th passion, the veins on his temple
standing out like whipcords. "Why, the whole story's a fake. And if it
_were_ true, tell me how I could get Wynne's body out of the way so
quickly, and without any one hearing me, when every man in that smoking
room, from their own words, and from those of the doctor here, was
at that moment straining his ears for any possible sound? The smoking
room flanks straight on the drive, Mr.--er--Headland--" He caught himself
up just in time as he saw Cleek's almost imperceptible signal, and then
went on, his voice gaining in strength and fury with every word: "I'm not
a giant, am I? I couldn't have lifted Wynne _alive_ and with his own
assistance, much less lift him dead when he'd be a good sight heavier.
Why, the thing's a tissue of lies, I tell you--a beastly, underhanded,
backbiting tissue of lies, and if ever I get out of this thing alive,
I'll show Borkins exactly what I think of him. And why you should give
credence to the story of a lying servant, rather than to mine, I cannot
see at all. Would I have brought you here, you, a man whose name--" And
even in the excitement which had him in its grip Nigel felt Cleek's will,
powerful, compelling, preventing his giving away the secret of his
identity, preventing his telling that it was the master mind among the
criminal investigators of Europe which was working on this horrible
affair.

He went on, still in a fury of indignation, but with the knowledge of Mr.
Headland's true name still locked in his breast. "Did I bring you here as
a friend and give you every opportunity to work on this strange business,
to have you arraign me as a murderer? Do not treat me as a suspect, Mr.
Detective. I am not on trial. I want this thing cleared up, yes; but I am
not here to be accused of the murder of a man who was a guest in my own
house, by the very man I brought in to find the true murderer."

"You haven't given me time to say whether I accuse you or not, Sir
Nigel," replied Cleek, patiently. "Now, if you'll permit me to speak,
we'll take up this man's evidence. There are gaps in it that rather badly
want filling up, and there are thin places which I hardly think would
hold water before a judge and jury. But he swears himself a witness, and
there you are. And as for believing his word before yours--who fired the
shot, Sir Nigel? Did he, or did you? I am a representative of the Law and
as such I entered your house."

Merriton made no reply, simply hel