OU believe me--what I want is to convince the
Grand Jury! I oughtn't to have come to a man who knows me--your cursed
incredulity is infectious. I don't put my case well, because I know in
advance it's discredited, and I almost end by not believing it myself.
That's why I can't convince YOU. It's a vicious circle." He laid a
hand on Denver's arm. "Send a stenographer, and put my statement in the
paper."

But Denver did not warm to the idea. "My dear fellow, you seem to forget
that all the evidence was pretty thoroughly sifted at the time, every
possible clue followed up. The public would have been ready enough then
to believe that you murdered old Lenman--you or anybody else. All they
wanted was a murderer--the most improbable would have served. But your
alibi was too confoundedly complete. And nothing you've told me has
shaken it." Denver laid his cool hand over the other's burning fingers.
"Look here, old fellow, go home and work up a better case--then come in
and submit it to the Investigator."

IV

The perspiration was rolling off Granice's forehead. Every few minutes
he had to draw out his handkerchief and wipe the moisture from his
haggard face.

For an hour and a half he had been talking steadily, putting his case
to the District Attorney. Luckily he had a speaking acquaintance with
Allonby, and had obtained, without much difficulty, a private audience
on the very day after his talk with Robert Denver. In the interval
between he had hurried home, got out of his evening clothes, and gone
forth again at once into the dreary dawn. His fear of Ascham and the
alienist made it impossible for him to remain in his rooms. And it
seemed to him that the only way of averting that hideous peril was by
establishing, in some sane impartial mind, the proof of his guilt. Even
if he had not been so incurably sick of life, the electric chair seemed
now the only alternative to the strait-jacket.

As he paused to wipe his forehead he saw the District Attorney glance at
his watch. The gesture was significant, and Granice lifted an appealing
hand. "I don't expect you to believe me now--but can't you put me under
arrest, and have the thing looked into?"

Allonby smiled faintly under his heavy grayish moustache. He had a ruddy
face, full and jovial, in which his keen professional eyes seemed to
keep watch over impulses not strictly professional.

"Well, I don't know that we need lock you up just yet. But of course I'm
bou