow, you seem
to forget that all the evidence was pretty thoroughly sifted at
the time, every possible clue followed up. The public would have
been ready enough then to believe that you murdered old Lenman--