And, if I was reliable then, I'm reliable now. That's a fair
assumption, ain't it?"

"Certainly." The judge laughed shortly, a little embarrassed.

"That brings me to my point. You'll believe me when I tell you my only
interest in this murder is to find the murderer, and, while I'm doing
it, to save the Sloanes as much as possible from annoyance. You'll
believe me, also, when I say I've got to have all the facts if I'm to
work surely and fast. You recognize the force of that, don't you?"

"Why, yes, Hastings." Wilton spoke impatiently this time.

"Fine!" The old man shot him a genial glance over the steel-rimmed
spectacles. "That's the introduction. Here's the real thing: I've an
idea you could tell me more about what happened on the lawn Saturday
night."

After his involuntary, immediate start of surprise, Wilton tilted his
head, slowly blowing the cigar smoke from his pursed lips. He had a fine
air of reflection, careful thought.

"I can elaborate what I've already told you," he said, finally, "if
that's what you mean--go into greater detail."

He watched closely the edge of the detective's face unhidden by his
bending over the wood he was cutting.

"I don't think elaboration could do much good," Hastings objected. "I
referred to new stuff--some fact or facts you might have omitted,
unconsciously."

"Unconsciously?" Wilton echoed the word, as a man does when his mind is
overtaxed.

Hastings took it up.

"Or consciously, even," he said quickly, meeting the other's eyes.

The judge moved sharply, bracing himself against the back of the chair.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Skilled in the law yourself, thoroughly familiar, with the rules of
evidence, it's more than possible that you might have reviewed matters
and decided that there were things which, if they were known, would do
harm instead of good--obscure the truth, perhaps; or hinder the hunt for
the guilty man instead of helping it on. That's clear enough, isn't it?
You might have thought that?"

The look of sullen resentment in the judge's face was unmistakable.

"Oh, say what you mean!" he retorted warmly. "What you're insinuating is
that I've lied!"

"It don't have to be called that."

"Well, then, that I, a judge, sworn to uphold the law and punish crime,
have elected to thwart the law and to cheat its officials of the facts
they should have. Is that what you mean?"

"I'll be honest with you," Hastings admitted, unmoved by the other's
g