fair with you."

Hilliard looked at Brandt, with twinkling eyes. It struck Fraser that
they had between them some joke in which he was not a sharer.

"You're willing to assume full responsibility for the death of
Faulkner, are you? Ready to plead guilty, eh?"

Fraser laughed. "Just a moment. I didn't say that. What I said was
that I'm here to stand my trial. It's up to you to prove me guilty."

"But, in point of fact, you practically admit it."

"In point of fact, I would prefer not to say so. Prove it, if you
can."

"I have witnesses here, ready to swear to the truth, lieutenant."

"Aren't your witnesses prejudiced a little?"

"Maybe." The smile on Hilliard's fat face broadened. "Two of them are
right here. Suppose we find out."

He stepped to the door of the inner office, and opened it. From the
room emerged Dillon and his daughter. The Texan looked at Arlie in
blank amazement.

"This young lady says she was present, lieutenant, and knows who fired
the shot that killed Faulkner."