looked at the notes and bills on the table, and the horror of taking
up again the lifeless routine of life--of performing the same
automatic gestures another day--displaced his fleeting vision.

"I haven't a theory. I _know_ who murdered Joseph Lenman."

Ascham settled himself comfortably in his chair, prepared for
enjoyment.

"You _know?_ Well, who did?" he laughed.

"I did," said Granice, rising.

He stood before Ascham, and the lawyer lay back staring up at him.
Then he broke into another laugh.

"Why, this is glorious! You murdered him, did you? To inherit his
money, I suppose? Better and better! Go on, my boy! Unbosom
yourself! Tell me all about it! Confession is good for the soul."

Granice waited till the lawyer had shaken the last peal of laughter
from his throat; then he repeated doggedly: "I murdered him."

The two men looked at each other for a long moment, and this time
Ascham did not laugh.

"Granice!"

"I murdered him--to get his money, as you say."