"Not an atom: in the man of action. The mere fact of your talking of
remorse proves to me that you're not the man to have planned and put
through such a job."

Granice groaned. "Well--I lied to you about remorse. I've never felt
any."

Denver's lips tightened sceptically about his freshly-filled pipe.
"What was your motive, then? You must have had one."

"I'll tell you--" And Granice began again to rehearse the story of
his failure, of his loathing for life. "Don't say you don't believe
me this time ... that this isn't a real reason!" he stammered out
piteously as he ended.

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."