what made you do it. You were sore on Waterbury; sore for losing. You
wanted to get hunk on something. But I tell you, kid, there's no deal
too rotten for a man who poisons a horse--"

"Poisons a horse," echoed Garrison mechanically. "Poisons a horse.
Good Lord, Drake!" he cried fiercely, in a sudden wave of passion and
understanding, jumping from his chair, "you dare to say that I poisoned
Sis! You dare--"

"No, I don't. The paper does."

"The paper lies! Lies, do you hear? Let me see it! Let me see it! Where
does it say that? Where, where? Show it to me if you can! Show it to
me--"

His eyes slowly widened in horror, and his mouth remained agape, as
he hastily scanned the contents of an article in big type on the
first page. Then the extra dropped from his nerveless fingers, and
he mechanically seated himself at the table, his eyes vacant. To his
surprise, he was horribly calm. Simply his nerves had snapped; they
could torture him no longer by stretching.

"It's not enough to have--have her die, but I must be her poisoner," he
said mechanically.

"It's all circumstantial evidence, or nearly so," added Drake, shifting
from one foot to the other. "You were the only one who would have a
cause to get square. And Crimmins says he gave you permission to see her
alone. Even the stable-hands say that. It looks bad, kid. Here, don't
take it so hard. Get a cinch on yourself," he added, as he watched