Miss Harriman be insulted by
you. Who are you, anyhow? A man accused of killing my uncle, the man
who found his valet dead and is suspected of that crime, too, a fellow
who would be lying behind the bars now if my brother hadn't put up the
money to save the family from disgrace. If we tell all we know, the
police will grab you again double-quick. Yet you have the nerve to
come here and make insinuations against the lady who is mourning my
uncle's death. I've a good mind to 'phone for the police right now."

"Do," suggested Kirby, smiling. "Then we'll both tell what we know and
perhaps things will clear up a bit."

It was a bluff pure and simple. He couldn't tell what he knew any more
than his cousin could. The part played by Rose and Esther McLean in
the story barred him from the luxury of truth-telling. Moreover, he
had no real evidence to back his suspicions. But Jack did not know how
strong the restraining influence was.

"I didn't say I was going to 'phone. I said I'd a jolly good mind to,"
Cunningham replied sulkily.

"I'd advise you not to start anything you can't finish, Jack. I'll
give you one more piece of advice, too. Come clean with what you know.
I'm goin' to find out, anyhow. Make up your mind to that. I'm goin'
through with this job till it's done."

"You'll pull off your Sherlock-Holmes stuff in jail, then, for I'm
going to ask James to get off your bond," Jack retorted vindictively.

"As you please about that," Lane said quietly.

"He'll choose between you or me. I'll be damned if I'll stand for his
keeping a man out of jail to try and fasten on me a murder I didn't do."

"I haven't said you did it. What I say is that you and Miss Harriman
know somethin' an' are concealin' it. What is it? I'm not a fool. I
don't think you killed Uncle any more than I did. But you an' Miss
Harriman have a secret. Why don't you go to James an' make a clean
breast of it? He'll tell you what to do."

"The devil he will! I tell you we haven't any secret. We weren't in
Uncle's rooms that night."

"Can you prove an alibi for the whole evening--both of you?" the range
rider asked curtly.

"None of your business. We're not in the prisoner's dock. It's you
that is likely to be there," Jack tossed out petulantly.

Phyllis Harriman had flung herself down to sob with her head in the
pillows. But Kirby noticed that one small pink ear was in the open to
take in the swift sentences passing betwe